Title: What It's Worth
By: robinyj69
Pairing: gen
Rated: PG-13
Warnings: violence
Author's notes: Please enjoy my little piece of Greg angst, it should be a fun time for all of us. And I got an unusually high amount of swearing for me (by my bad guys of course), so I hope it's not offensive and just illustrates how evil my bad guys are. They're pretty damn evil.
Disclaimer: Own nothing, Nick and Greg aren't mine, or the rest of the cast or show.
Summary: Nick and Greg find themselves in a desperate situation when two criminals leave something behind at a crime scene. Something they want back at all costs.

***

"Hey Nick, so, how goes the puzzle of the mysterious dude?" Greg asked happily as he entered the layout room and perched himself next to Nick at the evidence table.

Nick sighed. Though he was happy to see Greg this case had exhausted him, every trail seemed to lead to more unknowns and he was down to staring at the crime scene pictures in hopes that inspiration about the killer would strike soon. It seemed to be taking its time.

"Not good," he finally replied, sounding exhausted. "Everything leads to the same unknown and there doesn't seem to be any way of finding out who he is. I think the trail's gone cold."

Nick looked defeated; he didn't like giving up on cases but sometimes there just wasn't enough evidence.

Greg smiled and sat up taller in his chair as he threw a folder on the table, "Ah, but what you call cold, I call just heating up."

Nick gave Greg a sideways smile as he opened the folder, finding in it only a few tests from the victim's apartment. She had been a university student living off campus, in a building with no surveillance. A friend found her when she came by to see why she had missed class. All they knew was the girl was strangled with a telephone cord after having consensual sex, and though they had some great fingerprints and DNA from the vaginal sample and the epithelials on the cord, they had yet to find the man they all belonged to. The boyfriend and all the men in the building had turned out negative as a match on either and they had no more leads, or even motive. But just as Nick had been about to decide all hope was lost, Greg walked in and showed him ... evidence he had already seen.

"Greg, I appreciate you trying to help but I've already seen all these, I collected them myself," Nick said, not seeing the significance of a few chemistry and biology tests. "Besides, this isn't even your case. I know you don't like it, but we're on different teams, we can't work together just cause you want to."

"Don't remind me, okay," Greg asked, face falling a bit before he forced himself to brighten up again, "We closed our case, brother copped to it, so with nothing to do I could either take a look at what you were working on or go help Mia in DNA, which is something I promised myself I would never do again. So, lucky for you, I'm here to help."

"And I do appreciate it, but I don't understand what you're trying to show me here," Nick admitted, handing the tests back to him.

"Ah, well that I can help with. These are the victim's last few midterms, worth a good chunk of her mark, and as we know, marks are important to this girl. She doesn't come from a rich family so if she loses her scholarship she's done," Greg began, taking out each test and laying them all out in a row on the table.

"Yeah, but she did great on these tests - 92, 87, 90 - she was in no danger of losing that money," Nick interrupted, not knowing where he was going with this.

"One would think that at a glance, but I took a closer look," he picked up the first midterm marked CHEM 3200. "Now, I like to think I know a thing or two about chemistry ..."

"So do I since you were our DNA tech for five years," Nick commented, waiting on the big reveal.

Greg took a little bow, "My point exactly. So, I hope you will take my word for it when I tell you that half of the questions marked correct on this test are actually as wrong as Brass wearing a speedo."

Nick cringed, "Well thanks for that mental image, no way am I going to sleep tonight."

Greg kept smiling, despite Nick's discomfort, "You see where I'm going with this don't you? She cheated."

"No Greg, all you've proven is her professor is a lousy marker," Nick pointed out.

"First of all, these are four different tests, from two different classes, all with horribly wrong answers, marked correct. You don't think that's strange?" Greg asked trying to make his point.

Nick had to admit it was getting more plausible, "Her answers weren't even close?"

"About as close as I am to becoming a CSI 3," Greg replied as he opened a second folder.

"That bad huh?" Nick joked.

Greg pointed a threatening finger at him, "You want my help or not?"

Nick smiled apologetically and waved at the table, "Please, continue."

"All right, a little respect, that's all I ask. Okay, her first test, this is what she wrote, and this," he placed a second sheet of calculations beside the evidence, "is the right answer, as worked out by yours truly."

Leaning closer, Nick knew Greg had a point. Nick's chemistry was a little rusty, but it was pretty clear the answers weren't even close.

"Are they all like this?" he asked.

Greg nodded, taking out several more sheets of paper for comparison, "Uh huh. These are my versions of the tests, hardly anything she wrote is right."

"So, unless you're just not as smart you think you are, you're thinking she bribed the professor. Maybe slept with him for better grades and then what? She got what she wanted, dumped him and he killed her," Nick theorized, realizing where Greg was going with all this.

"Or, he found out she had an actual boyfriend and went green eyed monster on her. I tallied up what her grades would have been if these had been marked correctly, she would have had like a 58 percent, not nearly enough to keep that juicy scholarship. And just for the record, TA's usually do the marking, not the actual professor," Greg added.

"That actually sounds pretty plausible, gives me something to go on at least. Great work Greg. Really, I mean that," Nick said proudly as he got up, "I'll go follow up on this right now, find out who marked all these. You want to come with, I could use some company and you could get an assist on the case."

"Tempting," Greg said as he twirled around in his chair, "But I'm tired, I'm going to head home, it's been a long day."

Nick looked at the clock and frowned, "Hey, your shift ended an hour and a half ago, don't tell me you stayed late just for this." Nick asked as he sat back down and pushed his chair closer so they were facing each other.

Greg shrugged, "Well I wasn't going to leave you to work out advanced Chemistry equations yourself. I didn't mind, I want to help."

"You definitely did Greggo, you may have broken it wide open. Thank you, I was about to close the file," Nick said sincerely, hating to leave someone's murder unsolved. He had this horrible feeling a person wouldn't be able to rest in death unless their killer was caught. "Just don't push yourself too hard okay. I know you're trying to impress everyone and prove you deserve that badge, but trust me, everyone already knows. No point in burning yourself out over nothing."

Greg smiled a little, appreciating Nick's honesty, "Thanks, that's actually really good to hear. And don't worry, I'm not burnt out. I've worked way longer shifts than this in DNA."

"Different kind of work G," Nick pointed out. What he meant was that DNA processing wasn't nearly as mentally exhausting as the collection portion of crime solving and Greg had to agree.

"I know, but I can handle it. Thanks though," Greg said again as he stood up to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow maybe."

"Yeah, night Greg."

"Later," Greg answered, walking out the door.

With two short waves they parted ways, one to sleep, one to work, not knowing that tomorrow would be a much more exhausting day.

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By the early hours of the morning Nick and Greg were both in their respective beds after a hard, but rewarding night's work. After a good few hours sleep Nick awoke refreshed but also oddly uneasy. Shaking his head, he dismissed the feeling as bad dreams. He got up and showered, shaved and then had a few hours to kill before he had to go back in, so decided to call the friend that he didn't think he had seen enough of lately.

It was four rings before Greg picked up, even then sounding groggy.

"Hello?" he asked, too tired to check the display.

"Sorry G," Nick said apologetically but also a little perplexed - Greg should have been asleep long before he was. "Did I wake you?"

"Uh, maybe ... yeah, I don't know," Greg admitted, rubbing his eyes as he tried to organize his thoughts.

"Something wrong? I thought you promised to get some rest," Nick said.

Greg sighed, "It's not like I didn't try, trust me. It's weird, I'm ... I don't know. I got this weird, anxious feeling for no reason. Totally destroying my sleep cycle. Past few hours I've felt like I'm half asleep half awake, it's weird."

"That is weird," Nick agreed. It sounded like stress to him, so he asked seriously. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about," Greg admitted honestly. "Seriously, nothing's bothering me, I don't know what's wrong."

"Huh," Nick said, at a loss. "I don't know then. I was just calling to see if you wanted to grab something to eat before work."

Greg groaned apologetically, "I can't Nick, sorry. I got a few more hours before shift, I gotta try to get some real sleep."

"No, that's cool, you sleep. Try warm milk or some crazy Norway remedy to calm your nerves," Nick suggested. "Your grandfather must have taught you something."

Greg laughed, "Yeah. Thanks for the amazingly original advice Nick, I will. I'll see you later."

"Okay, bye Greg." Nick hung up and decided he didn't want to go out to eat by himself so just made his own breakfast/supper and watched some television. After more than an hour of finding there was nothing good on, he was finally getting ready to leave when his phone rang.

"Stokes. Hey Catherine. No, I'm not running late, I was just leaving. Yeah, I know where it is. A double? Coroner pronounce? Okay, number 52, I'll meet you there. Oh, you are. Yeah, that'd be great, see you in a few."

Nick hung up and grabbed his field kit, making sure it was well stocked. From Catherine's rushed tone and eagerness to get to the crime scene, so much so that she was picking him up, he could tell this case was going to be huge, and he wanted to be prepared.

He wouldn't be.


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A slow hour passed and Greg was still tossing in bed, trying to rest his mind, but the strange uneasiness wouldn't leave his mind, and he was stuck in between reality and dreams. After awhile he turned on his television, hoping some white noise would lull him into real sleep, but it was the news that clicked on and the story grabbed his attention.

There had been a double murder earlier in the evening that was being covered, and it looked high profile. The victims were a rich couple in a good neighbourhood, kind of far out of the city. It must have been a professional job because the place looked gated and well secured. The reporter said the husband, Mark Waller, had been a very successful computer software developer which meant the wife, Jessica Waller, probably didn't do anything for a living because she didn't have to with that much money, and had been collateral damage. There would have been all kinds of motive and suspects to look into for their deaths, and Greg knew the police would really have their hands full cracking that one. The reporter was in front of the police tape but in the background Greg could see the house was huge and surrounded by police cars and people in black. He leaned closer and smiled, the two men in front taking photos were definitely Nick and Warrick.

"Congratulations guys, you're stars," he murmured. Greg watched until the story finished, with the reporter promising to have more as it was known, and then he laid back down to try to sleep.

He was only moments into another of his disturbing waking dreams when his restless sleep was once again interrupted by the ringing of his phone. This time he did check the caller ID and groaned.

"Hey Grissom what's up?" he asked in greeting, trying not to sound like he'd just woken up.

"Greg, I know you're not on duty for a few hours but I'd like it if you could come in early, Catherine could use an extra set of hands at her crime scene. The grounds are going to take awhile to process and they could use some help," Grissom explained.

Greg wanted to sigh, but kept it in. He didn't want to work yet, he felt more exhausted then when he got home, but he appreciated Grissom asking. It meant he had faith in Greg working important crime scenes, which is why he answered, "Yeah sure, I can be there in a few minutes. The murder in Birchwood, right?"

"Yes, how did you know?" Grissom asked.

Greg rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up, "Uh, it's all over the news, I just figured that was it."

"Oh, good. Find Catherine when you get there, she'll make sure you get past the tape."

"Yeah, no problem. I'll be there in a few minutes. Bye."

"Bye Greg, thanks," Grissom finished.

Greg sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. It needed gel he decided, and he needed to get moving. Despite being tired, he was excited to work a high profile case, his first as an official CSI. He got ready quickly, not wanting to be late, and was out the door within twenty minutes. Greg smiled as he grabbed his kit and walked out the door, because Grissom had just assigned him to go work with Nick and Warrick all day, which he had no problem with considering how little he got to see the two lately.

Donning one of his new professional outfits and a fresh hairstyle, he whistled as he walked to his car, thinking it would be a good day. He was wrong.


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When he reached the house Catherine was still outside processing but there was no sign of Nick and Warrick. She saw him and waved for the police to let him by. Usually cops didn't even guard the tape, but the media was still going strong and a lot of people were trying to sneak through.

"Hey Greg, thanks for coming in."

"No problem. I would have been here sooner but these media people are nuts. They wouldn't even move when I had my police lights on, I had to park way behind the tape," he said in greeting, amazed at how cutthroat these reporters were.

"They're vultures all right, just keep your distance or you'll get suckered into an interview you didn't know you made and that can lead to problems. Just ask Nick," Catherine warned as she led him into the house.

Greg quirked an eyebrow, "Maybe I will. Actually they were questioning me as I was coming in, before I'd even looked at the scene."

"They want to know whatever you know Greg. Even if you think you don't know anything, it's usually more than they do," Catherine replied, clearly speaking from experience.

"Well, I'm not here about them, where do you want me?" he asked as he began visually scanning the enormous mansion.

"The DB's are upstairs, that's where most of the things that it looks like they were trying to steal were as well. What we don't know yet is how they got in. I'd like you to work down here with Nick and try to figure that out, I'll be upstairs with Warrick," she said.

"You're the boss, boss. I'll see what I can do," he promised.

She smiled and headed towards the stairs, "Okay, have fun."

"Oh I will," he whispered to himself, then carefully began walking through the downstairs, checking out just how big it was. When he got to the back of the house he found a door leading outside to the pool area, and there was Nick, crouched down on his knees using the ALS to try and find usable footprints in the concrete.

Nick hadn't seen him and he stood in the doorway smiling, "So, you think this is how the bad guys came in?"

Nick spun around and smiled, "Hey G, what are you doing here?"

Greg came closer, "Grissom called me in, said you guys could use a hand with the processing, since there's so much of it." And there was. The backyard was about the size of a football field. This could be a long day.

"Yeah, it's going to be a tough one, but I do think they used this door to get in," Nick stated, laying out the scene.

"And why's that?" Greg asked, knowing there were probably a hundred possible ways into this house.

"I found a good amount of dirt on the concrete, it runs dry before it gets to the door, but it tells me that someone came all the way from the grass, across the pool's concrete walkway and up to the house. If someone had just been using the pool there'd be no reason to have dirt or grass on their feet, this concrete's cleaner than your place," Nick commented.

Greg huffed, "Hey, I did the dishes."

"Greg, you have a dishwasher," Nick pointed out.

Greg didn't back down, "Well they're still in there, being cleaned."

"And I'm sure they'll be lovely, now let's get to work. You can dust that door for me if you want," Nick requested.

"Sure," Greg replied, opened his kit and removed his dusting powder, "So, how'd the case go last night? Was it the professor or what?"

"No, the teaching assistant, you were right. Same guy marked both classes' papers. I got a warrant, Brass and I confronted him and he confessed after we told him we had DNA and fingerprints that we would eventually match to him. Case closed. And I told Catherine how you helped out, she's putting you down as an assist on the case," Nick replied as he continued combing the grounds with the ALS.

"You didn't have to do that," Greg pointed out, "You did the grunt work."

"No, you deserved it. Besides, I couldn't really take credit for being able to notice that fourth year university Chemistry equations were wrong, I don't really have the expertise," Nick added, and Greg had to agree.

They kept working for almost their entire shift and found disappointingly little. A few good footprints were preserved in a new patch of dirt in the lawn, verifying that there were at least two robbers and that the back door was how they got in. But there were no fingerprints anywhere and the security tapes revealed the men were wearing masks at all time and had apparently somehow known the code to turn off the security system, which had pretty much left the Wallers' defenceless.

It was almost three in the morning and Nick and Greg were ready to go back to the lab with their samples and start trying to put the pieces together. They told Catherine and Warrick they were leaving, both of whom congratulated both of them for solving Nick's case the day before. Warrick and Catherine still had another room to process that had been badly ransacked by the thieves, but sent Nick and Greg ahead with the samples they had taken already.

They got outside to find the area pretty much deserted. The media had left after a few hours of being told nothing, which only left a few cops and the CSIs, none of whom had seen the two black figures that had snuck into the area nearly an hour before.

As they walked, Nick realized, "Oh yeah, Catherine drove me, we're both going to have to take your car."

"Damn, and just when I thought I was going to get rid of you," Greg joked. "Sorry I parked so far, the news vans wouldn't move for me so I gave up and walked in."

"You just gotta be aggressive with them. Did you beep the horn?" Nick asked, smiling since he knew Greg wasn't big on pushing people around.

Greg rolled his eyes, "Of course I ... Oh no wait, I don't think I did. No, I must have. Either way, I had my lights on, they should have moved."

"Well, there's what people are supposed to do and then there's what people do," Nick said wisely.

Greg just nodded. They had reached his car, which was a black SUV with tinted windows. It wasn't flashy or classic like his old car, which was what he really wanted, he was a car buff after all. But he had learned from his fellow CSIs that the SUV was the best way to go, it could get you to any crime scene, looked authoritative and had the trunk space necessary for all the gear they used.

Now that they were at the trunk Greg realized he was carrying most of the samples and with his arms full he couldn't get his keys in the lock, "Hey Nick, could you take some of these so I can pop the trunk?"

Nick didn't take any packages, instead he snatched the keys from Greg's fumbling fingers, "How about I just take these and do it for you?"

"That works," Greg said, placing the samples down gently after Nick lifted the lid. He backed away and dusted his hands off as Nick put his field kit in as well and then pulled the keys out.

"You mind if I drive?" he asked.

"No, go ahead. I don't know my way around here that well anyway, I had to ask directions on the way in," Greg admitted as he got in the passenger side.

Nick started the car and they pulled out. Greg tried to suppress a yawn, "Can we stop somewhere for coffee? I don't want any of that muck at the lab, I think they mix it with dirt for flavour."

"I know what you mean. That coffee pot has really been going downhill since you stopped supplying it," Nick commented as he navigated easily through the twisted roads and side streets of the secluded neighbourhood.

"Well I couldn't keep funding the entire lab's caffeine addiction, I have enough trouble feeding my own," Greg added. "So, what do you think our chances are of finding these guys?"

