It was finally over.
Five dead, seven injured, many more terrified and forever marked by their ordeal.

The yellow school bus stood in the middle of the empty parking lot, both tires flat; shot out by the protection system installed at the exit and entry points. The sharp teeth looming out from the concrete ground had bitten through the rubber and the vehicle had rolled to a last stop.

Five dead.
Seven injured.
They had all gone through the motions, taking crime scene photos, securing evidence, recreating what had happened in those two hours on the school bus. Twenty-five kids on the way back from a school excursion, and suddenly, five were dead, one of the teachers was seriously injured, the other one under shock. The driver was in the hospital like all of them, treated for light injuries sustained when the bus had finally stopped.

Blood was everywhere, spattered over the seats, pooling on the floor, dripping down from windows. There was debris from the broken glass, school bags and toys, note pads and pencils. Glasses lay in a large puddle of dark red liquid.
Just hours earlier, the bodies of five dead kids had been among the chaos, felled where they had sat, others caught when they had tried to run.

Nick Stokes rubbed his eyes and closed the file, blinking into the bright lights of the lab.
The case had been rather straight-forward the moment they had identified the shooter, a twelve-year-old by the name of Mark Schultz.
Shy kid.
Always bullied by the bigger ones of his grade or other classes.
Wearing glasses, hand-down clothes from his older siblings. Last of five to be born, but not the nestling. Mother working half days, father had left the family two years ago. A kid under pressure from at home and at school, without any friends, and very, very lonely.
Nick sighed.
A lonely kid that had been unable to carry the load placed on his shoulders. When he had been given bad grades in gym class, it had been the last straw that had broken the camel's back. He had stolen the gun his father had left behind when he had abandoned his family, had carried it along in his backpack, and when things had once again climaxed on the way back, he had shot back.
Literally.
Five dead.
Mark was in custody now, his mother close to hysterics, unable to understand what had occurred.
Nick straightened and checked his watch. It was ten a.m. already. Way past his shift but luckily tomorrow was Saturday and he was only on call. He briefly looked into Grissom's office and found his boss and partner was already gone.
This case had been hard on the older man. He had few sore spots, but crimes committed by and on children was a big one. Especially when the shooter, in this case, was also a victim. A young teenager who had cracked under pressure of family and school.
Nick got his jacket and walked to his car.
"Hey, Nick!"
He turned and smiled at Catherine, who was waving at him. Like him, she was ready to leave.
"Going home?" she asked.
"Yeah. Bad night, huh?"
"Huh." She shook her head. "Sometimes I can't believe what we see. Poor kid was only twelve but have you read the preliminary medical report?"
Nick nodded. "Ulcer. At twelve."
Catherine looked peeved. "Youngest of five, mother never really home, every kid fending for himself… and at school he gets picked at because of his size and looks."
Stokes shrugged. "Yeah, but that's school bullies for you. I know the lot."
"Sure, but that's what parents are for. Help their kids, not let them fight amongst themselves."
That much was true. Nick came from a similarly big family, with six older siblings. But despite their fights, they had always been there for each other. What they had found out from Mark's family, the two sisters were busy with their boyfriends, one brother was skipping school and hanging around with gangs in the really bad parts of town; and the oldest brother was busy trying to find a way out of the family, looking for a college place.
Nick couldn't remember a time when he hadn't had the support of his family. His parents had been working full time, yes, but family had been important. Sundays had been spent with the whole family, either at parks for picnics or just at home, having fun. He had been the same shy kid as Mark in school and sports hadn't been the favorite subject, but he hadn't felt neglected. Even bullied by bigger or older kids, he had found support at home.
He sighed. "Hope he gets help."
Catherine nodded. "Say, you seen Grissom?"
"He left, I think."
The last time he had seen Grissom was right before they had started to collect their evidence to send it off for storage until the court date. He had looked bad. In pain.
"Kids get to him," Catherine remarked.
"I know."
"He might be coming down with a migraine, Nick."
He shot her a surprised look. "Migraine? Grissom?"
"You don't know about them?" Catherine was openly surprised.
"Uh, no. He never had one…"
"Oh, he has them. Once a year he gets a real bad one. Cases like these, coupled with pressure from every possible source, bring them out." She gave him a pointed look.
Nick knew what she meant. Politics. Grissom was caught between a rock and a hard place. Mobley gave him a hard time, Ecklie was behaving like a first grade son of a bitch, which was worse than his usual asshole condition, and Grissom had spent more time with bureaucratics than he was comfortable with.
"Thanks for telling me."
They had arrived at their cars and Catherine have him a warm smile. "Sure. Say hi to him and get him to sleep some, Nicky. He needs the rest."
Nick flashed her a little smile, then got into his car. Steering it out of the parking garage, he immediately steered it to Grissom's place, convinced he would find his lover there.
And he was.
Lying on the couch, eyes closed, shoes sprawled next to the couch. Nick discovered the small bottle with pills on the couch table and grimaced in sympathy. The shades were closed and the light was muted to a bearable level for someone who was probably suffering from a splitting headache.
When Nick approached, the arm over the forehead was removed and Grissom blinked at him from pain-filled, blue eyes.
"Hey," Nick said softly, voice gentle. "Shouldn't you better lie down in bed?"
"I'm okay, Nicky."
He crouched down beside his stricken lover.  The prescription medication was given a short glance, then he concentrated on the pale, drawn face.
"You're not. Think you can make it to the bedroom?"
Grissom took a moment to answer, then whispered a 'probably'.
They made it together, Gil's steps heavy and his face even paler than before. Nick could only imagine the staccato hammering behind the closed eyes. He helped his lover undress and slip into his pajamas, then waited until he had crawled under the cool covers. The shades were closed in here, too.
Nick drew the blanket up. "Want a cold compress? Would that help?"
Grissom gave him a weak smile. "Not much helps in this state."
"Would it be relief?"
"Maybe."
Nick walked into the bathroom and wetted a small hand towel, then folded it up and returned. He gently placed it over the tightly closed eyes. He touched his partner's hand and squeezed the tense fingers slightly.
"Get some rest."
And with a brief touch of lips against lips, he left Grissom in the semi-dark, giving him the quiet and solitude he needed.

