Title: Painful Journeys
By: robinyj69
Pairing: Nick/Greg friendship
Rated: R
Warnings: violence
Summary: What should have been a normal day for Nick and Greg turns into a painful journey involving friendship, understanding, and violence when past enemies return looking to finish what they started. Friendship piece only.

***

It was a normal night in the CSI crime lab. Technicians ran samples and fingerprints, CSI's pieced together clues, and Nick Stokes walked down the hall towards the blaring music that always echoed throughout the building at this time of night to see his favourite lab tech.

"Greg, please tell me you got good news for me," Nick pleaded as he walked into the DNA lab, pausing the CD player as he came in. He had dropped several samples off a few hours ago and they were his only pieces of evidence in his current case, therefore his only hope of catching the murderer/rapist he was after.

"I do, it seems there is a God because the Backstreet Boys have officially broken up," Greg deadpanned as he stared through his microscope at his own hand. He fiddled with the knob and then pushed the hand in front of Nick's face, pointing to a spot near the knuckle, "Do you think that's a pimple or a cut?"

Nick showed no signs of amusement as he looked briefly and announced, "It's a bug bite, which I hope gets infected. What about my results?"

"Not an ounce of concern," Greg mumbled good-heartedly as he briefly inspected the skin again and then spun once in his chair. "Your results? You mean those sixteen different samples you brought me ... four hours ago?"

Nick cringed, he supposed he was kind of pushing it to expect them done already, "Yeah, those ones."

Greg's face lit up though, triumphant as he reached behind him and tossed Nick a folder, "Well in that case, here you go. You got two hits: Thompson and Riker."

"Two? How is that possible?" Nick wondered, sifting through the papers.

But Greg was ready with an answer, "Because, the semen was from two different donors. I ran it again when those results came back, your original sample was from two unknowns, not one like you thought."

"Greg, you're slipping up in your old age," Nick teased, knowing it was rare to catch the lab tech making a mistake. "How did you miss that before?"

"Hey don't look at me, that was my day off; Greg was out of the building. Blame the - half a sample a day, don't touch the printer, where are my Rolaids for God's sake - replacement they had in for me," Greg remarked in defence of his DNA dominance.

But Nick quickly dismissed the error as he considered the new implications to the case.

"So she was raped twice - there's a happy thought," Nick mumbled.

"Or, since it was a seedy hotel, she could have had sex with one and then been raped by the other later," Greg offered, his explanation only slightly less disturbing.

"Yeah, but which one?" Nick asked, thinking aloud.

"That would be your job," Greg pointed out. Nick smiled at his cockiness.

"All right, thanks man," Nick said, heading for the door.

"Hit the play button on your way out," Greg called as Nick passed his CD player.

"Sure," his hand stopped over the button as he remembered, "Are you on break in an hour?"

Greg checked his watch, "Fifty-eight minutes in counting."

"Warrick and I are headed downtown for something to eat, you wanna come?" Nick asked.

Greg considered it only briefly, "Sure, long as you promise not to try and foot me with the bill."

"Why, just cause you did it to me last time? Do I look like a revenge kind of guy to you?" Nick asked with mock innocence.

"I don't know, you do carry a gun," Greg pointed out.

"Fair enough, I'll come and get you when we're going," Nick promised as he hit the play button on the CD player and left the room.

Greg was left with only his thoughts to occupy him once more and he inspected his hand again, "Bug bite my ass, it's not even itchy. Maybe I can run a sample through the GCMS."

But the music soon grabbed his attention and he began to dance around the counters as he returned to running and printing his samples.


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"Greg, you ready?"

Nick leaned into the DNA lab but saw no sign of the spiky haired lab tech, "Greg?"

A hand suddenly shot up from behind the counter, followed shortly by the top of Greg's head, "Hey, just one minute."

Nick came around the counter, laughing as he watched his friend shuffle along the floor looking through each cupboard, slamming it shut and then moving on to the next.

"What are you doing?"

Greg continued looking and replied, somewhat embarrassed, "I uh, can't remember where I hid my coffee."

"That's what you get for being selfish and not sharing with the rest of us," Nick reprimanded, remembering all the times they had been denied access to the Blue Hawaiian blend.

"Not selfish, protective, there's a difference. Aha!" Greg stood up, smiling.

"Find it?"

"Nope, but I remember where it is, and no, I'm not telling," Greg replied, stripping off his lab coat and pulling on his jacket.

"Fine, I guess I'll just keep playing my new PS2 game by myself. It's a lot funner on single player anyway," Nick mused, knowing how to press Greg's buttons.

"You promised me a game," Greg said indignantly, unsure if he wanted to trade his coffee for video games. Nick just shrugged. Greg glared at him and caved, "All right, I'll share. But you tell Grissom and you're dead."

"Yeah, whatever, would you just hurry up, we only got forty-five minutes," Nick reminded him, ushering the younger man out the door.

"Where's Warrick?" Greg asked, shutting off the lights.

"Got called out on a new case," Nick replied.

"Which means he will undoubtedly be returning later with more samples for your very own DNA god to analyse," Greg said cheerfully as they went down the hall.

"Yeah, Hodges should do a great job on them," Nick smirked.

Greg was not amused, "You wound me."

"You'll live, let's go," Nick ushered him outside and towards the towering Tahoe.

"Can I drive?" Greg asked hopefully.

"Suure, and afterwards you can process a crime scene all by yourself," Nick joked, opening the front door.

"About time," Greg agreed sliding in the passenger side.

The Tahoe backed out of the parking lot and moved into the busy Las Vegas streets, its occupants completely unaware of the black car trailing behind them, the pictures being taken, or the plans being made on their behalf.


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A few nights later Nick sat at home, contentedly watching TV. Most of his cases were solved and he had no plans beyond the beer in his hand the remote on his coffee table. But just as he'd settled down the phone rang.

"Just a sec," he called for no reason, knowing he could not be heard by the caller. He snatched the cordless off the charger, "Stokes."

"Hey Nick," the voice on the other end called cheerfully.

"Hey Greggo, what's going on?"

"Not too much, I'm just sitting here, staring at these two pieces of cardboard I got that say 'admission one: Falcons vs. Vikings' you know, the usual," Greg gloated.

Nick's jaw dropped, "You got tickets? How?"

"Let's just say I know a guy who knows a guy who ... knows a scalper," Greg replied, his voice dropping near the end.

"You're something man, you better not just be calling me to gloat," Nick threatened.

Greg chuckled, "No, unfortunately I'm calling to invite you along. I'd hate to buy a big foam finger and have no one to poke with it. So, can you make it?"

Nick was very relieved he wasn't busy, "Yeah, I'd love to."

"Game starts at two."

Nick wrote it on a pad, "Two o'clock, gotcha."

"Sweet, I'll come and get you then at ..." Nick cut him off.

"No, I'll pick you up." He insisted.

"No way, I'm driving, my ride's a classic," Greg said defensively.

Nick laughed, "Greg, I don't care what you say, classic is just a nice way of saying your car is a piece of shit."

"You say tomato, I say shut the hell up," Greg sing songed, very much liking his car. "Anyway, I'll talk to you later, MTV Music awards are starting."

"Kay, see ya tomorrow. Bye." Nick replaced the phone and sunk back down on the couch, very much looking forward to spending the next day with his best friend at a football game. It would be a nice change of pace and he hadn't seen enough of Greg in the past few weeks.

But he would not have been anywhere near as comfortable or relaxed had he known what was being planned for him. As it was, he drank his beer and watched TV, completely unaware of the danger he was constantly in. He did not know that above him, dark eyes watched and listened gleefully, he did not see the cameras and listening devices that had been placed in his home, he did not feel the dark presence that stalked overhead, and he did not know that tomorrow would turn out to be a very, very bad day.

"Soon Nick, we're going to meet again very soon, and then we can be friends again. You don't need any friends but me."


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The next day Nick arrived at Greg's apartment at 1 o'clock, knowing that they needed to get to the game well before kick off. As he parked beside a black cavalier, locked his car and left the parking garage he found that he could not wipe the smile off his face. It had been a few months since he had had a real day off like this, and he reminded himself to thank Greg for inviting him. He hadn't seen his friend enough the last few weeks, outside of work that is. They use to go out for pizza and sometimes drinks after shift, but there had been so many high profile cases the last few weeks that Nick had found little time to get away, not to mention Greg had been glued to his machines, processing endless results for what seemed like endless cases. It would be good to spend time with him again, Nick thought, he missed the constant energy and babble of the younger man. It always amused him in the lab, and he knew today would be fun.

He went up two flights of stairs until he reached Greg's door. He knocked once but then opened the door and walked in, knowing he was always welcome.

"Hey Greggo," Nick called out, trying to find the spiky haired lab tech. Greg peaked his head around from the living room, smiling widely.

"Hey Nick, just a sec, looking for my wallet."

Nick was in no rush, "Take your time."

"Gottit!" he heard from the other room, then Greg emerged, dressed relatively normal but toting with him a huge foam cowboy hat.

Nick stopped him right there, pointing to the offensive, hideous apparel, "You are not wearing that!"

Greg scoffed, "Of course I'm not, and mess up my hair, yeah right."

Nick sighed in relief, that is until Greg shoved the hat on his head, "You're the Texan, you get to wear it."

Nick stood there a moment, not smiling, "You're so lucky I don't have my gun."

Greg held up two ticket stubs, "And you're lucky I'm nice enough to share my sold out tickets. So you wear the hat or you don't get to go."

Nick smiled, then reached out swiftly and grabbed the tickets from Greg's hand, whose face immediately fell.

"Now I'm taking you," Nick smirked, placing the hat gently on Greg's head so as not to damage the gelled spikes, "So wear the hat if you want, but I'm going to the game."

"You just live to ruin my fun, don't you?" Greg asked throwing the hat to the floor as he grabbed his keys and followed Nick into the hallway.

"Just so you know, the Falcons are gonna win this things hands down," Greg taunted once they were in the parking lot. Nick walked ahead of him, eager to leave; he paid no attention to the man in the baseball cap getting out of the black car.

"Keep dreaming, Greg," Nick called out, unlocking the door to the car. He paused, waiting for Greg's reply but heard only a dull thud, followed by a huff and then a louder thump as something hit the concrete, hard. Nick came around the car to the back and was shocked to find Greg face first on the ground, seemingly unconscious, with blood spilling from a gash on his temple and a dark figure looming over him.

"Greg! Get the hell away from him you bastard!" Nick demanded about to rush the strange attacker. He had only gotten a step when he heard the familiar sound of a safety being turned off and stopped short in response. An unwavering gun was suddenly inches from his face, held confidently by an ecstatic Nigel Crane.

"Hello Nick, it's been a long time," Crane smiled, his joy reaching his eyes with sadistic pleasure. This one minute of reunion with Nick brought him more happiness than the entire past week of watching him had, as he waited for the perfect time to re-emerge.

"Crane? Oh my god, how the hell did you get out?" Nick asked in shock.

"You remembered my name, thank you," Nigel said sincerely. "But getting out wasn't that hard, psychiatric facilities are pure chaos. One of my guards got careless; you'd be surprised how much a dead body looks like a sleeping one, and then it's easy to get out once you've got the keys," Crane gloated, hoping Nick would be proud of him.

Nick was too shocked to see his former stalker to really listen and concentrated on making sure he constantly met Crane's eyes in an attempt to draw his attention away from Greg's still motionless form. This man had killed before and was filled with violent delusions, something Nick was desperate to keep Greg from being exposed to.

"What do you want?" he had to ask, though he was not hopeful he would like the answer.

"I want us to take a little trip, hang out," Crane said innocently, smiling. The gun never wavered in his hand though; it seemed that something had happened to him in prison, his delusions had changed somehow. He was no longer nervous or unsure; he was confident and knew exactly what he wanted, and seemed determined to get it. That scared Nick.

"Where do you want to go?" Nick continued, hoping to stall until someone came by, but the parking lot was small and underground, he didn't see another soul.

"That's a surprise, come on," Crane urged, stepping back and indicating Nick should walk forward.

"I don't want to," Nick said calmly, trying to sound friendly and not show any hostility so as not to upset Crane. He was trying to get a feel for the stalker's attitude and determine just how much leverage he had over the psycho, if any.

"Well that's too bad. You were more than eager to spend the day with this pathetic brat," Crane hissed, landing a kick to Greg's ribs but never tearing his eyes off Nick, giving the former cop no opening to tackle him to wrestle the gun away. Nick cringed but that was his only response. In his heart he wanted to rip Crane's throat out but his mind screamed it wasn't possible, not yet, and he also hoped that the less attention he paid to Greg the sooner Crane would leave him alone. "I know you don't have any plans, football's over-rated, so you're free to spend the day with me, your real friend. Cause I know you wouldn't pick this undeserving brat over me."

Yeah right, Nick thought, but his mouth said calmly and soothingly, "You're right, I wouldn't."

Nigel smiled, very happy but gun still at the ready, "Good, now get moving."

"All right, just let me check on him," Nick requested, resigned to the fact that Crane would not leave without him. He bent down to check Greg's pulse and breathing, needing to at least know his friend would be all right before he went away with this madman.

"Oh, don't worry, he's coming too."

Nick's head shot up, his fear deepening, "What? Why?"

Crane smiled, "It's a surprise, I'll tell you later."

"No, he isn't part of this Nigel, just leave him," Nick pleaded, desperate to keep Greg uninvolved. This man was dangerous, violent, and psychotically obsessive, none of which were things that Greg had been trained to deal with, or deserved to face, thought Nick.

"Sorry, but he's coming. Here, put these on him," Crane demanded throwing Nick a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket.

But Nick was firm in trying to keep Greg out of this insane plan, "No, this isn't about him."

"Manners Nick, this is my trip and I want him to come, so you can either cuff him and bring him along or I'll shoot him right now and drag him behind the car." The threat was delivered smoothly, no stuttering or nervousness, verifying Nick's belief that this was a much more dangerous, calculated, Nigel Crane.

Biting his lip in frustration, Nick knew he had no choice.

"Sorry man," he mumbled, pulling Greg's arms behind his back and cuffing them together loosely.

Crane smiled as he took a step back to the trunk of the black car, pulling his keys out with one hand as he held the gun steady and fixed in the other. He turned the keys in the lock and opened the trunk, "Put him inside."

Nick's eyes widened, the trunk was small and he knew, very dangerous, "Why not just put him in the backseat?"

"Because someone could see him and I don't feel like watching the both of you at once, now put him in," Crane demanded, the first tendrils of anger rising in his demeanour.

"He could die," Nick pointed out, also angry.

"He'll definitely die if you don't do it, so which is the better choice?"

Nick had no reply and was forced to push down his own fury as he had to pick up his best friend and place him in the trunk. Greg moaned softly as he was moved. Nick put him down gently and tried to make him comfortable but Nigel was quick to slam the lid of the trunk closed, nearly jamming his fingers.

"Now what?" Nick asked through clenched teeth, knowing and hating that he had just submitted to allowing Greg to be brought along on what was sure to be a horrifying trip.

Crane smiled and tossed Nick the keys, "You drive."

Nick caught them and strode reluctantly to the front seat, his gaze constantly falling to the trunk even as he pulled open the door and sat in the driver's seat. Nigel got in beside him, grinning ear to ear, pleased beyond all reason to be spending the day with Nick. They would be best friends again, he would see to it.

Nick was constantly on watch for Nigel to drop his guard, for the gun to waver in any way, but Crane was focussed and always held the weapon out of arm's reach. Even now it was in his right hand, pointed at Nick and positioned so that if Nick lunged, he would still have time to fire. Now that Greg was out of the psychopath's sight Nick was almost tempted to jump him anyway, fairly confident Crane did not want to shoot him. From his previous behaviour it seemed that Crane worshipped him and wouldn't like hurting him, but he had also thrown Nick out of a second story window - clearly he would do what was necessary to reach his goals.

Clenching his teeth to keep back the biting retort that might get both him and Greg in trouble, Nick pushed in the keys and backed out of the parking lot. He followed Nigel's directions and soon they were heading out of the city and into the desert, and beyond that, only Nigel knew.

***

Greg dreamed he was on a rollercoaster. It had been fun at first, going up and down on the loops, the cart bouncing hard over the tracks, the sun beating down fiercely. But he had stayed on too long. The ride kept going, the tracks kept bumping and his head pounded, blood rushing to his brain as he was flipped upside down, face burning as the sun beat down on the tracks, limbs aching as the cart shuddered and shook. He wanted off, but he was strapped in and the ride wouldn't end. It just kept going, and going until ...

He gasped, opening his eyes. He was panting hard, half from the dream and half from the stifling air in the trunk.

What the hell ...

