Sentinel of Sin City

Gil Grissom could remember exactly when Nick Stokes had last worked a crime scene. It had been the cult murders in the desert that required him to descend into the bunker that led deep underground. He’d seen the resistance in the Texan’s dark eyes, the despair at knowing he’d need to go down there.

He’d been the one to find Nick, apparently fascinated by the projector that sent stars across the ceiling in the leader’s room. Locked in his consideration of the constellations, Nick hadn’t responded to his inquiries until he’d placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. Then he’d shaken his head and gone back to work.

But that was many weeks ago… And Nick had called in, or been called in as that wasn’t entirely clear, for the third night in a row.

His shift long over, the cruelty of the sun on a hot Las Vegas morning beat down as Gil eased his department vehicle to a stop. The trade off for being consistently on call was the ability to have the SUV at his disposal constantly.

He stepped from the vehicle. Silently, he considered the low slung ranch-style dwelling. It was far more domestic than he’d anticipated. It was neatly kept and more widely spaced from its neighbors than would have been available closer into the core of the city.

His brusque knock on the front door echoed slightly. It was moments before a nervous looking Greg Sanders eased it open.

“Uh, hey, bossman.” Greg’s attempt at an easygoing grin faded in the presence of Grissom on his doorstep.

“Do you know what I find odd, Greg?”

Gil didn’t wait for Sanders to respond, but continued almost immediately. “I find it odd that despite personnel files that list apartment numbers and imply that you and Nick rent halves of the same duplex, this seems to be a single residence.”

If possible, Greg had become even paler. He began to stammer, searching for some excuse, some reason that would make sense in the face of a Grissom-style examination.

“One might conclude,” Grissom completed, “that the pair of you believe your coworkers blind to your relationship.”

“Grissom, man, I can explain.”

“Greg, I’m not interested in your explanations. I’m here to find out why Nick hasn’t been coming to work.”

Greg stepped back, letting the older man pass him on the way into the house. The foyer opened immediately onto a family room. It was comfortable, if lacking the usual floral accents that bespoke a woman in residence. However, it was exceedingly neat and coordinated.

“Catherine seemed to believe he had the flu like I said.”

Grissom turned a look on Greg. The young man flinched again, reading the precise meaning behind that over-the-glasses glance. Catherine always failed to believe that a CSI would lie to their boss.

Gil understood that his CSIs would do anything to remain in the field.

Greg sighed, instinctively knowing he could trust Grissom with the truth about Nick. “Okay, he doesn’t have the flu.”

Grissom’s arched brow told Greg to move onto something he didn’t already know.

“We don’t know what he does have… One doctor was claiming an allergic reaction. Another wanted to slap a Post Traumatic Stress Disorder diagnosis on him.”

Seeing the alarm on the supervisor’s face, Greg hurried to continue, “I got him out of there before it could be official. We all know that would end his career.” The young man seemed to droop as he finished. “I can’t let that happen, Gris… It’s all he has left.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Greg. He has you.”

Greg was too astonished by the emotional sentiment to hear the way it was said. He didn’t catch the longing, the faint jealousy, or the distant yearning. Shaking himself free of his shock, he followed Grissom who had already started moving further into the house. It figured that Grissom could take one look at the place and make an educated guess as to where Nick would be inside the residence.

Grissom had stopped at the open doorway of Nick and Greg’s bedroom. It seemed somehow… improper… to enter the room without permission. Improper in a way that he had disregarded when he’d arrived and entered their home.

Greg eased past the older man, moving to squat at the side of the king sized bed. “Nick? Grissom’s here…”

There was no response and Gil frowned. Greg saw the reaction and shrugged, not able to hide his worried glance. “It’s been happening occasionally, the not responding. He’s always snapped out of it before.”

Gil forgot his hesitation as he stepped into the room. It was dim, the blackout shades they all had from too many years working night shift pulled tight over the windows. There was no light on in the room, the only illumination from the bathroom blocked by a mostly closed door. The mingled evidence of Nick and Greg’s cohabitation surrounded him, but Grissom had focused his mind on the far too still man in the bed.

“The rash?”

Greg nodded. Answering Grissom’s questions he could handle… It would put distance on his worry for his lover. “An allergic reaction, presumably to the laundry detergent.”

Grissom’s glance indicated he should continue, so Greg expanded his answer. “We changed it four, maybe five times, same rash. Finally found one intended for infants, the hospitals use it on the preemie wards… The worst of the rash has already faded. He’ll at least consent to wearing clothes now.”

Greg winced as he concluded, “And that was probably more than you wanted to know.”

“All information is useful, Greg,” Grissom responded by rote. It was the wrong time to consider how the information affected him. There were more important people involved here. “What else?”

“The light’s been bothering him. I bought him a few more pairs of sunglasses, but we’ve both adapted to night work.”

It seemed unlikely to be the cause. While they were all more comfortable in the dark as a result of their shift work, none of them avoided the light in the way the bedroom’s atmosphere indicated Nick currently needed.

“Why is he wearing ear plugs?”

Greg frowned, almost hugging himself as he fidgeted in place. “The neighbors threw a party that got kind of loud. He dug them out of somewhere and has been wearing them since.”

Grissom mentally calculated. Three days off, one of which had been on call but they’d not been needed. Two days sick call-ins since then. Five total days in which it was starting to sound like Nick had drifted in a haze of impending sensory deprivation.

“Is there anything else, Greg?”

Maybe his voice had been too harsh. Greg wavered for a moment. He finally made his admissions in a soft tone of voice totally at odds with the usually cocksure and brash young man.
“He’s barely been eating… Says everything tastes funny or smells off. Maybe it is PTSD.” The young man started to rock in place, his gaze focused and intent on his lover. “Maybe I’m just hurting him by keeping the right diagnosis off his personnel jacket.”

Grissom reached out, laying an awkward hand on Greg’s shoulder. They shared a moment, a glance, before turning uncomfortably back to the bed.

“I’m going to try to wake him.”

Greg nodded his consent and stood watching. Gil settled hesitantly to sit on the edge of the bed. It was clear that Nick was wearing little or nothing under the protective sheet. The light cotton clung to every surface, not shifting as the man lay deathly still. His chest was bare, nipples tightening as the presence of another body changed the air flow over the bed.

Reaching out, Grissom tentatively placed his hand on Nick’s shoulder. He registered immediately that rather than too warm as he’d assumed, the flesh was too cool. Perhaps more urgently than he’d intended, he insisted, “Nick, it’s Grissom… You need to wake up now.”

Nick twitched, drawing an unidentified noise from Greg. Grissom’s hand stayed on his shoulder and he slowly came blinking back to awareness.

“Greg?”

No one was in a position to see Gil’s own slight wince. He rapidly yielded his place at Nick’s side to Greg, stepping back at the clear relief and joy on the former lab rat’s face.

“Right here, love. Grissom woke you. Apparently, bossman doesn’t like it when we’re sick.”

As they focused on each other, Gil schooled his features back to concerned impartiality. It was a contradiction, but more of what they were accustomed to seeing from him in the professional environment. Not that there was anything professional about standing in the bedroom of two younger male employees.

Nick took a long, deep breath and turned his head to face Grissom. His hands didn’t lift to bar Greg’s gentle removal of the soft foam earplugs. But they hadn’t seemed to interfere with his previous hearing. “What’s happening?” he asked, knowing that they could trust the man to give them an answer.

Gil hung his head for a moment, and then faced them calmly. He had suspicions, but the possibility was so rare….

“I need to refer to my library but I have an idea.”

Greg turned his wide brown eyes on Grissom, relief clear in his expression. Gil felt the careful divisions of his reality melting away as he acknowledged one simple truth. He’d destroy his own deliberate peace to take that pain away.

“I may be able to bring a specialist in… We’ll have to see.”

 

***
 

Nick waited in the bedroom as Greg escorted Grissom to the door. When his lover returned, there was a dark tint to his features echoed by the Texan.

“Nothing prepared me for this,” Nick spoke softly, mostly to himself. “None of it… Knowing doesn’t really prepare you.” His steady contemplation revealed the inner conflict. “Should we be doing this? Especially to him?” Nick asked quietly. His voice was so low that it could have been implied that Greg was the Sentinel.

“Do we have any choice?” Greg asked in return with an edge of resentment. “You’ve got to have a guide.”

Looking away, Nick focused on the nap of the carpet. The fibers curved in on themselves, twisted into a ring that spiraled down deep.

“Nick,” Greg interrupted.

It was enough to prevent the incipient zone-out. Nick’s head snapped up, focus switching as he breathed heavily. The air was scented with so many heavy emotions that it was almost bitter on his tongue.

“You could guide me.”

Greg sighed, regret flowing through the air. He crossed the room, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed. The heat of his body was the only thing touching Nick as he maintained a careful distance.

“I’m not there… I can see you. I can see him. But, I’m not there,” Greg whispered.

It was a scream to Nick’s ears. A much-debated topic, he surrendered without a fight on this occasion. Later, he promised himself. Grissom was a temptation, a golden prize for the compensations he would have to make… Greg, however, was a comfort he already knew. A companion, a lover, and a partner that was already dear to him.

Not even the heat of his near body could clear the chill Nick felt inside. He reached out, fingertips exploring down the length of Greg’s arm. The fascination of surface differences between clothing and flesh sang to him before the simple glide of fingertips crossed his palm.

Nick laced their fingers together, holding tight. “If he checks on the medical history and realizes you lied to him…”

“He won’t,” Greg replied. “He won’t violate your privacy.”

That they were already violating his was known, yet unspoken between them.

 

***
 

Grissom considered the file that Sara had dutifully given him and settled further into his desk chair. The case was astonishing. A group of high school students, driven to murder, conspiracy, kidnapping - all because of a drug.

Admittedly, they were talking a street value of a little over a hundred thousand dollars worth of marijuana. There was still a part of Gilbert Grissom that didn’t understand crime for any reason.

‘Because you come from a family of protectors,’ his mother’s voice echoed in his head. The echo was as he had once heard it as a child. In his memory, her voice was still clear, crisp, and unaffected by her later hearing loss. It was a way that he would never hear her again, not even if she hadn’t preferred sign language almost exclusively these days.

Gil shifted, pushing the file away and dropping his glasses on the desk. Nick shouldn’t have been able to see Cassie McBride in the dark and heavy brush surrounding that lake. That little fact had been ignored in the desperate rush to save a child.

He sighed, standing. Nick may be in need of more help than he could provide. ‘And you are not qualified, why?’ his mother’s voice asked again in his head. Crossing to his shelves, he moved the glass tank that held his tarantula an inch to the right and took a manila folder from its heavily concealed place against the wall. No one went near Grissom’s bugs, especially the large spider.

His mother could be of assistance, he acknowledged. Even as he knew that, he rejected the idea. She would ascribe possibilities and hope to the situation that he was far too cynical to accept. The information he had would be shared with Greg… Greg would learn how to be what Nick would need.

 

***
 

“How’s she doing?”

Greg’s voice drew Nick out of his blank consideration of the fridge’s interior. He reached out, drawing forth a beer as he stood.

“She’s a tough kid. She’s going to be okay.”

Greg was leaning against the empty archway that led from their dining room to the kitchen. His posture was deceptively relaxed. Nick frowned and opened his bottle, knowing his lover was scared, worried, relieved, and just a little bit afraid.

“I’m more concerned about whether you’re going to be okay. Your emerging abilities…”

Nick moved closer, watching Greg’s pupils open up as he stepped within the other man’s personal space. The foot, crossed casually over the other, shifted to lie flat on the floor. The arms, crossed in front of him, dropped to his sides. Nick liked the unspoken offer and leaned in to lick along the line of Greg’s jaw.