*

Nick had decided against watching TV or listening to music. He knew noise was painful for someone suffering from a migraine and while he didn't know the severity of Gil's symptoms, he didn't want to trigger any worse effects. Light and noise sensitivity were one thing, nausea might come, too, and the pain would be unbearable.
He had placed a glass of water next to the bed, as well as the pills, and had closed the bedroom door after him. While he wanted to help Grissom, his presence would only make him more tense. This was something his lover had to fight alone.
So Nick had gone about the house and checked the fridge and kitchen cabinet. He wrote a list of things to buy and had gone out to shop. It had taken him two hours, but he had finally returned from the closest supermarket, arms full of bags.
Grissom was still asleep, so Nick had restocked everything, then started to clean up. It was one way to keep busy, and in the end he discovered several forensic magazines he hadn't read yet. They were back issues, but they had interesting topics, so he settled down and browsed through them.
At three in the afternoon, the cell phone rang. Nick had dialed down the ring tone and added the vibrations to alert him to any callers, so he nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone began to vibrate in his pocket.
"Yeah?" he asked, immediately moving to the outside so not to disturb his still sleeping lover.
"Oh, hey Warrick… uh… damn, forgot about that… yeah….yeah… sorry… sure… Listen, I'd rather stay here for the day. It's Gil…. No, he's not sick… well, not really… Bad headache. Well, migraine. It's been a tough week." Nick looked contrite. "I'm really sorry… I totally forgot about the game." He closed his eyes, exhaling softly. "Thanks for understanding, Warrick. You're a pal."
He closed the cell and briefly leaned against the door.
"Shit," he muttered.
"That was Warrick?"
The soft voice made him jump and he nearly dropped his phone. Nick turned abruptly and found that his lover had gotten up. Grissom looked still rather pale and drawn, but the pain from his eyes had disappeared. He hadn't changed from the pajamas yet and the dark blue color was in stark contrast to his skin. Fine lines of past pain were around his eyes and mouth.
"You're up!"
A half-smile answered that statement. "Astute power of observation, Nicky. But you didn't answer my question. Did Warrick call?"
"Uh, yeah."
Nick pocketed the cell and walked over to Grissom, scrutinizing his partner's pale features. The lines would fade in time, the pain was still a memory, but Grissom didn't look like he would collapse in a heap.
"How are you?" he wanted to know.
"Better. Just a slight pressure behind the eyes, that's all."
Nick hesitantly reached out for the other's face and the older man smiled as Nick touched him, cupping one cheek. His thumb caressed the faint stubble, feeling it scratch against his skin.
"Want something to drink?"
"A tea would be nice."
Nick nodded and went to the kitchen to put on some hot water. Grissom slid onto a chair and watched him.
"The two of you wanted to watch the game today," he stated after a moment.
Nick stiffened. Of course Gil knew about that. He had told him about his afternoon plans, watching the game at Warrick's with some friends of his. Nick had been looking forward to it, had bought some extra beer and chips actually, which were still sitting on his table at home.
"Yeah."
"You didn't go."
"Nope."
Nick watched the water boil and finally poured some of it over a Darjeeling tea bag. He handed the green glazed ceramic mug over to his lover and finally met the blue gaze.
"You didn't have to stay, Nick. I've had these migraines before. I can handle them. I take the medication, they eventually disappear."