"It's hard to say. From what we found alone, kind of slim. But Warrick and Catherine might have found something and the cops are doing the usual background check for enemies, might turn up something. Either way, it'll probably be awhile until we have a suspect, let alone the hard evidence to prove it," Nick guessed.

Greg nodded and leaned back in his chair, clearly settling in for the nearly half hour drive to the lab. Nick reached for the radio knob and Greg tensed.

"I swear if you put it on that country station I will never let you in my car again," Greg threatened, sounding quite serious. As well as Nick and Greg got along on almost every subject, they would never be able to agree on music. "I gotta keep my car's dignity."

"Never Greggo?" Nick asked sceptically, his hand still hovering over the dial, undecided.

"Not for a month at the very least then," Greg promised and actually seemed to mean it.

"We're not listening to Hardcore 103, it's just people screaming," Nick replied, knowing that was Greg's favourite station.

"Well ..."

Greg never finished his sentence. He and Nick both heard the quiet, distinct sound of a gun's safety clicking off, and as they both turned around to find the source two black, masked figures suddenly appeared in the back seat, a glint of sleek metal in each of their hands.

"Holy shit ...!"

Nick immediately reached for his gun and nearly went off the road, but the armed man behind him had his gun touching Nick's temple before he could even touch the handle of his own weapon.

"Don't even think about it Cowboy," the man warned. Nick knew he was serious and moved very slowly to put his hands back on the wheel.

Beside him, Greg had not had a chance to react in any way. He didn't even carry a gun that he could reach for, his only thought was escape and he might have been reaching for the door handle when the second man grabbed him. Reaching one hand around the headrest he covered Greg's mouth and with the other he ran the tip of his gun slowly up Greg's neck to rest under his chin.

"I've always been kind of partial to classic rock myself," the second man whispered cruelly, smiling with delight as he saw the fear his presence had caused in the young man - the rapid breathing, the panicked expression, the whole body tension - it gave him an adrenaline rush that he loved.

"Keep driving, nice and steady. Do exactly as we say and we can all walk away from this with as many limbs intact as possible," the first man instructed to Nick as he took away the Texan's gun. "I trust you only have the one," the man asked, pushing his own gun harder into Nick's temple, tilting his head to the side.

"Yeah, that's it," Nick replied, only looking at the man through the rearview mirror, and then only when he wasn't focussing on Greg or the road. The younger CSI seemed all right - he was scared but unharmed so he focussed on their attackers. Both the gunmen were probably in their late thirties, they were white and well built, Nick would guess former military, and they were very, very confident of their dominance in this situation.

The second man leaned closer to Greg's ear and slowly ran the gun barrel down from Greg's temple to his jaw and then whispered, "Are you going scream if I move my hand away? Because I wouldn't mind if you did."

Greg closed his eyes and tried to calm himself and then shook his head. The man seemed disappointed but removed his hand from over Greg's mouth.

"Well that's all right I guess," he said smiling, then reached around the chair and patted down both of Greg's hips. When he found nothing he became serious, bringing his weapon to Greg's temple once more, "Where's your gun stud?"

Greg shook his head and pulled as far away from the weapon as possible, then replied shakily, "I don't ... I don't have one."

This almost seemed to anger the man, "What kind of cop doesn't carry a gun?" He asked, clearly implying Greg was lying.

"I'm ... we're not cops," Greg said in return, trying to turn around to look the man in the eye to prove he was being sincere, but it didn't work.

"You've been at the Waller place all day, that makes you cops," he insisted, his gun becoming threatening again.

"He's telling the truth," Nick spoke up, drawing both men's attention, "We're crime scene investigators, we just collect the evidence. We don't have to carry guns. He doesn't have one."

"It's true," their first attacker added, seemingly more knowledgeable than most on the subject. "They don't all have them."

This seemed to please the second man and he became politely cruel once more, "Well you should really think of getting one," he checked the ID on Greg's shirt, "Gregory Sanders, CSI 1. They make life so much simpler."

Greg couldn't respond. He'd never had a gun pulled on him before, he wasn't even comfortable around them for protection and for this reason this situation terrified him more than it did Nick, who had some experience being threatened at gunpoint.

"Who are you guys? What do you want?" Nick asked, trying to keep the situation calm and maybe bring it to an end.

Find out what these guys want, give it to them, and then they'll go away, Nick told himself. And then Greg will be safe and tomorrow I'll take him to the shooting range and force him to learn to use a gun.

"Since you asked, you can call me Dallas and my friend here is Memphis," the first man replied.

"Nice to meet you," the second man, Memphis, taunted. He shifted his gun to just under Greg's chin and pushed up, "And what do we say in return?"

Greg was trying not to tremble and was doing a fairly decent job, but surprised even himself when he replied sarcastically, "The pleasure is all yours."

This did not sit well with Memphis, who grabbed Greg's hair with his free hand, pulling his head back even further, "My goodness that was rude. Don't you know you're supposed to be polite to the people who decide whether you live or die?"

Greg immediately regretted talking back and his breathing became even faster, more panicked, with this threat. He closed his eyes and willed this not to be happening, but when he opened them again the first thing he saw was his reflection in the rearview mirror, with this masked gunman behind him, gun at his throat - this couldn't be more real.

"Leave him alone," Nick demanded, feeling amazingly powerless from only two feet away.

Dallas chuckled, "Ah Cowboy, looks like someone's protective of their boy."

"He is very pretty," Memphis commented disturbingly, moving his second hand to run down Greg's cheek, who couldn't pull away with the gun pushed so far into his skin. "Can we keep him?"

"You son of a bitch!" Nick would have undoubtedly lunged at the armed man if Dallas hadn't pushed his gun directly into Nick's line of sight, stilling all rebellion. Nick still growled, "What the hell do you want?"

"Well, that's for us to know, isn't it? Pull over here," Dallas demanded. There was nothing out there but desert, as they were still beyond the city limits and the road was as close to deserted as it came.

Nick had a bad feeling about this (how could he not?), but he had no choice but to comply.

As soon as they were stopped Dallas wordlessly put away his gun and got out of the car. At the same time Memphis released Greg and pushed into the middle of the backseat to keep his gun trained on both the CSIs at the same time. It was only then that Greg made any attempt at eye contact with Nick. He was shaking so bad he almost couldn't bear it but was not surprised, and was also a little comforted, that Nick was more angry and upset than scared. Or at least if he wasn't, he was hiding it well.

"You okay?" Nick asked so quietly he doubted even Memphis heard behind them.

Greg nodded, not trusting himself to speak much, but wanting to sound braver than he felt, replied, "Yeah, I'm good."

Nick was going to say more but his attention was drawn to the front of the SUV, where Dallas walked past and then quickly came up on the passenger side, viciously tearing open Greg's door. His gun was drawn again.

"Take off your seatbelt, get out of the car," he ordered, motioning nonchalantly. That was probably the scariest thing about these men, they were armed and they were very confident, fearless and unhesitant of exerting their power, which probably meant they had no fear of shooting or killing the two CSIs.

Greg didn't move at first, then he looked at Nick, who asked, "Why?"

"Because I said so, now do it," Dallas demanded again.

Greg's mind was in a haze from the terror of being threatened so brutally at gunpoint and his reaction was slow.

"Did that sound like a suggestion?" Dallas asked, clearly not amused.

This made Greg spring into action and he began to fumble with the lock on his seatbelt, "Sorry ... I can't ... it won't ..."

The lock finally clicked when Memphis undid it from behind, "Let me help you there, 'Greggo'."

Nick glared at him but then turned back to Greg, who was being pulled out of the car by Dallas.

"Come on," the masked man demanded as he pulled the young man out roughly.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Nick asked, reaching to unbuckle his own seatbelt to follow the man, but Memphis cocked his gun from behind, stopping him.

"Relax Cowboy, we're just making sure we can keep an eye on both you two. Don't want you trying anything foolish that will end up with either of you being less alive than you are now," Memphis said smoothly as Dallas opened the back door and shoved Greg into the backseat headfirst.

"Hey Stud, glad you decided to join me," Memphis commented as Greg slowly pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Didn't really have much of a choice," Greg whispered under his breath. Memphis obviously heard him but didn't become angry, instead he just laughed - it was the sound of sadism. There was no real mirth in it, just enjoyment in other's pain and the anticipation of violence.

"You're walking a thin line Greggo, I'd be careful," Memphis said, bringing up his gun again. Greg flinched away, half from the gun and half from the twisted way this man was using his nickname like they were friends.

In the front seat, Dallas settled himself in, set the radio to a classic rock station and then announced, "That's better. All right, keep driving. Straight until I tell you to stop."

Nick took a calming deep breath and did as instructed. Once he was on the road he immediately looked in his rearview mirror, from which he had a clear view of Greg in the back. The younger man was scared and trying to hide the fact that he was trembling, but overall he was holding it together. Greg knew Nick could see him and even tried to smile for him, but he knew it did not come across as assuring.

Then Greg's attention was drawn back to Memphis as the larger man pulled a pair of handcuffs seemingly out of nowhere.

"Turn around," he instructed, snapping them open.

Greg hesitated, unsure what he meant, and definitely sure he didn't want to, and this did not please the short tempered gunman.

"You heard me Stud, turn around," Memphis ordered again, quickly becoming physical. In one swift move he holstered his gun, pushed Greg's head roughly into the door window and pulled back his arms, snapping a cuff tightly around each wrist. When he was done, his hand was still pushing Greg's head hard into the glass and he whispered in his ear.

"When I tell you to do something, you do it, kay Greggo?"

To emphasize his point he pulled Greg's head back a little and then slammed it against the glass once more, hard enough that the thud resounded through the car.

"Ah, God," Greg hissed as he leaned forward, head almost touching his knees as he waited for the pain to pass.

Nick watched all this in the mirror and couldn't hold back his anger, "Stop it, for God's sake, he hasn't done anything to either of you. So why don't you tell us what the hell you want and leave us alone?"

"Nick, I'm okay ... it's okay," Greg rushed out, wanting Nick to be quiet before he angered these men any more.

Memphis was unphased by the outburst though and Dallas just chuckled.

"Let's just say you're on a need to know basis, and right now, you don't need to know. Memphis?" Dallas tilted his head as if Memphis should be doing something.

"Yeah, I got it. Now, don't you move and make me hurt that pretty face of yours even more," Memphis crooned to Greg as he holstered his gun once more and started to lean back into the trunk. The entire car was silent as he sifted through the trunk's content. Nick stared straight at the road, and watched Greg - it looked like he'd have a black eye - and tried to come up with a plan to take out these men, but there was absolutely nothing he could do to disarm them both that wouldn't end up killing him and Greg as well, short of crashing the car and hoping for the best. That was especially impossible now that Greg was handcuffed since it meant he couldn't even open the car door and make a run for it.

Beside him, Dallas hummed along to the radio as casually as if he was on a roadtrip with his buddies.

In the back, Greg was trying to make himself invisible. Not moving or making eye contact, he figured passiveness was his best bet for survival with these guys, and considering how scared he was it was about all he could manage. The key was in not upsetting these guys and Greg was getting worried because right now Memphis seemed to be upsetting himself as he couldn't seem to find what he was looking for in the trunk.

There were more than twenty sealed evidence bags in the crates behind them and Memphis had periodically opened each one, emptying out the contents and going through them piece by piece. At first Greg thought he was just destroying the evidence, breaking the chain of custody and making it unusable in court, but as he continued tearing open only the bags, leaving the swabs and cameras completely alone, it was clear he was looking for something.

There was now no doubt in either Greg or Nick's minds that these were the men that had killed the Wallers and would not hesitate to kill again, and now it seemed they may have left something behind. Something they were desperate to get back.

Memphis tore the last bag open and emptied it, only to find a pair of Mr. Waller's shoes. He growled, becoming frustrated, maybe even panicked, and started tearing through the trunk, looking for more bags.

"Dallas, it's not here," he announced as he searched desperately, trying to sound calm but only coming off as upset.

Dallas also quickly became concerned, "What do you mean? Of course it's there, they take everything, I told you that."

Memphis threw a bottle of Luminol from the trunk in anger, nearly hitting Greg in the head. "Well they must not take everything, because it's not fucking here!"

"Goddammit! Look again," Dallas swore up front, turning to stare out the window and think.

In the back, Memphis's angered gaze fell on Greg and he lunged at the defenceless CSI with all his might, squeezing his strong hand around the young man's throat and lifting him up off the seat.

"Where is it you fucking faggot? Where's the disk?" he demanded, slamming Greg's head against the glass again.

Greg tried to kick out with his legs and struggled for air, but little was making it to his lungs. All he could do was shake his head and squeak out a barely audible, "I don't know."

"Don't fucking lie to me! Where's the disk?" Memphis repeated, shaking Greg again.

"What disk?" Nick asked urgently from the front. "Let him go! We don't know what you're talking about."

Dallas had his gun pointed, for the first time perhaps intending to fire, he was that angry, "A blue compact disk, it was in the house, where is it? Give it to us right now, or he dies."

The threat was very real, Greg was being strangled to death in the backseat, his vision already starting to darken, and Nick had no idea what these angry, armed men were talking about.

***

"You have ten seconds, Cowboy," Dallas warned as he clicked off the safety of the gun touching Nick's temple.

"It must still be in the house," Nick concluded after racking his brain and coming up with nothing. "We don't have it, I swear. Please, let him go, I don't know what you're talking about. We didn't find any disk," Nick continued pleading, as he abruptly pulled over since he couldn't focus on driving with Memphis's huge hand cutting off Greg's air supply.

In the back Greg's resistance was getting weaker. His cuffed hands flailed to find something to grip, without success, and Memphis's body was too close, he couldn't get his legs up to do any sort of damage. As the pressure on his throat continued the edges of his vision began to darken and he felt his thoughts slowing with his heart.

"You fucking little bitch," Memphis hissed, not relenting as he slammed Greg's head back once more.

"You swear on his life?" Dallas asked, gun still trained on Nick. "You never found a disk upstairs?"

"Upstairs? We never even went upstairs. We processed the ground floor, exit and entry, we were never upstairs, I swear. We don't have it!" Nick swore and watched desperately as Dallas decided if he was lying.

"Memphis, let him go!" Dallas finally said with authority. "Memphis! Let him go, they don't have it!"

Memphis reluctantly released Greg, whose eyes had been rolling into the back of his head. He immediately fell forward, landing in an awkward position half on the floor and half in the seat where he began coughing violently as he struggled to breathe. The coughing stopped after a few deep, wheezing breaths and he found he was exhausted as he laid his head on the seat and closed his eyes.

In the front Nick reached around to help support him with a hand on his shoulder and was shouting for his attention, "Greg? Greg are you okay? G, talk to me, please."

Greg lifted his head slowly and nodded, coughing once more before speaking in a barely audible voice, "I'm all right ... I'm okay Nick."

Meanwhile, their two kidnappers appeared to be going through a crisis.

"Dammit," Dallas swore again. "So you never processed the upstairs?"

Nick took his attention from Greg and shook his head, "No, it was two other CSIs, we only did the grounds and downstairs."

Inside Nick was hopeful - if they didn't have what these guys were looking for then it was plausible they would just let them go - they hadn't seen their faces or knew their real names, so without this disk they wanted so badly, things may have been looking up.

"Keep driving," was all Dallas instructed, and with a final look at Greg, Nick did just that.

As Dallas was thoughtful up front, in the backseat Memphis was calming down. Greg stayed crouched on the floor for another long two minutes, trying to breathe normally, deeply, without the searing pain, but it wasn't going well. Memphis watched Greg for a few seconds before transforming back into his usual, confidently cruel self.

"All right, that's enough - get off the floor," Memphis demanded, reaching for Greg's upper arm to pull him up. But fear made Greg faster and he pulled away, back as close to the door as possible and as far away from the monster beside him as he could manage.

"No," Greg said, half a plead, half a demand as he shrunk away from the bigger man's touch.

"You don't trust me Greggo? And I thought we were becoming so close," Memphis teased, but didn't try to grab him again.

Greg glared at him, coughing again as he moved to sit in the seat once more, still as far from Memphis as possible. His anger was up a little more, it briefly won over his fear and he replied, "Don't call me Greggo, we're not that close."

Greg couldn't stand to look at this man anymore and turned to stare out the window even as he felt the gun barrel at his temple again.

"You know, I bet ..." Memphis was about to continue when Dallas interrupted loudly.

"Memphis, can you shut up a second? I'm trying to think here," Dallas pointed out, clearly much more disturbed than Memphis that they hadn't found the disk they had firmly believed the CSIs would have.

Memphis looked annoyed but did as asked and pushed a little further away from Greg, much to the relief of both the CSIs.

A few more silent, tense minutes passed before Dallas announced, "Pull over here. Right here, then turn off the car."

Nick did as instructed and watched as Dallas reached over and took the car keys, put them in his pocket and got out of the car. Nick and Greg watched him while Memphis kept his gun trained on them both, seemingly bored.

This time Dallas opened up Nick's door. His gun was drawn but he didn't motion for Nick to get out, instead he slammed the gun handle into the side of Nick's face, and said insincerely, "Sorry."

Greg lunged forward when Nick fell over, "Hey!"

But Memphis's hand was immediately on his chest, pushing him back.

In the front, Dallas put his gun away and took out a pair of handcuffs of his own. As Nick groaned and slowly sat up, Dallas snapped one cuff around his wrist, looped it through the steering wheel and then snapped the other in place, trapping Nick in the driver's seat.

"Sit tight," Dallas instructed as Nick pulled on them once and realized they probably wouldn't budge. "Memphis, come on."

Before he got out, Memphis took a firm hold of Greg's hair and tilted his head back so he could whisper in his ear, "Don't miss me too much."