There was no light that he could see and his head throbbed. He closed his eyes tightly and sunk his face into the rank carpeting, trying to force the pain from his head but it would not relent; it just kept pulsating through his skull like a nail gun going off. He tried to bring up his hands to clutch his temples and panicked when they would not move. Shifting and struggling he could tell he was handcuffed, not tightly but enough that he could not slip through. The bumping and movement confirmed he was in a trunk and from the lack of outside noise not on a very busy street. It must have been the highway or the desert.

His breathing became even heavier as he began to panic, not understanding what was going on. What had happened? He couldn't remember. He and Nick had been on their way to the game, almost to the car. A man walked by and looked at him strangely. He heard Nick call out some insult but before he could reply pain had erupted in his head and then darkness.

Nick!

What had happened to the CSI? Better yet, what had happened to him? He had no idea who would attack him like this and deep down he prayed it was some sort of sick joke, though he doubted it. Needing to know what was going on Greg followed his first impulse and yelled and kicked at the hood of the trunk, demanding answers and not considering the possible consequences of his actions.


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They had been driving for nearly an hour. Nick had plied Crane with questions about where they were going but always Nigel denied him an answer, sometimes he said 'far' other times he just smiled and was silent, so still Nick had no idea what to expect ahead. That was not to say that Crane did not talk, he did, frequently. He asked Nick about work, women, sports, TV, he wanted to know everything about his life even where he bought his shirts. The one thing he did not care about though was Nick's other friends. If he even mentioned Greg or Warrick or Sara Nigel would quickly change the topic, pelting him with more questions, not wanting to hear about those he considered competition for Nick's friendship.

Nick wanted to keep him happy, which he hoped would keep him less violent, but was so frustrated, angry and scared for Greg and himself that his answers came out curt and annoyed most of the time. Nigel didn't seem to care, he had Nick all to himself, it was just like two best friends on an old fashioned road trip, talking and laughing. It was all he ever wanted. But just as he was about to ask Nick his favourite ice cream his fantasy was suddenly dissolved by a loud banging from behind and a muffled voice.

"Hey, what the hell is going on? Let me out of here!" Greg yelled from the trunk, surprising both men in the front.

"Shut up Gregory, we aren't there yet," Nigel called back sternly, flinching with irritation.

"Who the hell are you?" Greg demanded, his voice surprisingly steady. He was scared but he could not see his kidnapper or know the true extent of the danger he was in, making his discomfort and anger able to win out over his fear, causing his defiance.

"Nick, shut him up," Crane hissed, becoming more upset.

Nick knew Nigel could snap easily if he got upset and tried to make him happy, he just prayed Greg would listen, "Greg, it's Nick, you have to be quiet, okay? Nigel Crane is here ..."

"Your stalker?" Greg asked, his fear gripping tighter at the revelation that he was being kidnapped by a stalker/murderer. Despite this though he was very relieved to hear Nick's voice, strong and in control; his calm was a comforting reassurance.

"You talk about me, I like that," Crane smiled with satisfaction.

Nick ignored him, more worried about keeping Greg safe, "He's got a gun. I don't know where we're going but just sit tight and be quiet, it'll be all right."

There was a pause and Nick thought Greg had complied, but then his voice returned, still loud but shaky, "Are you okay?"

Nick didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the question. Greg was in the trunk with a head injury and Nick was driving, safe and sound, but it was Greg to first show his concern. Nick wanted to talk to him longer, assure him things would be fine, ask if he was all right in return, but he could see Nigel was turning red from frustration and he had to shut Greg up.

"I'm fine man, just do what he says. Be quiet," he repeated forcefully, making sure Greg understood completely.

Greg did understand. He whispered a soft 'Okay' that only he could hear and then turned on his side, trying to get comfortable for what he thought could be a long trip. Crane immediately relaxed, seemingly very pleased that Nick would do whatever he asked.

"Much better. What about actors, I know you like action movies ..." Crane continued, not concerned in the least for Greg's safety or comfort now that he was quiet. It seemed Nick could write a biography the length of the bible and it wouldn't be enough for him. Nick on the other hand was very concerned for his friend but could not voice these thoughts. Instead he decided he would keep talking to Crane, keep him happy, and with any luck, come up with a way to stop the bastard eventually, before he hurt anyone else.

The car continued down the road for some time but for Greg the world began to blend together. He could hear Nick and Crane talking in the front. Nigel's voice was bright and enquiring while Nick's responses were short and muffled, clearly not nearly as enthusiastic. Greg tried to listen for awhile if only to keep his mind off the pounding in his head and the sweltering heat he was trapped in. He lived in Las Vegas so he could handle a little sweat, but the trunk was solid, there was no inkling of a breeze from any cracks or through the hood, and as the black car continued down the long stretch of highway, with the hot Nevada sun beaming down on it, the temperature in the trunk continued to rise and rise.

In the front Nick and Crane had their windows rolled down and both still sweated badly. Nick had even mumbled under his breath at one point, "Couldn't steal a car with air conditioning?"

Nigel had turned to him, asking, "What?"

Nick plastered on a fake smile, "Nice car." He beamed and Nigel nodded in agreement. As soon as Crane turned back to look out the window, Nick turned to look in the backseat, straining to hear any sounds from Greg, but the lab tech was true to his word and didn't say anything. Nick almost wished he hadn't shut up as instructed, he longed to hear his voice if only to know he was all right.

Just then Crane opened up the glove compartment and took out two bottles of water, holding one out to Nick, "Thirsty? It's your favourite brand."

"No," Nick replied, beyond angry and completely unable to believe this man. He was kidnapping him and his best friend, all in pursuit of some kind of forced upon friendship. Essentially, he would be killed if he didn't play along, and yet he was worried about his comfort and offering him water. Trying to figure out Crane's reasoning was giving Nick a headache.

But the former cable man just shrugged at his refusal and opened his own bottle. Nick turned around to listen for Greg again, unsure if he heard him breathing deeply or if it was just the car. But this time Crane noticed and did not appreciate the lab rat taking away Nick's attention for any amount of time.

"Stop turning around, he's fine. This is our time. Even if he's not okay it doesn't matter," Crane grumbled. These words did not settle well with Nick, but he said nothing, not wanting to draw the madman's wrath any more.

Nearly a half an hour passed and Greg tried to stay calm, he took short breaths and still didn't talk, but the air kept getting thinner and thinner. There was no circulation in the small space, no fresh air, and the little oxygen he did have was so heavy with humidity he could barely breathe it in. He was starting to panic, panting now, and taking in large, gasping breaths that did little to appease his starving lungs or bring down his body's temperature. He knew he was close to unconsciousness, and if he passed out, and they kept driving for much longer, then he would most certainly die. He needed to call out, to kick open the trunk, do something to save himself before he lost all ability of coherent thought. He had promised Nick he would be quiet, but he knew his silence could kill him and he wanted to live. Decision made, he took in several more deep, heaving breaths and hoped he wasn't about to get himself or Nick killed.

Nigel turned to Nick for what seemed the millionth time, gun still held steady, "What about your family? Tell me about your sisters."

"Not much to tell, I'm betting you already know they're names." Crane nodded. Nick gritted his teeth; Crane had hit a nerve bringing up his family, he hated that this man knew so much about his life and all that he cared about, and he was being forced to tell him even more, "Well, the youngest is ..."

Nick was cut off by another banging from the trunk, this one weaker than before. Then Greg's voice called out, dry and strained, "Nick ... I can't breathe ... I'm sorry, I can't ... breathe ..."

"Greg, just hold on!" Nick turned to Crane, "Let him out, it must be twice as hot back there as in here."

Crane tightened his grip on the gun, "No."

"He'll die back there," Nick pointed out. Nigel only shrugged, indifferent to the idea.

Nick clutched the steering wheel tightly, turning his own knuckles white, and asked through clenched teeth, "How much further do we have to go?"

"Far," Crane replied, smiling, showing no concern whatsoever even though they could now clearly hear Greg's laboured, desperate breathing in the back. There was another kick against the seat, this one much weaker than the last, but Greg could not find the strength to call out again.

In his mind Nick saw two choices, let Greg suffocate in the trunk, or take action and risk both their lives. He knew he only had one real option and took matters into his own hands. Without warning he pulled the car to the side of the road and put on the brakes. Nigel was immediately outraged, surprised and unsure. This was not part of his plan, it was unexpected. He held the gun on Nick, very willing to shoot him for being out of line.

"What are you doing?!" Crane demanded, now unsteady.

Nick put the car in park and turned to Crane, trying to hide his anger and appeal to any morals the psychopath may have hidden deep inside.

"Look, I don't think you dragged him along just to accidentally kill him on the ride. We haven't seen another car for twenty minutes, just let me go see him and give him some water," Nick pleaded.

Crane was off balance, Nick had surprised him, so he was forced to follow his automatic response, and a reluctant, 'fine' passed his lips. He would allow Nick to see his undeserving little friend until he had time to regroup himself.

Nick was gone in a flash. He grabbed the water he had been offered earlier, pulled out the keys and moved to the trunk of the car.

"Greg? Can you hear me?" he asked. He put a hand on the trunk's surface and was nearly burned; his concern piqued as he imagined how hot it must actually be in there, and what condition Greg was probably in. As he slid the key into the lock, he heard no response from Greg except for the continued harsh breathing. He opened the lid and stepped back at first, letting the fresh air get in. Greg shied away from the light but gasped like he was drowning as the cool oxygen hit his lungs. At first he was overwhelmed and began coughing harshly, the feeling rough against his dry throat, but eventually he grew accustomed to the air and began to breathe easier.

"Oh god, Nick?" he mumbled as the fresh air helped clear his head.

Nick moved in when his breathing had improved and helped pull the younger man into a sitting position, "Just breathe, Greggo, deep breaths, it'll be all right."

Greg looked ragged. His hair was matted down with sweat, so much so that the blood on his temple had not dried but remained a sticky, flowing red. It took a few deep breaths but eventually his breathing returned somewhat to normal.

"Hey man, drink this," Nick instructed, leaning Greg against his chest as he opened the water bottle and brought it to his lips. Greg tried to drink it all but Nick only allowed him small sips, knowing the last thing he needed was for him to get sick by drinking too fast. When half the bottle was gone he poured some over Greg's head, trying to cool him down.

"God Greg, I'm so sorry about all of this. Are you okay? How's the head?" Nick asked quickly, not knowing how long Crane would give him.

Greg nodded, still gasping slightly, "I'm all right, I think, just ... confused. How about you?"

"I'm fine, I don't think he wants to hurt me," Nick whispered, his eyes frantically moving between Greg and Crane's door which had yet to open.

Greg looked slightly relieved but also very scared, "Nick, I don't get it ... this, this is insane! What the hell does he want?"

"I think, for me to be his friend."

Greg had guessed that but it didn't explain one thing, "And me?"

Nick shook his head, "I don't know, but I'm so sorry you got involved; no way should you be here man, it's not right."

"Don't, I'd rather be here than have you stuck with this guy alone. Do we ... do we have a plan?" Greg asked, still very quiet, but also completely unsure of what kind of action this situation called for.

Nick shrugged, hating to disappoint him but he had no ideas at the moment, "For now, stay alive."

Greg nodded sombrely, understanding and taking some more water from Nick. There was another short pause, and then quieter, he asked, "Is he going to kill us?"

In Greg's mind all the case files he had ever read and the pictures of past victims returned to him, all horrible and terrifying and not how he wanted to end up.

"I don't know," Nick admitted softly.

"That's why it's so fun, the ending's a surprise." Crane came around the car, gun still at the ready, fully composed once more. "All right, you've seen him, he's fine. Get back in the car."

Greg shuddered, not accustomed to being threatened at gunpoint. Nick, as was his style, was holding up slightly better under the pressure and felt confident enough to try and make a few more conditions with Nigel.

"Let him sit in the back, no one's going to see him out here," Nick said, trying to reason with him.

"No," Crane said, his smile again switching to irritation.

"Why the hell not?" Nick demanded, his anger overwhelming now.

"Don't Nick," Greg pleaded quietly, not wanting Nick to get hurt over him. He could survive the trunk a little longer if it would keep them both alive.

Suddenly Crane took a dangerous step forward, the safety of the gun clicking off once more, but it did not turn to Nick, instead the barrel was placed inches from Greg's temple. Greg's breathing hitched and he tried to turn away but there was nowhere to go.

Nick's fury was immediately wiped away to be replaced by cold fear as Crane clearly flipped over from friendly to psychotic, threatening Greg's life.

"This is our trip! You're my friend, this is our time! He's a distraction, he keeps you from caring about anyone else, and I won't allow it!" Crane's expression turned darker and Nick leapt at him when he saw his arm began to move, but instead of firing, Nigel brought the butt of the gun down hard against the side of Greg's face. The young man grunted as he fell back and his head struck the metal siding hard before he hit the trunk floor, once again unconscious.

"Bastard, don't touch him!"

Even though he had not shot Greg, Nick continued his lunge at Crane, tackling him to the ground. They fought for the gun, rolling on and off the road, kicking up clouds of dust. Nick thought he would have had the strength advantage but Crane had put on some muscle since he went to prison and they were almost evenly matched. Nick punched the psychopath across the jaw but Nigel brought up a knee and hit him in the stomach. While Nick was leaned over slightly, Crane managed to pull his gun hand free and struck the CSI in the cheek with the butt of the handle. Nick fell to the side and Crane rolled on top of him, gun at the ready. After the shock wore off Nick tried to attack again, bringing up a fist but Crane had the gun held steady, aimed and fired.

The fight immediately left Nick as the bullet hit the ground next to his head. Nigel had purposely missed, shooting a foot and a half away from his head, but something in his eyes told the other man he would not miss again if forced to fire once more. Nick was deafened for a moment and disoriented as Crane stood up and motioned for him to stand as well. Nick stood slowly, defeated for now but still defiant in his heart.

"Manners Nick, manners, that wasn't nice," Crane said spitefully, fuelled with disappointment and anger. He held the gun up again, now aimed between Nick's eyes, "Get. Back. In. The. Car."

Nick raised his hands in the air, breathing heavy and heart pounding. Crane was serious, something in him may have snapped and a wrong move now could cost them both their lives. Nick was desperate to stop this madman and would fight him to the end, but he also needed to try and keep Greg safe and unfortunately that meant submitting to Nigel's demands. He took a final look at Greg, saw he was breathing, and slowly backed away towards the front seat. From the door he could hear Crane moving around but with the trunk popped up could not see what he was doing. That's when his pocket shook. Reaching down, he pulled out his cell phone which had been set on vibrate and, turning his back to Crane, checked the caller ID.

Grissom.

Meanwhile, Crane shoved the gun into the back of his jeans and turned his attention to his burden. He unceremoniously shoved Greg's legs back into the trunk but just to ensure there would be no more interruptions he picked up a role of duct tape which was back there as well and tore off a strip, roughly placing it over Greg's mouth.

"That'll shut you up."

Nick looked at the phone, it could be their salvation or ruin. There was no way he could talk to Grissom, Crane would hear and probably see, but with his new and improved hearing, Grissom should be able to hear them though. Keeping the phone at his side, Nick flipped the top open and kept it from sight, but shouted behind him.

"Crane, leave him alone!"

Nigel had finished taping Greg's mouth and stood, closing the trunk and locking him in once more.

"Little brat won't be a bother anymore," he mumbled, striding towards the passenger side, his good mood ruined. "I said get back in the car!"

"Where are we going now Nigel?" Nick asked, perhaps a bit too loud but he had to be sure Grissom could hear.

"Same as before, Nick, straight ahead," Crane said, taking his seat.

Nick nodded, prayed, dropped the phone on the ground while it was still open, and got into the driver's seat. Taking the keys back from Crane, he started the car once more and continued down the long stretch of highway to their unknown destination.

***

“Nick, can you hear me? Can you talk Nick?”

Grissom listened again, no longer hearing any voices on the other end of the phone. It sounded like car doors were closing, an engine started, and the car pulled away.

“Nick?” Grissom asked a final time, louder than before, but there was no response. Clearly the car was gone, but the phone was still on, Grissom could hear the wind and dirt shifting, and no dial tone had started yet. For a moment he stood shocked, staring at the phone in his hand. Had that really been Nigel Crane-'s voice? Was Nick really with him? The implications alone were enough to deeply worry Grissom, but he knew he had no time to contemplate his emotions, he needed to act. He stepped out of his office and headed down the hallway, phone still in hand.

He had come in to work off the clock after having a revelation about one of his current cases while he was home. After Grissom got to the lab he had retested several samples from the crime scene, the results of which closed the case. He had called Nick, who had been working with him on it, to tell him they caught the guy, and had instead heard a strange, yet terrifying, conversation take place.

“Crane, leave him alone!” Nick had yelled before Grissom could even say hi. As ice water filled his veins Gil had hoped it was some sort of sick joke, but knew deep down that Nick-'s tone was extremely serious and he would never pull such a dangerous stunt.

After a few seconds of muffled background noise, the next voice he heard confirmed his fears. The angry voice of Nigel Crane, stalker, murderer and supposed to be inmate, had yelled at Nick, “I said get back in the car!”