“I have you… how could I be anything else?”

The shaky indrawn breath told him Greg was definitely on line with his plan. It irritated Nick that he’d already known, had already shifted closer in anticipation of their joining. Knowing something could happen and experiencing it directly were wildly different situations. Combine his discomfort with such change and the new urges that seemed to be drawing his attention elsewhere…

Nick refused to entertain his wandering sense of lust at that moment. He wanted Greg. He actually loved the other man. But now he could smell him. Good enough to eat and Nick definitely planned on having a nibble or two. They began a slow stumbling dance towards the bedroom.

The just opened beer was abandoned to grow warm, untouched on the counter. The fastenings of the button-front jeans Greg insisted on wearing were yielding to Nick’s fingers.

And the doorbell rang.

Nick huffed a harsh breath against Greg’s shirt covered abdomen as his lover began to pull away. He could already tell who was at the door. The man had been summoned, as it were, by his errant thoughts. Nick hesitated to let Greg go and answer. Insistent, his lover pulled away to acknowledge their unexpected guest.

Surging rapidly to his feet, Nick brushed past Greg to lead the way. He could do this. He could face Gil Grissom while he was this aroused and do nothing.

He loved Greg.

 

***
 

Gil swallowed heavily when the door was opened before him with a harsh yank. The sunglasses hopefully hid his eyes as he considered the bare chest of Nick Stokes, with a quick glance at the obviously aroused bulge behind his unsnapped but still zipped jeans.

“This… is a bad time,” Grissom muttered with unaccustomed hesitation.

Nick took a deep breath, blinking slightly at the rush of pheromones and then turned away without speaking. Greg, now visible as the doorway emptied, stared between his lover and boss.

“Uh, Grissom.” The former lab rat licked his lips and pulled the hem of his shirt to try and cover the fact that his pants were unbuttoned. “Come in.”

Gil shook his head, hoping the sun behind him covered the flush across his cheeks even as he attempted to freeze out the tone of his voice. “I was just dropping this off for you to read… later.”

The last word squeaked out at an unexpectedly high pitch. Nick’s stalk to the partially enclosed kitchen had ended against the living room wall. Where he was currently draining what looked like a beer with his head thrown back and throat muscles working steadily. Gil desperately hoped that he had yet to grasp his abilities with any sort of reliable function. For if Nick had, Gil would certainly have a hell of a time explaining his arousal.

Not that the young man would even notice over what was likely the scent of Greg’s.

Gil swallowed, closing his eyes in a protracted blink that served more as a prayer for patience. Greg’s attempt at courtesy had disappeared behind his own fascination and lust. Greg, though, would be able to indulge when the door was closed.

And it was far past time that occurred.

Grissom leaned in slightly, still standing on the front stoop. He dropped the large envelope just inside the door. He reached for the doorknob to pull the barrier closed, as he saw Nick drop the now empty bottle to the floor and begin to cross to Greg.

Its solid click as the latch closed gave Gil the chance to react finally. He did, shaking as he imagined what would certainly be occurring. The pure focus of a Sentinel when claiming their Guide. The dedicated knowledge that came from senses applied solely to learning a single human.

The jealousy was swift and fierce. He leaned his forehead against the door for one second, trying to gather the composure to walk to his car while aroused. Knowing he had no place here was finally a calming enough thought for him to return to his vehicle without physical pain. That it caused a lasting pain of its own was an entirely different matter.

 

***
 

Greg hardly noticed that Grissom had closed the door. He was too busy watching Nick. His lover moved like a large predator, nostrils flaring as he crossed the floor of their home.

The impulse to flee, even in play, forgotten, Greg simply waited. He’d occasionally thought that Nick was a rather vanilla kind of guy. It seemed that thought might be coming back to bite him on the ass.

Only a blink of time had passed but Nick was right there in front of him. A hand reached out, cupped the back of Greg’s neck and pulled him closer. The limited clothing between them rustled as Nick ducked his head, licking along Greg’s neck rather than dropping the expected kiss.

“Nick,” Greg gasped out. “Man… Come on… Gris?”

“Still there,” Nick mumbled, moving his tasting to the visible edge of a collarbone. When the shirt impeded his way, he lifted it in a sudden jerk. It pulled over Greg’s head and dropped forgotten to the floor.

“My point, exactly.”

Nick didn’t respond. Instead, he spun Greg in place. Off balance, Greg reached out. His hands slid for a moment along the soft surface of the couch’s upholstery. Fingers suddenly digging into the leather, he arched his back as his cock sprang free. Nick yanked his pants down to join his shirt on the floor, grasping his hips to hold him in place.

Greg had only the warning of moist breath before the cheeks of his ass were parted. Devoted kisses were spread along his crack before a determined tongue began to map his body’s entrance.

“Nick!”

His cry was ignored as Nick began to rim him with a previously unimagined enthusiasm. He didn’t really understand, but his body was enjoying the attention to such a degree that his brain was melting out his ears. Nick had tried it a couple of times, both giving and receiving. He’d never seemed this into the experience.

As kisses moved from his ass up the bent line of Greg’s spine, he finally regained some attempt at coherency. “Jesus, Nick, Grissom’s…”

Nick was rubbing his freed cock against the crease of Greg’s ass. Head bent, Greg pushed back slightly on offer as his thought dropped to an end. If Nick understood, he misinterpreted.

“…hasn’t left yet,” Nick murmured throatily into Greg’s ear. He felt the body in front of him giving, spasming as it didn’t precisely close against him. “He’s out there, Greg… But he can’t hear you.”

Greg panted as Nick began to ease inside him. It wasn’t the way they usually played. This was harsher, more elemental, and needy in a way their typically careful lovemaking couldn’t touch. Greg admitted, at least to himself, that he liked it – a lot. He leaned forward, spreading his legs as much as he could to silently convey that thought to Nick.

“But he knows what we’re doing…” Nick continued as he moved in his lover’s body with the slightest of thrusts. It was a shallow penetration, gentle and easy despite the dominating aspect of the encounter.

Oddly aroused at the idea of Nick fucking him while Grissom listened from the front door, Greg mewled. He squirmed back for a better angle, his movements stopped by Nick’s fingers curling once more around his hips.

“Shh… You do want to be able to walk tonight?”

The question was clearly rhetorical as Nick didn’t expect Greg to answer. His hand shifted from hip to cock, looking to provide the relief Greg was seeking. The calloused fingers moved swiftly, stroking just where he liked and exactly where he needed.

Greg cried out, coming as he heard the faint echo of a car engine moving away from their home. Nick followed, groaning in his ear as he spilled in Greg’s ass. They slumped together, breathing deep to regain the necessary energy to move.

“I really doubt he heard you,” Nick reassured, kissing Greg’s nape as he removed himself as gently as possible from his body. He pushed aside the guilt that thoughts of another fueled his swift possession of the other man. Solicitous, Nick chivied Greg to their bedroom.

Greg hissed, uncomfortable despite the care. He wouldn’t be entirely easy with walking or standing tonight. Blushing whenever he encountered Grissom would simply be a fresh hell.

 

***
 

“Greg, may I speak with you for a moment?”

The voice broke through the end of shift chitchat, and Greg stood slowly in response. Grissom had already stepped back through the doorway, leaving his coworker to follow. Greg knew they’d probably talk in Grissom’s office. It was quiet, secure, and a hell of a lot more private than most places in the lab.

He shifted as he stood, wincing slightly. Catherine pursed her lips as she gathered her things and handed off a case to the day shift.

“Greg?”

Not really wanting to look up, as he knew he hadn’t hid his discomfort well enough, Greg almost whispered in reply, “Yeah?”

“Try not to have a rough night before you come back to work… And if Gil chews you out for it, tell him to back off.”

Greg’s shoulders slumped. He’d hoped that Grissom wanted to talk about this thing with Nick and the doctoral thesis he’d left at the house. But if Catherine thought he was going to get chewed out for not being physically ready for the field last night, then she was probably right.

There were few things worse than Grissom’s disappointed tone and the way he said ‘Sanders’ like he couldn’t believe he’d ever given Greg the chance to be a CSI. Greg knew he was stalling, but couldn’t make himself move faster.

“Yeah,” he acknowledged Catherine, shuffling out of the office.

 

***
 

Gil was fiddling with one of the multitude of books on his office shelves when Greg stepped through his door.

“Close the door and have a seat.”

Complying with the first instruction, Greg ignored the second for now. He did step farther in, fidgeting at the corner of Grissom’s desk. Head turned away, he missed the scrutiny that examined him.

Time, training, and intuition could be almost as good as enhanced senses. Gil stepped closer to Greg, cradling the forgotten book against his chest with his right hand. With his left, he reached out and pressed, firmly but not harshly, just above the junction of Greg’s shoulder and neck over his carotid artery.

“Fuck, Grissom!”

Greg slapped his hand over the spot, pulling away and sinking into the chair behind him almost simultaneously. He’d gone pale, the color fading from his skin like the light as dusk fell. The wince as his ass hit the chair just a bit too hard seemed to confirm Gil’s hypothesis.

Frowning, Grissom leaned a hip against his desk. He stared at Greg. Greg, though, wouldn’t meet his eyes as he preferred to stare at Grissom’s empty desk chair.

The protective hand had fallen away. Gil set the book on his desk, reaching out with a gentle yet clinical touch to pull the collar of the shirt from Greg’s neck. The mark was red, angry from being abraded by even the soft cotton all shift long.

“Does Nick typically bite you this deeply?”

Greg’s color returned, flooding his cheeks with his embarrassment. He finally raised his eyes, meeting Grissom’s stare. There was concern present, giving Greg some comfort that he wasn’t about to be reprimanded for letting his personal life interfere with work.

“Not before,” he managed before continuing much more brightly, “but things are different now… There was mention of a claiming instinct. This should settle down, right?”

Gil didn’t need enhanced senses to know what Greg was thinking. He had half a lifetime of human experience and the study of emotion and confession to back up his instinctive knowledge. As any healthy, sexually active young man would, Greg was enjoying the intense attentions of a newborn Sentinel. At the same time, he was starting to wear out and more than ready for those attentions to taper off into a baseline.

“Theoretically, yes. If I am correct about Nick’s condition and if he’s a standard example of the genetic anomaly.”

“Uh, yeah,” Greg stuttered. He blinked, considering the possibilities that rose at that particular phrasing. “The rest of that research would help. You left the thesis at the house, but more information would be useful.”

“Greg,” Grissom hesitated, looking away. He sighed before answering. “This is not exactly a published field of study. A lot of the information is family derived or publicly disavowed, and some can be taken in a derogatory fashion.”

“I don’t understand.”

Grissom met Greg’s questioning glance baldly. “I didn’t want Nick to read everything I can access. That’s why I only brought you that one. It’s public record, even if falsely acknowledged to be fraudulent. In his current state, not entirely certain or secure, he could misinterpret some of the other findings.”

“And that’s what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No,” Gil added softly. “I wanted to make sure that Nick wasn’t hurting you… even accidentally… and that you weren’t letting him.”

Greg resisted the urge of his lax muscles to let his mouth drop open in astonishment. Grissom, the detached yet caring supervisor, took interest in his team’s well-being. Was he seeing Gil beneath that at times impartial cover? More so, when Grissom’s attention should be drawn to Nick, why was it focusing on Greg?