Greg knew better than to reply this time and Memphis laughed and pushed his head forward with mock affection as he got out of the car.

Head still down, Greg was shaking so bad he couldn't make himself look up.

"Are they leaving?" he asked, trying not to hope too much.

Nick looked out the window, "No, they're talking. I think they're deciding what to do with us."

"You okay?" Greg asked, indicating Nick's eye.

"I'm fine," he replied, having already shrugged off the strike.

"They're going to kill us, aren't they?" Greg asked suddenly, voice hitching mid-sentence.

Nick turned around as much as he could and tried to make eye contact, "Greg, we're not going to die!" he yelled to emphasize his confidence in the matter, but he saw how it made Greg flinch and he looked apologetic as he said again, softer, "We're not going to die. They're not going to kill us, they still have their masks on."

"What?" Greg asked, confused.

"They wear the masks so we can't identify them and those things aren't comfortable so if they were going to kill us they would have taken them off. If they're still wearing them, chances are they're going to let us go," Nick said calmly, firmly believing this was true.

Greg looked out the window; the two gunmen were clearly arguing, about what they couldn't hear, but they did still have their masks on. He took comfort in this.

"Yeah, okay, I get it," Greg replied, his voice quiet and hoarse from fear and the near strangulation he had barely escaped alive.

Nick's cringed from the sound of Greg's voice, a cruel reminder of what he had already gone through, "Greg, come a little closer, I want to take a look at you."

Greg hesitated and shook his head as he mumbled, "I'm fine."

"Windows are tinted, they can't see us. Come here, please," Nick requested again.

Greg nodded and pushed himself forward until he was sitting on the front seat armrest. His legs were still in the back, but he and Nick were almost face to face now.

Nick's eyes immediately went to Greg's neck and eye, which were both quickly bruising. The faint beginnings of the outlines of that monster's fingers were starting to show on Greg's neck and Nick's anger reappeared.

"That bastard," he hissed.

Greg shook his head, "It's not that bad, I've had worse, right?" But his tight, scratchy voice gave away the real extent of the injury, and the shakiness of his voice relayed his fear.

"Greggo, we're going to get out of here, alive. I promise," Nick said. Greg could only nod non-commitly, wishing he had that kind of confidence.

"So, what do we do now?" Greg asked, eyes immediately being drawn to the window to make sure their kidnappers weren't coming back yet.

"We wait. They'll have to let us go, we don't have what they're looking for. They're probably just deciding the best way to do it and make sure they don't get caught," Nick pointed out, firmly believing what he said. The way he saw it they had two options, either fight these guys or go along with them. For now they seemed professional, organized, if not a bit violent, and even though practically every cell in his body wanted to strike out at these men, and get Greg away from them, he decided to trust that they would be rational and just let them go. So far he had done everything they asked, no objections, and they were still alive. But for how much longer he didn't know.

There were other options. Nick could try to hotwire the car and take off, he may be able to reach the right wires if he twisted enough. Or Greg could unlock his door and make a run for it himself, try to lose them in the darkness, but with their attackers only fifteen feet away and visibly armed, both these plans didn't seem like they would end well.

So Nick would wait, and hope these men were reasonable if nothing else, and pray his choice wasn't going to get them killed.

In his mind Greg was also musing over their situation and a horrible thought struck him, "Nick, Warrick and Catherine must have this disk they want. What if they let us go and go back to do the same thing to them?"

Nick looked thoughtful and worried for a second, but shook it off, "We'll worry about that when we come to it G. For now, we'll focus on ourselves."

"But ... they're coming back," Greg tensed and Nick turned to see it was true, Dallas and Memphis were walking back to the car, guns still present. Dallas headed for the passenger door and Memphis went to the back where Greg was once again sitting.

"Come on Stud," he said gleefully as he grabbed Greg's arm, "We're going for a little ride."

"What? No!" Greg fought to stay in the car; he struggled and put a leg up against the door to at least slow down Memphis's progress as he dragged him out. This just made Memphis chuckle as he twisted and then pulled Greg's arm again, easily jolting him from the car and sending him toppling to the ground.

Never releasing his hold, he pulled the gasping Greg along, away from the car, and commented as he chuckled, "I had no idea you had any fight in you, kid. Just full of surprises, aren't you?"

In the front, Nick was shouting, "Wait! What are you doing? Let him go!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Dallas said, falsely apologetic as he leaned against the open passenger door. "Your boy's coming with us. Memphis, check if he has a cell phone."

"No, please don't do this," Nick pleaded, pulling roughly at the handcuffs and steering wheel to no avail.

Dallas ignored his pleas though and turned for Memphis to finish searching Greg's pockets. Eventually the big man found Greg's phone and threw it to him. Dallas caught it and put it in the passenger seat.

"Do you know the phone number to that?" Dallas asked as calmly as if they were doing a bank transaction.

But Nick wasn't listening, his focus was on Greg who was being dragged farther into the treeline by Memphis and almost out of sight. This time Greg could not remain passive, he was too scared, of these men and of being separated from Nick, where he felt at least partially safe.

He struggled to pull free of Memphis's grip on his shirt, and even kicked him relatively hard in the shin as he yelled, "No! Let me go! Nick! Nick!"

His cries stopped when Memphis punched him in the stomach, hard. He was bent over gasping, having the fight and air taken out of him. As Memphis continued to pull him away, Nick saw it all.

"Greg! Let him go, please. I'll do anything you want. Take me instead, I'll go willingly, I don't care, just don't hurt him," Nick continued pleading. "Please, leave him alone, don't do this."

Dallas seemed to be getting tired of Nick's griping and laid out his point to make him focus.

"You'd be too much of a handful Cowboy, you're staying put. Now look, you have two choices, either tell me the phone number to this cell, and we'll call you to tell you how to get him back, or don't tell me and you'll never see him again. Which is it?" Dallas demanded.

Nick swallowed, shaking as he was forced to accept that he would not be able to persuade these men to let Greg go, "494-3261," he answered.

Dallas smiled, pleased and punched the number into his own cell phone, "There that wasn't so hard. Now here's what's going to happen, you are going to get our disk back for us. I don't care how you do it, steal it, find it, tell your buddies and get them to help you look, whatever. But there's a blue compact disk in that house and you're going to get it. In four hours I'm going to call this phone and give you instructions on where to take it. Do not bring me a fake or a copy, I will know the difference and I will be checking its authenticity before you get your boy there back, in one piece if you're lucky. So there you have it - no disk, no Greggo, at least not alive. Talk to you in four hours."

"Please, I'll get it, I swear. Don't hurt him, please," Nick begged one final time, trying to touch any humanity Dallas may have.

It didn't seem to have worked. The gunman smirked, "That's all up to you, Cowboy. Clock starts ticking when we pull out of here. Oh, and you might be needing this," Dallas threw a small key on the floor of the passenger seat. "I'm sure you'll figure out someway to get to it."

Before Dallas walked away, smiling, he popped the car's hood and casually pulled out the ignition wires, then waved as he calmly disappeared. Nick continued to yell at him, pleaded for him to come back, to change his mind, but Dallas was deaf to his pleas.

Meanwhile, Memphis and Greg had come to the gunmen's car, which had been hidden behind a rock formation and some trees. Memphis whistled as he pulled the gasping CSI along and towards the front seat. Once there Memphis opened the glove compartment and took out a bandana. Taking a firm grip on Greg's arm he then walked him to the back of the car and opened the trunk.

"No," Greg tried to pull away immediately but Memphis's hold was strong and the large man pushed him against the side of the car so he couldn't move.

"Now don't you go jumping to conclusions, Stud. You see, since I'm such a nice guy I'm gonna let you make a choice, probably your only one, so enjoy it," he pushed the bandana into Greg's mouth, "See, you can either enjoy the long ride gagged in the trunk, or," he moved the bandana to over Greg's eyes, "unconscious in the backseat. The choice is yours."

The bandana was taken away and Greg was left to look at Memphis's cruel smile as he waited for his decision.

"Please, you don't have to do this. I haven't seen your face, I won't tell anyone what you did, just let me go," he whispered. It was as loud as he could talk after Memphis tried to strangle him.

Greg's pleading eyes widened even more when Memphis's fist connected with his stomach, causing his lungs to stop working properly as he doubled over and tried to pull in air.

"There I go, trying to give you a choice and you just keep rambling away like I hadn't even said anything. That's rude Greggo, without a doubt. As for letting you go, no can do, you're a good old fashioned hostage to make sure your partner brings us what we want. In fact, you're my hostage, which means you do what I say," Memphis announced as he pulled Greg into a standing position again so they were eye to eye. "Now you gonna choose?"

Trying to think despite the absence of oxygen, Greg looked at the backseat, it was clean and uncluttered, and then the trunk, which was smaller and had a few items in it.

"Why can't I be gagged in the backseat?" Greg chanced to ask, actually making Memphis laugh.

"Because I'm not stupid, and if you don't pick I'm going to do it for you," Memphis promised.

Greg didn't really have to think about it. His mind was brought back to all the crime photos he'd seen of bodies stuffed in trunks, of people who had suffocated inside. He couldn't recall a single body they'd ever found in a backseat.

"The ... the backseat then," Greg answered, coughing one last time.

"Good choice," Memphis chuckled again as he slammed the trunk closed.

Greg closed his eyes and waited for what he knew would be coming, relieved that Nick at least couldn't see him. The punch was hard but the pain was brief - Greg was unconscious before he hit the ground. And hit the ground he did since Memphis made no attempt to stop his fall. Whistling again, Memphis picked Greg up easily and laid him on the floor of the backseat after tightly blindfolding his eyes. They had a blanket prepared for just such an occasion and when he finished covering Greg with it Dallas had returned.

"You think he'll do it?" Memphis asked as he shut the door and moved to the passenger side.

Dallas chuckled, having no doubt in his mind, "I'll think he'll die trying if he can't. Cowboy's got a loyalty gene, I can tell."

"Good enough."

They both got in and Dallas started the car. He had to turn around and drive out the way they had come to get to the road, which meant they had to drive by Nick who was still trapped in the SUV. They waved politely, laughing at his frustration and took off down the road.

In the SUV, after they pulled away, Nick was memorizing.

"P2S5-T2V, P2S5-T2V, P2S5-T2V," he chanted over and over as he shifted his legs around onto the passenger seat and tried to pick up the handcuff key with his feet. After several unsuccessful tries he became truly frustrated as he felt the time and space between himself, Greg and the kidnappers increase even more. Eventually he was able to drop the key onto the seat and pushed it closer to the edge of the cushion. He was rushed, panicked, and nearly knocked it off the seat again, but forced himself to calm down and push the key more slowly. Once it was as far as possible he stretched and shifted until he could grab it with his teeth and drop it into his hands. It was awkward trying to get the key in the lock, and he was rushing, not thinking clearly in his panic. First it was upside down so wouldn't work and as he reversed it, it slipped and fell.

"Dammit."

He probably would have cried if he hadn't caught it with his knees. The steering wheel turned enough that he could grab it with his hands again and he forced himself to breathe and do this right. As soon as the first cuff was undone that was enough. Not bothering with the second, he snatched up the cell phone and started dialling.

"Come on, come on," he urged as he pushed open the door and popped the hood of the car once more.

"Willows."

"Catherine? Catherine it's Nick. He's gone Cath. Greg's gone, they took him," he rushed out, too terrified to realize she had no idea what he was talking about.

"Nick? Slow down, what do you mean he's gone? Who took him?" Catherine asked, clearly starting to join in his fear.

"The men who killed the Wallers, they attacked us. They hid in Greg's SUV, they were looking for some kind of disk that they left in the house. When they realized we didn't have it they took him. They're gonna kill him if we don't have that disk to them in four hours," Nick reported as calmly as he could manage, but saying it out loud was hard, it made it more real and inside he was panicking. This became even worse when he saw the ignition was totally destroyed, "Damn it! I can't even follow them." A long pause as he breathed, tried to control himself and his fear, "They said I'd never see him again if they don't get it. They'll kill him Cath, they won't hesitate."

"Oh my god. We'll find him all right, don't worry. Are you okay Nicky, where are you?"

Nick didn't care about himself, he wanted rescue choppers and police crews out looking for Greg, but still replied, "I'm fine. I'm stranded on the road out, just drive straight, you'll find me."

"Okay, we'll be right there, just sit tight. I'll call Brass on the way," she said.

It sounded like she was about to hang up and he stopped her, "Wait, I got the license plate, try to get out an APB, it's P2S5-T2V."

"I got it. We're on our way, just sit tight, we'll find these guys," Catherine promised and then she was gone, undoubtedly making the calls that would put in motion the steps needed to get these guys caught.

Nick considered making the follow up calls, telling Brass and Grissom what had happened, but he had faith Catherine would handle it, and to be honest he didn't think he could repeat it again, tell everyone what had happened - Greg was gone.

That phrase alone repeated itself over and over in his mind and what had just happened began to sink in. Two killers had stolen someone very important to him, a friend, someone he cared about, and if they didn't get some worthless piece of plastic in four hours, he could die. They would kill him over a piece of plastic. It was almost too ridiculous to believe but it was the frightening truth of exactly what some people's lives were worth these days.

Instead of rushing into action like Nick knew he should, he sat silently in shock, falling against the side of the car until he hit the ground.

"God, Greggo. I'll find you, I promise. Just stay alive. Keep yourself alive, please."

He sat for a few minutes in silent contemplation before he heard the sirens. They were a signal to compose himself and meant the chaos was about to begin. He checked the clock - 3: 45 AM - they'd given him four hours. By 7: 45 this should all be over and he should know if he would get his friend back alive or dead, or even at all. Putting on a façade of composition he pushed himself off of the SUV to flag down the police and prayed they were all up to the challenge.

- - - - - - - - ---------- - - - - - - - - - - -

Twenty five minutes later Nick was exactly where he had started, he just had more company. Warrick and Catherine had arrived in ten minutes with a few black and whites from the original crime scene. They had calmed Nick down, got more of the story out of him, descriptions, details, and now they were processing the SUV as they waited for a medic to come check him out.

"I'm fine," he had insisted about his black eye, but they wanted to be sure.

Fifteen minutes after that Grissom, Brass and Sara had arrived. Everyone asked how he was doing, and he assured them he was all right, but would be better when they found Greg, which everyone focussed on doing. Greg's kidnapping had quickly become the only case of the night and the whole team would be working together on it. What frustrated Nick was that he wasn't doing any work.

"Grissom, we all have to get back to that house and find this disk they're looking for, right now," he insisted again, but Grissom shook his head.

"Nick, no, you're going back with me to the lab. Sara, Warrick and Catherine can find the disk, don't worry. You're needed elsewhere," Grissom said firmly.

"But if we don't find that disk ..." Nick began, but Grissom interrupted.

"We'll find it, but on the chance that we don't we need a backup plan to find Greg. Now when these guys call back they're only going to want to talk to you, which means we need you at the lab so we can trace and record that call, you understand?"

Nick nodded, he did understand. He had been too focussed on one thing and hadn't been able to see the bigger picture like Grissom - this didn't all depend on the disk, it depended on the kidnappers and them gathering everything they knew about them.

"All right, let's go then. Archie's waiting at the lab to set us up," Grissom said, indicating Nick should follow him to his car.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, "Yeah, I'm coming."

Before he left he turned around and watched as Sara and Catherine combed through Greg's SUV. It felt wrong that one of their own vehicles was a crime scene, as wrong as everything else that had happened that night. It wasn't long before Warrick came up beside him, clearly concerned about his friend.

"You want to talk about it?" Warrick asked.

Nick shook his head, "Thanks, but no. There's no time. I'll talk after we find him."

"All right, take care of yourself. We'll find that disk, don't worry," Warrick suggested.

"If only it was that easy," Nick commented. He turned around, Grissom was waiting. "I'm out of here, I'll catch you back at the lab."

"No problem," Warrick said and watched him go, knowing there was a thick layer of pain and regret under Nick's composed façade, but also knowing now was not the time to delve into such things. They were on a tight schedule, and they all knew emotional consequences had to come second, so he waved as Nick drove away with Grissom and then got in his own car to try to find a computer disk that could save a life.

Amazing what technology could do these days.

***

The car was silent as it passed along the dark road, with neither Nick nor Grissom having anything to say at the moment as they were each being tormented by their own dark, worrisome thoughts. Eventually Nick popped in a CD without asking, but kept the volume at a low level that still allowed for conversation.

"You like Beethoven?" Grissom asked, surprised by Nick's listening choice.

Nick shook his head, "No."

Nick usually would have put on the radio to cover up the silence but he didn't think there was anything to listen to - rock would remind him of Greg and country would remind him of how much Greg hated country. When he checked out the CDs in the holder they were all classical - a nice middle ground and he heard they were relaxing. He was tense enough to be considered steel.

"Are you all right?" Grissom asked, now able to show his concern since they had almost a twenty minute drive on their hands.

Nick laughed joylessly, "Everyone keeps asking me that. The eye's fine, I've had worse. I'm not the one that was kidnapped. I'd appreciate it if you focus on how to find Greg."

"You know, a violent experience can be just as traumatic for the survivor as the victim," Grissom pointed out, something Nick undoubtedly already knew.

But Nick's reaction was violent and unexpected, "Greg's not a victim."

"No, right now he's just a hostage. But that still doesn't change the fact that you're now safe and he's still in the hands of two very dangerous men. Survivor's guilt would still apply and be totally understandable."