Nick continued, clearly loud so Grissom would hear and understand, “Where are we going now Nigel?”

Crane was more collected with his reply, “Same as before Nick, straight ahead.”

And then they were gone.

Now, Grissom still held the phone to his ear, listening closely but having little hope of hearing anything else. Nick-'s cell had clearly been left behind, most likely for fear of discovery but it could also work as a tracking device. No matter, he had reached his destination, the tech lab. Grissom knew he should call Brass and his team but he also knew that he had to do this first; there was no telling how long Nick-'s batteries may survive.

“Archie, drop whatever you-'re doing, you got a new first priority,” he called out as he rushed in uncharacteristically. Archie paused the tape he had been enlarging and turned to Grissom.

“What do you need?” he asked, always eager.

“The cell phone I-'m connected to right now, I need to run a trace and find out exactly where it is,” Grissom explained holding out his own cell phone and hoping Archie would have the necessary equipment with him.

Archie thought for a moment and then nodded, “Okay, give me the phone.”

He took the cell from Grissom and plugged it into his laptop, bringing up the caller information. Then he typed in a few commands and sat back to wait a moment as the system did its job.

“You-'re lucky the connection-'s open, if you tried this after you were cut off the location wouldn-'t be near as precise. Whose phone are we tracking anyway?” Archie asked, assuming it was a killer or suspect of some kind.

“Nick-'s,” Grissom replied. Archie turned to him confused and opened his mouth to ask a question but Grissom cut him off, “I can-'t tell you anything yet, I-'m not sure myself, but this trace may save his life if I-'m right.”

“Okay,” Archie said slowly, unsure of how to handle this information. “But I thought he was at a football game with Greg.”

Gil-'s heart skipped a beat; he hadn-'t known this, “Are you sure?”

“That-'s what Greg told me.”

Grissom remembered what Nick had first called out over the phone.

“Crane, leave him alone!”

So if Nick was supposed to be at a football game with Greg, and was now in the hands of Nigel Crane, then it was very possible that the him Nick had mentioned was actually Greg, which meant the stakes had just doubled and not one but two of his team members were in very real danger.

As Grissom contemplated this, a map of Las Vegas appeared on Archie-'s screen; three red lines formed a large triangle that got progressively smaller as Archie typed in more commands. Eventually the triangle changed into a dot and they had an exact location.

“There it is, highway 108, it hasn-'t moved since the call was initiated,” Archie reported.

Grissom nodded, “Good work, print me off a copy.” He picked up his phone, “Can you do any more with this?”

“No, you can take it. The other phone-'s on so even if it moves I can track it from satellite now that I know where it is.”

“Great, keep an eye on it, call me if there-'s any movement,” Gil ordered as he left the lab, in a greater rush than ever. He flipped open his cell and dialled a familiar number.

“Brass.”

“It-'s Grissom, we have a serious problem. I think Nigel Crane is on the loose and he-'s already got two possible next victims,” he reported automatically, pushing aside his fear for his team mates in exchange for the professional manner that always helped him through tough cases.

“Shit, is it Nick?” Brass asked on the other end.

“And Greg.”

“Sanders? All right, I-'ll be right in. Call the rest of your team together,” Brass suggested, knowing it was probably Grissom-'s next move anyway.

“I will, but I need you to call in a helicopter. I-'ve got a possible last location, only minutes old, if we can move fast maybe we can end this quickly,” Grissom said, sounding confident in his findings thus far.

“No problem, fill me in when I get there,” Brass said and hung up, the sound of a door slamming as he left his house the last thing Grissom heard before the dial tone.

Sighing, Grissom moved into his office, knowing he had a lot more troubling phone calls to make.


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Nick didn-'t recognize the road they were on. After their quarrel on the side of the road they had stayed on the highway for only ten more minutes or so until Crane had ordered him to take an exit leading to what appeared to be a little used trail through a sloping tract of desert land. The going was slow and bumpy and Nick cringed as they drove over each dip in the road, picturing Greg unconscious in the trunk being thrown around violently. He tried to focus on the road and make the ride as smooth as possible, but his head and ears still pulsed with a throbbing pain from Crane hitting him and he was very thirsty, though he in no way regretted giving his portion of water to Greg.
After his concern for Greg, Nick mostly felt angry, though he could hardly show it. Crane was a madman, and having him show up to screw his life up once had been enough, but now he was back a second time, and endangering his best friend as well, which increased Nick-'s ire. He looked at the man beside him; Crane stared straight ahead, able to see Nick out of the corner of his eye. He had calmed considerably and the annoying smirk had returned to his face, indicating he had returned to his happy state where he was simply content to be spending time with Nick, even though they no longer spoke at lengths. To Crane it was a companionable silence and just as good, a sign of development in their friendship but Nick despised the man next to him. Logically he knew Crane had a psychological problem, caused by early trauma in his life, but that did not mean Nick had to forgive him for the crimes he had committed, or the ones he was doing right now.

It was twenty minutes until Crane did speak; he was moving around anxiously in his seat, excited in a childish sort of way, “We-'re almost there Nick, I can-'t wait to show you.”

Nick couldn-'t help asking, “Show me what, where are we going?”

“You-'ll have to wait, but you-'ll like it, then maybe you-'ll understand. I know you want to, but you won-'t until you see, until I can explain.” That was all Crane would say on the subject but his mood was still anxious and he could barely contain his happiness.

They went around a turn in a cliff face and Nick thought they had reached their destination. There were two rows of houses in front of him, run down, clearly uninhabited, only about twelve in all. The narrow road ended past the houses and there stood a dilapidated warehouse, surrounded by a high iron fence with barbs on the top. It had probably been the manufacturing site for some sort of dangerous materials, judging by its size and location so far from the city. It looked as though the workers had been forced to live nearby in case of emergency, but now that it was shut down the real estate was worthless and abandoned, and completely isolated. Seemingly perfect for Nigel-'s plan, whatever that may be.

“Nice place,” Nick mumbled sarcastically as he looked over the rundown extravaganza.

“It was once,” Crane replied, sounding almost nostalgic. “Now it-'s just lonely; it has no one to care for it, no one to be there or admire it. There-'s nothing. Pull into the third house on the left, it-'s my favourite.”

Nick looked at him strangely but did not question him as he pulled into the third driveway.

“Get out, there-'s so much I have to show you.” Crane almost sounded like a child inviting a friend over to his house for the first time, but his tone still demanded compliance as the gun never wavered in his grasp. Nick took a deep breath and got out of the car as Crane did the same. Once outside Crane motioned for him to walk ahead, “Come on Nick, inside.”

“I-'m coming,” Nick assured him but could not completely keep his gaze from straying to the back of the car once more. Greg was still locked in the trunk and the sun was still beating down strongly on the abandoned neighbourhood.

Crane noticed the shift in his attention and flinched but his good mood could not be completely wiped away, “Gregory will be joining us shortly, don-'t worry, now get inside.”

Nick wasn-'t sure if this information eased him or not but he drew his gaze away from the car and led the way into the faded baby blue home, with Crane only a few feet behind with the gun held steadily aimed at his back. The door creaked as Nick pushed it open and took a cautious step inside. The house seemed normal enough; there was a ragged old couch that had been nice once, a dust layered carpet and a bare coffee table. Looking further he saw a grimy kitchen, complete with yellowed fridge and stove, he saw he was also standing on a welcome mat in front of the door. The house would have been quaint when it was lived in but it looked as though the family that lived there had suddenly picked up and moved out, taking only the barest essentials with them.

“What did you want to show me?” Nick asked, seeing nothing of interest in the two front rooms.

Crane smiled, almost shyly and whispered, “Up the stairs.”

Nick followed his line of sight and saw a staircase emerged from the far wall; he stepped further into the house and started up them. The steps creaked but felt sturdy enough to hold him. When he reached the top of the stairs he saw three rooms, to his left was a large, open room with a double bed, dirty sheets and floor, but also a large dresser; it was a room a couple would sleep in. The next door led to a plain bathroom but the third room drew Nick-'s attention. The door was closed so he could not see inside but on the outside a framed plaque stood out sharply and in a child-'s hand the words “Nigel-'s Room” were sprawled in crayon.

Nick turned to Crane, “This was your house?”

Nigel nodded, “I grew up here. Let me show you my room.” His voice again echoed that of an excited child.

“All right.”

They continued up the stairs and Nick reached for the doorknob to the room, pausing briefly as he saw the heavy lock on the door, years old but still appearing functional. The lock was on the outside, meaning that whoever got locked in couldn-'t get out themselves. Why did he have a feeling he wouldn-'t like what he found out about Nigel-'s past in this room?

He pushed open the door and stepped through. The only light came from a single window on the far wall, but that was not great due to the metal bars over the glass, blocking out half the light. The bed was a mattress on the floor, no bedposts or headboard, and there was a single blanket, with no sheets or pillows. In fact there were no luxuries of any kind; not a single toy or shelf of pictures or keepsakes. A large dresser mirror stood out, leaned up against the left wall, but it was new and clean, meaning Nigel had probably put it there recently himself. That meant he had planned this for some time and Nick wondered what the purpose of all this could be.

He continued to look around; the closet had a meagre amount of clothes but the largest attention grabber was the walls, plastered with childish drawings in crayon, some dark with a single lonely child, preserved perfectly, others bright with many children playing happily; these pictures were torn and placed haphazardly on the wall. Nick took in the room for a moment, amazed a child could live here for any length of time and for the first time he felt the smallest inkling of sympathy for the tormented child that had become a psychopath.

“So ... this was your room?”

“Yeah, just me. Mom and Dad were over there, they didn-'t like to play much, I mostly kept to myself. But now you-'re here Nick, we-'re friends, and it won-'t be so lonely,” Nigel said happily, but then he seemed to recall something he-'d forgotten and he was saddened. “Well, you-'re not really my friend, not yet.”

Nick didn-'t like where this was going so tried to please him and replied soothingly, “Sure I am Nigel. Hey, I came all this way, saw your house, we talked, it-'s been a pretty good day.”

But Crane shook his head, gun still clenched tightly, “You-'re lying, it-'s all right. You don-'t understand yet that you don-'t need any friends but me. You don-'t understand me yet. You will, I-'ll show you. Now sit down, over there.” He pointed to the far wall with the window, underneath which sat a rusty radiator. Nick sighed and walked over, cringing when he saw spots of dried blood on the metal. What had Nigel gone through as a kid?

“Sit down,” Crane repeated.

Nick turned to face him but did not yet comply, “Why don-'t you just show me now so I can understand and we can be friends now?” he requested, trying to please Crane, but the murderer shook his head, he would not allow it.

“I can-'t, not yet. Now sit down,” his voice became hard again on the last words, as if his fantasy was breaking apart and the gun was brought closer. Nick had no choice, he sat down on the floor beside the radiator. “Hold up your hands.”

Crane took another pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. Nick knew what was coming and thought he may be able to get the gun any second; Nigel would have to be close to cuff him and his attention would be divided. But Nick-'s plan was ruined when Crane unexpectedly hit him hard across the face again with the gun. He was stunned and slumped against the wall for a moment, waiting for the pain behind his eyes to lessen and his vision to correct itself. Vaguely he could feel cold metal snapping in place around his wrist; he tried to pull away but Crane was focussed. The second cuff first passed through the metal piping of the radiator and then snapped around Nick-'s second wrist, locking him in place.

“I-'m sorry, but I know you so well Nick, I knew you would try to get away. You-'ll understand soon though, don-'t worry,” Crane said again, watching as Nick regained his senses.

It was a moment before Nick could concentrate but then he immediately pulled at the cuffs with all his considerable strength. Unfortunately, the cuffs were strong as was the radiator; nothing budged.

“Crane, what are you doing? Let me go,” he demanded, the cold fear that had somewhat diminished as Crane became less violent quickly resurfaced and Nick was scared.

“I already told you Nick, I-'m making you understand. Now wait just a minute while I go and get Gregory, we-'ll need him too,” Crane said smiling as he began to leave the room.

Nick pulled on the cuffs again, harder than ever, “Nigel, wait! Crane, don-'t hurt him, please! He-'s not a part of this! Nigel!” he called but Crane was already down the stairs and almost to the door.

“Dammit!” Nick exclaimed when he was gone. Experiencing a strange combination of fear and anger he dropped his head tiredly against his knees and held back a sob of frustration.

“God, don-'t hurt him,” he whispered futilely one last time, doubtful his wish would come true but praying for the best.


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Grissom looked at the faces gathered around the conference table, all grim and yearning for more than the meagre details they had been given over the phone. Almost all of them had received the same cryptic phone call, “We-'ve got a serious situation, come into the office immediately” and none of them knew what it was about.
Their supervisor-'s tone had been enough to speed the three CSIs out the door though and now Sara, Warrick and Catherine sat waiting impatiently for whatever news Grissom had for them.

“Where the hell is Nick so we can start this?” Sara mumbled, assuming his absence was the cause for the delay.

Grissom sighed and straightened, never one to play coy, he went straight out and said what he knew, “Nick isn-'t coming, that-'s why you-'re here. I have reason to believe Nigel Crane is on the loose once more and has kidnapped Nick and possibly Greg.”

Three stunned faces looked at him.

“What?” exclaimed Warrick in disbelief.

“Care to explain?” Sara asked incredulously.

“About forty-five minutes ago I tried to call Nick and when his cell phone picked up I heard a conversation between him and Nigel Crane, they argued briefly and then there was the sound of a car pulling away as the phone was left behind. It sounded like there was a third person with them as well, which was probably Greg. He and Nick were supposed to go to a football game and I haven-'t been able to get a hold of Greg either. Archie managed to track the cell phone-'s location to highway 108. Brass has a chopper heading out there now to do a long range sweep, it-'s possible they-'ll find something but as of yet they don-'t know what they-'re looking for. Our job now is to help them any way possible.”

“Oh my god,” Sara mumbled as she took this all in.

“Did Nick sound like he was all right?” Catherine asked, voicing everyone-'s concern.

“Nick sounded fine, remember Crane practically idolizes him, but it seemed as though they were fighting about Greg. But at this point there-'s no telling what condition either of them are in,” Grissom replied, not sugar coating the truth.

“Do we know what Crane wants?” Warrick asked, contemplating ransom demands or revenge.

“Last time he wanted to become Nick himself, or at least be his friend, but he-'s been in therapy the past few years, there-'s no telling how his delusions may have changed,” Grissom surmised, feeling confident that Crane-'s motives had changed slightly since their last encounter with him.

“How did we not know Nigel Crane was on the loose?” Sara asked, outraged they had not been told, for everyone-'s protection.

“I-'d rather know how the hell they got tickets to the game,” Warrick mumbled, but was equally as shocked and concerned for his friends as the others.

“I don-'t know, but it-'s our job to find out, everything,” Grissom reminded them then started handing out tasks. “Sara grab your stuff, you-'re going with Brass in the chopper to check out whatever they find. Warrick, you-'re checking out Nick-'s apartment, Catherine, you-'re with me, we-'re taking Greg-'s apartment. Don-'t forget about video surveillance of hallways, lobbies, parking lots, all of it. Right now we are racing the clock; we lucked out time wise, we found out they were taken very early, now we have to find them just as fast. Make it happen.”

With that the group split up, each member eager to find the one clue or piece of information that could lead them to their team mates. Everyone was concerned but they were also professionals, they would continue to work, despite their emotions. But none would deny that this case was personal, perhaps more so than any they had ever worked before. The one thing they all knew though was that they would get Nick and Greg back, in what condition was anyone-'s guess.

***

Technically Greg had been awake for more than ten minutes. The constant jarring of the car had roused him into consciousness but the combination of his concussion and the relentless heat he was still exposed to kept him in a state much like a waking dream. His eyes were open but his thoughts came slowly, muffled. He wondered where he was, but even in his hazy state he knew he was having difficulty breathing. The air was as thick as ever and now because of the duct tape on his mouth he could only breathe through his nose. He shifted uncomfortably, instinctively knowing he wanted out but unable to figure out how.

The car eventually stopped, as did the bouncing, and Greg felt his eyes start to droop once more in sleep. He hoped Nick would be there when he woke up and they could go to the football game but a small voice, way in the back of his mind, reminded him he would not be waking up again if he let himself fall asleep now. After realizing this he struggled towards consciousness for a minute, breathing deeply through his nose and pushing open his eyes, but the fight did not last long as his air continued depleting and the heat kept rising. Just as his eyes had closed and his breathing became shallow as his body gave up its fight for air, the trunk popped open once more.

Greg was immediately awake, more alive, as the cool air hit him and he looked up to see a figure outlined in sunlight. He had been too disoriented to hear the two men leave the car earlier, or the one return, so he was shocked by his appearance. The fresh oxygen immediately hit his lungs again and he yearned to breathe deeply, but the duct tape over his mouth denied these impulses. Still, his head cleared quickly and he recognized the unpleasant form of Nigel Crane standing before him. The stalker/murderer was smiling happily and Greg thought he preferred the scowl from before; that he at least understood, or so he thought.