Misinterpreting Greg’s continued silence, Gil leaned over to touch hesitantly at Greg’s shoulder. It was more physical contact than the man had given any of his coworkers in a long time.

“I just want you to know that you can come to me at any time if you need help.”

Greg stood, impulsive want guiding his actions. Gil flinched back at the sudden movement, but not fast enough to avoid the kiss.

Their lips touched, clinging for an extended instant. Gil’s slight gasp of shock gave Greg the insane opportunity for a quick, darting taste of tea and the indulgence of a secret chocolate stash. He pulled back, realizing that he’d actually acted on his absurd impulse, to meet the startled blue eyes.

“Thanks,” Greg stuttered out, nervously shuffling back as Grissom simply stared at him. He ducked out of the office, sighing at his own stupidity, without the older man ever speaking another word.

The entire drive home, Greg berated himself.

What had he done? What had he been thinking? Had he even been thinking? Oh, dear lord, what would Nick think? Would he find out? Would Greg tell him? What could he tell him? Sorry, dear, but I kissed our boss? I kissed your Guide?

 

***
 

Stepping inside his own front door, Greg tried to swallow down his nervous fear as he dropped his keys in the tray.

“Hey.”

Flinching was probably not a good way to hide his guilt. Deciding to face the issue head-on, even if Nick didn’t yet know there was an issue, Greg turned.

“Nick, I…”

But the words dried up. Nick was technically on a medical leave of absence. One might assume that he’d use that time off in some fashion, rather than lying about the house during the night watching television and playing video games. One might be wrong, but only because he added reading to that short list of manly pursuits.

Greg’s libido reminded him that his lover was wearing only old, threadbare, loose track pants as he tried to convince himself to confess. He blinked, Nick suddenly in front of him as he lost a few moments to introspection.

The deep, sniffing inhale should not be turning him on like this. Greg categorized the physical signals of excitement – Nick’s dilated eyes, his slightly higher than normal body temperature, the trace of flushing across his skin. He just didn’t know why it would happen from smelling him. Of course, a few minutes of watching him try to move easily and Grissom had ordered him to the lab for the night.

And thoughts of Grissom brought him back around to the reason he really needed to be confessing before Nick got carried away.

“Nick…”

But Nick took hold of his mouth with a kiss that promised to hunt down and classify every molecule for eternal worship. Greg simply yielded, leaning into his lover’s devoted touch and the tongue that threatened to sweep away any thoughts of temporary insanity or slightly bookish appeal.

“You taste so good,” Nick murmured, his hands straying beneath Greg’s clothes.

 

***
 

Nick curled into the bed with a childlike innocence completely at odds with the carnal activities they had performed together only a short time before. He was becoming desperate. The intensity of his physical association reflected the fear that remained despite knowledge. It embodied his need for support.

Support that Greg couldn’t give.

His eyes were hazy, mildly unfocused. As he stepped away from his lover, Greg could hear the faint cry of a hunting owl. It chastised him for his selfish refusal to let go, screaming its claim.

Greg flinched, blinking away the remnants of a part of his life that clashed so fiercely with his scientific knowledge. Burned into his sight were the creatures far below him, their connection and dependence undeniable.

Not even bothering to shrug into his jeans, ignoring the robe hanging just on the other side of the bathroom door, Greg traveled silently on bare feet through their home.

And it was their home.

A place they’d established together. A place they had considered purchasing from their landlord. A home formed of connection and what Greg had begun to assume was love.

Biology was a heartless master.

Greg imagined years of watching Gil and Nick together. Years of working alongside a bonded Sentinel-Guide pairing. With no immediate experience, it recalled his grandmother’s stories. His Nana had spoken so highly of his parents. All that they could accomplish. All that they had realized in the short time they had together.

Even as Greg began to picture the strict competency of such abilities applied to their chosen field, he knew it was something he’d never be able to witness. In one blow, he would lose his lover and a closely held fantasy. Were there any of them that didn’t idolize Grissom? The pull to him was nothing more than the fulfillment of that idolatry.

His hand trembled even as it reached for the telephone handset. This deception had been his idea. The guilt would be his alone. Grissom, accusatory and mistrusting when lied to, would have none of that tarnishing the need of his new Sentinel.

Heart sinking by the minute, he dialed.

 

***
 

Grissom had functioned for a long time on very little sleep. It was a habit now, one that he wasn’t really inclined to break. The documents spread across his desk at home had nothing to do with forensic science or entomology.

He never really even acknowledged his cell phone’s ring by looking away from the papers. Simple habit had him removing it from his belt and flipping it open to answer the call.

“Grissom.”

A pause then silence had Gil blinking out of research mode and to full attention. Without a voice to confirm or even glancing at the caller ID, he asked, “Greg?”

“Gris…”

It was plaintive and shy at the same time. Gil’s thoughts moved to the worst possibilities, his chosen field expanding rapidly the possibilities and his own suspicions. “Are you injured?”

“No, I…”

Gil closed his eyes, wishing for strength. What was happening within their dynamic that turned Greg into the hesitant person he’d never been before?

“Please, Greg, let me help you.”

“I… I don’t know how to deal with this.”

Grissom was momentarily silent, not knowing how to admit that he didn’t really know how to deal with this either… or that he wasn’t entirely sure he was impartial enough to do so effectively.

 

***
 

The ringing of the telephone became difficult to ignore after about the tenth or twelfth time. It was something that had to be acknowledged, even if you hadn’t gotten to sleep until past four and it wasn’t yet seven.

Blair managed to knock the phone off the hook, but not quite get enough of a grip to pick it up. He was brought up short, cursing and wincing.

“Ow, fuck… Jim, let go of the hair, man.”

As usual, they had entwined in their sleep. Cuddling was all well and good. A death grip on the short curls allowed under department policy was not.

Jim grunted, relaxing his fist and rolling over. Blair took the chance to free himself and finally reached out for the phone. He spared a moment for a last glare at the sleeping Sentinel before resigning himself to being the awake one.

“Sandburg. What?”

It was a polite and cheery morning greeting the likes of which Simon Banks typically heard from the elder of his dynamic detecting duo. Not that he could blame Sandburg for the grumpiness, he’d been woken up as well. At the same time, they were supposed to be keeping their situation private or he’d have to officially separate them on the job.

“Sandburg, I know you have difficulty with subtle but making it clear you’re sleeping together is not it.”

“Simon,” Blair whined in an amazing approximation of a much younger self, “I’ve only been asleep for about two hours… Because, I might add, the Mayor wanted a favor and you put the two of us on an all night stakeout. Why are you calling?”

“The Mayor needs another favor.”

“Aw, fuck no. I’m hanging up.” Blair had the phone almost all the way back to the set and only made out a couple of the words Simon was hurrying out.

“Las Vegas… Grissom.”

Sighing at his own curiosity, Blair lifted the telephone back to his ear. He shifted in the bed until he was seated at the side, bare feet hanging just above the chilly floor. He’d have gone ahead and sat up straight, but he couldn’t remember just where he’d left his slippers.

“Go ahead. I’m listening.”

Banks growled. The repressed frustration was barely audible in his tone. “The Governor called the Mayor, who wants you and Ellison to fly to Las Vegas and assist in a case.”

A sleep warmed hand slid across Blair’s lower back. He leaned into the touch, knowing that Jim wouldn’t have been willing to sleep through this even if he could have blocked out the noise.

“Why?” Blair asked, yawning widely.

“Because apparently some forensic hotshot named Grissom got the Governor’s nephew out of jail on a false charge years ago and he’s called in the favor.”

“Gil Grissom, the entomologist?”

“Fuck if I know, Sandburg. Your flight’s at noon and the tickets will be coming to Prospect by courier sometime this morning. Be on the plane.”

Blair’s eyes crossed as the bed shifted behind him. The hand that had been resting lightly against his back moved around his side to pull at him slightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Blair muttered into the phone. “They speak, we jump, goodbye.”

He dropped the telephone on its rest with a sharp click, knowing that Simon would forgive the insubordination as a lack of sleep and frustration with the hoops they’d always be jumping through for the higher ups. Just because he tried to say publicly that he lied about his dissertation didn’t mean that everyone believed him. Being a cop involved even more political wrangling than he’d ever experienced in the academic world.

As Jim encouraged him to lie back down, mouthing at his ear and curling around him, Blair knew once more that the price was worth it.

 

***
 

Airplanes were a problem never anticipated by whatever evolutionary quirk had given the original tribes their Sentinels. Blair ushered Jim down the walkway, brushing off the helpful suggestions and concerns of the flight attendants and guiding their joint carry-on around hurried feet. Help and concern would lead to ambulances, emergency rooms, and bigger problems.

Right now, he just needed to get Jim away from the noise, the smells, the simple closed in torture of a metal can moving at high speeds through rapid changes in pressure and temperature.

“Trip home? Rental car, I promise.”

Jim nodded, focusing on the hand at the small of his back. The heat of Blair, his scent, the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat grounded his senses through the cacophony of an airport. In addition to the usual people/food/emotional miasma were the distinct tones of Las Vegas. Whirring, buzzing, jangling, as gambling took place even upon arrival.

“We’ll just get to the hotel, settle you down, help out, and go home. No complications, no worries.”

Blair’s voice was fading as Jim shook his head and looked up. There was a scent on the air, something familiar that called him to take notice. He scanned the crowd, seeking its origin, but wasn’t able to immediately identify the location.

In his observation, he did find one person taking too deep an interest in the pair of them. Standing singly, unescorted by family or friends, was a man. Older and slightly out of shape, leaning against a divider, he studied Blair and Jim with blue-eyed intensity. Those eyes narrowed as they caught Jim’s reverse attention. Unexpectedly, the unknown individual’s lips curved in amused recognition.

“Oh, wow, didn’t expect him to be here. Usually we get some flunky.”

Blair’s voice broke back into Jim’s thoughts, bringing with it the surroundings and banishing his sensory focus. The guiding hand at his back began to steer him through the crowd, directly towards the man who’d been studying them.

His younger partner released the handle on their rolling luggage to offer a handshake. His other never wavered from Jim’s back, knowing unerringly that he needed the baseline to tolerate this too crowded space. Up close, the familiar yet not, scent was clearly coming from this man.

“Dr. Grissom, we didn’t really expect a personal escort.”

Grissom paused, one last too-deep stare at Jim, before focusing solely on Blair and returning the handshake. “This was a rather last minute request,” he admitted in a low voice. “Thank you for coming.”

Blair grinned, rocking back on the balls of his feet. “Not like I’d say no… Your input on my Master’s thesis really impressed the committee. They seemed surprised that I was able to obtain feedback from such a well-respected source.”

Grissom shrugged lightly, gaze skittering off into the crowd beyond Blair. “Your evaluation as to the impact of migratory swarms on tribal development was intriguing.”

Jim knew, suddenly and without doubt, that the good doctor was lying. But why would he be lying about the reason he responded to a student’s request for help that occurred years ago? There was a pause as if Grissom wanted to say something else and decided against it. Pursing his lips, Jim resolved to keep a close eye on this one.

“I have a car waiting, if you have everything.”

Blair simply nodded, letting Grissom take the lead through the crowd. With their host a few steps ahead, he didn’t bother turning to Jim to whisper a question. “What the hell is up? You’ve gone tense.”

Jim didn’t reply, waiting for Blair to look at him. When he did, Jim simply shook his head. Despite Blair’s frown, it put off the question and answer session until later – until they were alone.

 

***
 

Grissom kept a low level of tourist oriented explanation and local interest commentary on the drive from the airport. Unexpectedly, he didn’t seem eager to share any details of the case they’d been called to assist.