"Survivor's guilt," Nick seemed to scoff at the idea, but then his expression became serious and he looked out the window, avoiding Grissom's eye. "They wouldn't take me. I asked them to take me instead of Greg, they said I'd be too much of a handful, probably just cause I was armed and Greg wasn't." And then guilt showed its ugly head, "Geez, they were right in the back seat Grissom. Two of them! I never heard them, I never looked. And then I just did everything they asked me to. I drove and I stopped and I was a good little hostage, and I didn't do anything to stop them. They just took Greg and I didn't do anything, I let them. Hell, I drove, I helped them really. I should be arrested as an accessory."

Grissom kept staring at the road, listening, and not judging like always, "And what would you have done differently?"

"I don't know, checked the backseat, drawn my gun, crashed the car when I had the chance."

"And risk killing yourself and Greg?" Grissom pointed out.

"Like I said," Nick frustration peaking, "I don't know."

"Exactly. If even in hindsight you can't figure out what you should have done differently, then you probably did the right thing. From what you've said these men seemed reasonable ..."

"They were violent," Nick added, which he considered overpowering reasonable.

"Still, they want this disk and whatever's on it very badly, Greg's the only card they hold, they won't hurt him," Grissom said confidently.

"Yeah, I'll try to convince myself of that Grissom. The same way I was convinced they were going to let us go when we didn't have what they wanted," Nick said sarcastically.

"That attitude's not going to help Greg," Grissom commented.

Nick was in no mood for the lecture, "Well, if you haven't noticed, Greg's not here, so it's not going to hurt him either."

Before Grissom could reply his cell phone rang.

"Grissom. You did?" Nick sat up when Grissom's eyes widened. "Where? Have you? It is? No, Nick and I will be there in a few minutes, we'll check it out anyway. Thanks Brass." He was less excited by the time he hung up.

"What is it?" Nick asked.

"They found the car," Grissom reported, stalling Nick's enthusiasm by putting out his hand to indicate there was more, "Greg's not with it. It's empty. There's another set of tire tracks in the dirt leading away. It looks like they had a second car ready."

"Damn it!" Nick elbowed the seat in frustration and stared out the window.

"I told Brass we'd take a look. It's on the way to the lab and the call's not for more than three hours."

"Yeah, that's fine. Let's go, they might have left something behind. We can track down the registration at the very least, although it's most likely stolen," Nick said, clearly not having too much faith in what they would find - these guys had been professionals, clues would not be easy to come by.

"Any little thing, Nick. Even a stolen car can sometimes lead us to who stole it," Grissom pointed out.

But what can lead you to a stolen Greg? Nick thought to himself as he prayed Greg was all right.

------------- - - - - - - - -

Greg's head hurt. He opened his eyes to pure darkness and pounding pain. Memories came back to him about what had happened and he tried not to panic. The blindness was just because of the blindfold, he told himself. After all, he had taken choice two, so that meant he was in the backseat, supposed to be unconscious and obviously covered by some kind of blanket. He moved his head a little and felt liquid drip down his forehead; it felt sticky and thick. A lot had pooled by the side of his face and he had a feeling it was blood; Memphis must have cut him open when he knocked him out.

The ride was smooth, Las Vegas roads were well taken care of, and it was also quiet. With his head this close to the ground Greg would have thought he'd be able to hear traffic clearly, but there was nothing. He also didn't hear any talking from his kidnappers, but static voices filled the air.

"Car 32 to Detective Brass, suspect's vehicle has been spotted. It's in a low ditch on route 12."

Greg's darkened eyes widened when he recognized the next voice, "Brass here, do not approach. Repeat, do not approach. Suspects are armed, dangerous and have a hostage. Make sure no one runs and hold tight until we get there."

"Understood sir, but I don't see any movement, I'm pretty sure it's empty."

"Damn right it's empty." The final, laughing voice clearly belonged to Memphis and Greg shivered involuntarily. There was a click and the static voices disappeared.

They have a police scanner, Greg realized and was not comforted. It would not be easy for the police to get the upper hand on these guys if they knew almost every move they were making before hand. Not the least bit enthused with this new knowledge, Greg closed his eyes, wished for Nick, and wondered why he had bothered waking up.

----- - - - - - - -

"These prints are all smudged and grainy," Grissom announced from the front seat as he finished dusting.

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me, they were wearing leather gloves," Nick replied from the back where he was sweeping the seats with the ALS.

"You got anything?" Grissom asked, finding little. They had already handed off the registration to Brass who was tracking down the owner - they were in charge of the material evidence.

"Some blue fibres on the seat, that could be from anything. Hmm, floor's a little discoloured right here," he noted as he took a swab from his kit and took a sample. As he reached for the next bottle he hesitated, then forced himself to pour. The white swab turned pink. His head dropped, "Blood. Fresh, must be Greg's."

Grissom tried to take this in stride, "At least we know they didn't put him in the trunk."

"Of this car," Nick added despondently.

Grissom tried to stay focussed, "Was he bleeding when you saw him last?"

Nick shook his head, "No, just bruised. Damn."

"It's not a pool Nick, you almost didn't see it. The cut's probably superficial," Grissom pointed out.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right," Nick said, but didn't sound convinced.

They found nothing else of use in the car and it wasn't long before Brass was ordering a tow truck to take it in to be impounded, and Grissom and Nick were on their way to the lab once more to prepare for a very important call.

---------------- - - - - - - - -

Greg had been faking unconsciousness for five minutes now, which wasn't hard when you were blindfolded and covered up. Memphis and Dallas didn't say much and Greg still didn't hear any sounds of traffic. Just as he started to wonder where they may be that there was so little activity on the road he felt the car slow to a halt. The engine turned off, the car doors slammed and Greg felt his terror rising once more. He prayed that they would just forget him somehow, leave him where he was, but those prayers went unanswered. The door at his head opened, he felt the air rush in and the blanket was pulled away.

"Wakey, wakey Greggo," Memphis taunted, slapping his cheek.

He flinched away from the contact, even more terrifying without sight and choked out, "I'm awake."

"Damn right you are cause as much of a gentleman as I am, I wasn't carrying you. Get up," Memphis hauled his arm none too gently and forced him out of the car, only barely keeping him upright when his legs wouldn't support him for a moment.

"Where are we?" he asked as he stumbled along behind Memphis's grip.

"If you were supposed to know you wouldn't be blindfolded Einstein," Memphis pointed out, shoving him to get him to walk faster.

Greg didn't hear any sounds or people, which verified that this place was very secluded. It would have to be for these guys to march him around tied up like this in plain sight.

"Ah," Greg hissed in pain as he fell to one knee. Memphis had neglected to mention they were going up steps and little did he care that Greg currently had no coordination; he pulled him along relentless.

"How old were you when you learned to walk for God's sake, fifteen? Twenty?" Memphis mocked as he continuously kept him upright when he stumbled.

"Guess I don't practice enough blindfolded and handcuffed," Greg replied, not quite sarcastically, but not sincere either. His blindness was making him forget the danger he was in.

They were passing through a doorway and Memphis pushed him ahead as they walked through, not caring that he half fell on his side.

"Oh, we are going to have some fun together Greggo, I guaran-damn-tee it," Memphis hissed in his ear when he grabbed him by the hair to pull him up again. A fresh wave of understanding about the reality of his situation caused Greg to lower his head submissively in recognition of his mistake - after all, he didn't want to imagine Memphis's idea of fun.

As they walked across a concrete floor Greg nearly tripped again over what felt like a small pile of metal rods, and then Memphis threw him to the ground, on purpose this time. The larger man took Greg's shoulder and pushed him back a foot until his back hit a metal pole. Then Memphis knelt down behind him.

"I almost want you to try something," he whispered as he took a strong hold of Greg's wrist while he unlocked one of the handcuffs. Greg felt blood rush back through his fingers, stinging them, but the feeling was short lived as Memphis looped the cuff around the pole and then snapped it back around Greg's wrist, locking him in place. Greg didn't even have time to consider pulling away.

Then he felt Memphis get up and kneel in front of him - he knew he was at eye level because he could smell the gunman's breath and Greg thought he had probably been chewing mint gum. Greg tried to move around the pole in an attempt to distance himself a little, but Memphis's strong hand grabbed his jaw and held his head in place.

"If you're smart, which I seriously have my doubts about, you won't open your eyes," Memphis instructed.

Greg was smart and kept his eyes closed as he heard the man pick something up and then tear it. Memphis swiftly lifted up Greg's blindfold but his eyes were immediately covered again, by something stronger and stickier. Greg could only guess it was duct tape.

"I realize you could probably get that off if you really wanted, but I'm going to be close by and I suggest you don't. The next step after the tape is a drastic one and most people enjoy having their eyes attached to their head, I doubt you're any different," Memphis said, chuckling, but also using just the tone to indicate he would really do such a thing and Greg didn't doubt it; he had seen what he and Dallas had done to the poor Wallers.

Greg tried to take a deep breath, but all he could manage were short gasps, "I ... I understand."

"Glad to hear it," Memphis laid a hand on Greg's cheek and added suggestively, "I kind of like your eyes the way they are myself." Then patted Greg's chest and walked away.

Greg shuddered and pulled his knees as close to his chest as possible. The large man was purposely trying to frighten him, in several different ways and it was working.

Across the room he could hear the men talking, but couldn't quite make out the entire conversation, it sounded like they were discussing the payoff they would get after they delivered this disk they were so anxious to get their hands on. The disk that was worth so much they had kidnapped him in order to force Nick to retrieve it for them.

Nick. Where was he now? Greg couldn't know. He hoped they hadn't hurt him after they'd lost sight of each other, but somehow he didn't think so - they needed Nick after all, more than they needed him.

Greg was dying to know how long it would be until he was set free and how they were going to make the switch. In fact, he had a lot of questions and briefly considered asking a few, but he didn't want to draw the men's attention again, so far that always meant more pain or torment and he doubted they would tell him anyway. Besides, even if he had all the answers, he was still powerless to do anything.

With this in mind he laid his head down on his knees and waited. It was all he could do.

------------- - - - - - - - - -

Warrick looked over the room for what felt like the hundredth time and sighed. There was no disk. Every room in the house had been turned upside down by the original thieves before they got there, and now everything had been gone over twice more by the cops and CSIs scouring the house and still they had found nothing.

There was a safe in the bedroom that the kidnappers had opened and cleaned out and so far that was the only hidden compartment they had found. There were two computers in the house, both of which had had every CD and Floppy disk stolen from their cases. The drawers were empty, the mattress's stuffing had been pulled out, the floors had been checked for secret spaces - it was two hours until deadline and there was nowhere left to look.

Nick had been calling every half hour and was due to do so again shortly, and Warrick really dreaded having to tell him they hadn't found it yet. Without knowing exactly what the disk looked like, they couldn't even make a decent copy to try to fool these men; besides, according to Nick they were going to check its authenticity before Greg was released.

"Catherine, I think we might have to face that fact that whatever the hell they want it for, this disk isn't here," Warrick announced, hating to admit defeat but that seemed like what they were facing.

Catherine stood up from her inspection of the closet floor and ran a hand through her hair, "I know what you mean. Whatever it is, it must be pretty valuable. Mr. Waller must have either hidden it extremely well to protect it or was smart and put it in a safety deposit box or something. Either way, two more hours might not be enough time to track it down."

"Exactly," Warrick agreed, then decided it may be a good time to open up to each other - they were both very tense. "So, how do you think Greg's handling himself with these guys? Think he'll be all right?"

Catherine shook her hear, obviously very worried, "I don't know Warrick. He's been in the field full time, what, three months? He's only just started to feel confident processing a scene. I hate to see what this is probably going to do to him."

Warrick laughed briefly.

"What?" Catherine demanded.

He smiled appreciatively, "It's just there's not a doubt in your mind that we're going to get him back, is there? You've already jumped ahead to the emotional state he'll be in when he gets out in the field again. It's nice to be optimistic like that."

"I don't have time for doubt. Besides, it's not optimism, it's realism. We always get our guy, and I have to believe that we will again," Catherine said quite seriously. She sounded confident, completely sure they would get Greg back, but the barest tremor in her voice and shake of her hands was proof that she was just as worried as the rest of them, just as frustrated and tense. She just had a lot of experience with hiding such things.

"I suppose we usually do," Warrick agreed, trying to feel his own confidence in the statement. He could see the truth beneath Catherine's demeanour, she was scared like all of them. Unfortunately this was no time for comfort or talking. Now more than ever they had to find this disk. "Hey, maybe we should check out what's on the computer, it might have something useful, maybe even figure out what these guys are looking for."

"It's all yours. I'm going to check the living room one more time," Catherine replied, stepping out as she clearly wanted to cover as much ground as possible.

Warrick understood how she felt. He sat down at the computer chair and hit the power button, hoping the thieves hadn't damaged it in their search. When the power started he heard a familiar whirring sound and his eyes widened in disbelief.

"You gotta be kidding me," he whispered, not believing how simple it might be. So simple they had overlooked it, just like the kidnappers had.

He hit the eject button and the whirring stopped as the CD-Rom drive opened and sitting there innocently was a beautiful blue disk. Warrick smiled and sighed, relief filling him as he picked it up gently and stared at it appreciatively for a moment.

"Thanks," he said to no one in particular, then he made his way into the hallway. "Cath!"

She emerged from the other room immediately. He smiled and held up his find, "I got it."

Her whole body seemed to relax and she came forward to hug him with the exhausted feeling that relief brings.

"Thank god. Let's get this to the lab, see what's on this baby that's so important," she suggested and Warrick agreed.

As they headed for their car, Warrick suddenly couldn't wait until Nick called.

--------- - - - - - - - -

"God I'm bored. Why'd you give him four hours, that's just overkill? We're going to be waiting forever," Memphis complained as he sat up from his sprawled position on the countertop.

"We were in that house for an hour and couldn't find it, no sense in rushing him so he can't either," Dallas pointed out a few feet away where he was sitting at a makeshift table, playing solitaire on a laptop.

"He's going to have all his cop buddies helping him, no way they won't find it in ten minutes," Memphis added.

"Either way we get paid," Dallas replied.

"Whatever. Aren't you bored?" Memphis asked, annoyed by his partner in crime's cool demeanour.

"Of course I am, I just don't announce it to the world like some people," Dallas said condescendingly. Before Memphis could reply, Dallas's phone rang. He checked the ID and then headed for the door. "Be right back, I gotta take this."

Memphis groaned as he laid back down, now not even having conversation to occupy him. A barely audible shuffle drew his attention across the room - Greg was still firmly attached to his pole, but was shifting his legs, which must have been cramping.

"I'll just have to entertain myself," Memphis whispered as he swung his legs to the floor and started across the room. "How about you Greggo, you bored?"

The question was loud and closer than the rest of their conversations had been, startling Greg. They had left him alone for the last hour but now it seemed Memphis wanted to torment his captive some more.

Swallowing, Greg shook his head, "No, I'm fine."

"Really? And you're doing even less than I am. How do you so occupy yourself?" Memphis continued dramatically. Greg didn't reply right away and he pushed some more, "Come on, don't hold out on me, share your secret."

"No secret," Greg replied, coughing a little now, "I used to work in a DNA lab, I'm used to spending a few hours staring into space." He was coughing harder when he finished - his throat was dry and the bruising on his neck felt worse, possibly swelled.

"That cough doesn't sound good Greggo. Let me get you a drink," Memphis insisted and Greg could hear him walking away.

"No, I'm all right," Greg replied, barely audible. He was actually dying for water or something cool, but the eagerness with which Memphis had offered to get him a drink made him wary of what it would be.

He heard Memphis coming back and dreaded what was to come.

"Here, have a good long swig of this," Memphis said with fake kindness as Greg felt the rim of a bottle near his mouth; it definitely wasn't water.

"No, I'm fine," he said again, pulling away but Memphis grabbed his jaw and squeezed, forcing his mouth open and holding his head in place. He tried to struggle free but the bottle was tilted back and burning, harsh liquid was forced into his mouth. Greg could tell it was some kind of very strong alcohol that would normally burn the throat. He swallowed about half of what was poured, the rest ended up on his clothes, and with the condition his throat was in the liquor might as well have been bleach.

Memphis was laughing hysterically when he finally released him and stepped back to watch him gasp and cough as he tried to get the taste out of his mouth and liquid out of his lungs. It took a few minutes for the chest tearing coughs to subside, though his throat still felt physically burned. By the time his breathing was settled into a dull wheezing he was on his knees, leaned as far forward as possible and exhausted.

It was another minute before Memphis stopped laughing and even then he slapped Greg on the back, as though they were old buddies, "Damn Stud, I had no idea you couldn't hold your liquor."

Greg coughed again and didn't reply.

Memphis seemed to bore easily because he immediately broke into a new conversation topic, "So, Greggo, what's your story? Used to work in a DNA lab, now you're out there in the crime world, working valiantly to catch bad guys like me. Why the switch?" he asked as he took a drag of his own of the hard liquor. "What made you want to leave a nice cushy desk job for this shit? Whatever it was must not seem quite worth it now, does it?"

"None of your business," Greg grit out, then coughed again. He was sick of being scared of this sadistic man that was clearly trying to get a rise out of him, to use his pain as entertainment, and defiance was the only way he had of fighting back.

But Greg paid for his words when Memphis's fist struck him hard across the left eye. He fell to his side and stayed there for a minute, willing the shooting pain to subside as Memphis stood up, kicked him hard once in the stomach and then started to ramble.

"Now that was just disrespectful Greggo, I must say I'm shocked and disappointed. Here I am, trying to have a pleasant conversation and you don't even have the decency to answer my oh so polite question. I thought you had more respect than that," Memphis said, attempting to sound sad. "Try to clean up your act a bit, will ya?"

He showed his disappointment in Greg's actions by pouring the rest of the liquor out on the CSI's head and neck, drenching him with alcohol. Greg started in surprise and gasped when it first hit, but didn't have enough to energy to make much effort to get out of the way of the alcohol shower - he had accepted there was nowhere to go.