"You never told me about them."
"Because they happen about once a year." Grissom gave him a calm look. "I can feel them coming. I handle it."
Nick felt stubbornness rise and Grissom could probably read it in his eyes. He put down the mug and met the stubbornness head on.
"Sure. Handle it. Alone." He gave his lover a hard look. "But you're no longer alone, Gil. I'm here. I want to help! You don't just cut me out because you think it's nothing!"
Grissom caught him as the younger man walked past, fingers strongly curling around his wrist. "It slipped my mind, Nick. It's not a secret. And it's also nothing that should keep you from going to Warrick and watching a game."
"Well, excuse me for caring! Next time, I'll leave you writhing in pain!"
The moment Nick had snapped the reply, he felt shame rise. He stepped back, cheeks flushing.
"Sorry," he choked out. "I… I didn't want to yell."
Grissom's eyes were nothing but accepting and compassionate. He still held on to the wrist he had grabbed before and now pulled the younger man closer. Nick went hesitantly, eyes wide, and found himself standing before his seated partner, looking down at the handsome face.
"Never apologize for caring, Nicky," Gil said gently. "I care about you just the same way. The migraine… it's a rare occasion that it happens and I never told anyone because it's not a debilitating medical condition for me. Catherine knows because we've known each other for a long time."
"Thought so."
Okay, so he sounded pouty, Nick decided. But hell, he felt like it, too! Gil had that migraine coming and instead of asking Nick to drive him home, he had done his solo thing. It was what pissed him off the most. Anything could have happened to his lover on the way home.
"I simply don't want to keep you down while you have plans," he heard Gil's reasonable voice.
"You're not keeping me down, Gil," Nick answered, voice slightly rough. One hand came up to caress the short, graying hair. "I love you. You're important to me. I hate to see you in any kind of pain. You should have told me. I'd have gotten you home, helped you. I don't want to smother you, but I feel left out…"
Grissom's arms encircled his waist and drew him even closer. There was a warmth in his face that was never seen outside these walls, a warmth reserved only for his lover. Only for Nick.
Stokes pulled him to rest against his chest and Grissom closed his eyes, relaxing into the hold.
"You're not left out of my life," the Gil murmured. "You're very much part of it. A needed part."
Nick felt a tingle course through him at the words. He tightened his embrace briefly.
"Warrick understood," he explained softly. "And I can see the game again tonight. They'll have it on the news. It's not important. You are."
"Your friends are, too, Nicky. Don't isolate yourself."
Nick chuckled and raked his fingers through the faint curls on Grissom's head. "Nope. I'm not the person for isolation, Gil. You know that. People person, that's me."
Grissom looked up, smiling. "Yes, I know that."
Nick leaned down and kissed him, lips brushing over his. Grissom opened up and invited him in. They kissed slowly, leisurely, savoring the contact.
"You must be feeling better," Nick whispered as they parted, resting his forehead against Grissom's.
"I feel a lot better."
"Up for food?"
"What's on the menu?"
Nick chuckled. "You in the mood for salad and steaks?"
Grissom's eyebrows did a little dance up his forehead. "You shopped?"
"Yeah. Your fridge was a graveyard again."
"Work interrupted."
"Yep, it always does. So?"
"Steak and salad sounds great."
Nick stepped back and Grissom slipped off his chair as the younger man loosened the embrace. They exchanged another kiss.
"I'll get a shower," Grissom announced and Nick nodded.
"Take your time."