Suddenly curious as to the reaction he’d gain, Jim spoke his first words to their host since their meeting. “What makes you think there’s Golden distribution in Las Vegas?”

He knew it was rude to change the subject so bluntly. He knew Blair would be interrogating him about it later. To Jim’s dismay, the sudden flood of fear/guilt/adrenaline justified everything.

Grissom was lying without even responding. He’d lied about his reasons for commenting on Blair’s paper years earlier. He’d lied about the reason the pair of them were in Las Vegas.

“Ah, you see…” Grissom began when his cell phone began to trill the pre-recorded prompt of a text message.

The tint of relief curled Jim’s nose as their host read his message. His hand began to edge towards his service weapon, not knowing if he and his Guide were even safe with this person.

“I apologize, gentlemen,” Grissom edged out with a gust of worry/panic/fear. “We need to make a short detour before the hotel.”

The pair in the backseat, Blair having declined the shotgun position to stay with Jim as he acclimated to the new city, shared a glance. Jim’s eyes were hard, untrusting. Blair finally seemed to pick up the undercurrent from his Sentinel, shifting to watch their passing environment more closely.

 

***
 

When Grissom parked the Explorer at a residential street and rushed from the vehicle without a word to his guests, Blair turned to Jim.

“What’s going on?”

It was a direct question, uncontaminated by panic or concern. He knew that Jim had more information, more input, about what was going on than he did and wanted to share in it.

“He’s lying,” Jim edged out, watching the man open the door to the house. It hadn’t appeared to have been locked, so he clearly was expected. The car doors weren’t locked, so they weren’t trapped yet.

“He’s,” Jim began to explain further when he tilted his head. Blair held silent, rubbing at the closest forearm to ground the other senses, as Jim listened to what was happened inside the house.

The voices lacked the tinny quality of long-distance observation, sounding almost as if they spoke inside the car. There were heartbeats, three, though only two voices.

“How long?” Grissom asked.

“Nearly three hours,” a male voice replied. He could hear the hurried click of too rapid swallowing.

“You tried…” Grissom began to ask.

“Everything!” his companion yelled as the two voices moved farther into the house. “He’s not responding at all.”

“Nicky?” Grissom inquired softly with the following sound of callused skin rubbing smooth. There was silence from Grissom before a faint, “Do you have any idea what caused the zone-out?”

The shock of that simple question flung Jim’s hearing away from the house and back to the car. He blinked, jaw hanging slightly open as he focused a slightly dazed stare on Blair.

“We weren’t called here for a case,” Jim explained. “He’s a Guide…”

Blair blinked in mutual shock.

“…with a zoned Sentinel,” Jim completed his summary of what was happening inside the house.

He was cursing a moment later as Blair hurried across the yard. The sound of the vehicle's door slamming was still echoing in the interior, temporarily deafening Jim.

Jim winced as he stepped into the heat of the morning, grumbling about Blair's disregard of his hearing. There was a tinge, a slight hesitation, that spoke of the insecurity of having another Sentinel around... but it was nothing more than a faint echo of thought.

A quick motion had his cell phone out of his pocket and in his hand. He hadn't expected an answer this time of day. Simon was probably still recovering from the all-nighter, like he and Blair should have been doing. The bitterness may have colored his voice slightly as he left the voice message.

"We're here, but the situation’s a little more complicated than first glance. I need a full background on Gil Grissom. Get me all the details you can find, but you might want to look it up yourself."

Jim always felt rather stupid being as vague as possible, but this was going on a department-owned recording device. Cutting off abruptly, he continued towards the inside.

"Who are you?" a voice asked inside the house. The person Grissom had been speaking with, Jim identified.

Blair didn't answer immediately, his usually voluble responses overridden by the urgency with which Grissom interrupted.

"He's been out for almost three hours. Combination of senses hasn't worked. Any suggestions?"

From the front door, Jim could almost taste the older man's desperation. Whoever this new Sentinel was, he was important to both men inside the house. Exactly why was unclear. It was even uncertain as to exactly how they'd known where to find Sandburg. For it was definitely Sandburg they wanted, if the newly awakened senses of their subject weren't under control.

Jim's distraction tuned out the conversation. Following the scent of his own guide, he crossed through the home. Cataloging his surroundings with an automatic instinct, he identified a flimsy and variable presence of Grissom but the strong residence of two other men. One was presumably the Sentinel. The other was likely the person to whom Grissom had been speaking.

He stepped into what was clearly a bedroom. Blair was hovering at the side of the bed, directing Grissom on the other side.

"No, no, it was good to get him laid out," Sandburg reassured. He was speaking to a man even younger than himself, short wildly styled hair sticking out in every direction with the occasional blond among the dark brown. "If he'd stayed sitting up, it's very easy for muscles to cramp or to have a loss of balance for days afterward."

Jim flinched at the sight of the man lying supine on top of the covers. He could see the rucks in the duvet, making it obvious to enhanced sight that someone had been sitting on the edge before they were dragged backwards... by someone standing on the bed from the almost imperceptible footprints in the cover.

"Okay, now, Gil."

Jim shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest as he took up a silent position by the door. It figured. Less than five minutes in a crisis situation with almost total strangers and his guide was already on a first name basis.

"I want you to climb on the bed. Lay down next to Nick getting as much physical contact as possible."

This was definitely growing more complicated by the second. Jim wrinkled his nose at the paralyzed discomfort flowing from Grissom. Grissom's gaze skittered over the dark-haired young man before returning to Blair. Rather than comply, he gestured towards the as yet unknown young man.

"Greg, do as he says."

Blair's forehead crinkled as Greg instantly complied with his supervisor's direction. As Greg settled comfortably partially on top of Nick, curling into him with familiarity, the two newcomers began to understand.

"Oh," Blair uttered Sentinel-soft. "Oh, God," he followed, pained eyes flicking over Grissom in acknowledgement before he turned his attention to the two men now on the bed.

"Okay," he began again. Jim could hear the false light overloading the sadness in his voice, but truly doubted the others had any sense of it. "Now, Greg, you may have tried everything... but I can guarantee you that I've never once let a Sentinel stay in a zone."

Jim's snort drew the men's group attention to him. Blair frowned, before shrugging slightly in acknowledgement. Jim's nod recognized that this wasn't the time for a lengthy discussion on past errors.

Occupied in the interplay, neither of the Cascade natives noticed Nick's eyelids flutter at the short noise from Jim. Greg was too busy looking to Grissom for reassurance and Grissom far too occupied in showing nonverbally that he did trust these two men.

"Tell me again what happened just before he phased out," Blair encouraged with a low voice.

Greg, clearly acting on previous instructions, stayed in his place lying on the bed. He rubbed along the line of Nick's bare arm. The lightweight sleep pants and tank top reminded Jim too clearly of the days in which his skin had barely been able to tolerate the lightest cottons.

"He had just taken a shower... Hot, finally, the water temperature had been bothering him."

Jim nodded again in understanding. He remembered, too, what it had been like to think anything above lukewarm was trying to boil off his skin.

"He sat down on the side of the bed, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. It was…" Greg hesitated and fell silent.

Jim tilted his head, scenting the guilt and conflict flowing off the man. Were they all lying? Vaguely, he wondered if he’d been quite as much a pain in the ass to Blair in the beginning as this was becoming. Truthfully, he probably had.

Blair crouched, bringing himself more on level with the man. "You're a trained observer.... What did it remind you of?"

Greg's eyes glanced over to Grissom before he focused solely on Blair. "It was like he was looking for something. Scenting the air, like the search dogs."

Frowning again, Jim didn't particularly care for the comparison but he did know what it was intended to mean. Blair simply nodded reassuringly, even as the picture grew startlingly clear in his mind.

Grissom leaned forward, setting one knee on the bed as he reached out to Greg. His hand on the young man's shoulder had him drawing a deep breath. Near boneless, the last of the tension disappeared from his frame as he draped completely on the zoned Sentinel. "It's going to be okay, Greg. We will get this under control."

Jim stared at Grissom until the man raised knowing eyes to meet his gaze. It surprised him the level of understanding and regret he found there. Nick and Greg were clearly lovers; even a newcomer could see that. A Sentinel, like himself, could acknowledge that connection in every aspect of the interaction and their home itself. Grissom, though, was the conundrum. Jim could practically see the agonized emotion swirling around him. He wanted to go to the Sentinel. He wanted to fix this. All the same, he wouldn't. It was almost as if...

Almost growling in suspicion, Jim uncrossed his arms and stepped forward. It had taken months of research and weeks of discussion to realize why his sentinel-guide partnership with Blair had fractured, almost permanently, over Alex. That this man would understand his own situation clearly, yet not take action on it, infuriated Jim beyond reason.

The sound hadn't been loud enough to carry through the room. Blair looked back in confusion, recognizing Jim's dissatisfaction but not knowing its source. He hadn't heard his utterance, just seen him move from the corner of his eye.

The sound had been loud enough to be heard by a Sentinel. It was threatening enough to demand a reaction.

Greg yelped as Nick's arm came up across him and the pair rolled across the bed. Once, twice, with Grissom jerking back from the bed to keep from being knocked down. Bruised and startled, Greg stayed down at the far side of the bed from Blair close to the wall when Nick finally released him. Nick, however, stood in a rolling movement as he pulled Grissom behind him to lean against the wall above Greg. His other hand searched the nightstand for a weapon as he warded the pair back.

Blair was still blinking at the sudden revivification. He made no reaction other than to reach back with one hand as Jim stepped up to him. Ellison leaned into the hand, but made no move, other than a slight crouch to bring his ankle holster within closer reach, that could be described as threatening.

Slowly, recognition of his surroundings came back into Nick's eyes. As he focused, he never took his eyes off Jim.

Jim blinked, his fingers twitching his cuff out of the way as Greg shifted. Bumping into the nightstand as he moved, the drawer of the table Greg hit edged open the faintest amount.

Suddenly, you had two Sentinels with pistols drawn and aimed - at each other.

"Holy fuck," Blair breathed out in near awe. Was this what Jim looked like when protecting him? He'd always been able to acknowledge that the experience itself made him rather appreciative of the Sentinel. But to watch it from the outside, to see the instinct in action, was beyond appreciation.

"Jesus, Jim," he uttered, turning his attention away from the people they'd clearly come to help for just a moment. "Stand down. He's not exactly a threat."

Jim sighed, even as he never took his focus off what was clearly a threat despite his guide's assumption. "He has a gun pointed at us, Darwin. How is that not a threat?"

Coming back to himself, Grissom raised his hand. He lowered it on the back of Nick's neck, fingers splaying over the central column of spine in a mimic of the grip a mother cat would take with her mouth on a kitten.

"That's enough, Nick," Grissom spoke firmly but quietly. "Put the gun down."

Nick's aim wavered, his arm dropping. He shifted to put the weapon on the nearest surface. As he became aware of his location and that of the men immediately around him, he offered his hand down to his partner.

"Greg? Are you okay?"

Greg winced as he straightened out and stood. "Just fine."

Although his expressions as he straightened up belied the statement, no one called him on it. Grissom took the moment of reconnection to step away, distancing himself from the pairing. Jim had put his own weapon away, helping Blair to his feet. It was a room of couples, with the elder scientist watching, knowing, yet unable by circumstance to participate.

"I apologize for the ruse that brought you to Las Vegas, Detectives Ellison, Sandburg," Grissom began. "As you can see, I had very few other options available to me."