When he was done, Memphis chuckled as he watched Greg slowly push himself back into a sitting position and alcohol dripped from his now flat hair. Far across the room, Dallas came back from his phone call and yelled out.

"Memphis, what are you doing?" he asked without concern, just curiosity.

"Teaching our boy here some manners," Memphis answered happily.

Dallas shook his head and sat back down at his computer, "Just be careful and make sure he can still talk, they'll want proof of life before they make the switch."

Memphis frowned as he studied the bruises on Greg's neck and remembered how bad he had been coughing. He might not be able to talk eventually if he kept tormenting him, and Memphis was smart enough to give up the only entertainment he could find rather than risk losing their big payoff.

"Yeah, I was finished anyway," he said, turning around and sitting back down on the countertop.

Greg felt himself breathing better with his departure as he felt his body tremble with the residual fear of the encounter and from the discomfort of being soaked. He didn't know how long it would be until he would be freed, but he prayed it would be soon, before Memphis got bored again.

At his laptop, Dallas checked his watch; Nick had two more hours until they called.

***

Eager to get to work on tracking down Nick and Greg's assailants, Grissom made the twenty minute drive to the lab in only fifteen. Throughout the entire drive Nick's cell phone never stopped ringing as he was bombarded with calls from co-workers, all wanting to know if he was okay and if there was anything they could do. He tried to be polite at first, and always brief, but after the twelfth or thirteenth call he simply stopped answering. He knew they all wanted to offer him support and say they'd be there for him, but all their words were so heartfelt that it made Nick face his own emotions, which was something he didn't want to do. He needed to focus on a task, on working, which was why he was quick to follow Grissom into the lab once they arrived, eager to find the bastards responsible for all the emotions he was denying.

They had filled in the rest of the lab on the details of what had happened and been working for almost half an hour when an unenthused Brass found them, clearly bearing bad news.

"We may have a problem," he announced as he walked into the AV lab where Archie, Grissom and Nick were preparing for the ransom call. He didn't look happy at all, in fact there was clear evidence of simmering anger beneath the surface of his stoic cop persona.

"What kind of problem?" Grissom asked.

"Come see for yourself," Brass sighed, motioned for them to follow him and led them to the break room where he turned on the TV. "I think we have a leak in the department."

"What?" Nick said, disbelieving, but quickly turned his attention to the shocking story the morning news reporter was relating.

"We have breaking news that the police may be in the midst of negotiations with suspects from this morning's north end killings to ensure the safe return of a kidnapped crime scene investigator, Gregory Sanders, that went missing earlier this morning. The Las Vegas police have yet to confirm or deny this report and it is not known at this time what exactly the ransom demands are for the investigator's return, but we have been told that it is not financially motivated and no money has been asked for. Sources also tell us that well known crime scene investigator, Nick Stokes, was also held for a short time and has been released unharmed. We will have more on this story as it develops."

Brass was obviously disturbed as he turned off the TV just as Nick and Greg's pictures were replaced with photos of a recent car crash. Grissom's mind seemed to be processing what he just heard, weighing it against all factors in the case, and Nick was fuming.

"Oh my god! How the hell did this happen? Greg's life is at stake here, who could have leaked to the press?" Nick shouted, angry and terrified that someone in the department could care so little for Greg's life that they would talk to the media. They all knew that if the kidnappers felt unsafe or like they were being hunted it could be very dangerous to Greg's safety.

Brass held up his hands, trying to calm Nick down, "Hey, your guess is as good as mine, a lot of people know about this, in the lab and the PD. I've already got some guys on their way to the news station to find out where they got their information. We'll find out what happened."

"And until then, those madmen are gonna see this, think we're trying to scare them out and panic. Damn it!" he shouted. "What kind of idiot would ... oh shit." He groaned.

Grissom studied him, "What's wrong?"

Nick shook his head at his own stupidity, "I might have verified part of that story. Shit."

"What do you mean?" Brass asked, directing a bit of his frustration towards the Texan.

"I ... I got a phone call about twenty minutes ago, unknown name. A woman asked me if I was all right after what I'd been through with the Waller suspects. I assumed it was another cop, just a well wisher, you know. I told her I was fine and I had work to get back to and let her go," Nick explained, feeling extremely ridiculous. "I can't believe I didn't even ask who it was."

"It's okay Nicky, it's not your fault," Grissom assured him, knowing he didn't need any more stress on top of what he was already feeling. "They obviously got their information somewhere else if all you verified for them was your well being."

"Still Gris, they're not going to trust us after this. Whoever's responsible for this just doubled the danger Greg's in," Nick reminded them.

"Well, I have some of my best men on it, hopefully they'll find out something soon, as long as the reporter's smart enough to not try to protect her sources," Brass said.

"Aren't they not allowed to run ..."

Nick was interrupted by Warrick, who walked in smiling hesitantly, "Hey, we think we got the disk. What's wrong? You didn't get the call already did you?"

Nick shook his head, "No, we haven't heard from them. Someone leaked the kidnapping to the press though."

"What? Who?" Warrick demanded.

"We don't know, but my guys are working on it. I'll let you know as soon as we find anything," Brass promised, heading for the door, clearly busy. "I'll check back a little later."

"Thanks Jim," Grissom said as he left, knowing he was doing his best.

When it was just the CSIs left there was a moment of contemplative silence, until Warrick suggested, "You guys want to see what's on this disk that's so important?"

"Yeah," Nick replied, anger leaking out over his worry. "Let's find out why these bastards want it so bad."

Archie, Sara and Catherine were all waiting in the AV lab when Warrick, Nick and Catherine walked in with the disk, everyone was tense and eager to work on something, anything to make them feel like they were making a difference.

"Hey Nick, how you doing?" Catherine asked when they came in.

"I'm fine," Nick assured them. "I just wish I was doing more right now, you know."

"Yeah," Catherine understood, they all felt a little useless on this one.

Taking the disk from Warrick and placing it in the drive, Archie suddenly felt very nervous with such a large crowd looking over his shoulder. Not that he could blame them, they were all worried about Greg, and wanted to know just what they were trading him for.

The disk started up, but when Archie tried to open the contents they hit their first wall.

"I don't suppose we have the password?" he asked hesitantly. The group seemed to sigh collectively.

"No, we don't," Grissom answered.

Archie nodded but was not hopeful, "Well in that case, this could take awhile. Mark Waller was a software genius, whatever he has on here is password protected and probably encrypted on top of that."

"Can you do it in two hours?" Nick asked, looking at his watch.

"No, definitely not," Archie replied immediately. "Maybe five, six. That's if I used Waller's own software, which he of course would know how to bypass. If that doesn't work then it may be impossible."

"Don't bother then. They're calling in a little over an hour and will probably want this as soon as possible. We'll just have to give it to them without knowing what's on it," Nick decided.

"Nick, we don't know what's on here," Sara pointed out.

"Yeah," Warrick agreed, "It could be people's bank accounts, blackmail information, computer ..."

"I don't care if it's directions to nuclear silos, we're giving it to them," Nick insisted.

"Nicky, calm down," Catherine requested, stepping closer.

"No, look, these guys have proven they're willing to kill for whatever's on this thing and they're going to know if we give them a fake. I say we just give it to them, get Greg back and worry about the consequences later," Nick replied.

"We have to at least try to ..." Grissom was interrupted by three rapid beeping sounds. Everyone turned to see the source was the cell phone on the table beside Nick. The kidnappers weren't scheduled to call for more than an hour and that hadn't sounded like a ring tone, but Nick still rushed to flip open the cell as quickly as possible.

On the high tech LCD screen, an envelope flew by with an arrow. The text below confirmed it: One New E-mail.

Nick didn't know if it'd be relevant but he couldn't remember Greg getting emails on his phone before.

"It's just an email," he announced. Then he licked his lips, swallowed and added, "I'm gonna open it."

He scrolled to New and hit Enter. The text of the email opened on the screen: Saw the News, not very subtle. A little incentive. D&M.

The return address read as unknown. Nick felt everyone trying to peer over his shoulder.

"D and M?" Sara asked.

"Dallas and Memphis," Nick replied. "That's what they said to call them."

"What was on the news?" Sara asked for all of them.

"Someone leaked the kidnapping to the press, it was just on the morning news. They used Nick and Greg's names and linked the suspects to the Waller killings; Brass is looking into who it may have been that talked. He's going to get back to us," Grissom answered, still staring at the phone like the rest of them.

Archie pointed to the bottom of the small screen, "Nick, there's an attachment."

"Yeah, I know," Nick said after a pause. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he hit enter and a JPG file opened, filling the screen.

Everyone cringed at the sight, heart clenching. It was a picture of Greg, taken from a slightly side view. His head was down and his arms were pulled around the pole. It was clear the bruises on his face and neck had started to darken significantly and there was a small cut still bleeding on his forehead. He looked miserable but they couldn't tell if he was conscious with the tape over his eyes and in some way each of them hoped he wasn't.

Perhaps worst of all was the sign. A sheet of cardboard with a piece of string looped through it hung around Greg's neck with 'Help Me' written across it in black marker and a smiley face with X'ed out eyes underneath. It was a cruel mockery put there by Dallas and Memphis, and almost would have been funny if the situation wasn't so serious; instead it managed to be heartbreaking and infuriating at the same time.

"Oh god," groaned Catherine.

"Bastards," Nick whispered, shaking his head. He didn't think they would have been treating Greg like a king or anything, but he had hoped for better than this.

As most of the team kept their eyes locked on the picture, shocked into deep concern for a few moments, Grissom immediately took charge, snapping them all out of their stupor.

"Nick, give the phone to Archie, we need a trace of that email, now. These guys may have just made their first mistake," Grissom announced.

After he broke the silence everyone went on alert and seemed to realize this would probably be their only break.

Nick eagerly handed the phone over, grateful for any reason to no longer look at the results of one of his best friends being terrorized by two psychopaths, "Yeah, here Arch."

The lab tech took it and immediately started plugging it in and hitting keys.

"Okay, this could take a few minutes," Archie said as he worked.

Grissom wasted no time handing out assignments, "Nick, stay here, see what he comes up with. Archie, when you get a chance, send that picture to the photo lab. Sara, you're with me, we're going to study that picture pixel by pixel for anything that might tell us where Greg is. Warrick, Catherine, work on those names, Dallas and Memphis, see if you get any hits for anything related to the Wallers."

"On it," Catherine promised as she and Warrick walked out.

"Sara," Grissom bid her to head next door. She nodded, left and it was just Grissom, Nick and Archie. Nick was visibly upset, more so than the rest of them, and was trying to hide it; Grissom took him aside, "We're going to find him Nick, these guys just gave us a huge lead and we'll use it."

"I know, don't worry I'm fine. Go, see what's in that picture," Nick suggested, not wanting to look at it again himself. Grissom patted his shoulder and went and did just that.

The entire team worked as quickly as possible but also efficiently, scared to overlook or miss anything that could lead them to Greg. They felt every second tick by and it was almost impossible not to watch the clock, but they managed to stay focussed, on task, and work on their leads.

Twenty minutes before the ransom call was set to come in, the team held a meeting to discuss what they had been able to find in the short time they had with their evidence.

"The name Memphis or Dallas didn't come up in any records relating to the Wallers or their company," Catherine began, "Nick was probably right and they're made up, maybe totally unrelated."

"Instead we're focussing on any enemies the Wallers had as well as who could have possibly obtained their security codes and how. So far it hasn't turned up much, but we'll keep looking," Warrick added.

"Good. Nick, did you get any trace from the email?" Grissom asked.

"Nothing. You'd have to ask Arch for the specifics but they used a randomizing USP, pretty much impossible to trace where it was sent from. Archie said he might be able to track down the email account info though, it's more accessible," Nick replied, clearly disappointed.

"Well, the picture didn't give us much to go on either," Sara started, opening up a folder with enlarged sections of the photo which she passed out. "We couldn't find any names or characteristic markings in the background that might tell us where Greg is. The only thing that seemed helpful was this section here."

"It looks like part of the wall's missing," Warrick noted, looking at the photograph.

"Yeah, that's what we thought. And right here, those look like molding rods. We think wherever they're holding him, it's still under construction or in the middle of some kind of repair job," she explained and everyone agreed it was a plausible assumption.

As the team discussed getting a list of current construction sites in Vegas, Catherine was staring at the original picture, her brow furrowed. There was an anomaly in the photo she couldn't explain, "Why is he wet?"

"We have no idea," Grissom admitted, having already pondered the question. "There's nothing in camera view that would indicate a water source or a need of one and it hasn't rained anywhere in Nevada in the last few hours, so that rules that out."

They sat in silence for a moment, wondering if this was relevant, if it could give them a needed break, and then Nick cleared his throat.

"It might not mean anything," Nick said, not making extended eye contact with anyone. "Memphis, the bigger guy, he seemed to really enjoy tormenting Greg, he wouldn't stop the whole time. It seems like something he'd do, just drench him for no reason other than making Greg uncomfortable."

Everyone nodded and accepted this, understanding that Nick knew these men better than any of them.

"Did Brass find out anything about the news leak?" Sara asked.

"Just that it was called in anonymously a little after 5. News company didn't trace it, so Brass is getting the phone records. If that's everything we should get back to work," Grissom suggested looking at Nick. "Get ready for that call."

The team filed out slowly, not enthused by how little they had found. It was fifteen minutes until the instructions for the switch were to be made and they were busy setting up the recorders and tracking devices so they could chase down every clue left for them.

Far across town, Dallas and Memphis were preparing as well.


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"If I had a hammer,

I'd hammer in the morning.

I'd hammer in the evening ..."

Greg lifted his head and held back a sigh of annoyance. Memphis must have been really bored again because this was the fourth song he had resorted to singing. Greg had heard Dallas leave almost twenty minutes ago, and though he was beyond relieved that Memphis hadn't decided to use him for his entertainment again, he also wished the other man would return. Over the last few hours it became obvious that in the long run, Dallas was in charge and he would never have let the horrible singing go on this long.

In that instant one of his prayers was answered; if only it had been the one about being back home in bed. Instead, Dallas returned and things began happening.

"Hey, you want to shut it? It's time to make a call," Dallas announced, walking across the room towards Greg. "I hope they got my picture, I really think I captured your good side. That's important for a big TV news star like yourself."

Behind the duct tape, Greg cringed. They had explained what they were doing as they had taken and sent the picture after hearing the morning news, and Greg did not like the thought of his closest friends and co-workers seeing him like this. And judging from the way he had heard Memphis laughing he didn't think he wanted to know what the kidnapper had hung around his neck.

As for him being on the news, that information surprised him; he had no idea why the cops would let the story go to press. Even as a CSI level 1 he knew that, that was usually endangering in hostage situations and very risky and he could only hope that the police had their reasons.

A beeping drew his attention a few feet away, like the buttons on a phone being pressed, and Greg could feel Memphis and Dallas were close by. It seemed there was some sort of call to be made and Greg listened closely.


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The tapping wasn't annoying Grissom. In fact, the steady repetitiveness allowed him to easily drown it out if he wanted, but even if he didn't hear it, Nick would still be doing it.

The cell phone was on the table, cords running from it into the computers for the fastest trace possible, and Nick was sitting directly in front of it, staring at it and tapping a quarter against the tabletop. It was just a normal quarter, taken from his pocket, and Nick knew it was only worth twenty-five cents, because it was only made in 1986 and it had no special engravings on it. He also knew the average cost to make a quarter was five cents and more quarters were made every ten days and he knew all this, because Greg had told him. The closet coin aficionado, he had a collection that was worth a pretty penny, but that he would never sell because he loved it. And right now that quarter was Nick's only connection to Greg, at least until that phone rang.

"Nick."

Grissom's voice startled him from his thoughts and he sat up straighter.

"Yeah."

It was Brass that spoke to him next, off Grissom's cue, "Look, you have to be calm when they call. Whatever they say, try not to get upset, just get straight to the point. Ask when and where to make the switch and try to get them to let you talk to Greg. If you get a chance hunt around for clues on who they are, where they might be, anything you can think of. Just be cool."

"Thanks Jim, I'll try," Nick promised, rummaging up a smile to let everyone know he was okay.

"You'll be fine," Brass said confidently and then sat down next to Grissom. There were only four of them in the room, too many people would cause chaos and the rest of the team had agreed to wait in the break room for news on what was happening. Nick would be on the phone, handling the kidnappers, Grissom and Brass had headphones to listen in and offer suggestions and Archie was next to them. He wouldn't be listening but working on tracing the call as quickly as possible.

Nick looked at the clock, 7:43 AM. In two minutes the call would be late.

The phone rang.

Nick stared at it for a moment, breathing suddenly much heavier. He turned to Archie, who nodded he was ready, and Grissom and Brass put on their headphones.

Another ring. Nick breathed and picked it up.

"Stokes."

"Cowboy, that you?" The voice belonged to Dallas, at least the tone and structure did, but it was a little off, like he was using some kind of voice changer. Nick nodded and tried to find something to focus on while he talked.

"Yeah, it's me. I want to talk to Greg," he said calmly, not demanding but negotiating. "We don't talk unless I know he's okay."

"Well, you are very straight to the point aren't you? That's fine. As for proof of life, I did send you a picture of your boy, I took it myself."

"That doesn't prove he's alive, it proves you've got him tied up somewhere with duct tape on his eyes. I want to talk to him," Nick said again, his tone slightly harsher but still not demanding. He turned around and was not encouraged by the way Archie was shaking his head as he worked. Grissom and Brass were listening closely and encouraged him to keep going.