“Time to play your part Gregory, Nick-'s waiting,” Nigel cooed, reaching into the trunk and latching on to the collar of Greg-'s shirt. The lab tech was still gasping for air when Crane forcibly pulled him out of the trunk. Greg tried to stand but his legs refused, his muscles were loose from inactivity and lack of oxygen and he slumped against the side of the car.

“Move!” Crane ordered, not releasing Greg-'s collar as he pushed him forward, his voice becoming irritated. Greg-'s head was clearing as he took in more air but his mind was still hazy for a few moments. He had understood that Crane said he was taking him to Nick and he hoped that was true; he longed to see the CSI, to make sure he was okay, and, somewhat selfishly, to be reassured by his presence. He had no desire to be left alone with this psychopath or have to suffer whatever these ‘plans-' were by himself and he knew he would be stronger with Nick there.

Eventually Crane began to pull him along the driveway, not satisfied with Greg-'s slow progress. He stumbled into the house and tripped twice on the stairs and always Crane yanked him forward, choking him and depleting his already limited air.

Let me go! Greg screamed in his own mind since he could not voice these thoughts. He pulled back to try and stall so he could get his footing and catch his breath but Crane just took out his gun once more, ending his protests, and dragged him faster.

“You really should have been ready Gregory, you-'ve been waiting all day to play this part after all,” Crane mocked as he pulled the battered younger man along.

I was also unconscious most of the day, psycho.

By the time they reached the top of the stairs Greg was out of breath once more. At first he concentrated on breathing but then he heard Nick-'s voice and his head shot up, hope momentarily replacing fear. The CSI stood handcuffed to a radiator in what appeared to be some sick mockery of a child-'s room. His face was bruised and his wrists looked like they might be bleeding from the handcuffs but other than that he seemed fine, which Greg was beyond relieved to see.

Nick on the other hand was not so pleased. He was thankful that Greg seemed alert and in one piece after their horrific journey to this place but he was also scared beyond reason about what exactly Nigel had planned. Clearly it involved Greg somehow playing a part in making Nick understand Crane better, and he didn-'t want to imagine what that could mean, though he feared he would soon see for himself.

Crane hurried into the room and dropped Greg unceremoniously on the floor in front of Nick, knocking the wind out of him since he could not brace himself for the fall in any way. Greg moaned and focussed on the floor, trying futilely to forget their situation.

“Greg! Shit,” Nick exclaimed, his anger again rising as he watched Crane toss the lab tech down carelessly.

“Sorry I had to leave you alone for a minute Nick, no one should have to be alone but I need to make you understand, and we need him for that. It-'s about all he-'s good for,” Crane said sincerely, thoughtfully as he pushed the still gasping Greg onto his back with his foot. Greg dare not move while in the psychopath-'s gaze, terrified of what might come next.

Nick wished Crane would stop saying that, stop insisting that he ‘understand-' him, but instead he set aside his anger and pleaded for Greg once more, hoping to get through to Crane somehow, “Nigel please, just let him go. I understand, okay? I see this room and how you must have lived, and I-'m sorry for you, I-'d love to be your friend but you have to let Greg go.”

Nick hated to show this much emotion in front of anyone, he felt like he was baring his soul, but this was the greatest fear he had ever known as he watched Crane tower over Greg-'s small form and he would do anything to escape it.

On the floor, Greg struggled to pull in enough air to please his lungs, but he also turned to face Nick, hoping he could convey his words in a glance. Nick met his gaze and he tried to squash his fear and look hopeful, reassuring, like he was prepared for whatever was to come and held no blame or anger towards his friend. Nick saw this and understood but his own eyes reflected only sorrow and regret.

Their brief moment was cut short though as Nigel spoke once more, sad but also angry at Nick-'s audacity and moving to stand only inches from his face, “How can you say that? You don-'t understand anything! You haven-'t seen anything! You don-'t know how I lived, how I came to be. This room, these walls, they can-'t speak. Only I can show you, make you understand what it was like to be here, to live like this,” in his rising temper he suddenly kicked Greg hard in the ribs, eliciting a yelp from the smaller man. All coherent thought seemed to leave the murderer as he continued violently, “the pain,” another kick, “the isolation,” another to the back, “the loneliness! You didn-'t see any of it!”

“Then draw me a god damn picture you son of a bitch, just leave him the hell alone!” Nick demanded, fury and despair crushing his soul with each blow inflicted on Greg-'s body. He pulled and tore at the cuffs, desperate to come to Greg-'s aid, but they would not give and he was forced to watch his friend suffer. “Greg, goddammit! Stop it you bastard!”

But Crane ignored or could not hear him.

Greg tried to roll away but had come up against a wall, preventing escape. Crane-'s mind and body were becoming trapped in the horrible memory of his life and he took the lab tech by the hair and threw him into the wall, holding him up with a hand on his throat.

“Pain was constant, every day. It was a reward for being bad,” Nigel punched Greg across the face, “for being good,” he kneed him in the stomach, “it was a reward for doing absolutely nothing!” Greg wanted to collapse to the floor but his attacker held him up, determined to hurt him, to show them both how his life had been. Suddenly Crane took him by the collar and launched him across the room; Greg slammed side first into the door jamb and heard something pop in his shoulder. He lay on the floor for a moment in agony, moaning and fighting tears, and then he screamed behind his gag, mentally begging for a reprieve as Crane picked him off the floor by the injured arm and the broken bones grinded against one another. He tried to pull away but Crane-'s grip was strong and his delusional state even stronger.

“Stop Nigel, please, I had it rough as a kid too, I get it, but Greg-'s not responsible. You don-'t have to hurt him! Just leave him alone, tell me what happened, I-'ll understand,” Nick yelled, desperate to draw this monster-'s attention away from Greg, but Crane continued on, determined to finish his story. He dragged his captive towards Nick, towards the barred window in the wall.

“I could see the whole word through this window,” Crane said spitefully, then slammed Greg-'s head into the steal bars on top of the glass. Greg was thrown back on the floor, a new cut dripping blood down his forehead as he lay moaning and gasping, struggling to breathe through the duct tape on his mouth. “I could see the other children in the neighbourhood, I could see the other parents, but I couldn-'t be a part of that. I was in here, alone! ... this is what my life was like ... this is what you have to understand.”

Crane kicked Greg onto his side and then crossed the room. Nick watched in horror, listening to Greg-'s harsh breathing as Crane picked up a baseball bat from the closet, walked over slowly, swinging it leisurely once and then brought it high above his head.

“Nigel no!”

Without another word Crane struck Greg hard across the back as he tried to rise off the floor, immediately sending him back down with a muffled groan.

Nick, help! Make this stop! Greg screamed in his mind. He knew the CSI could do nothing, and it wasn-'t his fault, but he wanted the pain to stop. He had faced enough pain in his life and he knew this wasn-'t fair, yet still it didn-'t stop. The pain continued and he felt each blow as clearly as the first.

“I was always alone! I could see them! I could watch but I couldn-'t leave! No one ever saw me, or cared! I had no one! No one!” Each revelation brought with it another strike of the wooden bat, landing fast and hard. Every small breath of air Greg managed to take in was immediately knocked out of him and he thought he may suffocate while being beaten. He wanted to run but instinct made him curl in on himself, and Crane was so far gone in his torment that most of the blows fell to his back and legs, causing minimal damage but memorable pain.

Behind him Nick pleaded, still trying to reason with the monster, “No, don-'t, please! Greg, oh my god. You-'re gonna kill him, you son of a bitch, stop, please! It wasn-'t him! For God-'s sake, stop it! I understand, just don-'t hurt him anymore, I understand!”

Suddenly Nigel seemed to snap back to reality and the bat fell to his side. Greg coughed and moaned, somehow managing to roll over weakly in a desperate attempt to escape. Every inch of his body ached, his shoulder felt like it was being stabbed every time he moved it, and he felt at least two ribs give way when he tried to breathe and he knew they were broken, but most of all he was afraid. Crane was a madman and clearly he wasn-'t opposed to hurting him, so what would keep him from killing him? Greg couldn-'t think of anything, he just knew he didn-'t want to die.

Nick thought he had gotten through to the former cable man and with tears prickling his eyes he continued, “I understand, I-'m your friend Nigel, I-'ll stay with you, but you have to leave him alone, please, for me.”

But no comprehension appeared on Crane-'s face. He was lost in a different memory, thinking back. His gaze strayed to the mirror in the far corner, the one he had brought there and was as yet untouched. It was tall and wide, glistening slightly in the few rays of sunlight that made it into the room.

“I use to have a mirror once,” Crane began, speaking in even tones, processing the memory and barely noticing his surroundings, “I could see myself in it and picture other people were with me too, my friends. I could see them, I could always see them in there with me. I knew they were there, in the mirror and that was my only way to get to them. Then Dad came up one night, angry ... I hadn-'t put away my toys. I never had any toys. He tore my pictures and ... then he broke it.” His voice become deeper, filled with dark emotions. “It shattered and they were gone. He took them away.” Nigel stood for a moment, his anger simmering and his fists clenching as he remembered everything, and then with calculated steps he turned back to Greg who had managed to reach the far wall and lean against it, trying to recover he was still gasping, and his eyes widened as Crane approached.

“Nigel no! Stop! It wasn-'t him, it was your father! It-'s not his fault! Don-'t touch him,” Nick continued pleading but Crane-'s steps did not slow.

He took Greg by the shirt collar, ignoring his weak struggle to escape, and then seemed to explode. “He took them away! They never came back! They were gone! I couldn-'t find them! It wasn-'t fair!” Snarling, he threw the helpless lab tech headfirst into the mirror.

Glass shards scattered everywhere, beautiful and dangerous as they filled the air and floor. Greg fell to the ground, glass cutting his face and arms, more imbedding into his torso and back as he landed and rolled. He screamed behind his gag as he felt his shoulder pop farther out of place, taking with it bone and muscle, tears marked his cheeks.

Behind him, Crane deflated. All his anger and torment seemed to have been released in these moments of revelation and violence, and hot tears streamed down the psychopath-'s face as he fell to his knees in despair for his own sad life.

Finally there was Nick. He had also dropped to his knees, emotionally exhausted and drained; he had seen all he could handle of the life of Nigel Crane. He watched Greg shift painfully on the floor, wondering how unconsciousness had not claimed the younger man, and whispered his apologies.

“Greg, I-'m sorry, I-'m so sorry ...”

In that small room of past and present torture all eyes shed tears.


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Silence dominated in the Tahoe as Catherine and Grissom made their way to Greg-'s apartment, each lost in their own worry and concern for their team mates. They had seen an unnatural amount of death and violence in their line of work, more than any normal person would see in their lifetime, and this gave their imaginations the horrible fodder it needed to picture Nick and Greg in a wide variety of dangerous and terrifying situations while in the hands of Nigel Crane.

Grissom looked at Catherine, worried for her. She was a strong parent figure to the younger CSIs and he knew she had a maternal protectiveness of them, making the entire situation all the more hard on her. Needless to say it had not been easy for her to handle the guilt of blowing up the lab and Greg, the youngest and most innocent member of their team and this would not bode well with her either. He was about to ask if she was all right when his phone rang, it was Sara.

“Please tell me you found something,” Grissom answered, trying hard not to hope too much. Sara-'s sigh was not a good sign though.

“We found Nick-'s cell phone right where Archie tracked it, it hasn-'t been touched. There are some skid marks and tire tracks in the dirt, looks like they pulled over pretty suddenly but there-'s no sign there was damage like a flat tire. The skid marks are straight, no swerving so I don-'t think it was a struggle for control of the car. The dirt-'s unsettled near the back of where the car was parked, looks like there was a struggle, I got one drop of blood, other than that I can-'t tell you much.”

“All right, come on back in when you-'re done, I need you to start researching Crane after you get everything processed. What about Brass?” Grissom asked.

“He-'s up in the chopper, they-'re going to do an overhead for awhile but they have no idea what they-'re looking for Gris. We don-'t have the make of the car or any idea where Crane could be headed out here,” Sara reminded him dismally.

“I know, we-'ll find something, call me if you learn anything else.”

“No problem,” Sara said and then hung up.

Grissom turned to Catherine, his expression telling her enough, but said, “Sara didn-'t find much except for Nick-'s phone. Some tire tracks and signs of a struggle, Brass is still searching in the chopper.”

“Is there any hope he-'ll find anything?” Catherine asked.

Grissom hated that he had to shake his head, “They don-'t even really know what to look for.”

They had reached Greg-'s building and were pulling into the parking lot. Catherine sat up in her seat when a car in the lot caught her eye, “Greg-'s car is still here.”

Grissom looked too, “And so is Nick-'s.”

They both knew what that likely meant. They got out of the Tahoe and slowly approached the crime scene, eyes on the ground. The small collection of blood near the back tire of Nick-'s wheel confirmed their suspicions.

“This is where he grabbed them,” Catherine announced, able to see how it played out all too clearly. Grissom agreed and looked up, spotting a camera overlooking the lot.

“I-'ll process this, go see the landlord and find out about getting the tapes for that camera, then we-'ll move into the apartment,” Grissom instructed.

“Sure,” Catherine said, making her way to the building.

“Archie said the game they were going to was at two o-'clock so see if there-'s anything on the tapes from 12:30 on, we know they-'re in a car we just need to know exactly what they-'re driving,” Grissom called out in reminder as she disappeared into the building.

Kneeling down he took out a swab and ran it over the dried blood; it was probably Nick or Greg-'s but there wasn-'t a lot of it which boded well for their safety when they were taken at least. A search of the ground presented only two tickets to the football game so he moved on to the inside of the car, hoping to find more. There was nothing unsettled, no blood on the dash or the seats, some papers in the back were still piled nicely and a cooling coffee cup stood straight up in the cup holder. There had been no struggle in the car and the passenger door was still locked, meaning Nick and Greg had not even gotten in. Satisfied with this, Grissom pulled himself out of the front seat but his eye caught on something out of place that he saw as he came at a new angle with the floor.

Clicking on his flashlight he peered under the dashboard, noting a wire that didn-'t belong. He took off the paneling and followed the wire to a flashing box attached to the engine seemingly set to turn on whenever the car was started. Grissom looked it over: tracking device.

Undoubtedly Crane had put it in Nick-'s car to follow his every movement and still be able to keep a safe distance to avoid being seen. Nick would notice if someone was tailing him, and Crane knew that. Clearly Crane knew far too much. Grissom bagged the device and labelled it then started towards the building to join Catherine. He found her in a security room reviewing video tape.

“Find anything?” she asked first.

“Just a tracking device Crane planted in Nick-'s car. That and the blood, plus their tickets to the football game. You?” Grissom asked, noticing the tape was rewinding.

“Crane-'s driving a black cavalier, I already called Brass and gave him the description. The camera got everything,” Catherine announced and thankfully did not have to explain further as the tape finished rewinding to the appropriate spot. She hit play and let him see for himself.

Grissom watched, trying to restrain his emotions as he saw the two friends enter the shot, unaware that the man waiting for them in the black car was actually Nigel Crane.

“Make sure we run the plates on that car, it-'s probably stolen but if we know where from it may give us a new starting point,” Grissom mumbled and then winced as Greg was struck suddenly from behind by Crane and toppled to the ground. Nick came around and they could see that Crane was armed. The camera had no sound so they watched silently as Crane and Nick talked animatedly and then the madman forced Nick to handcuff his best friend, put him in the trunk and drive away. Catherine hit the stop button, unnerved and hoping they were still alive. It had been more than two hours since they were taken and they still had no clue where they might be.

“Nick looks pissed,” Catherine commented somewhat lightly, stating the obvious.

“Yes, he does. Well that was definitely Nigel Crane but his demeanour seems to have changed completely. I saw no nervous tendencies in his stance or movement, he was very confident,” Grissom noted, wondering at the change.

“He-'s been in therapy since his arrest, who knows how his delusions may have changed,” Catherine commented.

Grissom nodded, “Well, if that-'s the case then why take Greg too? Even Nick looked surprised when Crane seemed to say it. If his fantasies revolve around becoming Nick, or becoming Nick-'s friend, why bring Greg along? In a way Greg is his competition for Nick-'s friendship, it would hinder Nick-'s ability to become Crane-'s friend with him there.”

“Maybe he wants to make Nick choose,” Catherine theorised.

“Or he wants to show him that he would make the better friend, that he was more deserving. He may want to prove himself,” Grissom suggested and both their minds immediately began to play for them what that might mean. Neither of them liked what they saw and they shook the thoughts away.

“Let-'s go check out the apartment,” Grissom suggested as a way of forgetting the disturbing footage.