 

***
 

It had become apparent, far too quickly, that everyone involved was exhausted. Nick, barely having recovered from his zone-out, was in no condition to participate coherently in the necessary discussion. Surprisingly, no one had protested putting it off till early evening. After all, the Cascade arrivals had gotten very little sleep as well even if they didn’t typically work the night shift.

The vehicle had been uncomfortably quiet as Gil drove his guests to the hotel. He had offered politely to go inside and see that they were settled. Ellison’s unequivocal ‘We can handle it’ made his displeasure clear. They may have been there for good reason, but they had been lied to in order to facilitate their presence. Blair had just rolled his eyes and promised to be ready at the arranged time.

Gil broke his usual late morning routine at the thought of Blair Sandburg. Typically, he treated himself to tea and a book before bed. Today was definitely a day for liquor.

The squat, heavy bottomed glass was touched with a finger and a half of decent Scotch. It wasn’t the best in his cabinet, but it was suitable. It wasn’t the worst, either, which he reserved solely for those occasions where he felt the need to get drunk. No matter what anyone might think of him, the things he saw pressed in occasionally and were alleviated the fastest with a dreamless night.

The books in front of him, both recent publications and very old hand-written journals, were of little to no help. None sought to explain his current situation. The complications he faced couldn’t have been uncommon, yet they weren’t discussed. At least not in his references. Once again, he gritted his teeth against the desperate yearning for his father’s very valuable library. Not only was it long gone, it was well nigh inaccessible.

The knock on the front door disturbed Gil’s musing. He crossed his abbreviated living area with dull curiosity. Most of his neighbors, even the salesmen, knew the resident of this home worked nights and slept days. The blackout blinds could hardly be missed from the outside, even on a condo such as his.

But the face through the peephole, and he certainly hadn’t enough to drink to forget to look, made him hurriedly open the door. The complication, his complication, present in the flesh.

“Greg,” Gil greeted carefully.

He wasn’t given the chance to step back. Greg stepped towards him and sidled past into the foyer that emptied to his kitchen and living room open area.

“Please, do come in,” Gil added quietly with a sarcastic lilt as he closed the door. On the other hand, he mused as he turned to face the young man, perhaps he’d consumed just enough alcohol on a stressed body to loosen his tongue that dangerous inch.

“I know what’s going on, Gris…”

He hadn’t expected this. At least, not this quickly. Not that Gil had any intention of mentioning that to the agitated and vaguely defensive man.

Gil crossed to the waist high service bar that separated his kitchen from his living room. It was simple to set the glass on the other side, leaving it to be washed later. Right now, he needed his full concentration. The pause, however, had not been taken by Greg as a chance to reflect.

Greg was pacing, a pair of short strides between the desk with its blanket of research and the edge of the coffee table that fronted Gil’s simple furniture. “I just want to know where my place is in all this… Preferably before Nick goes all ‘It’s been great, but there’s the door.’”

Gil raised his hand to adjust his glasses before realizing that he’d taken them off and left them beside his reading. The aborted movement became a rough scrub of hand across his brow. “Wouldn’t it be best to talk to Nick about this?”

Because there was simply no way he was ever going to be ready to act as a relationship counselor.

“Nick’s asleep,” Greg tossed off as a curt rejoinder, not ceasing his pacing.

From the near frantic energy being released, one might think he was the Sentinel in this equation. Unfortunately, Gil found it difficult to classify the young man. Nick was a Sentinel. Gil had long known he was a Guide. What was Greg?

Other, of course, than Nick’s lover and partner.

“Then shouldn’t you be home with him, also asleep?”

Gil rather hoped the words didn’t carry any overtones. He thought he’d uttered them carefully enough that they would be bland and untainted. Apparently not, as Greg’s movement halted and his head swiveled as his sharp gazed focused on Grissom.

“I love Nick, but he gets everything so easily,” Greg’s words seemed a non sequitur. “He doesn’t even flinch in the face of something that, as a scientist, I would classify as a genetic abnormality. He’s waiting, content with the idea that Grissom’s going to snap his fingers and make it all okay.”

Gil flinched, knowing how well he was set up to fail at that. He waited, patiently observing, as Greg stepped closer to him.

“I understand genetics. DNA is immutable. I could no more be a Sentinel in Nick’s place than I could be a woman from birth. The codes are already written, already laid down.”

Greg had stopped his approach practically within Gil’s personal space. The older man didn’t move back, waiting to find out where he was going with his commentary. Greg had been, to a private admission, his protégé. He’d taken a half-wild laboratory dreamer and turned him into a vibrantly dedicated field investigator. While he occasionally mourned the Peter Pan of the DNA labs, he found himself always marveling at the practically efficient field work.

“The thing I don’t understand,” Greg emphasized his discontent with a quiet, fierce voice, “is why, if I can’t be Nick’s Guide, the other half to his Sentinel, it has to be you.”

Gil’s brow furrowed as he tried to understand. Even when Greg had failed his initial field evaluation, he’d never sensed this deep well of bitterness.

“Why,” Greg asked, eyes seeking some unknowable answer in Gil’s face, “does he get you too?”

There was a moment as Gil stared in shock. Just a second, a speck of time, in which all his defenses fell and he digested those words. It was apparently enough.

Greg made an indecipherable noise as he reached out. Unexpected strength pulled them together as both arms wound around Gil’s neck. His lips had found no difficulty in coaxing Gil into a kiss in the midst of his mental disarray.

But suddenly finding himself contemplating whether Nick could grasp the sweet sharp taste of Greg Sanders brought Gil back to himself. He raised his arms, grasping Greg’s wrists lightly behind his own neck, as he prepared to free himself from the tenacious embrace.

Beyond his control, his mouth continued to explore. Greg was determined, voracious as he devoured. Gil responded, trading unheard words and thoughts as tongues battled and soothed in the same caress. His will faltered, hands sliding from wrists to elbows until they finally cupped the slightly boney shape of shoulders under a loose shirt.

As Gil slid his hands down Greg’s sides then back up his chest to ghost along his collarbone, Greg whimpered. When Gil made his capitulation clear by cupping that determined point of a chin in his palms, Greg sighed.

Changing the tone of their clasp, Gil brushed his closed lips against Greg’s damp and swollen mouth. The other man’s attempts to resume their frenzy were tempered by those quelling hands still cupping his face. He calmed, as Gil’s eyes reassured that this wasn’t going to end. Greg seemed to understand that he wouldn’t be left out in the cold. He could see that this wasn’t one sided.

Gil simply had no energy left to pretend that he didn’t want Greg Sanders.

“This could go so very wrong,” Gil whispered, unable to deny the problems they faced.

There was a glint of something, some ineffable knowledge in Greg’s eyes as he replied, “We’ll make it right.”

He moved his fingers, hand sliding along till they somehow found that tender sensitive spot in the hollow of Gil’s throat. “So very right,” he echoed in contradiction with a faint, fey grin.

Eyes darkening with his growing passion, Gil snatched Greg’s hand from his throat. There was a moment of startle-eyed panic before the young man yielded. It was relatively simple to turn him, to draw him back.

Gil breathed into the perpetually messy hair, the scent of gel and Greg in an odd miasma that refused to sort out. Nick would have been able to identify the individual strains, could be trained to know the specific care product by its scent, but Nick wasn’t here.

Greg rested his hands, shaking slightly, on the arm that crossed his abdomen and held his back to Gil’s chest. Unimpeded, Gil’s other hand roamed. Greg was slight, bony in places, with an odd combination of the muscles and leanness an itinerant gym attendance had given him. Fingers flexed, cupping the growing bulge beneath his trousers.

“He can smell you when you’re aroused,” Gil stated with a quiet certainty, voice soft beside Greg’s ear. “You’ll go back to him and he’ll know there’s been someone.”

There was a third person here, even if not physically. Gil had no illusions, no pretensions that Greg would leave a person like Nick for a person like him… even if he could avoid the man he was quickly becoming certain was his Sentinel. The possessive echoed in his very soul, calling him to a service bound into his very DNA.

“He’ll even know it was me.”

Gil shifted as Greg groaned and dropped his head back onto the support of a shoulder. It made such a tempting target that he slipped his tongue into the curve of an ear. The clear shiver made it obvious that Greg was far from repulsed.

“He’ll be able to smell me on you… even after a shower. Perhaps even taste me in you.”

Greg was groaning now. Gil made no attempt to disguise the movements of his hand. He held the younger man to him with one arm, sliding it down to assist in the loosening of belt and unzipping of the fabric barrier. Eager, Greg’s erection thrust into Gil’s hand. There was nothing between the skin at that point of contact, and the electricity of the touch had them both breathing heavily.

Gil began to masturbate Greg with long, even strokes as he continued to speak. “I could fuck you, so deep that a trace remains hours later. It’s in their very nature for Sentinels to be sensory oriented. Can you picture it? You on your knees with his tongue in your ass?”

The way Greg was squirming indicated that he’d not only pictured it, but had experienced it as well. One thing that their line of work was good for was eliminating barriers. Nothing seemed kinky after a few years on the night shift in Las Vegas. Rimming was hardly a blip on the radar.

Intentionally, Gil kept his strokes slow and even. He wanted his partner so aroused that delay wouldn’t be tolerated, but he wanted to feel Greg come as he spent himself inside the younger man.

Unintentionally, his own oddly conflicting jealousies seeped into his words.

“Do you think he would like finding the taste of me there, Greg? The taste of a Guide in his lover’s ass?”

Greg’s lips had been moving in a soundless plea that now gained a voice. The words, repetitive and insistent, pulled at Gil. “Do it, please. Please. Do it, now.”

Gil had long discounted the mystical implications that surrounded Sentinels and Guides. If asked, he would have said that it was purely a genetic fallacy. Certain individuals with the predisposition for having the advantage naturally sought out the company of those with the predisposition for knowing how to control such an advantage.

How Greg possibly fit into that equation was a grey area. Murky and dark, that uncertainty threatened to swamp them.

It was a blur of static and sensation as they hurried the short distance to Gil’s bedroom. While it certainly seemed as if Greg was leading, that couldn’t be possible. He’d never been to Gil’s bedroom before. How could he know where to lead this oddly chosen lover? He’d certainly never been in Gil’s nightstand drawers before, yet he found the lubricant he kept for his personal ease without hesitation.

Gil blinked and it seemed as if Greg was instantly spread before him in nude temptation. On his back, against the subdued design of Gil’s sheets, he held his spread legs back and open. The offer was unmistakable.

Knowing only that he didn’t have the will to resist what they both clearly wanted, Gil found himself kneeling between those wide open legs. He met Greg’s concentration with a look of intensity. That he was still fully clothed didn’t seem out of place as he popped the button of his slacks and eased down the zipper.

The urgency pulled at him. Carefully, he eased his leaking cock through the slit in his boxers. The fabric rubbing at his base and across his balls was maddening. Only the chill of the thick liquid as he poured it directly on his member staved off the growing need for release.

Greg was pulling him close with insistent and hurried hands even as Gil made an attempt to insert slick fingers in the young man’s ass. They barely brushed the flexing pucker before slipping away. Greg’s fisted grip in his shirt had him losing his balance, catching himself with hands flat against the bedspread.

He shifted his hips, looking to ease back and trying to go more slowly. Then, the alien sensation of those deftly competent slim fingers caught him just below the crown of his erection. A sharp indrawn breath and Gil was nudging inside Greg, guided there by the young man’s own hand.

The head went slowly, squeezed tight by guardian muscles. Even as Greg loosened around him, Gil knew that the penetration wasn’t perfectly easy on someone even as active as Greg. That he accommodated Gil so quickly, so easily, so insistently was a near miracle.