"Yeah, it was enough to break a mother's heart wasn't it? But I can see where you're coming from. I'll let you talk to him in a second, but first I want to know if you found the disk, or else I don't talk."

"We found it. It was upstairs like you said and we're ready to trade for it, but I want to talk to Greg first," Nick insisted again. He thought he may be pushing too hard but Brass assured him he was doing the right thing - it was important to talk to the hostage as soon as possible, or else the kidnappers would just give the drop instructions and hang up and you would never know if the person was alive.

"Yeah, he's right here. Keep it short Greggo, cowboy says he's got other things to do," Dallas taunted, barely audible as the phone was moved.

"Nick?" It was Greg. His voice was hoarse and shaking, barely audible, but he was alive. Nick's mind seemed to go blank with relief - he almost hadn't expected it to be him.

"Greg? Greg, are you all right?" Nick asked quickly, finding it very hard to stay calm at this point.

"Yeah. Yeah Nick I'm okay."

"All right, you have to stay that way, you hear me? We're all working on finding you and we're going to get you back real soon, so you just stay strong, okay? We're coming."

"I know, thanks Nick. But anytime soon would be great," Greg was whispering now. "I have such a major anti-Stockholm situation on my hands right now it's not even funny."

"I know. We're coming. We're doing our ..." Before Nick could produce anymore assurances, Greg's voice came back on the phone, panicked and afraid.

"Ah! Wh...what are you doing? Let me go, please. Wait." The phone had been pulled away from Greg's ear but Nick could still hear his pleas far too clearly, like he was struggling with someone.

"Greg? Greg what's going on? Greg, can you hear me!" Nick was shouting now, but the volume of his voice was nothing compared to what followed on the other end.

There was a loud bang, not a gun but something metal, followed by a sickening crunch and then,

"Ah!"

The loudest, most pain-filled scream Nick had ever heard in his life. He couldn't speak as it resonated through the phone, tearing at his soul. In fact, he nearly dropped it as he fell into the chair behind him with distress. Tears threatened to come, but Nick fought them - listening, waiting, his anger and fear rose.

"No! God damn it, stop!" he yelled, but doubted anyone on the other end could hear him over the tormented wailing.

The scream seemed to last forever and Nick considered hanging up rather than listening, but it eventually died out to be replaced by muffled groaning and gasping sobs.

"Greg?" Nick said in a whisper, not knowing what kind of reply he expected.

But Greg couldn't speak because Dallas still had the phone, and wanting to make sure his point got across, he nodded to Memphis again.

Another metal bang, the horrible crunch and a second, somehow louder, scream of anguish.

"Oh God." This time Nick did drop the phone, unable to listen, and dropped his head in his shaking hands. Behind him, Grissom and Brass felt the same, but stayed focussed. Brass kept listening, waiting for the kidnapper's voice to return, while Grissom pushed his headphones around his neck and moved to touch Nick's shoulder.

Nick startled and turned, and Grissom could see the outline of tears, but he did not have time to offer comfort.

"Nick, you have to pick it back up. I know it's hard, but we still have to talk to them; we don't know where to go yet to get Greg back," Grissom said softly but firmly.

Nick closed his eyes, at first reluctant, but nodded, "Yeah, I know." And picked the phone back up.

Greg was no longer screaming, but there was a loud moaning and choked crying.

"Greg?" Nick asked again, stronger, but Greg would be doing no more talking.

Dallas came back on the phone, "Well, he's quite the screamer, but you probably already knew that, didn't you Cowboy?"

Nick cringed and was exhausted by his fear and anger, "What did you do to him?"

"Oh, he'll be fine, it's nothing life threatening. It's not like you need ten usable fingers anyway," Dallas chuckled, obviously enjoying his work.

"Why, you bastard? He didn't do ... God, we're giving you the disk anyway," Nick was flustered with his lack of understanding of these monsters. He was totally amazed with their cruelty.

"Just making sure you understand we mean business. So, let's get down to it. You, come alone, to the Eckleton Manufacturing Plant on Southwick, in two hours, it'll be empty, it's been closed for years. Bring the disk, and as I said, I'll know if it's fake. Once I make sure it's the real thing, you'll get Greggo back, no harm no foul. See you in two hours."

"Wait!" Nick called out, but they were gone. "Damn it all to hell!" He threw the phone away, his emotions overpowering him, and turned to Archie, "Anything?"

Archie was slow to turn around, "Sorry, these guys must have some high end equipment. They bounced their signal off three satellites, no chance of a trace."

"Shit," Nick exclaimed, standing up and pacing, hands through his hair, "God, I can't do this."

"Nicky ..." Grissom stood up to try to calm him, but Nick kept his distance, not wanting to be touched.

"Don't, okay Grissom, just don't. You heard the same thing I did ... the same screams I did. I don't know how you can just stand there and be calm and not pull your hair out or hit something. Maybe this is just another case to you, maybe you just don't care about Greg at all, but I do Grissom and I can't do it anymore. I can't just sit here doing nothing. I watched them take him, I listened to them hurt him, next I'm probably going to talk them into killing him. I can't. I just ..." he lost his steam by the end and even people in the hall were staring. Nick felt trapped in the lab and started to leave, needing to feel free and in control of something.

"Nick," Grissom called as he took his shoulder. Nick stopped but didn't turn around, just sighed deeply, emotionally. Grissom understood the stress and kept it brief, "You may feel as useless as the rest of us right now, but remember, you're the one who'll be doing something. You're going to get him back."

Nick listened to this and seemed to understand what Grissom was saying, but then he shook his head and walked away; he still had a lot to figure out and not much time to do it in.

When Nick stormed away Grissom turned to Brass, who was graciously waiting for the supervisor to coordinate their next move.

"Jim, would you mind bringing my guys up to speed? They're waiting in the break room," Grissom requested.

Brass nodded, understanding why Grissom wouldn't want to be the one to tell his team what had happened.

"Yeah, no problem."

When Brass was almost at the door Grissom caught his attention when he added.

"Need to know basis, Jim."

The resonating scream of agony was still replaying fresh in each of their minds.

Brass nodded again.

They both understood what the others didn't need to know.


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This was the worst pain Greg had ever felt. The lab explosion should have been worse by far, he had been severely burned after all, but he honestly couldn't remember much of what had happened that day - the hospital was the first clear memory in his mind after the smell of burning plastic.

But now as he laid awkwardly on his side, arms handcuffed behind him and willing himself to breathe normally, he knew it was the worst pain he'd ever known. His left hand was holding on tightly to his right wrist, to keep his injured hand from moving. It was strange how he had been so relieved to talk to Nick and it had gone so bad. He hadn't known what was happening when Memphis suddenly grabbed the handcuff chain and pushed down until his right hand was flat on the ground, but when that heavy metal hammer connected with his hand, crushing his finger, he knew what they were doing. They were making sure Nick brought the disk, and his pain was Nick's incentive. And then they did it again. He didn't know if Memphis had been supposed to, or just wanted to, but it was done either way and the pain had been overpowering.

The two fingers felt more crushed than broken and he prayed he wouldn't lose use of them.

Could you still be a CSI with eight fingers? He wasn't sure, but he hoped so. He hoped to be alive at the end of the day too, but that was seeming less likely as well.

Dallas had walked away as soon as the phone call was ended, he had things to prepare, but Memphis straggled behind, smiling as Greg lay gasping on the floor. Greg knew he was there, watching, but still couldn't bring himself to sit up.

"If I had a hammer, I'd hammer in the morning," Memphis sang again, laughing as he kicked Greg in the leg to get a reaction, "Come on stud, suck it up."

Greg grunted and struggled to keep his throbbing fingers still. His pushed his forehead into the floor and decided he would not let himself cry even though Memphis wouldn't be able to see the tears.

"You know it could have been a lot worse. I had lots of tools to choose from, screwdrivers, wrenches, hacksaws. I'd say you lucked out with the hammer really," Memphis taunted as he continued to look down on his latest victim. Then he added cheerily, like a grade student with a great idea, "I know, I'll go get all those things and we'll test some stuff out. Find out what you like the best and stick with it."

"Go away," Greg whispered, pleading and ordering at once. "Haven't you done enough? Just leave me alone." The last part was said in pure exhaustion; he had no more strength to be scared.

He heard the fabric rustle that meant Memphis was kneeling down. Greg tensed and moved his head more towards the floor, but Memphis just leaned close to Greg's ear and told him quite seriously, "Even if we let you go, we'll never be gone."

Laughing again, crueller than before, Memphis crushed his heel into Greg's broken fingers and then walked away as well, enjoying the retreating sounds of pain. Greg curled in on himself and sobbed as silently as possible - he knew it was true.

***

The setting was uncomfortable as the three CSIs waited for news. It was as though every molecule in the room was laced with worry and tension. Catherine was at the table, staring straight ahead and tapping her fingers on the countertop, her back to Warrick and Sara who sat on the couch, both in their own little world of concern and impatience. No one said anything despite all the things that needed to be said - everyone already knew. They had each other's support, they shared the same worries, they missed Greg just as much as the other, so there was nothing to say really. They could just be there.

In the hallway, every passerby looked in sympathetically to see how the night shift CSIs were doing, and they all in turn looked back, hoping the next person they saw would have news on how Greg was and when they could get him back.

It was Jim Brass that would finally bring them the information they sought. When he stepped in everyone stood up anxiously.

"Well? What happened?" Catherine asked first.

"They called, it was pretty straight forward. Nick told them we had the disk, they told him where to bring it. Drop's in two hours," he paused, but then pre-empted the next question. "No trace on the cell phone, sorry."

Everyone's faces fell. It was Sara who then asked what they were all thinking, "What about Greg?"

This is what Brass didn't want to tell them. Even now that horrible scream was resonating through his head like a bad song you couldn't stop humming.

"He's alive, Nick talked to him. He sounded all right. Scared, but not too bad otherwise," Brass answered. He knew he was lying by omission, but he also agreed with Grissom, this was a need to know basis, and if they knew that Greg was hurt, there would be more anger and fear in all of them. And every cop knew emotions did not solve cases.

"We should probably listen to the tape of the call, try to distinguish any background sounds. Or compare the voice to some we have on file," Sara suggested. She tried to sound professional, like she wanted to help, like the tape was a great lead, but she really just wanted to hear it. To know for herself that Greg was all right, because it really seemed like Brass was holding out on them.

And he was, which he proved when he shot her down, "Grissom's got that covered, he wants you all working on different angles. You two stay on enemies and security codes, Sara, you're going with some of my guys to a base we're setting up near the drop point. I'll be there in a few minutes, I just gotta organize a few other things."

Everyone nodded, accepting their tasks, and hoping the work would focus them, distract them. Brass left and Sara followed shortly after, eager to help out at the base of operations.

Catherine tugged lightly on Warrick's arm when he appeared so deep in thought he didn't move.

"Come on," she urged him. "We should get back to work. Lot of names to go through."

He nodded and then perked, "Um, you go start without me. I'm gonna go find Nick, see how he's doing."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," Catherine agreed and retreated to a computer lab to continue their research. Warrick had to think for a moment, he didn't know where Nick would be. Deciding to go with his gut he marched out into the hall, turned left and was shortly at his destination.

He smiled sadly when he saw he was right. He had found Nick on his first try and he definitely looked like he needed a friend. Sighing, Warrick checked if anyone else was around then pushed through the door of the DNA lab.


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"Alone at last, eh Greggo. I've been waiting all day for it to be just the two of us."

Memphis chuckled cruelly as his finger traced down Greg's jaw, causing the young man to jerk back in fear and disgust.

"Don't touch me," Greg hissed, maintaining his defiance despite how hard his fear was fighting for control.

This is what Greg had been dreading. Dallas had left close to an hour ago, Greg hadn't heard why exactly but he knew it was something about the job. That had left him and Memphis alone, very possibly for a long time, and that was the situation he had most feared. At first, Memphis ignored him. Greg could hear the other man moving around the building, closing cases, going outside briefly, he had even heard a gun cocked and tensed, but for once it was not aimed towards him, and Memphis simply continued his preparations for whatever was to come.

But now it seemed those preparations were complete because Memphis was kneeling in front of him, touching him, and from the sound of his voice, he wanted to play.

"I think you forget who's in charge here, stud. You don't get any say," Memphis commented and this time Greg felt something touch his neck but it wasn't flesh, it was the blade of a knife.

No words were necessary as Memphis pushed the knife in harder until Greg had to stand up to avoid having blood drawn. Kidnapper and hostage were now face to face, with Memphis only an inch taller than Greg, but having twice the muscle. As Greg tried not to move Memphis studied his canvas, moving the knife to trace down the side of Greg's face, just light enough not to break the skin.

"I've been wondering all day what I am going to do with you. I'm really conflicted about it to be honest. If that disk wasn't worth so much I might be tempted to just keep you, instead of giving you back. I feel we've grown very close in our time together, don't you?" The knife continued its horrifying exploration of Greg's skin as Memphis sighed regretfully, "But you will be going home, after all I don't have time to give you the attention you need, but until then, you're all mine and what I do with you is up to me. You see, Dallas told me to leave you alone ..."

"You know, I've always liked that Dallas, he's a ... a smart guy. You should listen to him, probably knows what he's ..." Greg abruptly halted his attempt at mercy when he felt the tip of the knife press up hard underneath his chin.

Leaning in close to Greg's ear, Memphis's hissed angrily, "Interrupt me again and you'll have a new hole to breathe through ... in your throat."

Memphis waited until Greg trembled out a nod of understanding before continuing on cheerfully.

"As I was saying, Dallas doesn't want me to touch you, not because he cares or anything, but pretty much cause he knows we'll need you alive. Which I get. But I didn't say anything about killing you. I mostly just want to see what you can take."

As he said this, he walked around Greg and stood behind him. Greg tensed and tried to pull away, horrified of getting any more broken fingers or worse, but Memphis held his hands in place with one hand, grabbing onto the handcuff chain once more.

"Please, don't," Greg pleaded, not caring how much pain he was causing his already broken appendages if he could somehow avoid more torture. But Memphis was quick to remind him that there was nowhere to go.

"Don't what? You don't even know what I'm going to do. You assume the worst of me Greggo and that really hurts," Memphis said with mock pain. As he spoke he took a tight grip on Greg's left wrist and attempted to pry his fingers out of the tight fist he held them in. "Not as much as this will of course."

"Stop, please. Why are you doing this?" Greg demanded as he desperately tried to pull his one good hand out of Memphis's grip.

"Because I can. It's all about power, I know that. I'm aware of my own vices, and I embrace them. And in this moment I have all the power I could ask for. You'd tell me the darkest secret you know right now if I asked, you'd tell me anything, anything to make me stop, because it's all up to me. But I'm also doing this because I care."

At this Memphis's tone switched from serious to anxious, as he took a tight hold on Greg's freed and straightened out index finger and Greg felt the knife make another appearance.

"After all, your nails are filthy."

Then without warning the thin blade sliced into Greg's finger, between the skin and the nail, almost, but not quite severing the nail from the finger.

Blood flowed immediately, but not before Greg was trying to bite back the scream of anguish building in him. It was that scream that Memphis was waiting to hear. It was not the first by far that he had caused in his long life of inflicting pain, but he loved each one and tried to remember them all and wanted to make this one special. And when the blade went in just a little further, slowly cutting through sensitive muscle and skin, Greg could hold nothing back.

Memphis thought it might be his favorite scream to date.


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Nick looked up briefly when the door opened but did not acknowledge Warrick in any way. He just continued to spin his quarter across the countertop and watch it slow down and then spin it again before it could fall. Taking a seat in a stool a few feet away, Warrick watched this process repeat five or six times until he felt he needed to speak.

"How you doing?" he asked softly, not pressuring Nick to answer.

Nick looked at the ceiling and chuckled disturbingly, the stress obviously getting to him, "You know Rick, I've been a whole lot better."

Nick's voice was shaking slightly. He spun the quarter again, trying anything to distract himself.

"Yeah I can imagine," Warrick replied. More silence, a few more spins, until Warrick cleared his throat, "Brass said you got to talk to Greg, said he was okay. I got the impression there was more to it than that."

There was no attempt at eye contact made on Nick's part, he simply watched the coin spin, over and over, until he finally didn't touch it again, and his eyes were transfixed on the quarter as its momentum slowly died and friction began to defeat it. It clung to the spin as long as possible though, rotating even when it was almost horizontal. Valiant really, fighting until the end even though it could never win, but the forces acting against it were simply too strong and it was eventually overcome.

By the time it stopped, Nick's eyes were brimmed from the emotions he could not control.

"I promised him Warrick. I promised him both of us were going to be okay. Why would I promise him that? I ... I had no right to tell him that ... because we're not okay, neither of us. And as scared and angry and frustrated as I am, I know he's going through something a million times worse, and he's alone, and he's hurt, and I'm just sitting here!" Nick erupted suddenly, picking up the quarter and whipping it at the wall, ignoring the sound of shattering glass that followed. "I'm sitting here and I'm doing nothing. That's all I do. I just do nothing."

"Nick ..."

"But that's all any of us do, isn't it Warrick? Nothing. We don't save lives, we wait for people to die! We don't prevent anything, we can't stop it. We wait for people to die and then we figure out how it happened. And that's what I'm doing now, that's what we're all doing. We're waiting for Greg to die, because then ... then we can do something. We can figure out how."

Nick's hysterical rambling was similar to a drunken rant, and it quickly exhausted him. His shoulders slumped as he turned from Warrick and spread his palms on the counter as he tried to stay upright. Warrick had been too stunned by Nick's tirade to say or do anything, but now, seeing his friend breaking down little by little, he did the only thing he could. He supported him.