*

Grissom reclined into his lover's arms, feeling comfortable and sated. The food had been plenty and very good. Nick rarely cooked full meals, but when he did, he created more than microwaved dishes. Their first 'date' had shown him that behind the façade of a drop-dead-gorgeous face and body was more. Like a man who liked cooking and didn't burn the rice.
"Tell me about it," Nick said softly, caressing Gil's temple with the back of his fingers.
"There's nothing much to tell. You know what migraines are, Nick."
"You said you feel them coming…?"
"Yes. Up to a day before an attack, I sometimes experience mood changes and my eyes hurt. Occasionally I have problems with my vision. I get a foggy feeling and then I know its close."
The soothing caress never stopped and Grissom ran a hand over the sweatpants clad leg to his left.
"My doctor prescribed medication and when I feel the symptoms, I take the dosage. It lasts a day, then it's gone."
"Okay." Nick placed a little kiss on Grissom's head. "You're better now?"
"It's gone completely."
"And it happens about once a year?"
"Mostly."
"Good. Tell me next year?" he asked.
Grissom smiled. "I will."
"I might not be able to do much, but it makes me, personally, feel better to know what's going on with you. And when to give you some space and quiet."
Grissom interlaced their fingers. "I promise."
They lay together for a while longer, watching the news and then the movie following that. About halfway through the mystery thriller, Grissom felt himself drop off to sleep.
Nick caught on to it and coaxed him to bed, ignoring his protests that he was fine and Nick should finish the movie. He switched off the TV as Grissom crawled under the covers, then checked the locks on the doors and windows. Finally, Nick walked back into the bedroom and Grissom blinked sleepily at him.
"Wears you out, hm?" Nick murmured, looking tenderly at him.
"In a way." Grissom comfortably snuggled up to the lean body, one arm over the slender waist, head pillowed on the closest shoulder.
Nick accommodated for him, rubbing the arm over his midriff. "Then get some more sleep. It's Sunday tomorrow and if you're up to it, I'd like to go out to Mount Potosi…"
"You want to fly?"
"Maybe. If that's okay with you?"
Grissom arched his head a little. "Nick, you're a grown man. You don't need my permission. You love paragliding."
"Yeah, but it leaves you alone on the ground."
"I'll be watching you. Like I always do."
Nick chuckled. "So... you'd come?"
"Of course."
"Thanks," Nick said quietly and pressed a kiss against Gil's head. "We can bring sandwiches, get some fresh air, and maybe I'll catch a cloud or two." He chuckled.
Grissom yawned. That sounded good for a Sunday. The blanket was pulled up and he felt himself drift off. Exhaustion from the pain and the drugs still in his system made him lose his battle to stay awake a bit longer.