Sharp heels digging into his lower back brought Gil closer. Lip curling back in a near growl, he thrust shallowly. Burying himself evenly and deep, the pressure against his back eased when he was fully seated.

“Do it,” Greg finally insisted. “Fuck me.”

The demand was spoken clearly, a spark of blue seeming to glow in the chocolate depths of Greg’s eyes. Gil lost it, thrusting and fucking into Greg’s body without reserve. Some part of his mind insisted that he would have been able to stop if his partner protested. The rest was sincerely glad that restraint wasn’t required. Greg met each movement with pure enthusiasm.

Denial brought him to the brink far more rapidly than age would have otherwise permitted. Grunting, Gil did indeed spend himself deep inside Greg. The fluttering of the muscles around his cock echoed the spasms of white coating Greg’s naked belly and the edges of Gil’s dangling shirt.

As he panted into Greg’s neck, Gil could hear the fluid syllables of a foreign language. It reminded him suddenly, oddly, that Greg had been raised by his Norwegian grandparents. He shifted his head, only able to focus on the absently empty features of his new lover before exhaustion took him under.

 

***
 

Greg edged the door closed behind him carefully. His hand guided it in the dimness of the room, feeling its way to the jamb. The soft latch was inaudible to him.

It wasn’t to the man waiting.

“Have you ever wondered…”

Nick’s words caused Greg to suck in a deep breath of surprise, his body twisted even as his eyes sought out the figure of his lover. His partner, his errant thoughts corrected him, even as he flushed with shame.

“…why you could only see us from above?”

Greg blinked, in confusion, in his inability to focus with the lack of light. Nick appeared out of the gloom, walking slowly.

“I can see it, even if you can’t.” Nick reached out, pausing for only an instant when Greg flinched back. His fingers skated the edge of Greg’s lips, the tint from use he hadn’t placed on them, cruising lightly over the discolored suggestion at the back edge of his jaw. “You’ve been so afraid.”

Greg’s eyes dropped closed. His actions, his fears, his emotions roared in a cacophony that blinded him. It was all too much and he just wanted it over.

“Greg,” Nick prompted.

Unable to resist the soft-voiced plea, Greg opened his eyes. What he saw in Nick’s expression couldn’t exist.

Understanding. Forgiveness. Acceptance.

“You’ve always been there. Circling over us, watching out for us. It was always you.”

Greg opened his mouth, ready to speak and confess. Nick forestalled his words by slipping the tip of his thumb inside, fingers curled beneath his lover’s chin. He released him just as quickly, breathing deeply as he stepped back.

“Bed… For rest, eventually.” Nick pronounced it solemnly, eyes dark

Unable, unwilling to resist, Greg followed.

 

***
 

The sharp cry of a bird of prey broke through the blue-tinted jungle. Curled into the line of a hunting cat, the wolf raised his shaggy head. Sleep cleared his senses as he yawned, padding to his feet despite the snuffling protest of his unusual mate.

Jungle waved around him as the wolf padded forward. It broke to a clearing, the thick rainforest dropping into a sparsely wooded plain. The wolf shuddered, a chill wind breaking through his fur. Somewhere ahead, a bird of prey screamed.

Now he ran, toward the whining whimpering cries that broke over and combined with the hawk’s cries. Beneath the wolf’s paws, the plains drifted away to shifting, treacherous sand. It burned the sensitive pads, tripping him as he sought the others.

Then, breaking through a shimmering curtain of heat, the wolf stumbled. He righted himself slowly to the wary growl of a hunting cat… but not his own. This spotted cougar-like animal had barely turned its head to warn the interloper before shifting back to nudge a fallen bundle of feathers.

He thought, at first, that it was the bird he had heard screaming. With a screech, the falcon denied its own death. Circling overhead, he cut in tight currents that kept a slow, descending loop. With a hop, the bird moved nearer. The cat made no movements towards him, now prodding gently at the immobile lump before him.

Then, lifting his head to the sky, the skottgat roared his dissatisfaction.

Blair woke, trembling with adrenaline and scanning his surroundings. It was the hotel, carefully chosen from all Las Vegas had to offer and then accepted with items from home to guard Jim’s careful sensory balance.

Yes, they were in the desert… but the only wild animals here were the human variety. Of them, none occupied the room with the sleeping sentinel and his now awake guide.

Sliding back the covers, Blair stepped away from the bed. The crisp air of the cooling unit brought his skin into pebbled awareness. As he turned, ready to shake it off and slip back into slumber, he heard again the scream of a hunting falcon and the roar of a cat.

“Jim,” he whispered urgently, sliding his hand along his companion’s leg. “Jim, get up man. We’ve got to go… Now.”

 

***
 

Gil had been unsurprised to find Greg gone when he woke. It would have been more of a shock if the young man was still in his home. While very early for someone who worked their shift, it was afternoon for the daytime crowd. For someone like Nick who could probably feel the difference in the air when he was alone?

The guilt, sudden and crushing, swamped Grissom in the shower. He panted, leaning against the wet tile as the enormity of what he’d done struck him.

He had betrayed his Sentinel.

A hand tightened on his throat, the sheer pain startling him. Slowly, he eased himself down into a kneeling seat beneath the water still falling above him. The contrast in heat and cold, slick and sharp edges, none of it registered.

He had betrayed his Sentinel.

Gil began to gasp for breath. His neck was bent forward until the beads of water could drop from his nose and eyebrows in perfect vertical lines. They mixed unnoticed with the water swirling down the drain.

It was a perfect metaphor for his life. Circling the drain, near death, due to his own stupidity, selfishness, and pure undeniable transgression.

From someone who knew what happened to a betrayed Sentinel, his act was unforgivable. The grief of that pure personal knowledge of what was now certainly in Nick’s future remained sharp, decades after it had occurred and a good dozen years after he understood.

But was there any way to prevent it?

Gil stumbled from his bathroom, hastily dried and still damp in spots. The clothes he found were pulled on without care for lack of wrinkles or professional presentation. Only the long habit of years had him clipping his phone to his belt, checking that his complete ID was in his wallet, and setting the alarm before he opened his door.

So full of thoughts on how to prevent harm to Nick, he only blinked after he rebounded off the chest of Detective Ellison. A man who, disturbingly, was quite a bit taller than him.

“Oh, damn,” Blair exhaled, pushing Jim aside and reaching out a steadying hand. “Sorry about that, Dr. Grissom.”

Gil blinked again, not comprehending. He wavered in his doorway, the knob having bounced out of his hand and the door itself swaying slightly in reaction. His confusion must have been in some way highly evident.

“We were supposed to meet?” Blair prodded, eyes narrowing. Jim simply breathed deep and frowned, suspicion and dislike curling the edge of his mouth.

“When you didn’t show, I called the LVPD. You are listed in the phone book, so it’s not exactly like a breach of anything that they gave me your address, you know.”

Blair was still explaining when Grissom’s home alarm began to scream in protest. The sharp noise was enough to startle the older man out of his fugue, but he turned uncomprehending eyes to the control pad.

“Don’t you think you should shut that off, Dr. Grissom?”

Gone was the familiarity of the night before. It was lost beneath the strangeness of their host's behavior. Any growing trust had been vanquished by the scents Jim could detect still lingering on the man and his lack of information.

Blair was just turning, a faint whisper of “Jim?” enough to push the Sentinel into action. He stepped past Gil, urging the man into the attentions of his own Guide. Reaching the control pad for the alarm system, he studied it for a moment before keying a sequence. Thankfully, for his growing headache and abused ears, the shrill sounds ceased.

In the silence, Gil shook his head. He focused on the keys in his hand and his sense of purpose was renewed. “I have to go.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Blair acknowledged with a bob of his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nick,” Grissom managed before his throat closed on him and choked off any following words. By all that could be found holy, what had he done? “Nick,” he gasped out, trying to explain.

A single nod seemed to be all that Blair needed to communicate with his partner. Jim stepped out the door, locking it behind himself. Taking one arm himself, he gestured for Blair to help with the other.

“You can tell us on the way, Doc. Right now, you aren’t driving.”

It was the tone of a man accustomed to being in control of the situation. Instinctively, Gil reacted to the protective impulses of the Sentinel. His feet fell into step with the two men from out of town, blindly following their directions to an unrecognized vehicle at the curb. The part of his mind devoted to such things cataloged the type and year, the rental company who’d likely delivered it, and how late he must have been for the pair to resort to seeking him out. The rest wallowed in fear and shock.

Levering him into the vehicle and reaching around to buckle him in place, Blair didn’t speak again until he’d straightened and shut the car door. Then, hurrying, he crossed to the driver's side before Jim could put himself in the car.

“Man, I have no clue here.”

They could both see the oddly still, detached figure of the man they’d just put in the backseat. Part of Jim’s mind hoped that between the alarm and the car itself that no one decided to report Gil Grissom as having been kidnapped.

“Me neither, Chief, but you’ve got some time to figure it out.”

“No pressure.”

The sarcasm was thick in Blair’s voice, even as Jim’s face twisted into self-satisfied smugness. He felt every iota of his ‘this is not good’ complaint coming into fruition. His hands slipped up, patting the smooth cheeks of his partner and caressing the one spot under his chin that he had missed when shaving.

“Oh, I don’t know… It’s just after rush hour. That gives you… maybe forty-five minutes?”

“To do what?” Blair asked in a furious whisper. “Find out why someone who I don’t even know, much less understand why he didn’t buy the academic fraud story, is freaking out?”

“Exactly.”

Blair was still scowling as he slipped into the backseat with a now trembling forensic legend.

 

***
 

The car had barely come to a halt when Grissom threw open the door. Blair followed him out, dissatisfied at the distinct lack of information he’d managed to withdraw from the other man, grumbling in a voice pitched for his Sentinel's ears, “Should have used the child lock.”

They trailed behind as Grissom hurried to the front door of the single-level dwelling. When he reached it, the door was already open. It framed Greg Sanders in shadow. In heavy contrast to the nearly frantic urgency of Gil, he waited with a sense of contented peace.

It intrigued Blair Sandburg and made Jim Ellison wary even as it caused Grissom to quicken his step.

“Greg,” he began, voice breaking on the edge of emotion.

Greg stilled the older man’s movement and apology with a simple hand. Lifted from the door jamb to rest against Grissom’s face, it was almost as if his serenity flowed into a willing vessel.

“Don’t, Gil,” he spoke softly. Blair could barely hear him as they stopped short even though every word was clear for Jim. “He needs you,” Greg continued. “We both do.”

Frowning now, but calmed, Grissom passed the younger man as he stepped aside to permit his entry. Greg looked into the house for a moment, clearly watching the other man’s progress. Then, with a slightly fey smile, he turned to the Sentinel and Guide standing on his front walk.

“Enter my home and be welcome.”

Turning, the doorway was left empty. It was clearly their choice. Blair paused, facing Jim in consultation. “Jim, I don’t know about this… Maybe we should leave.”

“Chief.”

There was something on Jim’s face, something that told Blair this was very important.

“Yeah?”

“That is exactly what Incacha said to me the very first day I was brought to the Chopec village.”

Blair stared at his Sentinel for a moment, then sighed. “What do you think it means?” He had suspicions of his own, but he wanted to hear the other man’s take on the situation.

“You were passed the Way of the Shaman. Before that, you weren’t…”

“Hey, I always had a mystical connection to the world,” Blair began defensively. “It was you, who…”

Jim stopped the words through the simple expedient of placing his hand lightly over Sandburg’s mouth. “Maybe he didn’t pass it to you only because he was dying. Maybe he did so because he knew I couldn’t deal with a situation that required me to tolerate both a Shaman and a Guide.”