Stepping up behind him and squeezing his shoulder, Warrick risked making a promise of his own, "We'll find him Nick. We're doing everything possible, just be patient. We'll make sure you keep that promise."

Nick could only nod, wanting to believe Warrick but unable to respond in words. A light knock on the door drew both men's attention. Brass was standing uncomfortably in the doorway, clearly hesitant to speak and interrupt.

"Sorry guys. Nick, I need you to come with me. I got some of our negotiators set up in my office, they're going to give you some pointers for when you meet with these guys. Whenever you're ready," Brass said, not rushing Nick but making it clear they had little time. It was something they all knew too well.

"I'll be right there," Nick promised and Brass disappeared, his message sent. Before he stepped out the door, Nick and Warrick stood face to face. Nick swallowed then held out his hand. Warrick did the same and they shook on it, solidifying both their promises. "Thanks Rick."

"Don't worry about it. I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be around," Nick replied and then started down the hall.

He had a little over an hour to learn how to negotiate with kidnappers and get Greg home alive.


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Fifteen minutes after Memphis began his power trip Greg was experiencing a horrible deja vu as he lay on the floor, gasping and exhausted and in complete agony. Three of his nails were barely attached, blood was soaking the floor, and both his hands were completely still except for the involuntary tremble in the left, a side effect of the intense damage done to his nerves from being tortured.

Memphis was kneeling over him, smiling, pleased with his work but regretting not being able to do more. Sitting down he placed an affectionate hand on Greg's shoulder and ignored the shudder that followed.

"You know Greggo, it's really too bad we need you alive. We could have done such wonderful things together, this was really only just a taste." After squeezing his hostage's shoulder, he looked at his watch and sighed. "But all good things, as they say."

Patting Greg's shoulder again as he stood up, Memphis came around behind the pole once more.

Panic and fear immediately gave Greg the energy and will needed to try and move, as futile as it seemed.

"No, don't. Not ... not again. Please don't."

Memphis chuckled as he easily managed to grab Greg's cuffs again, "You wouldn't say that if you would just hold still so I can finish."

There was a brief click of metal on metal and then the cuff around Greg's left wrist loosened and the second came off shortly after. He tried to stay calm; his hands were free, maybe he had a chance to get away. But those hopes died away when Memphis pulled him to his feet and he felt the gun barrel at his head once more.

"Let's go," he said, pushing Greg along further into the building.

It was hard to walk with his nerves so rattled after what he had been through but he somehow managed to stay upright. He cradled his hands awkwardly against his chest as he tried not to stumble and asked, "Wh...where are we going?"

"To be honest, there's no 'we' about it for once. You're staying here while I will be visiting with your oh so concerned friend, don't worry, I'll give him your regards. And if he's smart and brings us what we asked for, then we should all be able to live happily ever and he should come rushing back here to rescue you eventually like a good Prince Charming," Memphis explained as they passed through what Greg thought was a swinging door. "Lucky him."

"Shouldn't I ... I be going then?" Greg asked, not wanting to stay with Memphis but wanting to leave now, as soon as possible and be back home.

"No, because that's not the way things work, and even more because I don't quite trust Cowboy not to do something stupid, and you're his incentive not to," Memphis said as they stopped. It felt like they were facing a wall and Greg heard the large gunman punching a code into something. Wherever they were, it seemed Greg was going to be locked inside.

Then suddenly he was being overpowered. His back hit the wall hard and he cried out as his broken bones shifted again. He felt like he was suffocating as Memphis's body pinned him in place. The man was so close he could smell him, he could even feel Memphis's sickeningly hot breath coating his skin, making him feel unclean, as he leaned in close to Greg's ear and whispered.

"It's been a real pleasure knowing you Greggo, I mean that. I'll always remember the good times. And I know you'll remember too, but I think I'd still like you to promise. Can you promise me that? Can you promise you'll remember me?"

Greg was shaking but nodded, "I'll ... I'll remember. I'll remember everything about you ... until you're behind bars, because of what I remember. And then I think I'll forget that you ever bothered to exist."

Greg was actually smiling when he finished, proud of his words, until Memphis's knee came up hard into his gut, knocking all the air and pride out of him. He was given only a moment to try to suck in a breath before Memphis forced him to stand by pulling on his right hand, broken fingers and all.

Greg bit back the scream of agony that wanted to come out but Memphis just squeezed harder until it came. The cry was short due to lack of oxygen, but filled with the pain Memphis wanted to hear.

When Greg was standing again, gasping and shaking from the new agony, Memphis's body was still close, this time tense with anger, "You know I could kill you, screw Dallas and the damn disk and the money. It'd be so easy, safety's already off, I just pull the trigger and you're gone. But I don't want you dead, then you'd have won this little game we've been playing. This power struggle of wills. And if I just shoot you in anger, I lose don't I? I lost control and admitted defeat like a poor sport. So I won't do that. I'm going to let you live 'Greggo', I'm going to let you live in fear. Because I know everything about you, your name, where you work, where you live, and I'm going to come for you eventually and we're going to finish this properly. And no, I won't tell you when. I will tell you, that you won't see me coming. I could be anyone, I could be anywhere, and I will be. You have a fun life thinking about that. Now, how about a good-bye kiss?"

Before Greg could react Memphis had grabbed his left wrist with one hand and the back of his head with the other, and then suddenly his lips were being crushed by Memphis's amazingly strong mouth. He couldn't scream or break free and he didn't want to imagine the pain of hitting him with either of his broken, bleeding hands but he still struggled to get away.

It was long seconds before the gunman pulled away and Greg felt physically nauseous; he could taste Memphis's saliva in his mouth and smell the mix of mint gum and alcohol on his breath. The brief attack had been violent and forced, more personal than anything else, and he felt degraded and sick.

"Mmm, thanks. I'll see you around Greggo, now stay cool," Memphis exclaimed as a handle turned and a door opened.

As he tried to regain his composure, Greg felt a chill. Then there was a hand on his back and he was pushed forward. He stumbled and gasped; the air was freezing, probably below freezing actually.

He heard that horrible laugh for the last time and the sound of rushing air as the heavy door closed again and the lock snapped into place.

Alone and with his hands now free, if not shaking, Greg tentatively tore the duct tape off his eyes with his few usable fingers. The light was low so it didn't hurt too badly but what he saw was terrifying.

They had locked him in a freezer.

There were no other doors and no protection, and nobody knew he was there.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," he whispered, able to see his breath in the air as his damp, alcohol drenched clothes offered little protection from the cold. Feeling himself start to shiver already he looked for some way out; he turned around and pounded on the door with his feet and slammed his shoulder into it as well.

"Come back! Let me out of here! Please! Anybody! Help! Let me out!" he yelled until his throat was raw, which didn't take long considering the condition it was already in, and even then he kept pounding. With his last strike he exhausted himself and left his hand on the door for a moment for a balance, only to have it almost get stuck from the cold.

"Okay, think Greg, think. All those cases, there must be a way out of a freezer," he said to himself desperately, trying to think of some grand escape plan and ignore the overwhelming agony still pounding through his body, all resonating from the tips of both his hands.

Looking around he saw he had nothing to work with. There was nothing in the freezer, the walls were smooth metal and the floor was bare except for ... something black by the back wall.

Greg walked over slowly, being cold, sore and cautious. When he got close enough, he knelt in front of his prize - it was a walkie-talkie with a note attached that read: Your Only Hope.

He was breathing harder with excitement as he snatched it up carefully, cringing as he leaned it against his knees and fiddled with the knobs with his only uninjured fingers.

"Hello? Hello? Anyone? Please respond, please," he asked desperately as he pressed down the talk button. He waited with baited breath; there was no response. "Anyone? Please? Hello? Please, for the love of heavy metal, somebody get me out of here."

He waited again; there was no answer. He knew there were batteries and that it was working because the static noise disappeared when he hit talk, it was most likely that no one was listening. There should have been a frequency button on the top that he could have used to switch the channel he was on and maybe get a hold of someone, but his kidnappers had assured that wouldn't happen. The button had been removed and another piece of metal was attached over the hole it should be in to keep him from switching it by hand.

"Hello? Please? Anyone?" he asked hoarsely one more time, losing hope as he leaned against the far wall and cradled the walkie-talkie between his chest and legs as he tried to stay warm.

No one responded and he waited, again, and slowly froze.

He hated the cold.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The only reason Nick wasn't pacing was because of the policeman ordering him to stand still as he tightened the straps on his bullet-proof vest. A tech expert was also rigging him with a listening and video device, so they could see and hear whatever he did. Dallas had said to come alone, but he said nothing about not wearing a wire.

"You ready for this?" Brass asked for what felt like the millionth time, but would be the last since it was only ten minutes until the drop took place.

"Yeah, I'm all set. Especially since you guys have me rigged up better than a Christmas tree," Nick pointed out, trying to lighten the mood, but failing quite badly. Everyone smiled for gratuity's sake though.

Brass handed him a case and gave him the final lecture, "Okay, here's the disk. Remember, the code word is RED, as soon as you say it we're on our way in. We're following one minute behind you then the SWAT guys will be around the perimeter, roof and almost every window. I've made it very clear to everyone, we do absolutely nothing until you and Greg are both safe."

"Thanks Jim, for everything you're doing here," Nick said sincerely, knowing that even though hostage situations were always given special treatment they had even more backup than usual.

"Yeah, well believe it or not most of these guys consider you CSIs as part of the team. I don't know, that's just them. Anyway, get the lab rat back in one piece, we'll be even," Jim said, his words were macho and uncaring but his tone was sincere.

"I'll try," Nick promised and walked away, almost ready to go.

The rest of the team was all there, they couldn't be kept away. They were gathered around the listening and viewing station connected to the wires strapped around Nick and he knew they would all be watching and listening as the switch took place. Sara and Warrick were fiddling with the volume knobs when he came over, with Grissom and Catherine standing behind them, talking. Nick walked over for their final pieces of encouragement and support.

"I guess I'm outta here," he said shakily, wishing he felt more confident.

Warrick stood up first and shook Nick's hand, pulling him closer for a brief hug, "You're going to do great man, Greg's in good hands."

"Thanks Warrick."

Sara stood up, hugged him, then looked him in the eye with one request, "Get him back Nick."

He smiled at her; that's all he wanted too, "Yeah."

Catherine hugged him as well, "Take care of yourself."

"I will," he promised, letting her go.

Grissom had only advice, with no embrace or handshake, "Keep your cool Nick, stay calm. Here, emotion will not be your friend."

"So I'm told," Nick replied and then took a breath. "Guess I'll see you all in a few minutes then, maybe we can all take Greg out for breakfast, make him pay for worrying us like this."

Again, Nick tried to joke, but it was once again rejected - everyone's emotions were too high strung to allow laughter.

Nick sighed and took a final look at every face before he waved one last time, "Bye."

Disk in hand, he walked alone out the front of the building and into his car. As he sat in the driver's seat he checked the signals on his hidden devices.

"Everything working all right?" he asked

"You're coming in clear and the video feed looks good. You're all set Nicky, good luck," Catherine's voice replied in his earpiece.

"Thanks Cath, I might need it," he whispered, then started his car and pulled out of the building's lot. It only took about forty-five seconds to reach the Eckleton factory, there wasn't much traffic in this part of town and Nick didn't see anyone around. He parked in the front, got out of his car and shifted nervously, tapping the disk case against his hand.

"Here we go Greg, time to get you back," Nick whispered again, forgetting the rest of the team could hear him.

Back at the police base, Warrick, Catherine, Sara and Grissom were huddled as close as possible around the monitors. No one mentioned it, but they were all praying, for Nick and Greg's safety.

There was one boarded glass door at the front of the building that Nick walked through. After going through a short hallway Nick was at another door. Taking a breath, he pushed it open and found himself in a huge room that had once been a production line. Conveyor belts, boxes and packaging machines were everywhere, all covered in dust, some rusty. These things all caught Nick's eye for only a moment until his attention became focussed on the far right hand wall, where a lone figure sat on a table, swinging his legs.

It was Memphis.

Nick approached slowly, becoming apprehensive, and whispered into his microphone, "I don't see Greg."

"Patience Nicky," Grissom suggested, "He's probably there somewhere, just stay calm."

Nick nodded undetectably and kept walking, but his eyes now scoured the rest of the huge room in search of not only Greg, but Dallas as well. It was strange that only one of them was present.

It was then that Memphis noticed him. He seemed to not have a care as he waited and when he saw Nick he even smiled and waved. Once again, he was wearing a mask, but this time it only covered the upper half of his face.

"Cowboy, hey there. You're right on time, very impressive," Memphis commented as he jumped down from the table and walked to meet him.

Nick stopped his progress forward, halting Memphis as well with the stern, not amused look on his face, "Where's Greg?" he demanded.

"My god, you know you really kill a topic until it's dead. That brat's all you ever talk about," Memphis said, smirking with amusement at Nick's growing anger. "What about sports? Football? You catch the game last night? Good old Dolphins. I won two hundred bucks myself."

"I missed it. Now either you tell me where he is right now, or I will smash this disk to pieces. I am that sick and tired of this," Nick threatened and Memphis's good mood seemed to disappear.

"Careful Nick," Catherine requested in his ear, but he did not reply.

"Of course you will. Either way he's not here, and I don't think you would destroy it and risk dear Greggo's life," Memphis said, testing Nick's reaction.

"Don't try me. Now where is he?" Nick demanded again. "I get proof he's all right before you get anything."

Memphis actually laughed as he walked back towards his table and picked something off the table top. Nick didn't get a good look at what it was and tensed; it could have been a gun.

Turning back to him, Memphis tossed him the object, "The kid's fine, for now. There, talk to him if you want. Tell him I said hi."

Nick caught what he threw and stared, it was a walkie-talkie. He looked at Memphis sceptically, remembering what had happened the last time he talked to Greg, but he decided he had to take the risk.

He turned it on, brought it to his lips and hit talk, "Greg? Are you there, G?"

The voice that answered was slightly slurred, hoarse and disbelieving, "Nick? Is that you?"

"Greg? Yeah, it's me, are you all right?" Nick asked quickly, turning from Memphis as he talked to have some privacy and to hide his joy and relief at hearing Greg alive.

"Only if you think p...penguins have it good," Greg replied, sounding much more like himself. He was scared of dying alone in the cold, but at least now he could speak freely, unrestrained with no one threatening him every few minutes. "I'm okay, mostly."

Nick was confused, this was Nevada after all, "What do you mean, penguins? Where are you?"

"Some kind of freezer," Greg replied and Nick could hear his teeth chattering.

"What?" Nick exclaimed, then put down the walkie-talkie and confronted Memphis, "You bastard, he'll die! Where is he?"

"He'll only die, if you let him," Memphis taunted, shaking a finger at Nick. "Now, hand over the disk. I'll make sure it's not a fake and you can talk to Greggo for a little while."

"No way. You get nothing until I know where he is," Nick replied, holding the disk high and away from Memphis's reach.

The larger man was not phased, "If you don't give it to me, you never find out where he is, at least not until it's too late and he freezes to death. At least he'll be well preserved though, right? He'd make a lovely ice sculpture."

"Nick? Hello?" Greg's voice came through the walkie-talkie once more, scared he had lost his only connection to the outside world.

"I'm still here G, hold on one second. I'm with Memphis, I'm trying to find out where you are, just hold tight," Nick requested, never taking his eyes from the kidnapper.

"No, Nick, be c...careful, he's dangerous," Greg answered, showing his own concern for his friend, whose life was also in very clear danger.

Looking on expectantly, Memphis waited for an answer. Nick hesitated and waited for advice. It was Grissom's voice that came to his ear this time.

"It's your call Nick, follow your best judgment."

Memphis also added mockingly, "Every second you stall poor little Greggo's temperature is dropping."

"You're disgusting," Nick hissed, but handed over the disk.

"Thanks."

Smiling, Memphis took it casually and turned back to the table where he had a laptop set up.

"Oh, and as a show of good faith, you can have this right now," Memphis smirked, holding out a piece of white paper.

Nick took it sceptically and opened it - 2 6 9 3 0.

"What is this?" he asked.

Memphis was putting the disk in the drive and looked up from the screen, "It's the security code for the door your boy's locked behind. I'd hate for you to get there and you know, not be able to open it."

Nick wanted to bust open this man - to hurt him physically and assault him verbally for being such a horrible excuse for a human being - but none of that would help them.

In his ear, Catherine had some advice that would, "Nick, talk to Greg, try to get some clues as to where he might be."

Nick nodded and clicked on the walkie-talkie once more, "Greggo, you still there?"

"Y... yeah, I'm here," Greg answered, teeth chattering even worse. "Not r...really going anywhere."

"Okay, I'll be there real soon G, I promise. How are you doing?" Nick asked.

"Not r...real great, it's getting a little colder. It's almost funny, I moved from New York because I hated the w...winter there," Greg said, proving himself to be the perpetual storyteller, even in life threatening situations.

"I'm sorry to hear that Greggo. Do you know where you are?" Nick asked quietly, hoping Memphis wouldn't hear him trying to get location information.

But Greg couldn't help him, "No. I haven't s...seen anything since I got here, s...sorry."

"No, don't apologize, you're doing great. How long have you been in there?" Nick wanted to get some kind of time frame for how long they had to find the former labrat.

"I don't know. F...feels like forever," Greg replied.

"I'm not surprised," Memphis suddenly spoke up from a few feet away. He smiled when he saw he had Nick's attention, "I turned the cold up all the way before I left."

Nick fumed and wanted to lunge at the man. The voices in his ear kept him calm.

"Easy Nick, wait until he tells us where Greg is, then the cops will take him down," Catherine promised.