* * *

"Gil?"
"Hm?" came the semi-drowsy reply.
Nick gazed at the desert stretching out below him. It was late in the afternoon and the steady breeze that had blown throughout the day had died down to a mere whisper of wind, ruffling his hair now and then.
"What was your childhood like?"
Grissom turned to look at him, obviously surprised about the question. He studied the younger man, then smiled.
"Diverse."
Nick chuckled. "Diverse?"
A nod.
"So… you could always turn to you parents for help? Talk to them about your problems and fear and worries?"
"My parents divorced when I was five, but my mother was there for me. She worked, of course. But I could come to her."
"With everything?"
"Yes."
"Had many friends? School? Or in the neighborhood?"
Grissom gave him another odd look. "I had some friends, but I spent a lot of my time alone. At the beach, collecting dead animals to study."
Nick grinned. "Yeah, sounds just like ya."
"What about you?" Gil wanted to know.
"Had five sisters to watch over me, and they did. And I had a best buddy. We got into a lot of trouble. Just like me and my bro did. But I could turn to my parents, ask them anything. They were there for all of us, despite working all day."
Grissom nodded. "A child needs its parents."
"Mark Schultz didn't have them. Neither did he have the support of his brothers and sisters."
"This is eating away at you."
Nick exhaled slowly. "Yeah. When I saw that kid… he reminded me a lot of myself. When I was his age, I was like him. Shy, lanky, bullied, but I had my brother and sisters, I had school friends, and I had my parents. They didn't solve my problems for me, but I knew they were there."
"It's important for a child to know that."
"Mark enver did. Many kids never do."
Grissom gave him a serious look. "And you can't change that, Nicky."
Brown eyes met his steadily. "I know that, Gil. I really know that. But sometimes, I think there just has to be a way, a solution."
"Sadly, there isn't. Life's unfair – and then you die."
Nick smiled darkly. "Too true."
The wind picked up briefly and the black canopy rustled. Nick had done some paragliding and Grissom had driven the car to where his partner had finally set down after surfing the sky. They had decided to enjoy the scenery before driving home.
"You up for a beer?" Nick suddenly asked, chasing away the dark thoughts and bestowing a smile on Grissom.
"I'm up for a lot of things," came the sly reply.
Nick chuckled and caught the dark shirt, pulling Gil closer. Their lips met in a deep, loving kiss.
"Beer, food, you," Nick breathed.
"Not necessarily in that order," Grissom mumbled, hands roaming over the flight overall.
Nick suddenly found himself horizontal, looking up at his older lover, the cloud-dotted sky above. Grissom swooped down for another kiss, almost trying to devour him alive. Nick groaned into the ever more urgent growing contact, his hips pinned down by the weight of the other man. His own hands fisted into the t-shirt, keeping Grissom where he was.
No, not necessarily in that order, he thought fuzzily.
"You wanna make out in the wilderness?" he asked breathlessly when Gil freed his mouth.
Grissom's smile was pure evil mischief. "Out here, no one can hear you scream."
Nick felt hot flashes crawl up his body, setting it on fire. "Gil…"
The zipper of the jumpsuit was slowly pulled open and clever fingers wriggled inside, making him twitch.
"I prefer a bed myself," Grissom continued almost conversationally. "Less train on the back… and you don't find sand in the most inappropriate places later… but I don't know if you can hold on till we get back."
Those maddening fingers had wandered south and were caressing the growing bulge. Nick closed his eyes, trying to breathe normally.
"Not if you don't stop that right now!" he hissed.
Grissom gently squeezed the swelling. Nick moaned. His neck was nuzzled and the husky, dark voice of his lover whispered, "I'll stop… for now… until we get home."
"You can do whatever you want when we get home," Nick groaned ruggedly.
Grissom's eyes were a passionate, deep blue. "I plan to."