Blair’s eyes widened as Jim’s thought moved past what he’d reached and then some. He looked to the house, the door still standing open, then back at Jim. At some point, his Sentinel’s hand had fallen away.

“You really think?”

“There’s one way to find out,” Jim answered.

Together, they crossed to the door. Inside, it closed easily behind them. Oddly, Greg was back to the slightly overly energetic person they’d met before as he followed the traditional rules of hospitality and offered refreshments.

Jim watched him carefully as he practically bounced from the room. A man who, until this moment, had practically reeked of confusion, conflict, and defeat had found his center. Narrowing his eyes, the senior detective wanted reason or motive.

 

***
 

“Nick?”

Grissom’s voice was soft. He’d crossed the living space to the bedroom. The door had stood cracked open a slight portion, but instinct had him clicking it closed behind him. With the room shrouded in the murky half-light of day and blackout blinds, he hesitated.

“Nick?”

Appearing as if from the shadows themselves, Nick stepped towards him. He was wearing only well-frayed jeans that clung precariously to slim hips. The perverse thought crossed through Grissom’s head that the investigator would never be able to return to work unless he actually started wearing clothing.

“What I did…” Grissom began.

The words faded as Nick stopped close enough to reach out and touch. He did touch, raising his hand to run a thumb across Gil’s lips. The very action demanded silence, which Nick received.

“Why don’t you want me?” Nick asked quietly. It was curiosity, tainted with yearning.

“Of course I…” Grissom immediately protested. Nearly incoherent with inner conflict, he tried, “but I can’t... I’m not what you need.”

Nick allowed the faintest of grins to cross his face, fading just as quickly as it appeared. “I never imagined that if I was lucky enough to gain my heritage that I would have a Guide who already knew the ways… Think of what we could achieve.”

Grissom’s voice was anguished, his blue eyes pained as he said simply, “Greg?”

It was clear that Nick knew something Gil didn’t. He reached up again, his hand cupping the other man’s head just below his ear along his jaw line. “We both need you.”

“A Sentinel betrayed can lose their senses – completely. I could have killed you,” Gil admitted, his eyes falling closed.

Nick had moved closer, the faint gust of breath ghosting over Gil’s lips. “How can you believe that I would ever feel betrayed by my Guide and Shaman joining?”

 

***
 

Jim twitched in his seat, glancing towards the closed door. He was faintly flushed, even slightly annoyed as the familiar shape of a white noise generator was present at the side of the room.

Greg caught his glance to the piece of equipment and shrugged. “Sorry… I know you’d probably be more comfortable with it on. Nick needs to hear right now. He doesn’t have your control yet. I turn it on and maybe everything goes to hell.” The young man just shrugged. “I’m not willing to take the chance.”

Blair followed Jim’s looks and his jaw dropped slightly. “They’re in there…” Even with his childhood and lack of most inhibitions, he was unable to complete the sentence. “And you’re okay with that?”

Greg tilted his head curiously. “Actually, I’m rather lucky. There’s no longer a tribal structure to regulate a Sentinel’s contact. Imagine having to share yours with not only another specialist, as it were, but a wife and probably kids too.”

Blair flinched even as Jim’s hand reached out to slide along his forearm in reassurance.

 

***
 

Grissom attempted to focus. Nick’s proximity was immutable. The path of his breath sensitized each nerve as the Sentinel scented along the side of Gil’s face. Turning away, trying to deny this to himself, only served to offer up more skin.

Nick murmured faintly in pleasure, easing his face closer to the available flesh. He could feel the minutest of tremors in Grissom’s body, the change in pace of heart rate, respiration. It was all as clear as evidence collected, cataloged, and interpreted for his ease.

“How can you deny this will work?”

Lips brushing along Gil’s jugular deafened him to the actual question being asked. There was nothing but the heavy pounding of his own pulse in his ears and the absolute need not to cause any further damage.

 

***
 

“You knew about Sentinels?”

Blair’s question seemed an obvious place to start. They’d been asked here, presumably to help with the sense issue, yet their entire presence had been superfluous so far.

Greg seemed vaguely sheepish. “Nick and I really owe you an apology. We had no idea that Grissom would call in help…”

The insistent trill of Jim’s phone interrupted whatever explanation Greg had been about to deliver. Blair’s frustrated glance was countered when Jim saw the caller’s name.

“It’s Simon. I’ll take it outside.”

Only when Jim had moved to the front door and greeted the caller as he stepped through and closed it behind him did Blair turn back to Greg. His eyes narrowed slightly as he came to a realization. “You all knew about Sentinels.”

“We each knew what our situations had taught us,” Greg admitted.

“Then why were we called here? Do you have any idea what could happen to all of us if people actually believed in Sentinels?”

Greg’s face closed off. “My Nana and Papa Olaf raised me because my parents are dead. Yes, I understand fully what happens when things like this are revealed.”

Blair winced at the clear pain in the other man’s voice. It was a story he would not, could not in conscience, ask for despite his interests. “Why Jim and I?”

“I knew that Nick was a Sentinel and I suspected that Grissom was his Guide. I’ve always been able to see the skotgatt and the owl. If Gil needed an outside opinion to acknowledge that, it wasn’t my place to turn such assistance away.”

“Their spirit animals?”

Greg shrugged almost sheepishly. For a scientist, it was occasionally difficult to acknowledge the indefinable. However, he was a slightly different kind of scientist. “I wasn’t sure why I could see them before… Until Nick pointed out what he saw and what my vantage point should have told me. The gyrfalcon, always circling above.”

“Sentinel, Shaman, and Guide,” Blair murmured, questions and answers flickering behind his eyes as he reevaluated his research with a slightly different perspective.

 

***
 

“Shit, Ellison, you really know how to pick ‘em.”

Jim sighed heavily at Simon’s introduction. The yard wasn’t huge, and the sun wasn’t particularly comfortable despite its lowered position in the sky, but he paced nonetheless. He wasn’t going even as far as the car while his guide was still inside.

“I’m guessing that means you found something.”

“Oh, I found something alright, Jim. I could have called last night, but I knew you’d want the whole story when you heard this first part.”

“Shoot.”

“Gil Grissom. He’s a world recognized expert in forensic entomology. He’s also clean as a whistle.”

“I’m not following you yet, Simon.”

“Wait for it. Grissom’s mother was a pediatric physician with Doctors without Borders. No real concrete records of her practice until she married and settled at the teaching hospital at UC – Berkeley. Once there, she has a near perfect diagnostic record with some damn odd stories about sending little kids to surgery before the scans even came back… and being right.”

“Okay,” Jim drawled. “You’ve got me.”

“It gets better. Grissom’s father was a professor of botany at the same school. He died of a heart attack during a suspension for improper conduct.”

“Heart attack?” Jim questioned.

“Medical examiner’s report indicates it really was… or they couldn’t detect anything to indicate otherwise. The autopsy was fairly thorough for the time and place. Apparently, the family of the student that was taking action against him insisted.”

Cold chills raced up Jim’s spine, the familiar scent of Grissom when they’d first been introduced teasing at his senses. “Simon?” he asked quietly.

His Captain and long-time friend knew exactly what he was about to ask. “The student was Naomi Sandburg. Her family was claiming rape. She stated it was consensual. He claimed he never touched her.”

“Oh, Jesus… Blair.”

“Yeah,” Simon huffed out. The faint blurring of his words echoed his habitual chomping of an unlit cigar when stressed. “Dr. Grissom the elder died before anything could be resolved… But, Jim, here’s where you need to be careful. The Sandburgs? They sued everybody who’d even breathed anywhere near their baby girl. The settlement, if you can call it that, left the widow with nothing from her husband’s pension or life insurance. It also specified a complete lack of contact with the family.”

“Shit,” Jim cursed, looking back to the house.

“Jim…” Simon hesitated. “You tell the kid and you’ll never get him out of Vegas.”

“Damn it, Simon. He deserves to know he’s got a half-brother… But I can’t tell him a goddamn thing until I know why Naomi never told him.”

“Yeah. Just get home. Safe.”

Jim clicked the phone closed with only the scantest of farewells. Not even the day’s lingering heat could banish the chill in his gut.

 

***
 

Grissom had tried to ease away. His path was blocked by Nick’s hands as the other man leaned over him, bracketing him with arms bunched with twitching muscle groups. The physical demand forced him to meet Nick’s gaze.

Unexpectedly, Nick’s eyes were filled with a combination of command and plea. Gil blinked rapidly, blurring the face before him. “Greg is more than capable of guiding you.”

It was enough of a statement that Nick drew back. His arms dropped to his side and he seemed somehow smaller – defeated. “Then that is your decision?”

 

***
 

Jim came back through the front door with an undeniable urgency. “We’re leaving, Chief. Now.”

“Jim…” Blair objected in shock.

“I said now, Blair.” Softening the insistence in his voice, Jim added, “Please.”

As Sandburg turned his confused look from Jim to Greg, their current host merely shrugged. “It’s okay. I’ll write down everything I can remember Nana Olaf telling me and send you a copy.”

Blair was really not okay with this potential information source being disrupted. But there was definitely something, a true sense of urgent need, emanating from Jim’s figure. “Since it seems we’re leaving right now,” Blair emphasized in irritation, “I’d appreciate that.”

“Not a problem,” Greg added, standing. “Thank you for being willing to help.”

He followed the former anthropologist to the door. Ellison was already across the yard, reaching inside to start their vehicle. Blair stopped after crossing the threshold, turning back.

“You’ll be okay.”

“We’ll be okay,” Greg confirmed with a sense of surety.

Blair simply nodded, stepping down the path. As Greg closed the door, shielding himself from their visitors, he wished he felt as certain as he knew he had sounded.

 

***
 

Greg reached the door to the bedroom he shared with Nick just as it opened to reveal Gil Grissom’s flustered and conflicted face. He froze, even as Gil halted in the doorway.

“Greg, I…”

Greg could see the faint flicker of movement behind Grissom. The shadows of the darkened room shifted to betray Nick’s motion.

“No,” Greg almost growled in frustration. He stepped forward, his suddenly iron grip on Grissom’s arm fueled by fear of defeat.

Gil stepped back into the bedroom rather than force Greg to exert the effort of dragging him. At the sight of Nick on the floor, arms tightly wrapped around his own knees as he rocked, Grissom let his eyes fall shut.

“No, you don’t,” Greg insisted with a shake of Gil’s arm. “Look at what you’ve done.”

The fear and anger combined in Greg’s voice even as it thickened with the onset of other emotions. “I know we lied to you, Gil… But please don’t do this.”

The possibility of thinking about something, anything, other than his failure let Gil’s mind focus on a single word. “Lied?”

Greg released Gil’s arm. Scrubbing his hands through his highlighted locks brought them into even further disarray than usual. “I should have known he was in no condition to tell you.”

There was a touch of defeat lingering around Greg’s eyes as he sighed and forced his body to relax. “Please. Sit down and listen for just a minute.”

Gil’s eyes flickered to the bed. It was the only place to do as Greg asked. Somehow, though, it felt wrong.

“Please.”

The reiteration was enough to convince. Gil hesitated over his steps, but crossed to the mattress. Lightly, he sat on the edge, trying to look away from the man near his feet, yet unable to.

Focusing on the soundless movement of Nick’s lips, Gil reached out. His fingertips barely brushed the limp edges of his sentinel’s hair. “Oh, Nicky….”