They both entered the apartment and again saw no signs of a struggle which wasn-'t surprising since they now knew that the attack had taken place in the parking lot. Still, they dusted for prints and collected several hair samples; Nigel Crane was a thorough stalker and planner and it was very possible he had been in the apartment, watching Nick and Greg for some time. Catherine was about to suggest they head back and focus on doing research on Crane when Grissom-'s cell phone rang again.

“Hey Grissom, it-'s Warrick, I-'m at Nick-'s place. You got to see this man, there-'s more spy equipment and cameras here than in the Whitehouse. You-'d miss them if you weren-'t looking though; he-'s got bugs planted under the tables, cameras in the lights, everything we saw from him before.”

“But no clue where he might be now,” Grissom surmised.

“No, not yet, I-'ll keep looking though, I still got the attic to check out,” Warrick said sounding optimistic. “You guys find anything?”

“Yeah, Crane attacked them here in the parking lot and we got a make on his vehicle. He knocked out Greg and then forced Nick to drive at gunpoint, there-'s not much in the apartment and we-'re towing Nick-'s car back to the lab for a more detailed inspection,” Grissom replied.

“All right, I-'ll keep working here and call if I find anything else,” Warrick promised. Grissom said he would do the same, said good-bye and hung up. As he put the phone back in his pocket he noticed Catherine staring at him strangely.

“What?” Grissom asked.

“We have Nick-'s cell phone, where-'s Greg-'s?” Catherine asked, looking around the apartment having not seen it in the bedroom.

“I don-'t know. I tried it twice but there was no answer either time,” Grissom said, “but that was almost an hour ago.”

“But it rang? That means it-'s on, wherever it is,” Catherine surmised. Gil nodded but didn-'t think this would help them.

“I think if they had it and could, they would have made some attempt to call us already,” Grissom noted but was not opposed to any ideas at this point.

“Yeah, but Greg was unconscious when Crane put him in the trunk, he might not have been awake to answer,” Catherine guessed.

Grissom nodded his agreement and took out his phone once more, dialling Greg-'s number. It rang, confirming Catherine-'s suspicion that it was still on, but after seven rings there was still no answer. Grissom sighed and was about to hang up but on the final ring there was a click and his heart skipped as he heard the panicked voice on the other end.

“Grissom?”

“Nick?”

***

Minutes past in silence. Nick was thankful Crane seemed to have exhausted himself but he could not tear his eyes away from Greg-'s battered form. The younger man was still conscious, his face echoing the pain he was in. Blood ran down his face and arms and parts of his chest, the right side of his face was starting to show signs of bruising and Nick guessed that his back and legs would already be dark with bruises from where the bat had struck him. His right arm seemed to be hanging wrong too and Nick assumed he had broken a bone or two.

Crane had been silent for some time, kneeling on the floor, head down, and then he suddenly took a deep breath and stood up, his tears dry and his emotions again under control. He looked at Nick and smiled at the unshed tears still reflected in his eyes. He cries for me, he almost understands, Nigel thought and was eager to make him fully comprehend just what he needed to know. Then his gaze turned to Greg, who moaned as he tried to breathe and escape the pain that racked his entire body. Crane smiled at this too, glad Nick could see him standing tall and strong over the smaller, broken body of what would be his former friend. Still smiling, he reached down and took Greg by the hair, ignoring his attempts to get away as he pulled him to his feet and made him face Nick.

“Nigel please, leave him alone, don-'t hurt him anymore,” Nick begged him, his voice now a mere whisper from emotional exhaustion.

“You almost understand Nick,” Crane said, pleased as he pulled Greg forward, uncaring of his moans or stumbles. “You see what I went through, what I became; this worthless form that was good for nothing, no one could love that.” He tossed Greg on the floor and scowled, clearly despising what he now represented. “You-'re so close to understanding why I had to change, why we-'ll be great friends.”

“I understand,” Nick sighed, desperately tired of this game and standing by idly as his friend was beaten in front of him. “I get it, I-'ll be your friend.”

“Thank you for the offer but you don-'t get it all yet, not yet, but you will. I-'ll be back Nick and then you-'ll know, it-'ll all be so clear,” Crane smiled again, wider than before and reluctantly strode out of the room. Both pair of eyes followed him out the door, watched it close behind him and listened as the lock was pushed into place. Footsteps went down the stairs and to the first floor but did not leave the house.

Greg sighed deeply, tears of relief, however momentary, springing to his eyes. Only a foot away Nick collapsed again, unable to believe that this was happening.

“Oh my god, this is insane,” Nick mumbled to himself, but then turned his full attention to Greg whose body shook with tremors of fear and pain. He whispered softly, knowing Crane was still downstairs and not wanting him to hear, “Greg, are you all right? God, Greg? Come on man, you gotta talk to me.”

He heard a sad, ironic laugh come from Greg-'s throat. Turning to face him he tried to convey his thoughts through his eyes, How do you want me to do that?

Nick laughed too, briefly, noting the idiocy of his question, “Sorry ... I-'m so sorry Greg. Can you move? If you come another foot closer I think I can pull the tape off myself.”

Greg closed his eyes as if concentrating, swallowed deeply and then nodded his head. It wouldn-'t be easy but he could do it. He took in a steadying breath and tried to push himself onto his good shoulder; he stopped, shuddering as his broken ribs ground against each other, and leaned his forehead against the floor as he tried to breathe, but he was determined not to submit to the pain. Gritting his teeth, he decided one fast movement would probably be the best. As quickly as possible he pushed himself onto his knees and then managed to stand. He took the one step he needed to reach Nick, thankful it was no more or he would not have made it, turned himself around and collapsed against the wall beside him. His breathing was heavy again from exertion and his eyes closed tight as he waited for the spiking pain throughout his body to settle into its constant throb once more.

“I got ya man,” Nick mumbled, tearing the tape off his mouth in one quick motion to get it done with.

Greg flinched away and coughed but also breathed much easier, “Thanks.”

“Are you all right?” Nick asked immediately, knowing it seemed a stupid question but it was the first thing that came to mind.

Fresh tears welled up in Greg-'s eyes. He tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling as he replied, sad and afraid, “Yeah I-'m great. I missed my football game, spent the better part of the day in a trunk, and now a serial killer wants to use me as part of a real life recreation of his childhood. What could possibly not be all right?”

Nick flinched at the torment he heard in Greg-'s voice but continued, “You know what I meant.”

Greg nodded, he did, “I think I-'ll be okay. Sadly enough, I-'ve had worse. After the lab explosion I couldn-'t even move. It-'s mostly bruises, bad bruises,” he took a deep breath as he shifted his weight, “and I think my shoulder-'s dislocated. I-'m more worried about what-'s to come though.”

“Me too,” Nick admitted.

Greg tried to smile and turned to Nick, “I don-'t suppose me offering to be this guy-'s friend would help out any, huh?”

Nick laughed weakly, “I don-'t think so.”

“What if I explained to him that he-'s a psycho? He could have a huge breakthrough, realize the wrongs he-'s done in his life, take up religion or something, repent, let us go,” Greg continued, trying to bat away reality with humor.

“It-'s a nice thought, but I still gotta say no,” Nick replied, wanting to smile, and appreciating Greg-'s attempt levity, but unable to feel any happiness in their current situation.

Greg nodded. A beat passed and he took the chance to voice what he was really thinking, however disturbing it may be. His voice was low and scared as he whispered, “Nick, look I-'ve been listening to this guy ramble, and it-'s pretty clear he wants you to understand him and what makes him tick and all that, with me as the star of the show. But it-'s also obvious he doesn-'t care what happens to me and no matter what you tell him, I mean ... what if he doesn-'t believe that you ‘understand him-' unless ... unless I die?”

“Greg, do not think like that. Being in the field a handful of times does not make you an expert on the criminal psyche, okay. Besides someone-'s going to find us, or maybe I can even reason with Crane, but I do know Grissom-'s looking for us right now, I left him a lead. We just have to wait and be careful, it-'ll be all right,” Nick promised, trying to be strong for Greg even though he felt little more than fear and sorrow in his own heart.

Greg wanted to believe him but he had looked into Crane-'s eyes and did not see a shred of humanity within them. Hardly wanting to admit it to himself, he leaned closer to his only friend in the world, “Nick, I-'m scared.”

“God, I-'m so sorry, Greg, no way should you be involved in this sick game he-'s playing,” Nick said softly, shaking his head in frustration. “This psycho-'s supposed to be after me, hell he-'s supposed to be in jail not after anyone. This is my fault man; I-'m sorry you got hurt cause of me.”

As Nick spoke Greg-'s fear dissolved away to be replaced by fiery anger. He turned to Nick and grit out his reply through clenched teeth, “Don-'t you dare Nick! Don-'t you dare apologize for him! He is the one with the problem and the sick illusions, he-'s the one doing this and there is no way this is your fault! No God damn way! Do you understand?”

Nick couldn-'t believe that though, “Greg you don-'t get it, I-'m the one he-'s trying to ...”

“I get it just fine even with only a handful of field experience. This guy-'s lonely and wants a friend, someone to idolize, and you-'re the perfect example of a great friend. You-'re everything he wants to be, an all American guy that people love, not that I blame him because I feel pretty lucky to be your friend myself some days, and if you apologize to me again for being a guy that people love so much psychos want to be, than I will kick your ass and you-'re going to have to find yourself a new best friend, and I think your only other option here is Nigel Crane,” Greg continued, going so far as to allow a shy, sincere smile upturn his lips.

Nick-'s eyes took on an appreciative sadness, “Thanks man. All right then, let-'s figure out a way out of here. Can you walk at all?”

“Yeah if I need to, my legs are pretty much fine, but it-'s kind of a moot point with you chained to a radiator,” Greg pointed out.

Nick pulled at the cuffs again even though he knew they would not budge, “I know. You-'re probably going to hate me for suggesting this but you could probably pull your arms in front of you if you really tried.”

“How?” Greg asked, hopeful Nick had some kind of simple cop trick.

“If you roll yourself over you should be able to push your wrists past your legs and in front of you. If your shoulder-'s really dislocated it shouldn-'t be that hard to get around ... but it-'ll hurt,” Nick said, hating that he was suggesting something that would cause Greg even more pain, but there was no way he could get free from his own cuffs whereas the younger man had a chance for more freedom and possibly be able to defend himself.

Greg took a deep breath and pushed himself up a little, ready to try, “All right, just call me ‘The Amazing Rolling Greg-'.”

“When you flip over you-'re gonna ... oh my god.” Nick was cut off by a heart stopping sound.

Both men turned at the same time, their ears perked and eyes scouring the other side of the room, unable to believe what they were hearing: Know Your Enemy by Rage Against the Machine.

Nick was almost scared to hope, “Greg, is that ...”

“My cell phone!” Adrenaline pushed him to his feet and he immediately fell to one knee in pain, sucking in air as he searched the floor for the small piece of technology.

“I thought it fell out in the trunk,” he sputtered as he rose to his feet again, stumbling as he looked over the ground, kicking away shards of glass in hopes of finding it. Having his arms cuffed behind him threw off his balance and his concussion made him light-headed but he refused to be slowed down.

Nick-'s heart soared, this could be their salvation, but then that same heart fell into his stomach as he heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Apparently Crane had heard the phone ringing as well.

“Greg, he-'s coming!” Nick called out, praying with all his will that Greg could get the phone quickly.

“Found it!” Greg yelled, kicking over a large piece of glass, then he swore. With his arms behind his back he couldn-'t pick up the phone or answer it, and he could hear Crane getting closer. Thinking fast he kicked the phone towards Nick, praying it didn-'t break during the trip. But it made it safely and Nick was waiting with open hands as it slid into his grasp.

Greg wanted to fall to the floor as exhaustion and pain continued to roll over him but he knew they were far from safe. The heavy footsteps now approached the door. Greg ran towards it and threw all his body weight against the door to barricade it, which wasn-'t much but could save them the time they needed.

Meanwhile Nick flipped open the phone after taking a microsecond to check the caller ID, “Grissom?”

Greg could hear the lock on the other side of the door sliding back. Crane tried to push the door open and Greg pushed back against it, gritting his teeth as his injured shoulder was mauled, but determined to keep Nigel out for as long as possible. Across the room, Nick talked fast.


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“Nick, are you all right?” Grissom demanded, pressing the phone tightly against his ear.

“Crane-'s coming back, I don-'t have much time. Greg-'s here too, we-'re in an old house in some kind of factory neighbourhood off of 108, I don-'t know what it is exactly. I think Crane used to ...” Nick stopped suddenly and Grissom could hear splintering wood in the background followed by someone crying out and a body striking something hard.

“Nick, what-'s happening?” Grissom yelled and his eyes widened as he listened.

“No!” he heard Greg yell in the distance.

“Greg don-'t!” Nick shouted, no longer into the phone. Feet scuffled, breathing became heavy and then a single gun shot blasted through the air. Grissom jumped but continued listening; he could tell the phone had been dropped and heard what sounded like Greg scream in pain in the background, followed by Nick-'s voice, weaker than before, “Crane, leave him alone!”

Heavy footsteps echoed over the line and Grissom had to try once more, “Nick can you hear me? Are you all right?”

The last footstep landed and was followed by a loud crunch and then the horrifying sound of a dial tone. They were cut off.

Grissom stared in shock at the floor for a moment, processing what he had heard before meeting Catherine-'s questioning gaze.

“What Gil?” Catherine asked.

“We don-'t have much time.”


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Nick yelled into the phone as fast as he could while keeping his eyes on Greg, doing his best to hold the door closed with his battered body.

“Crane-'s coming back, I don-'t have much time. Greg-'s here too, we-'re in an old house in some kind of factory neighbourhood off of 108, I don-'t know what it is exactly. I think Crane used to ...” Nick wanted to tell Grissom that this had been Crane-'s home as a kid, wanted to give him exact directions to the house, wanted to plead for him to hurry but he was cut off as Crane broke through the door, splintering the wood as he slammed into it, knocking Greg off balance and throwing him hard into the wall. Greg cried out as his bad shoulder was punished again. Crane stood like solid anger in the doorway, turning from the fallen Greg to Nick who still held the cell phone. The gun had returned to Crane-'s hand and he brought it up to Nick-'s eye level. The CSI-'s eyes widened and he started to cover his head but saw Greg move and push himself off the wall.

“No!” Greg called out desperately as he lunged at Crane.

“Greg don-'t!” Nick shouted, knowing Crane would not hesitate to shoot him. Just as Crane pulled the trigger Greg-'s body collided into him, throwing his aim off and causing the bullet to miss its sought after target of Nick-'s head. Instead its trajectory changed from fatal to wounding. Nick was stunned as the impact threw him into the wall and his head turned slowly to see the source of the searing pain in his left shoulder, watching almost fascinated as the red blood stained his shirt and he slid slowly down the wall, gasping.

Across the room, Crane took hold of Greg-'s collar and threw him to the ground. He landed hard on his dislocated shoulder and heard another popping before he screamed, with his eyes closed tightly to protect them from the glass that was again imbedding itself in his side.

“Crane leave him alone!” Nick yelled as his head cleared slightly, not noticing he had dropped the phone when he was shot. He knew the wound, though painful, was not fatal so once more he was focussed on Greg, the kid he thought of as a younger brother, someone he would confide in and protect, but right now he was doing a terrible job of just that and he ached in his soul to watch him be hurt any more. For once though, Nick was able to draw Crane-'s attention to himself when he turned away from Greg to march quickly over to Nick, immediately stepping on the cell phone that still echoed Grissom-'s voice on the other line. He grabbed Nick by the shirt collar, showing more aggression and anger towards him than he ever had before.

“Who did you talk to?” Nigel demanded, shaking him to get a response.

“Wrong number,” Nick said through clenched teeth, smirking at Crane-'s anger and trying not to cry out as his wounded shoulder hit the wall. The smirk quickly faded though as Crane released him and turned around, grabbing Greg-'s hair again and picking him up just to toss him onto his back in front of Nick. A knife suddenly appeared from Nigel-'s back pocket, sharp, long and dangerous. He straddled Greg-'s hips and pulled back his head, then pressed the edge of the knife against the young man-'s exposed neck.

“Who did you talk to?” Crane asked again, his words slow and deliberate as the knife pushed in deeper but did not break the skin.

“Grissom, it was Grissom, my boss!” Nick admitted, completely unable to lie with Greg-'s death as a punishment.

Greg made a gurgling sound as he tried to swallow even as he stopped breathing from fear; he closed his eyes and shuddered as the cold metal bit in deep, wondering if he was going to die and hoping when his life flashed before his eyes it left out this day, the lab explosion, and his entire ‘geek-' years of high school.

“What did you tell him?” Crane demanded, looking directly into Nick-'s eyes.

“Nothing, you came in too soon,” Nick replied. This did not please Nigel and the metal drove in a fraction deeper on one end, drawing blood and a small cry from Greg-'s throat. “I swear!” Nick continued. “I told him we were somewhere on 108 but I didn-'t have time to tell him anything else. That highway goes for three, four hundred miles, they-'ll never find you! Let him go!”

Crane met Nick-'s gaze for several long moments, the knife never wavering from its position. He nodded and seemed satisfied but did not release his hostage.

“You shouldn-'t have done that Nick. I thought you were beginning to understand. You disappointed me and I don-'t like being wrong. I may have to take somewhat drastic measures to test you from now on,” Crane said noncommittally as if debating the decision.

Nick thought fast and hoped his reply would assuage Crane, “That-'s not what friends do Nigel, that-'s not how friendship works. Friends forgive one another, they don-'t punish each other.”

Nigel turned from Nick and stared at Greg-'s face as he considered this, watching him shudder and gasp. The pressure of the knife eased off and as Greg breathed once more he ran the blade slowly over the lab tech-'s face.

“You-'re right Nick, that is what friends do. But he isn-'t my friend.” With a quick flick of his wrist the knife cut across Greg-'s cheek, making a bloody gash from ear to cheek bone. Greg gasped and turned away, breathing hitched with fear and thanking god it wasn-'t worse.

“Please stop,” Greg whispered, closing his eyes. His fear was almost palpable but his voice did not waver and he refused to shed any more tears. He just wanted this all to end, and when it was over he wanted to be alive. Both Crane and Nick were now listening and after taking a deep breath for courage, with a sad lopsided smile and mirthless eyes, he continued, “You know you don-'t have to do this. I-'m really an okay guy when you get to know me ... well okay, maybe I-'m a bit of an acquired taste but I bet you-'d feel really horrible about this if you knew how cool I am. I got a kickass CD collection.”

A sad laugh escaped Nick-'s throat at Greg-'s weak, ridiculous attempt to get levity from Crane and repel his assaults. It was a ludicrous thing to say to a man with a knife to your throat, but it was so very Greg. It served to remind Nick even more that his friend should not be here, should not be involved with murder and violence like this. Greg should be at a football game, eating hotdogs, complaining about the music at half time. It was wrong that he was here, his life in the hands of a madman, and suddenly Nick hated Nigel Crane more than ever.

Nigel almost smiled at Greg-'s words, liking how desperate it made him appear in front of Nick, but then he heard Nick laugh and he was angry. Here he was with both of them at his mercy, knife in hand, having just revealed his deepest secrets to Nick, and yet he still laughed at this brat-'s pathetic attempts at humor? He was supposed to have all the power, rule this situation, and yet Nick-'s attention was still divided, still focussed on this child that was so far beneath him.

A horrible, malicious grimace passed over Crane-'s face as he looked down at Greg, putting all the pieces together in a logical, psychotic order.

“It-'s your fault,” he announced, speaking slowly as his explanation formed in his mind.

“Wh ... what? ... Ah.” Greg asked but said no more as the knife returned to his throat.

“It-'s you, you-'re why he doesn-'t understand. He-'s not listening. He-'s supposed to listen and learn and understand and you-'re distracting him. You-'re the reason he wants to leave, you-'re the reason he was bad, it-'s all your fault!” Crane shouted, enraged.

“No Nigel, it-'s you!” Nick yelled but was cut off as Crane seemed to snap even further.

“Shut up! Stop protecting him. You know it-'s his fault. He keeps you from caring about anyone else! You can-'t see past him! You-'re too good, too loyal. You can-'t give up on this worthless brat and let yourself understand me. ... You have to understand though, he doesn-'t deserve you. If you-'re ever going to get it then he has to go!”

Greg struggled and kicked now, trying to get away as Crane-'s ire increased and the knife was moved from his neck to being poised high above his chest, with Crane clearly intending to strike at any moment.

“No, wait!” was all Greg could think to call out as he struggled for his freedom, but Crane-'s grip and position were strong and his stance determined. Looking into Crane-'s eyes he saw no signs of hesitation, just insane clarity, and the decision had clearly been made to kill him.

“You have to go,” Crane whispered again, eyes widening just before the knife began its arc. Greg closed his eyes, not wanting to see the final strike that would take his life.

The blade never fell though and suddenly Nigel-'s bodyweight was pushed away and he could feel Crane fall to his side, gasping in surprise. Greg opened his eyes and saw Nick had pulled against his restraints enough that his leg was just able to reach Crane and he had kicked their kidnapper hard in the side of the head. Crane was getting up now, breathing hard in fury, but he was actually stopped in his tracks when Nick shouted at him, vehement and angry, no longer pleading or petitioning to any moral qualities Crane may have but demanding instead.

“You are not going to kill him, don-'t even touch him! If he dies Crane, I will never ever be your friend, no matter how much you want me to, no matter how well I understand, no matter how long you try, I will despise you forever, hate every word you say to me and ensure you never have a single moment where you don-'t feel utterly alone. He-'s my friend Crane, and unlike you I know what that means! If you really wanted to be my friend you-'d leave him alone, but if you kill him I swear we will never, ever be friends, we-'ll be enemies. So get away from him!” Nick was shaking by the time he finished his tirade, anger, adrenaline and pain spurring him on. He would not sit by any longer as this madness continued and from the look on Crane-'s face it was clear he had gotten his point across.

Still on his knees beside Greg, Crane had not risen from the floor as Nick shouted and now tears actually appeared in his eyes. His thoughts were almost visible as his mind spun over these demands and ideas. Emotions flitted across his face like movie frames and eventually settled on incredibly frustrated. Standing, Crane clutched at his hair and screamed, loud and angry, releasing his emotions until his throat was raw. He tried to think, tried to come up with a way to make everything work. He stomped to the far wall and banged his head against it, an act he had begun as a child, and muttered to himself.

“I am one and who am I? I am one and who am I? I am one and who am I? I am one and who am I?” he stopped after a few more repetitions as his mind was calmed by the mantra and he tried to think, head still leaned against the wood. “He needs to go, but I can-'t kill him, Nick won-'t let me. Nick doesn-'t lie, he won-'t be my friend if I kill him. But he-'s distracting Nick, he won-'t understand with that brat here so I have to get rid of him somehow. Nick just doesn-'t get it, he has to understand ... understand ... yes, I-'ll show him! He-'s above Gregory, he-'s too good for him. I-'ll make him see that and then ...”

Crane did not have the chance to finish his thought. Was that a footstep behind him? A snarl? He began to turn to see but before he could look he was struck in the head from behind and fell to the floor. Disoriented and surprised, he relied on instinct and quickly pushed himself onto all fours and put a hand on the back of his head. Before he could turn around to defend himself he was struck again, this time across the shoulder blades and he fell onto his stomach.

“Stay down!” the attacker shouted.

Standing above him, wobbling, Greg triumphed in his own mind as he raised the bat again.

***

It was Catherine-'s turn to drive as she and Grissom returned to the crime lab, which was fine with him since he had not gotten off his cell phone since his frightening phone call with Nick.

“So there-'s no way to make a trace?” Grissom asked, the disappointed look on his face telling Catherine the answer. He nodded his head, “All right, thanks Archie, yeah, I know you did your best. Call me if you do find anything.”

He hung up the phone and turned to Catherine, “Archie couldn-'t track the phone, either the battery-'s dead or it-'s been destroyed, no way to get a location.”

“From the look on your face I-'d say your money was on it being destroyed,” she guessed.

Grissom nodded again, deep in worried thought, “They were in trouble Catherine, Nick was scared, it sounded like chaos. They just need to hold on until we can find them, until we can get that clue we need.”

Catherine thought Nick may have given them the clues they needed and they just hadn-'t panned out yet. It wasn-'t hard to recall Grissom-'s animated phone call with Brass after losing the connection with Nick.

“Brass, it-'s Gil. I just got a hold of Nick on Greg-'s cell phone... no, he-'s not all right, at least, I don-'t think so. Anyway, we got cut off pretty quickly but he said that Crane is holding him and Greg in an old house off the 108, it-'s part of a ‘factory neighbourhood-', sound familiar? No? Yeah, I know it-'s a long highway but there must be something like that somewhere. All right, my people will be on it too ... bye.”

Brass had promised more chopper sweeps but Grissom had clearly been disheartened that he did not recognize Nick-'s description of the area right away.

Catherine pulled into the Crime Lab and climbed out of the car as eagerly as Grissom, both fervent about following up their leads as quickly as possible. On the way in they passed Warrick whose hopeful look fell away when he saw the despondency on their faces.

“Didn-'t find anything?” Warrick asked, not expecting much.

Grissom tilted his head, “Actually we got something big, is Sara here?”

“Down the hall, she-'s doing research on Crane. What did you find?”

“Go get her and meet us in the conference room, I-'ll explain,” Grissom promised, already moving purposely down the hall. Warrick didn-'t waste any time getting Sara as Catherine dropped off the samples they had gathered to their respective technicians for processing.

She couldn-'t even force herself to smile as she handed in the DNA samples to Greg-'s replacement. It was the same guy that had been in for Greg on his days off; he was quiet, cranky and slow, making her miss Greg even more and she rushed away as soon as possible. As she left the lab, absent of humor or loud music, a sudden panic gripped her as she thought about losing Greg, permanently. It was overpowering for a moment, but she breathed deeply and pushed her emotions to the side, a technique learned early in her line of work, and forced herself not to think of that possibility. Focussed once more she headed for the conference room.

Grissom was the last to arrive for the meeting and his eye was immediately drawn to the noticeably empty chair. The sight stopped him in his tracks as he was once more painfully reminded that this was not a normal case, these were two of their own that were missing. But he knew he couldn-'t think like that, he had to remain objective to function, and as he entered the room he didn-'t look twice at Nick-'s empty spot, instead he looked right at Sara who was rummaging through a folder.

“Sara, what did you find out?” Grissom asked, knowing research on Crane was one of their best chances for leads right now.

Sara was prepared and picked up a few sheets of paper to begin her explanation, “I talked to Crane-'s doctors and they sent over his records, apparently he-'s made a few breakthroughs in therapy but is nowhere close to sane. It-'s kind of scary, pretty much every one of these sessions revolve around Crane obsessing about Nick, sometimes becoming violent in earlier meetings. He was determined to become Nick somehow, no matter what it took. Eventually the doctors decided to try and curve his violent tendencies by suggesting instead of becoming Nick, he should want to be friends with Nick.”

“How does that make sense?” Warrick asked, not seeing the connection.

“It does in a way. If Crane is obsessed with becoming Nick then he-'s violent, obsessive, uncontrollable, but if his desire is to be Nick-'s friend than it-'s likely he-'ll become, well, nicer. He-'d be easier to get along with, eager to please, willing to change. They thought friendship brings out the best in people, in fact one doctor had a note down that he was going to call Nick soon to see if he would be willing to help in their sessions, but I can guess what he would have said to that.”

“Go to hell,” Catherine guessed.

“Somewhere along those lines,” Sara agreed.

“Well it doesn-'t seem that they progressed very far, Crane is still violent and not very friendly,” Grissom commented.

“Besides, if his goal is to become Nick-'s friend then he wouldn-'t have grabbed Greg too right? He should have had no interest in him, unless he was just grabbing him so there would be no witnesses,” Warrick thought aloud.

“No, he wanted them both. Crane is too meticulous a planner to just go after Nick whenever it was convenient, he wanted both of them and he picked the perfect time to take them too,” Catherine pointed out.

“She-'s right, we might not have even known they were gone yet if I hadn-'t tried to call Nick before,” Grissom added, and was reminded of his own findings. “Speaking of which, when Catherine and I were at Greg-'s we tried calling his cell phone and we got an answer.”

“Was it Greg?” Sara asked, eyes widening.

“No, it was Nick. He said they were both still alive and being held in a house somewhere on the 108, it-'s part of a factory neighbourhood, probably remote,” Grissom reported.

“How did he sound?” Warrick asked, almost at the edge of his seat.

“Alive, that-'s what-'s important, Greg was too. We lost the connection before Nick could tell us more, but we-'ll work with what we have for now. Warrick, you and Catherine start going through maps, find that neighbourhood, Sara, keep doing what you-'re doing, research could be the key on this one, I-'ll be in the tech lab,” Grissom said, watching as the meagre remnants of his team rushed out to start working. Catherine held back a second.

“You didn-'t tell them Crane was there and you heard a gunshot,” she pointed out, voice slightly accusatory.

“No need to worry them, they have to focus, they have to have hope,” Grissom said, his voice hinting that he felt to the contrary. Catherine grabbed his arm as he tried to walk away.

“We-'re going to find them, Gris, alive. You believe that don-'t you?” she asked in disbelief.

Grissom had to shrug sadly, “I want to.” And then vanished down the hallway.

Catherine sighed and then joined Warrick to begin scanning maps and locations to find their lost team mates and bring them home.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When he saw Crane storm away to the far corner of the room, paying them no attention and chanting to himself as he banged his head on the wall, Greg-'s first thought had been of escape. The door was not that far; he was hurt, his body was badly bruised and a few ribs were broken but he still might be able to run, only there was nowhere to go.
Desert, right, not a lot of neighbours.

And then he saw Nick. Bleeding but not caring, eyes locked on Crane, watching his every move. Even if he did run, and somehow get away, he would be leaving Nick behind. Like hell. But Crane was preoccupied, seemingly completely oblivious to his surroundings and Greg was determined to take every chance that was offered to them. Taking a silent, deep breath, Greg pushed himself up on his shoulder, somersaulted forward and pulled his arms behind his legs, stretching until he felt his shoulder had dislocated permanently and struggling, straining not to scream. The pain was horrible, his shoulder was on fire, his broken ribs ground together and his bruises all awoke, but the reward would be wonderful. Finally, panting, he was lying on his back again, legs stretched out and arms where they should be, in front of his body.

Nick saw what he was doing and his head could not have turned from Greg to Crane, over and over again any faster. He watched Greg-'s progress intently and prayed for Crane to stay in his delusional state for as long as possible. The pride and relief he felt as Greg silently rolled free, arms in front of him, was amazing. Now Greg could get away, at least he would be safe.

But Greg was not running. He briefly locked eyes with Nick, who pointed his head towards the door, willing Greg to run. The lab tech shook his head, he wouldn-'t leave, but he also wouldn-'t take this lying down any more. Greg silently rose to his feet and carefully took three steps across the floor. Shaking from adrenaline, pain and fear, he leaned over and picked up the baseball bat, which had been carelessly discarded earlier. Now holding his breath, he inched closer to the man leaning against the wall, still mumbling to himself. Greg heard his own name and nearly stopped but the strong wood in his hands made him confident and as Crane turned around a fraction he released the breath he had been holding in a cry as he swung the bat against the man-'s head.

Crane fell to the floor and Greg nearly collapsed himself, his shoulder protesting against such movements with pain. The swing had been far from powerful but it had been the best his abused body could do and as he saw Crane try to rise from the floor adrenaline urged him to strike once more, putting more of his anger and fear into the blow.

“Stay down!”

“Greg run! Get the hell out of here!” Nick cried, not caring how triumphant Greg seemed he knew things could turn bad again any second, after all it wasn-'t their day for luck.

“No, this is over!” Greg shouted, releasing his fear and frustration. He hit Crane again but then stumbled and cried out as his shoulder finally gave out on him, refusing to take any more. The pain was incredible and Greg knew that last blow had hurt him more than Crane.

“Greg, get the gun!” Nick suggested, trying to focus him with some plan of action. Greg breathed, trying to ride out the pain, but heard what Nick said. He moved forward, knowing if he had the gun he wouldn-'t need the bat anymore, but Crane was still moving and Greg hesitated.

How do you knock a guy out without killing him? He wondered, unwilling to take Crane-'s life despite his hatred for the man. Before he could figure it out Crane was rolling on his side and Greg had to strike once more - but the blow never landed.

Crane was faster than he had thought and Greg was moving understandably slow. Before the bat could connect Crane had rolled onto his back, brought up his hands and caught the bat in midair, holding the end tightly. Greg-'s heart froze and his eyes widened in panic.

“No!” Nick cried, his fear tripling as he stood by helplessly.

“Not nice Gregory,” Crane hissed and tugged at the bat, but Greg wouldn-'t let go. He knew if he lost the weapon he was dead and his grip locked tighter than his porn collection hidden at the lab. They both pulled for a moment as Crane got to his feet, neither giving up the bat, until Greg made a desperate move and kicked the other man suddenly in the groin, knowing dirty tactics were acceptable in this game. Crane was bent over but he did not let go and even as he gasped he shoved the bat back into Greg-'s stomach, causing him to collapse to one knee as his battered ribs took the brunt of the hit. Crane snarled and twisted the bat upwards to strike the lab tech hard under the jaw, knocking him to his back.