The breath of regret was enough to uncurl the man slightly. His arm reached out, fingers skittering over the touch of skin-warmed fabric. When Gil didn’t pull away, Nick inched closer. When that movement still didn’t bring a retreat, his arm wrapped under and around Grissom’s closest leg.

With the nearest Gil had ever heard Nick give to a sob outside of his life-threatening internment, the Texan pressed a damp face to the side of the knee he was clutching. Gil looked from the man at his feet to Greg, finally ready to listen.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Greg confessed, lost now that he actually had his intended audience.

“At the beginning,” Gil prompted quietly. Everything had gone so wrong… He really didn’t see a choice at this point other than letting someone else put it right.

Greg’s arms crossed over his chest as he curled in on himself in a protective gesture. He drew breath, hesitated, and then began to speak.

“There are places where, even in this day and age, a son can be the most important thing no matter how many daughters you have... To a family like that, the wife is expected to keep trying. Maybe even if she begins to suspect that the lack isn’t due to her.”

Gil released his hands from their tight clench on each other. It was instinctual motion to comb through the tangled hair just beyond his thigh. It was a comforting motion for a story that could be about no one other than Nick, the lone son in a sea of sisters.

“So this wife maybe goes and finds a way to have that son… She prays that he’ll look like her, maybe. It won’t matter that he doesn’t really resemble his sisters, because there are no brothers to compare. And maybe if the person who made him possible died, then the wife wouldn’t worry quite as much about the husband finding out.”

Greg’s face was shuttered, detached. His voice was coming in a monotone, the emotion he had to be feeling not yet coloring it.

“But people can’t pretend forever. So maybe the son spends his summers with extended relatives who aren’t really related to the wife. And he’ll learn about things that just don’t seem possible in an age of science – like shamans and spirit animals and the possibilities of the human body. But he’ll remember anyway, just in case the legacy that the person who made him possible carried ever becomes something he has to handle.”

Gil’s hand stilled in Nick’s hair as he realized just what Greg was implying. Nick somehow had been fathered as Gil had, by a parent who carried the possibility of the Sentinel or the Guide. “The mother?” he asked quietly.

“No one knows… Genetic inheritance behaves in a predictable fashion.” Greg’s voice gained strength as he spoke of something he knew without a doubt. “A child to one parent who carries has a chance…”

Gil nodded as Greg continued, “And maybe there are places on this Earth where a government will use what it finds… even if a child is left without parents. But maybe that child has grandparents who love him even while he daily reminds them of the child they lost to duty. They take him as far as they can, moving themselves to a country where they learn to speak the language and blend with the culture, but still know to tell him the old stories. Because you never know when a recessive tendency will become dominant and you never know when a grandmother’s gift will resurface in a child.”

Gil looked up from his contemplation of Nick’s dark head. He focused on Greg and the fear he could see flickering in his eyes. They were all three far too alike. They all carried information that could have led to so much pain – and did in a way.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Grissom asked quietly.

Greg shrugged. “We’ve worked with you for more than half a decade. We’ve watched you pull away from anything you couldn’t define. Maybe,” he hesitated and spoke in a voice softened by defeat, “we didn’t think you’d want something that had to be shared instead of controlled.”

Gil closed his eyes on a white hot shard of pain. Greg was right, in his own way. Gil had seen what a lack of control could do to a person. He’d seen it destroy his mother. He’d lived the results of not being able to control his own life. Here, in Las Vegas, he’d found the structure he’d always craved. Yet, here, he was being asked without words to give that up.

Grissom drew his hand back, refusing to acknowledge that the faint sound he heard was a whimper. “He’ll survive.” Gil blinked rapidly as Nick drew away. “With someone who’s heard the stories, he’ll be okay.”

The growing hope on Greg’s face dropped away. He appeared resigned as he asked, “What happens to a Sentinel rejected by their Guide?”

Grissom answered with clinical detachment. He’d lived daily through his youth with the results of what Greg was asking him to answer. “Their senses shut down. Most return to normal human standard, maybe slightly less. One or two might disappear completely.”

With Greg staring at him expectantly, Gil felt the need to defend himself. “Only if the Sentinel has fully imprinted the Guide. Five senses all cued to one person.”

Greg just waited, still staring. Gil looked away, dropping his gaze to Nick. At some point, the Texan had uncurled to stare flatly at Grissom. Nick waited, without expectation, for Gil to declare his fate.

“All five senses,” Gil murmured, seeking a way to deny. “Touch, sight, sound, scent…”

When Gil hesitated, Greg filled in the missing link. “Taste.”

Nick’s eyes darkened at the word. Gil flushed, knowing exactly how Nick had come by a full imprinting of the five senses. With that acknowledgement, he felt a strange freedom. The structure he’d sought was no longer important. Gil may have ignored a fuller life in search of comfort, yet he’d never considered himself a selfish beast. He was simply incapable of harming someone else to maintain his personal status quo.

But his silence was read for a faltering dedication. Nick, burning with a Sentinel’s desires, surged from his kneeling position. His rapid movement had Gil leaning back, suddenly lying on the bed with his feet only just touching the floor. His sentinel… His Sentinel, the words burned with their own heat… was crouched over him. Feet planted, legs fully extended, he loomed physically.

Nick had never stayed passive for long.

“So what will it be, Grissom,” he demanded, pressing his groin into the older man’s. Gil groaned at the contact, no verbal answer rising to his lips.

“Everything you could want,” Greg’s voice promised in low tones just at his ear. Gil blinked opened eyes he hadn’t known he’d shut, meeting the close, all too knowing, gaze. “And you just have to say yes…” Greg finished.

Gil’s eyes shifted from the man sprawled next to him, full lips so close, to the man waiting with lust-dark eyes perched over him. It was an embarrassment of riches. For once, forgetting how it would look, how he’d explain, what people would think, Gil Grissom took for himself.

“You manipulated me,” he accused, bringing a cautioned control even to his capitulation.

“We did,” Greg admitted, regret at the forefront.

“Don’t do it again.”

Greg nodded sharply at the warning. Nick, in his crouch, growled a faint warning that Gil met with bold eyes.

“Then, yes.”

It was all Nick needed. He lunged in, claiming his guide’s mouth for his own and finally learning the taste from the source. Gil responded at first passively to the exploration, whimpering as Nick pressed just hard enough to bring that edge of pain.

As if the noise was all he had been waiting for, Nick released him, head shifting as he focused his attention on the belt and zipper blocking him from his goal. Gil winced with one last doubt, brushed away by the gentle hand that turned his face back to Greg.

And who could have known that the youngest of them could be the wisest?

“All you ever could want,” he promised again, taking Gil’s mouth in a gentle brush of lips. The shift, the faint touch, grounded as rapid jerks of cloth and demanding possession bared his lower half to the air.

Gil gasped, Greg swallowing the sound, as his cock was suddenly engulfed in wet heat. Nick worked him rapidly, tongue curling around his hard shaft. Thrusting as best he could in such restraint, Gil pushed himself further into that satisfaction. Nick took it, accepting the thwarted movements with eager suction.

It was Greg that brought a halt to the preemptory blowjob. “Scoot up the bed,” he insisted, forcing Gil’s dazed mind and body into movement.

Nick assisted, levering off shoes and freeing trousers from where they’d been caught at ankles. For a moment, he stood beside the bed… just watching. There was a newfound peace in the way Gil and Greg connected. The uncertainty and fear on both sides had built into more, a trust that would be tested by the trials of a Sentinel. For Nick had no illusions that their incendiary coming together would solve all the problems they had caused already and would yet experience.

But, for now, he cast those thoughts aside. The faintest jerk had the button-front on his well-worn jeans giving way. Nude, he prowled up the bed to his shaman and guide. One hand sliding up Greg’s side, the other man pulled away from Gil’s mouth. Temporarily satisfied, he recognized and eagerly accepted the idea in the Texan’s eyes. Rolling to the side, he began to rapidly remove his own clothing as Nick carefully unbuttoned Gil’s only remaining garment.

“Last chance,” the sentinel forced himself to offer, sliding the shirt back to bare Grissom’s chest and shoulders.

“I’ve made my choice,” Gil reassured, lifting up at the prompting movement. The piece of cloth drifted off his flesh, discarded over the side of the bed. Nick’s hands on his shoulders were joined by a third that shifted up his back to clutch at his neck.

Turning his head, Gil met Greg’s look of desire. It was Nick’s turn to lean in, whispering his desire. “Take him,” he prompted.

‘As I take you,’ remained unspoken.

Gil rolled slightly onto one hip, lowering Greg to one side of the bed. He could feel Nick moving behind him, the shifting of the mattress betraying his movements. Then, as Greg parted his legs, Nick was pressing a partially used tube into Gil’s hand.

He snapped it open, thoughts glazing with pleasure at Greg’s blatant offer, as the shock of chill glided between his own cheeks. Gil’s breath rasped out harshly, granting Nick this small revenge as he began to work his fingers into Greg.

The motions were echoed perfectly in his own body, the warmth at his back reassuring. Gil panted, closing his eyes as he was consumed by the sensations of receiving that which he gave. Nick played his body perfectly, even as Gil renewed his knowledge of what pleased Greg the most. Faint encouragement, played out on his own nerve endings, brought Gil to locations that had Greg mewling and whimpering with pleas for more.

Finally, knowing none of them could delay this longer, Nick moved slightly away from Gil as Gil settled himself fully between Greg’s thighs. He lifted the younger man’s hips, impaling him in a long smooth movement. Freezing, seated deep in the warmth of his lover, Gil felt a heat pressing at his own entrance.

Gil sobbed once, nearly inaudible, as Nick pressed in. It was that faint, unheard click of comprehension. The instinct that told him he had the right path on a case… applied to the realm it had always been intended for. The connection flared between them, the cries of bird of prey, hunting cat, and a well-satisfied hooting call, echoed in the room.

Nick moved, thrusting and withdrawing. Gil moved with him, drawing a gasp from Greg as he was stimulated. Wearing an all-too-attractive self-satisfied smirk, Greg met a look over Gil’s shoulder. Seeing no other option, Gil swooped down to claim that curled mouth and silence the ‘I told you so’ lurking just unheard.

That the movement bared the line of his back and offered his already claimed ass only improved the situation. Control breaking, Nick began to fuck into the offering. His thrusts short, sharp, shifting into deep and hard made no hesitation about declaring himself a sentinel finished with the denials of his guide.

It was claiming, possession, the acknowledgement that Gil was his, even as he was the other man’s. As Nick froze, thrusting deep and holding, Gil shuddered at the feel of the cock in his ass pulsing. The reflection of ecstasy, shivering through them both, brought Gil and Greg without a further touch.

It took a few moments for the two men to regain themselves enough to shift and lay on the bed. Gil was centered between the others; Nick still curled possessively over him. The suggestion that they might want to clean themselves off, or wake stuck together, was silenced before spoken by Greg’s hand over his mouth.

Lifting before Gil could express his displeasure, Greg’s eyes laughed as he muttered, “Just sleep.” Drifting his hand down to curl his fingers with Nick’s atop Grissom’s chest, the shaman curled into the warm flesh of Gil’s side.

“Just sleep.”

It was wisdom to add to all they had heard and absorbed on this shattering, exhausting flicker of a day. Gil accepted it, closing his eyes to the sound of Nick’s heavy breath on his neck, smiling himself at the curl of Greg’s lips against his shoulder. They would sleep. They would rise. And, somehow, they would find a new balance in this… and they would find it together.


Finis

 

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