Greg finally released the bat and lay on the floor, opening and closing his eyes as he struggled to breathe. Fierce anger took hold of Crane as he straightened to his full height and lifted the bat above his head to strike once more, only once, and end the young man-'s life. He would not have even considered hesitating if Nick-'s voice hadn-'t broken through his tormented mind.

“Nigel stop! I meant what I said before; if you hurt him I-'ll never be your friend, never! We-'ll be enemies!” Nick cried out, trying to sound strong and in control of the situation when really he was crumbling on the inside. He cursed Greg for doing something so dangerous, making him so scared, but he also understood that they had to take every opportunity to get out of here and admired his bravery for taking action.

Meanwhile, Crane-'s gaze flicked from Greg to Nick, clearly tormented once more. Anger continued to build in his body and his eyes and finally he snapped, yelling at the top of his lungs as he threw the bat away with all his strength, watching it smash into the hallway wall and clatter down the stairs.

“You don-'t understand, it-'s not fair!!!” Crane screamed, first at Nick, then at the sky, as if pleading to God. He pulled his hands through his hair holding his head as if in pain and rocking back and forth on his feet. “Don-'t understand, don-'t understand, don-'t understand ...” he muttered several times, sounding overwhelmed. Eventually he looked to the door and saw it as a chance of escape, a way to recover, think and get his bearings. Desperate to regain control he stormed out of the room, not looking back, but was thoughtful enough to snap the lock into place behind him as he descended down the stairs to find comfort in his broken home.

Nick watched him leave, Greg only listened, not having the strength to move his head. Both were silent as they heard Crane go downstairs and stop in the living room, then there was nothing. They knew he hadn-'t left but he clearly wasn-'t moving either and they both sighed in relief.

Wanting to cry from the insanity of it all, Nick settled on sliding down the wall to rest on the floor almost panting with relief as he leaned his head against knees. When he looked up a few moments later his gaze fell on Greg. The younger man didn-'t move for a few moments, he just lay there blinking and breathing, and then he slowly rolled onto his side and met Nick-'s eyes. It was clear he was now concussed twice over and Nick knew he would not be thinking very clearly for awhile.

As Greg looked at Nick he appeared confused for a moment, and then said weakly, “Nick ... you-'re bleeding.”

Nick chuckled humourlessly at something so obvious, “So are you buddy.”

Greg looked down and seemed surprised to see the cuts coating his arms and chest then looked back up at Nick, squinting as he tried hard to think clearly, “Well you-'re bleeding ... centrally ... around the general shoulder area. Is it bad?”

Nick looked at the wound, with his adrenaline dying down it was really starting to hurt and he didn-'t dare move it needlessly, especially considering the steady flow of blood still coming from it. The bullet hadn-'t gone all the way through and he thought infection might be an issue later; the house was filthy after all, it had been abandoned for close to twenty years and there was no way to get any sterile cleansing.

“I think I-'m fine, it didn-'t hit anything serious.” He took a breath. “Greg, I want to tell you that you did a great job, okay, you-'re being really strong man and I-'m proud of you,” Nick whispered, trying to keep his voice steady even as the realization that they may both die continued to strike him.

Greg actually smiled, genuinely, with no sadness or fear, “Thanks Nick, that means a lot.” He said sincerely but his eyes were glazed and Nick knew he didn-'t understand their situation completely anymore after that last blow to the head. Content with his final words, Greg-'s smile remained as his eyes slowly drifted shut. Nick briefly thought that that was a good idea, he was beyond exhausted, but then the small voice in his head shouted at him, Concussion!

“Damn it,” Nick mumbled, then continued slightly louder, “Greg, Greg you can-'t fall asleep man. Stay with me, open your eyes.”

“I-'m tired ... bleeding ... sleep,” Greg replied in a haze, not opening his eyes.

“Come on G, talk to me, it-'s your favourite past time and I-'m here to listen,” Nick implored him. Even as he spoke he felt guilty because not only did he want Greg to stay awake for his own health, but he also did not want to be alone, awake, in this nightmare.

“Later,” Greg promised, his voice becoming weaker.

Nick tried a new tactic and felt horrible for it, “Greg please, stay awake, you wouldn-'t leave me alone here, would ya? I-'m all by myself.”

“Call Warrick then,” Greg suggested, his voice still groggy, but his eye opened a slit.

Nick laughed, “I can-'t call Warrick, all I got is you lab rat, so get up.” His voice became demanding at the end, knowing how Greg usually reacted when he was angry.

Both eyes were now open and Nick could see comprehension starting to seep back in.

“Okay, okay, I-'m up,” Greg whispered, blinking away the welcoming sleep and trying to sit up to help him stay awake. The pain that came with moving stopped him, “Oh god. Okay, I-'m up, but I-'m not moving off this floor.”

“That-'s all right, just stay awake and talk to me,” Nick requested.

Greg nodded his head, “So, what should we talk about, news, women, sports or the latest torture techniques used by madmen?”

Nick leaned back against the wall tiredly, falling easily into their banter, “I-'ll take women for one thousand Alex.”

Greg had to think for a moment but then smiled, “You see the new receptionist on dayshift?”

“No, she cute?” Nick asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Quality grade, president-'s choice, I-'d pay to father your children, kind of hot.” Nick laughed as Greg continued and slowly moved into a sitting position. “She had open toed shoes on one day too.”

“And?”

“None bigger than the big toe,” Greg reported, satisfied with his findings.

Nick smiled too, “I-'ll be sure to welcome her onboard when we get back.”

Greg-'s face seemed to fall at this and he sat up completely, looking around the room they were both trapped in he felt unable to see his simple, mundane life past its walls, “Yeah ... when we get back.” He said softly, eyes drawn to the window.

“We-'re getting out of here Greg, Grissom-'s coming,” Nick reminded the younger man once more.

Greg nodded as he oh so slowly pushed himself onto his feet and walked over to sit beside Nick once more. He was cradling his ribs, and his whole body hurt, but he did not complain as he leaned against the wall and slid down it wearily.

“And what could Grissom possibly find to tell him where we are?” Greg asked sceptically, his spirits understandably low. He eyed the blood flowing freely down Nick-'s arm and as they spoke he began to carefully rip off non-bloody strips of cloth from the button down shirt he was wearing over his T-shirt.

Nick smiled a little, “You-'re the CSI in training, you tell me. What kind of clues did we leave behind?”

Greg shook his head, which was pounding, “Nick, I-'m really not in the mood.”

“Come on Einstein, what leads are there to follow?”

Greg recognized the tone as a challenge and couldn-'t resist; he thought back, “Well, first our phone call with Grissom, he knows we-'re on highway 108 and alive and that Crane has us. I imagine they checked out both our apartments, they-'ll find both our cars in my parking lot and maybe some of my blood.”

“Plus there was video surveillance,” Nick added.

“Which means they-'ll know what Crane-'s driving,” Greg-'s spirits rose with each new clue. “They-'ll probably do chopper sweeps of the desert which sometimes lucks out, but this place is old and probably not on a lot of maps anymore. But, someone must be assigned to research on Crane and maybe eventually they-'ll come across the fact that he lived here, and they-'ll make the connection to the highway and ...”

“And they-'ll find us,” Nick finished smiling.

“Yeah, they will.” Greg-'s faith seemed slightly reaffirmed and he returned the smile as he finished ripping up his shirt. He picked up one of the wads and pushed himself onto his toes, closer to Nick, “Don-'t move all right, this doesn-'t look that great, I-'m gonna try and slow the bleeding.”

“All right,” Nick nodded, flinching as Greg tore his shirt from the collar down for easier access to the bullet wound. When he could see it better Greg pressed the makeshift bandage firmly against the blood flow and held it in place. Nick hissed in pain, having to concentrate very hard to keep from pulling away.

“Sorry,” Greg said, watching as Nick flinched but knowing he couldn-'t exactly be gentle or the blood flow wouldn-'t slow.

“Not your fault,” Nick tried to take his mind off the injury and his eyes strayed to the tattered remains of Greg-'s beloved shirt, once a crazy spiral of blue variations, now unrecognizable strips of cloth or bloody tatters. “Sorry about your shirt, I know it was one of your favourites.”

Greg scoffed, “Blood ruined it way before this did.”

“And it was so nice to start out with too,” Nick added sarcastically.

“You want to bandage up your own arm, Stokes? Then don-'t mock the fashion sense,” Greg threatened lightly.

“What fashion sense?” Nick continued.

“You-'re just jealous, Mr. Plain-Tucked-In-T-Shirt,” Greg mumbled as he threw away the first bloodied cloth and picked up a second one. The bleeding had slowed slightly and he thought he should try a bandage. “Uh, can you possibly, hold that there somehow?” he asked Nick. With his hands cuffed he couldn-'t hold the bandage in place and wrap the cloth strip around it. Nick nodded and held it there for a moment as Greg picked up a long strip of cloth and wrapped it around Nick-'s shoulder, holding the makeshift bandage in place. When he had finished tying it there was little more he could do.

“I guess I-'m done, sorry it-'s not much,” he reported, sitting back.

“It-'s great, thanks,” Nick said sincerely, feeling better that the injury was cared for in some way at the very least.

“That had to be the least fun thing I-'ve done since ... well, anything else that happened today,” Greg commented. Feeling a strange, grinding pain when he moved, he looked down at the bloodiest parts of his shirt. He lifted up the edge and saw several pieces of glass still imbedded in his side. Sighing, he began to pull them out as he and Nick spoke, the talking helping to take his mind off the pain.

“You know, I could have sworn you told me once you were an eternal optimist, I thought you could find a bright side to anything,” Nick asked, now just trying to make conversation to distract them in their sad, quiet room.

Greg gave him a sceptical look but humoured him anyway before he flinched after pulling out a long slice of mirror from his side, “Optimism? Okay, well I could go for the obvious ‘where there-'s life there-'s hope-' cliché, but it-'s overused. Um, we-'re both still alive, conscious, not quite fighting for our lives anymore, Grissom-'s looking for us we assume, we can count on some serious time off work when we get back, and oh, I think my shoulder popped back into place last time Crane hit me.”

“There, that-'s what I wanted to hear, positive,” Nick replied with a sad sort of irony.

“Well, don-'t expect too much more of that,” Greg commented. Finished with his task his gaze once again took in the tormented looking room and his mind mulled over their impossible, insane predicament. Tears that he refused to let fall suddenly pricked at his eyes as he realized that this may be the last room that he ever saw, that he could die very soon and he knew it wasn-'t right. Quietly, he whispered pleadingly, a hand running over his face, “God, I just want to go home.”

Guilt quickly crept over Nick and his eyes dropped to the floor and then went up again to meet his friend-'s, “Greg, look, I know I said this before but I-'m sorry that you ...”

“You-'re right, you did say that before,” Greg cut him off curtly. He turned to Nick, eyes now shining with sympathy and understanding, “And you didn-'t need to say it the first time so please don-'t say it again. We-'re in this together Nick, no point in looking back now.”

There was a pause as Nick smiled in appreciation for Greg-'s words. It was a few moments before the lab tech broke the silence, his quirky smile returning, “So, you gonna Superman your way out of those handcuffs soon so we can get out of here?”

Nick tugged once at the cuffs, they wouldn-'t budge and it hurt his shoulder at an exponential level so he didn-'t try again, “Sorry man, there must be some kryptonite around here, my tank-'s empty.”

Greg scoffed good-heartedly, “Geez, five days a week at the gym and you got nothing to show for it.”

“I can kick your scrawny butt,” Nick defended, taking pride in his muscular prowess.

“Not if you can only move two feet in any given direction,” Greg answered, motioning towards Nick-'s trapped hands.

“Technicality,” Nick muttered.

Greg smirked in triumph, “Technical knock outs, are still knock outs.”

“Yeah, but no one brags about those,” Nick added as his last defence.

Greg just shrugged having nothing to say to that. They sat in silence for a few moments, listening, thinking, reality breaking back into the world of levity they had been trying to maintain with meaningless banter. Bruises started to hurt again, memories of the day played back in full detail and fear reasserted itself, all in a few moments of silence.

Looking at Nick, Greg whispered, that deep fear returning to his voice, “Do you think he-'s coming back?”

“I don-'t know,” Nick replied just as quietly. “I think I ... confused him with what I said before. Maybe he-'ll stay disoriented for awhile, give us time for Grissom to find us or maybe find a way out of here.”

“Well, this may rob me of my eternal optimist title but I don-'t think escape is going to be real high on our accomplishments list. The door-'s locked, the window-'s barred and you-'re stuck to a radiator. I-'ve seen my fair share of westerns and action flicks and even I can-'t think of a way out of here,” Greg announced sombrely, but clearly was not opposed to the idea of Grissom finding them.

“You never know, an opportunity may present itself,” Nick said, taking the optimist role upon himself.

“Wait, let me guess, and we-'ll be ready when it does?” Greg replied as if quoting a low grade action movie.

“Now you got it,” Nick smiled, briefly. The smile vanished when they heard a crash down below from the ground floor. Nick-'s first thought was a SWAT team, but after another second it was clear there was only one person downstairs and it was Nigel Crane. Another loud crash complete with breaking glass and clanging metal soon hit their ears.

“What-'s he doing?” Greg asked, his voice quieter than ever.

“I don-'t know, maybe he-'s freaking out,” Nick suggested, remembering Crane-'s unstable emotional state when he left.

“He-'s not yelling or anything, I thought he liked doing that,” Greg pointed out, recalling the psychopath-'s screams the other times he had become frustrated.

“You-'re right,” Nick agreed, there would be more noise from Crane himself if he were breaking down.

Another crash, like a box being knocked over.

“Sounds like he-'s looking for something,” Greg suggested as he heard sounds of rummaging.

Nick listened and had to agree again, but also had to ask the terrifying question, “What?”

Greg shrugged, “Don-'t ask me, he-'s your stalker.”

“It-'s not like we-'re penpals man, I didn-'t ask for this,” Nick hissed through angry teeth, his emotions erupting suddenly.

Greg-'s look matched his in seriousness but also held sympathy, not anger, “I know.”

Nick closed his eyes and sighed, he hadn-'t meant to take that out on Greg, “I-'m sorry.”

The lab tech just smiled oddly and shrugged, “Yeah, I know that too.”

Downstairs the banging stopped, there were no more sounds of rummaging, and Crane laughed, once. Then both their heart rates doubled as they once again heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

***

“There-'s nothing here!” Warrick yelled in frustration, knocking the map off the table.

“Take it easy Warrick, there has to be something,” Catherine tried to sound in control but couldn-'t hold back the weary sigh that came when she looked over their findings, which were nothing really.

Warrick picked the map back up and slammed it on the table, just as agitated, “Three gas stations, two hotels, a hiking trail, and desert, desert, desert but nothing resembling any kind of neighbourhood.” He shook his head, not able to understand it. “It-'s not there. Maybe Nick got the address wrong, he had to be under a lot of stress at the time.”

“Normally I may say you were right, but we did find Nick-'s phone on 108, so either way this is where we-'re restricting our search,” Catherine explained, leaning over the map once more though she was doubtful of finding anything new. They had gone over it with a fine tooth comb and found nothing.

Warrick leaned back against the counter and rubbed his eyes knowing they were missing something. When he looked back at the map his eye was drawn to the corner legend: Highway 108 (1999), Department of Transportation. His brow furrowed.

“1999,” he mumbled, clearly thinking aloud, drawing Catherine-'s attention. He lulled his thought over for a moment before he took a cautious step forward, pointing to the map, “What if ... what if Nick got the address right, but we-'re not looking in the right spot. These are department of transportation maps.”

He emphasized his last point but Catherine wasn-'t following, “Yeah, they have all the roads and landmarks for the highway.”

“Not necessarily, in 1999 all the highways were renumbered, remember? So they issued new maps but if a road is no longer in use, and the department has no responsibility to look after it, they won-'t include it on their maps,” Warrick said, making his point.

“So, if Crane took them somewhere isolated and old that isn-'t being looked after anymore, it wouldn-'t be on here. We have to look back further,” Catherine realized. Warrick nodded and turned around to find the appropriate drawer in the cabinet. A few moments later he pulled out a new one and spread it out.

“Okay, this is 1985, let-'s see if there-'s anything ...”

“Different,” Catherine finished, her eye immediately drawn to a huge discrepancy; a road that was not on the map they had been looking at. It appeared to connect to 108 a few miles from where Nick-'s phone had been found and led far enough into the desert to not easily be seen by helicopter.

The road was called Mirview Drive and ended with a picture of a house and a building with a smokestack. They looked at the legend and saw the house meant a neighbourhood, and the building was a weapons factory.

“Bingo,” Warrick whispered.

“Found you,” Catherine agreed. They both smiled and turned to go find Grissom when Sara walked in, sheets in hand.

“Hey guys, I need your help. I found a possible location for Crane, he used to live somewhere called Mirview Drive but I can-'t find it on the database anywhere, do you think you could ...”

Sara was cut off when she saw Catherine move out of her way and point to a spot on the map behind her, “Look something like this?”

Sara was confused for a moment but then smiled as she looked at the map and saw what they were talking about, beyond relieved as both Catherine and Warrick were, “Yeah, I-'d say that-'s right.”

The three of them rushed into the hallway and towards Grissom-'s office. He was behind his desk, appearing tired. It had been a long day and he knew it was far from over.

“Grissom,” all three called out, immediately catching his attention. He turned quickly, startled and looked at his visitors. What really drew his interest was that they were all smiling and though he wished for the best, he was almost scared to hope that they had good news.

“We found it,” Catherine said, making his hesitant hope well founded.

Grissom-'s eyes widened as he got up and grabbed his coat, “Show me, Warrick, call Brass, tell him where to go.”

“On it,” Warrick promised and was gone.

“The neighbourhood-'s abandoned, there-'s an old road that-'s probably grown over that leads to it a few miles up the 108 from where we found Nick-'s cell phone. We had some trouble finding it, it-'s not on the new maps because the road isn-'t used so we had to do some back checking,” Catherine explained as they walked.

“You-'re sure though?” Grissom asked as he followed Catherine and Sara.

“Positive,” Sara assured him. “Double confirmation, my research and their map checking. Whatever Crane wants with Nick and Greg it must have something to do with his past, the place is where he grew up.”

“I suppose it-'s too much to hope he-'s just invited them for dinner. Let-'s go get Nick and Greg back then,” Grissom suggested to no objections and though for now they were smiling, they all knew the clock was ticking.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“He-'s coming back,” Greg whispered so softly Nick could barely hear him. The lab tech-'s eyes were wide with fear and he never took his gaze off the door. “What do we do?”

The desperation in Greg-'s voice tore at Nick-'s heart and he hauled at his own restraints once more, not surprised to find the act useless.

“I don-'t know,” he admitted, looking around the room in desperate hope of finding something to use as a weapon, but there was nothing nearby except for a few shards of glass and the shattered cell phone.

Greg-'s breathing became heavy as the footsteps reached the top of the stairs. He unconsciously moved closer to Nick, despite the older man-'s inability to protect him in any way other than words. They both watched, unable to look away, as they heard the lock click back, and the door was slowly pushed open.

Crane stood on the other side, gun already drawn, seemingly prepared in case of another attack. He smiled when he saw the two on the floor, pleased they had not tried to escape or hurt him again.

Perhaps they are beginning to understand, he thought gleefully as he entered the room, dragging behind him a wooden chair from a kitchen table with a roll of coarse rope on the seat. Clearly he was back in control of his emotions, he had sorted everything out in his own mind, and from the look on his face it appeared that he had a new plan. Greg and Nick both shuddered.

“Well, I-'m glad to see you-'re starting to behave,” Crane commented as he approached the two, smiling as he set up the chair right in front of them and took a seat, leaning forward like an old friend come to have a conversation. “I was a little worried about what happened earlier, but I-'ve thought about it and I know what has to be done.”

Nick was not reassured by these words and he could tell Greg was not either. Very slowly, not breaking eye contact with Crane, he asked, “Nigel, what-'s the rope for?”

Crane looked to the floor where he had discarded the rope to sit down and waved as if to dismiss it, “Oh, in a minute. But first, I have to apologize to you Nick. When I came up here before I was rash, and I can-'t believe I shot you, I-'m so sorry about that. I was just ... surprised, I couldn-'t understand the deception, but I know you couldn-'t help it with Gregory here clouding your thoughts. Still, it gave me no right to shoot you and I-'m so sorry, do you forgive me?”

Nick didn-'t respond at first. If he said he forgave Crane then he would lose any leverage he may have over the psychopath but if he said he didn-'t then Crane could easily become violent again, and angry.

“I don-'t know,” Nick said slowly, gauging the darkening look that came over Crane-'s face. “I-'ll have to think about it, maybe ... maybe you could make it up to me.”

Crane smiled and shook his head, “Nice try Nick, but you and Gregory aren-'t going anywhere. Besides, you-'re tough, you-'ll be okay. It looks like Gregory has patched you up anyway, he-'s a regular little wet nurse.”

He-'s a better friend than you-'ll ever be, Nick thought in his own mind but knew he could not risk upsetting Crane, so instead he asked again, more demanding but also somewhat scared to know, “Just, tell me what the rope-'s for Nigel.”

Shaking his head, Crane stood up and began to pace, clearly disappointed once more, “You still don-'t get it Nick, you just don-'t care about me. I-'ve had an extremely trying day you know, emotionally and physically, and you haven-'t shown any concern at all. Not a “how are you?” or “are you okay?” nothing. But him,” his fiery gaze fixed on Greg, “whenever he whines or moans you jump to him, you care and it-'s not right. He doesn-'t deserve that kind of loyalty, he-'s beneath your friendship.”

Nick opened his mouth to defend the younger man and was horrified when Greg answered before him.

“Screw you pal.”

Greg-'s voice was somewhat shaky but also clearly fed up. He was scared of Crane, scared of what he may do, but he was not going to take any more verbal abuse on top of the physical. He was not a dog to be kicked at will and he would stand up for himself.

“You wouldn-'t know friendship if it bit you in the ass. Do you even know what it means because in no way does it involve violence, kidnapping and murder. Friendship is about giving and taking and supporting each other, which frankly, you suck at, so screw you and your holier-than-thou ‘tude.”

“Greg, shut up,” Nick whispered harshly as he watched the look of anger on Crane-'s face intensify. Greg did as asked, a fresh wave of fear crashing into him as he realized exactly what he had said but there was also a small feeling of victory which screamed to be recognized and he cherished it.

If possible, Nick-'s words seemed to infuriate Crane more than Greg-'s had, “You-'re doing it again, you only care about him. What about my feelings Nick? What about me, huh? Well, it-'s time to put an end to that, to make you see that you-'re wrong. You want to know what the rope-'s for Nick, well instead of telling how about I just show you?”

Without warning Crane stomped forward and grabbed Greg by his hair. Greg had no chance to fight back as, in one fast motion he was pulled to his feet and then pushed down hard, ensuring he slammed face first into the floor. Greg made no sound as he lay stunned, his pre-existing head injuries causing his vision to darken around the edges as he waited for the pain to fade.

“God Nigel, just stop this please, it-'s crazy, you-'ve done enough, just leave him alone,” Nick begged, pleading not only for Greg-'s health but for a reprise from having to watch and live through this hell. He was beyond surprised when Crane actually turned to him, fury burning in him like the sun, and he punched Nick hard across the jaw.

“Shut up, I won-'t listen to you beg for him anymore! Why don-'t you understand that he-'s unworthy, that he-'s nothing!”

Nick hit the wall and then the floor, groaning when the pain in his shoulder awoke and assailed him, something he felt even through the fog in his head the blow had caused.

Meanwhile, Greg felt himself being pushed onto his back and he blinked to try and focus. Crane was leaning over him, rope in hand. He pulled harshly on Greg-'s bound hands and tied one end of the rope tightly around the metal chain between the handcuffs. This done he moved away and pulled the chair back a foot, looking at the ceiling.

In his head Nick heard Nigel-'s last words repeat a few times and then he had an idea that he thought he may be able to use to buy time or at least turn Crane-'s wrath away from Greg.

“Nigel, wait, listen to me. Wait!” At first Crane refused to stop to hear his pleas but he turned when Nick-'s voice became demanding and strangely calm. Nick swallowed and prayed, then pointed to Greg, “You say that he-'s worthless, that he-'s nothing, but you were nothing too Nigel. Remember your father, he was so mean to you, so unfair, he said you were nothing but you weren-'t, just like Greg-'s not. You-'re both people that don-'t deserve to be treated like this. But if you keep doing this then you-'re no better than your father was, you-'ll become your father.”

“No! Shut up, I-'m nothing like him!” Crane shouted, striking Nick again across the face. When Nick fell to the floor Crane did not show sympathy and began to kick him hard in the chest and stomach. “I-'m not my father! How could you say that? How could you think that! You have no idea, about anything! I-'m not my father! I-'ll show you! I-'ll show you once and for all.”

The last was said quietly, Crane having exhausted himself as he turned his attention back to Greg who was trying to roll over. Nigel kicked him without a second thought, battering his broken body further, and eliciting a cry from the young man. Against the wall, Nick couldn-'t move, Crane hadn-'t held back on his assault and he couldn-'t breathe or think clearly but he did watch with detached interest as Crane did as promised and showed him exactly what the rope was for.

Breathing heavily from anger and exertion, Crane took the end of the rope not tied around Greg-'s hands and stood on the chair so he could easily throw it over the rafter crossing the ceiling.

“Time to get up Gregory.”

Once the other end was hanging down he smirked as he took a hold of it and pulled hard, unceremoniously yanking Greg to his feet. As much as he didn-'t want to Greg screamed as his broken ribs were tugged suddenly but more because his dislocated shoulder was swung around and forced to support half his body weight as the rope was pulled tighter. The torn muscles were pulled mercilessly and the broken bones grinded together, creating a torture without weapons.

Crane laughed when Greg cried out and took his time tying the rope in place so that Greg-'s feet only barely touched the floor. Greg bit his lip to cut off his screams but his shoulder still felt as though burning needles were being shoved into it and it was hard not to focus on the pain.

“Greg, oh god. Nigel stop this, it won-'t change anything, and you know it-'s not right, it-'s something your father would do,” Nick said slowly as he tried to breathe as he moved to sit up.

Crane kicked the chair away he had been standing on and smiled as he inspected his work, enjoying watching Greg-'s pain as he hung helplessly in front of him. He turned to Nick and smiled, proud of himself.

He took a step to stand in front of Nick and then knelt down to be at his eye level as he pulled the same long knife from earlier from his back pocket and displayed it extravagantly. Crane smiled as he considered Nick-'s words and shook his head, as if dismissing a child-'s ramblings, “You-'re wrong Nick, this will change everything. Death always has a way of changing things.”

This said he hefted the knife up reverently and then turned his attention back to Greg.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The noise of the chopper-'s wings made speech onboard difficult despite the headsets and earpieces provided, and little was said on the flight out into the desert.

Brass looked at the occupants of his helicopter and sighed, wondering how he had let the CSIs convince him they should come. Even if the scene did need to be processed eventually as Grissom had argued, none of them were in any kind of emotional state to do it, but he understood their need to be there when their team mates were found and had let them come.

Along with a handful of SWAT team personnel he and the four CSIs were the only ones onboard with the rest of his team on the second chopper or coming by vehicle. It would be another twenty minutes until they reached the house they thought Crane may be holding Nick and Greg in and he took the opportunity to assess each member of the team.

Catherine was beyond worried and trying not to show it. Her maternal feelings towards the two missing members of their team made this situation particularly hard on her and she tried to stay distracted to keep from thinking about, fiddling with her shoulder strap, or her earphones, even checking her nails, anything to avoid to the difficult emotions that plagued her so she could get through the next few hours. She wanted to be prepared for whatever they may find there, but she was also scared to know.

Beside her Sara-'s emotional state was harder to read. A lot like Grissom she could become stone when necessary and she currently stared out the open sides of the chopper, as though admiring the desert landscape, but clearly lost in thought. She was known to get caught up in cases and make them personal but this one was personal without her even trying and the emotional toll seemed high. She was strung out but a veteran at hiding it.

Warrick was anxious. He constantly leaned out the side of the helicopter, trying to see how much farther they had to go, eager to get there and rescue their team mates, their friends. He wanted to take action and sitting quietly in a chopper wasn-'t enough. Nick and Greg were in trouble, in pain, and they were sitting comfortably, trying to get there in time. He shook his head and bit a nail. It wasn-'t enough.

Grissom was firm in appearance, showing nothing. He sat in the middle, staring straight ahead and able to see only the back of the pilot-'s head. At a quick glance he looked relaxed, casual, but upon closer inspection his fists were tightly clenched around his investigation kit, his shoulders were rigid, and his jaw was locked in tight anticipation. He was as scared as his team.

The tension in the chopper was thick and Brass knew no empty words of comfort would help any of them, or even himself. He was personally just as worried about the two men as the rest of them. He liked Nick a lot, he worked hard, solved a lot of cases and had a good sense of humor. Brass had worked his job a long time and apart from nearly being a murder suspect, Nick had never been a problem once for administration. That was impressive. On top of being a great worker though, he was a great guy, which made him easy to like. Then there was Sanders. The kid spent a lot of time in his lab with bad music playing but Brass had to admit, though he would not say it aloud, that he respected the lab rat. Greg wanted to make a difference, or so he said, by being out in the field, and Brass believed him. No one took that big a pay cut unless they really had a drive for what they were doing and that would make Greg a great CSI too. Also something he probably wouldn-'t admit aloud.

They were all worried for both Nick and Greg, but the scariest part was that they all knew what Nigel Crane was capable of, and could picture the worst possible state they may find their friends in. Which was what most of them were doing. It was a wonderful blessing when the chopper finally landed on the outskirts of the small neighbourhood, tearing them from their frightening thoughts. It was only a small group of houses but they were surrounded on two sides by impressive rock formations which had made the hamlet easy to miss on general sweeps.

The four CSI-'s were almost out of the chopper before Brass could stop them, shouting over the noise of the wings, “Hey, all of you wait! I know you carry guns but you are not police officers! Do not step a foot inside that house until you get the all clear, do you understand?” They all nodded but he didn-'t feel he really had his point across. “You go in there, you put Nick and Greg-'s life in greater danger, so stay here, all of you! I-'ll check in when it-'s clear.”

The four looked defeated and frustrated but stayed where they were as Brass left to lead the first wave into the house.

His SWAT team was prepared and well trained, they knew the situation and the suspect and he felt fully confident going in with them. They circled the only house with any signs of life with the black car in front and prepared to move in. The house was quiet, no noticeable sounds, and so were they. The area was small so containment wouldn-'t be hard or clearing each room; it was only what they may find that worried Brass. Crane was unpredictable and dangerous; they were moving as fast as possible, knowing Crane always planned his crimes well before he committed them, they hoped the element of surprise would confuse him enough that they could take him out easily.

Lined up at the door the leader looked to him for confirmation to move in. Brass nodded from the back of the line, his own gun drawn and ready. The leader of the SWAT team held up a hand with four fingers up, counted down, and then organized hell bombarded the house. Windows shattered, doors collapsed, and furniture broke as the SWAT team moved in swiftly, guns at the ready for movement or attack. The bottom floor was only a kitchen and living room, both of which were cleared quickly.

“Upstairs, move! Move!” the captain yelled, leading the way. The first bedroom was cleared, the bathroom, and then they reached the closed door with the childish handwritten plaque reading “Nigel-'s Room”. The door was easily kicked down, men shouting and rushing in with weapons drawn, Kevlar vests strapped on and helmet visors down; their precautions were unnecessary.

“We need a medic! We got live ones up here!” A voice yelled, and Brass-'s heart leapt into his throat as he rushed up the stairs. None of the SWAT team members knew Nick or Greg, he was smart enough to pick men for this job that would be objective, but that also meant that they may not know whether they had victim or suspect alive, and he had to see for himself.

As he reached the doorway he remembered to be professional; this was a recovery scene just like any other. He tried to forget that the victims were his colleagues and struggled to be objective. As he looked in to see the crime scene it was with the eyes of a police officer, calculating, detached and without emotion.

The room was in shambles, showing clear signs of a struggle or even torture of some kind. Broken glass was everywhere, a kicked over chair was in the middle of the room, there was blood spatter on a few walls and the floor and shredded children-'s pictures hung everywhere.

Through the herd of SWAT members he could make out the essential details and in his mind he catalogued the scene and its victims:

Nick Stokes, CSI level 3 was handcuffed to a radiator, seemingly unconscious. Blood and a crude bandage on his shoulder indicated a bullet or stab wound, with bruising on his face pointing to a beating; unconsciousness may have come about due to blood loss, head trauma, exhaustion or all three. A SWAT team member was kneeling beside him, checking his pulse and working on removing the handcuffs.

Greg Sanders, DNA lab tech and CSI in training was literally hanging in the center of the room. Also unconscious, arms strewn above his head and handcuffed together, he hung limply, blood dripping down his arms, chest and back, heavy bruising apparent throughout the body, clear signs of a severe beating over a long length of time. Two men were working hard to cut him down without further injury.

Both were blissfully alive, Brass could breathe.

The room-'s third occupant, Nigel Crane was a different story. His head was leaned straight up against the far wall with the rest of his body lying on the floor, his lifeless eyes fixed somewhere on the ceiling. Blood had long since stopped pouring out from the huge cut along his jugular vein that had allowed his life energy to seep out. Stepping closer Brass could see the bloody knife that had taken Crane-'s life clutched tightly in the stalker-'s right hand.

He sighed, even more relieved. Nigel Crane was dead, but the pain he inflicted would live on in the two men that had somehow survived.

***

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