"Well it shouldn't be much longer, okay," Nick said to Greg, promising himself he would find him quickly, even if he had to kill to do it.

"Yeah, okay, I'll b...be here," Greg sighed, too exhausted and cold to try to joke or make conversation anymore.

"Wonderful," Memphis exclaimed from the table. He removed the disk from the drive and closed his laptop as he spoke, "Everything seems to be in order, I actually think you brought me the real thing. Thanks Cowboy, it's been a pleasure doing business with you."

Seemingly satisfied, Memphis picked up his belongings and started to head for the backdoor.

"Hey!" Nick yelled, stopping the man. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me where Greg is."

"Oh, that. Well this is how that's going to work. I know you've got police around this place, it's procedure, I knew you wouldn't be coming alone. So what I'm going to do, is walk out of here, safe and sound, and drive away. I don't know how far, but when I'm sure there are absolutely no cops following me, I'll call you and tell you where to find him and you can have a happy little reunion. Okay?" Memphis didn't wait for an answer; he turned around to walk out once more.

"Not okay, that wasn't the deal!" Nick exclaimed, chasing after the man. He grabbed his shoulder and spun him around and then stepped back as he found himself face to face with a 22mm.

"That's the new deal," Memphis announced, gun held steady.

Nick knew he wouldn't be able to overpower this man, and definitely wouldn't be able to force the information out of him, but he couldn't stand the idea of leaving Greg alone any longer, to slowly freeze to death while Memphis drove away. Instead of anger, frustration or violence, Nick tried sincerity.

"Please, just tell me where he is. You can still walk out of here, but he doesn't deserve this," Nick pleaded.

Memphis smiled, pretending to be touched, "That's real sweet Cowboy, and even if I agreed with you, you and I both know the only reason your cop friends haven't swarmed this place already is because you don't know where he is, and I intend to keep it that way. Best thing you can do to get him back sooner, is make sure no one follows me. That means, stay put as I walk out of here."

Inside Nick was conflicted, but knew that letting Memphis go was his best chance of getting Greg back alive. There was only one problem - he didn't trust Memphis.

The gunman was waiting for Nick's reply, gun still drawn and aimed at his forehead.

"How do I know you'll call?" Nick asked.

Memphis smirked, "You don't."

Nick didn't respond, because at that moment they both noticed the shift in light in the room and both men turned to the low window at the far wall to see what was blocking the sun. Nick's eyes widened as Memphis's narrowed and the gun changed directions to focus on the SWAT team sniper visible outside.

The next few moments would replay over and over in Nick's mind for months to come. Surprised and too trigger happy for his own good, Memphis fired a round at the SWAT guy, breaking the glass in the window but missing his head. Reacting on training and instinct, the officer moved out of Memphis's direct line of sight, aimed, and fired three rounds of his own. Nick tried futilely to stop it all.

He yelled, "No! Wait!"

He even ran forward, trying to push Memphis clear, but it was no good. The officer's aim was flawless, he was well trained, and the bullets imbedded themselves in Memphis's chest with horrifying accuracy.

Even as Memphis was falling, more action was happening. Cops came in through the doors, SWAT members came in through the windows, all with weapons drawn and nowhere to aim them. But Nick didn't see them. He caught Memphis's arm before he hit the ground and lowered him slowly. Placing both hands over the stream of blood escaping Memphis's chest Nick prayed he wouldn't die.

"No, no, you can't die. Stay alive, stay awake!" he demanded, yelling in Memphis's face as the murderer's eyes wandered without focus as he struggled to breathe.

"Cowboy... you bastard," Memphis stuttered out between gasping breaths. "Son of a bitch."

"No, stay awake, tell me where he is! Please, where is he? I have to find him," Nick said, desperate and afraid as the one man who could help him find Greg slowly died.

Memphis could have answered, he had enough air in his lungs and he understood Nick perfectly, but the plan had gone wrong and he was angry. The cops had killed him, stolen his life, and this was the only way he had to get even in his last moments. He would give them no answers.

"Good luck," Memphis said, barely audible. He actually smiled, satisfied in his retribution and managed a final laugh, before his eyes rolled back completely and his breathing stopped forever.

And Nick knew that as he died, so did any chance he had of finding Greg alive.

***

"No, no," Nick muttered, hands changing positions to pound on Memphis's chest to attempt resuscitation and try to force his heart to keep beating, "Where is he? You can't die, please you can't die, you have to tell me where he is."

Nick continued compressions on Memphis's chest, pushing far too hard and doing too many, too fast, but he couldn't think clearly at the moment. The only man who knew how to find Greg was dead, which meant almost no hope of finding him before he froze to death and Nick didn't want to face that.

"Live. Wake up, please," he said one last time before a hand fell on his shoulder and pulled him back, standing him up.

"Nick, stop, he's gone. Come on, there's nothing you can do," Brass told him calmly as he led him away from the corpse.

"He didn't tell me how to find him, I don't know where Greg is. Jim, we have no way to find him, he's just going to freeze to death in some cooler and it's all ...."

As Nick allowed himself to be led away, he looked down at the blood on his hands - it might as well have been Greg's. He looked up when he was mid-sentence and saw the SWAT team officer that had killed Memphis coming over.

"You! What did you do? What did you do! You killed him! You son of a bitch! He's dead! We can't find him! We don't know where he is!" Nick didn't just scream, he lunged at the man, so angry and scared he was looking for a reason to attack someone.

Brass held him back with the help of another officer, while the man who had fired put up his hands and backed away.

"Hey!" the man said, obviously not believing he'd done anything wrong and was offended by Nick's outburst.

"Nick, calm down, it's not his fault. We fire when fired upon, that's the rule. He didn't do anything wrong," Brass said in the man's defence, always there to protect his own when he felt it was needed.

"Nothing wrong? He killed the only man who knows where Greg is. He's going to die and he killed him!" Nick yelled again and this time got close enough to shove the officer, covering the man's chest in blood.

"Calm down," Brass demanded again, more forcefully.

Nick didn't seem like he would, but the voice behind him stopped him dead and made him return to reality.

"Nick? Are y...you still there?" Greg was back on the walkie-talkie. Nick turned around and picked it up from where he had dropped it when he caught Memphis.

He was about to answer, but choked as he hit the talk button and couldn't speak.

How do you tell someone who's counting on you that you can't save them?

"N... Nick? Anyone? Hello?" Greg continued, becoming more scared.

Nick stayed on one knee and closed his eyes, completely oblivious to the cops surrounding him and securing the room.

"Greg, I'm still here," he finally responded, tense and afraid.

"What's g...going on?" Greg asked since Nick had been gone a long time. His voice was low and tight since the cold made it so uncomfortable to move or use any unnecessary energy.

"Greg we can't ... Memphis is dead," Nick replied, wondering if he would have to say more.

"That's no real loss, t...trust me," Greg said, sounding almost relieved.

"No, G, he tried to shoot a SWAT guy, they had to fire back. He never told us where you are," Nick continued. There was a pause; he could almost see Greg realizing what this meant, but Nick said it aloud anyway, "We don't exactly know how to find you."

"Dallas?" Greg asked hopefully.

Nick shook his head, and replied apologetically, "He's not here, we don't know where he is."

"So I'm g...going to die in here," Greg said as a fact more than a question.

"No Greg, no, we're going to find you, I promise," Nick let the button go, "I just don't know how."

A voice from across the room stole his attention.

"Nick!" It was Grissom and the rest of the team.

"Hold on one second Greg, all the guys are coming in now, we'll figure out something," Nick promised as he watched Sara, Catherine and Warrick race over, with Grissom leading.

"We heard everything," Grissom said when they were face to face and then reached out his hand, "Let me talk to him."

"Sure," Nick said handing it over, but somehow felt reluctant to give up his only link to Greg.

"Greg, it's Grissom," he started off.

"Hey b...boss, what's g...going on?" Greg answered.

Grissom shook his head, "Listen Greg, we're going to find you, but we need your help. Can you think of anything that might help us figure out where you are?"

"N...not really," Greg replied, "But admittedly, I'm n...not at my best r...right now."

"Did you see anything when they brought you there?"

"No."

"What about the building you're in now, what does it look like?" Grissom asked, fishing for anything useful.

"I d...don't know, I was blindf..folded," Greg answered, not feeling very useful. "All I kn...know is I was in a b...big room, went through a s...swinging door and then here."

Warrick stood beside Nick and made a suggestion, "Couldn't we just track the talkie signal?"

Nick shook his head having already considered it, "It's a general frequency, we'd never isolate it, he could be anywhere within a hundred mile radius."

Sara grabbed the walkie-talkie when it appeared Grissom couldn't think of another question, "Greg, how long was the drive from where you left Nick to where you are now?"

"Sara? T...that you?" Greg asked, just happy to hear friendly voices again after these hours of hell.

"Yeah Greg, it's me. How long was it?" she asked again, needing an answer.

"I d...don't know, I was unconscious," Greg said very quietly as he started shivering more severely.

"Uh," Sara groaned, then lifted the radio again, "Well, how long have you been in there?"

"Feels like a few hours, but m...maybe twenty-five minutes," Greg said, unsure without a watch.

"And this Memphis guy is the one who put you there?"

"Yeah," Greg verified.

Cops and CSIs alike were now listening closely to the conversation, waiting for information that would put them into action.

"That's great Greg," Sara told him.

"Okay, assuming he left the first location just after locking Greg in, at the speed limit, twenty-five minutes gives us a maximum of about a thirty mile radius from here, in all directions," Warrick said, doing the math in his head.

"It's a start," Catherine added.

"It sure is," Grissom said, taking charge and shouting, "Okay, everyone get to your vehicles and take a direction with your sirens on as loud as possible. Sara, tell Greg to listen for any sirens, then we'll know if we're close."

"Greg? You still there? You have to listen. We're all going to drive around with our sirens on, and you have to listen closely and tell us if you hear them," Sara explained loudly and clear to make sure he understood.

"Yeah, I get it. T...thanks," Greg replied. "Hey Sara ..."

"Yeah Greg?" Sara asked.

"What are you w...wearing?" Greg asked; she could almost see the cocky smirk. She smiled and rolled her eyes.

"Why don't you just listen and concentrate on how we can find you? Then we'll talk about my wardrobe," Sara replied.

"Deal," Greg said. "But I'm going to h...hold you to that."

By now all the cops and CSIs were heading for their cars and Grissom was once again giving out the orders.

"Catherine, Warrick, I need you outside, the cops found this guy's car around back, process it, find us something to track down where Greg is. Sara, I'm sorry, I need you to go back to the lab, we need someone to access any databases that may help us, start with walk in freezers, all the ones in Vegas. Nick, you're with me, we're on siren duty."

"Sure," Nick said, staying put as everyone else left to start their tasks, any of which could lead to Greg's location.

Just as Sara reached the door, the walkie-talkie came alive again, "S...sara?"

"I'm still here Greg," she answered. His voice was getting weaker. "The whole department's working on this. We're going to find you, I promise."

"So I k...keep being told. Can I t...talk to Nick again?" Greg asked, sounding apologetic that he obviously preferred one friend over another, but Nick gave him the most comfort.

Sara smiled, "Yeah, sure. Nick!" she called out, waving the radio. "He wants you."

Nick came over immediately and took the walkie-talkie. He and Grissom were the last to leave the building and he was touched to see so many people trying so hard to find the former lab tech.

"G, I'm back. What's up?" he asked, hoping Greg had thought of something to help.

"Hey, w...what's Sara wearing?" Greg asked, smiling to himself. It was not what most people would have asked. Most people would be deathly afraid, confessing their sins or lamenting old loves and past regrets. But Greg was not most people. He was determined not to spend what may be his last minutes of life in fear and regret, he would stay himself and not be afraid of what he couldn't control.

Realizing this, it still hurt Nick to laugh, "G, this isn't really the time."

"H...humor me," Greg requested.

"You'll see when we find you," Nick said strongly, then turned to Grissom who was walking beside him. "How long do you think he has?"

Grissom had been considering that, "From Greg's size and weight, and considering he already sounds hypothermic, I'd say about an hour."

Nick cringed; he hadn't wanted to hear that. They both got in the car and began to drive north, sirens blaring.

"I don't h...hear anything," Greg announced. "But these w...walls are pretty thick. I don't t...think I would anyway."

"I know Greggo, we need more to go on. What about sounds? Did you hear anything helpful, in the car or outside the building?" Nick asked, needing more clues.

"Yeah ... n...nothing," Greg said thoughtfully.

"No, G, I asked if you heard anything," Nick repeated, louder.

Greg sighed, "I d...did. There was nothing. N...no traffic or p...people. It was r...really quiet, even for the morning."

In the freezer, Greg was sitting in the farthest corner in as small a ball as possible. He clung desperately to the walkie-talkie as his only comfort and tried to keep his mind off how cold he was, how bad he was shivering and how he couldn't feel his fingers and face anymore.

In the car, Nick and Grissom discussed what this could mean.

"There's nothing that deserted around here," Nick said as they drove through the relatively crowded and populated streets.

"He must be outside city limits then," Grissom suggested. "If we keep going north, we'll pass into the more secluded roads after about twenty miles. West, it's about the same. But we definitely shouldn't be going east or south, that takes us deeper into the city."

"Sounds good," Nick replied, picking up the radio that connected them to the other police cars. "This is CSI Stokes, all units coordinate search in north or western directions, any low traffic, low population areas. Repeat, north or western directions."

"D...did that help?" Greg asked.

Nick switched radios, "Yeah G, you're doing great, we're narrowing it down. It'll just be a little longer, hold on."

"N...no problem. Hey my f...fingers don't even hurt anymore," Greg answered optimistically.

"That's great, I'm glad to hear that," Nick said, but couldn't help continuing to find out more about what Greg had gone through.

"What exactly happened to them G?" Nick had to ask softly.

Greg tried to hide the emotion in his voice, but failed, as his voice stuttered worse. The cold was causing his speech to become slurred and a haze was forming in his mind, making it a struggle to force out each word, "M...memphis. Hammer first ... th...then ... then the ...knife...."

Both Nick and Grissom's concern managed to deepen even more upon hearing this.

"A knife? Greg, what happened with the knife? Are you hurt? Are you bleeding?" Nick asked, trying to sound calm, though he was far from feeling that way.

"Maybe ... I'm t...tired," Greg announced, his eyelids fighting to close. "G...getting hard to ... to think."

Nick felt himself starting to panic, "Greg, don't fall asleep. You have to stay awake, trust me on this."

Greg shook his head a little but it barely helped, "I'm t...trying."

"Get him to sing to you."

The seemingly random comment came from Grissom and Nick shot him the confused glance he thought it deserved.

"What?"

"Get him to sing to you, something upbeat. It will keep him awake and focus him, force his brain to keep functioning," Grissom explained and though Nick was rolling his eyes, he also took the suggestion to heart.

"Greg, I want you to sing for me," he requested slowly, making sure Greg understood.

Alone in the cold, Greg laughed honestly as he hit reply, "S...sorry, I don't know any c...country."

"I don't care, sing me anything. Something upbeat, just stay awake and sing me something," Nick requested again, his voice cheerful and energetic, hoping it would help invigorate life into Greg.

Even as he shook his head, Greg was trying to pull up some lyrics and picked the last thing he had heard on the radio, "H...hear the sound of the falling rain, Coming down like an Armageddon f...flame, The shame, The one who died without a name. Hear the dogs barking out of key ..."

"This is upbeat?" Grissom asked sceptically.

Nick shrugged, "It's probably the Backstreet Boys equivalent of his music collection. Sounds like it's working though."

Just as Greg hit the chorus Nick's phone rang. He chanced answering it since Greg was still going strong.

"Stokes."

"Nick, it's Sara. I called ahead and had Archie start the search on walk-in freezers and coolers. There's more than 400 in Vegas alone, we need something else to go on," she told him.

"All right, hold on. I'll talk to Greg," he switched radios again. "Greg? You still there?"

The reply was slower than usual. Greg had stopped singing a moment ago when he couldn't remember the next line and now the previous lyrics were unclear as well. He was obviously losing focus as his temperature dropped and his answers were getting shorter as well, "Yeah."

"Greg, I know you won't want to, and it's going to be hard, but I need you to stand up and walk around the freezer. Check all the walls, the doors, the cooling units, and try to find us anything with a brand name on it, or a serial number. Anything to help us track you, can you do that?" Nick asked loudly, noticing the slight change in Greg's response.

"M...maybe, I can t...try," Greg promised, not sure if he could even move his legs, he was so cold.

"Do or do not, Greg, there is no try," Nick replied, trying to wake him up again.

Greg actually laughed, "You're such a c...closet Star Wars g...geek."

"Yeah and you tell anyone and I might just have to leave you in there," Nick teased, then became serious. "But I really do need you to get up Greg, find something with a code or name on it that we can follow. You can do it."

"Yeah, I'll h...have to."

Greg took a deep breath and then slowly pushed himself up into a standing position, still leaning against the wall. He felt much more exposed to the cold and gasped as he hunched over, still shivering badly as he started to walk with short, uncomfortable steps.

"Kay, I'm l...looking," Greg said very quietly.

"That's great, be sure to check everywhere," Nick replied.

When Greg reached the door he collapsed against it, uncoordinated and shivering so badly he couldn't hold himself up. He looked up and down the huge steel frame, all the corners and the sides.

It was bare.

"There's n...nothing on the door. T...the walls look bare too, s...sorry," Greg said sincerely as he felt himself falling back to the floor in an attempt to escape the cold once more.

"No, G, don't apologize, please don't. It's not your fault, I know you're doing your best," Nick answered.

Greg was sitting hunched on his knees now, staring at the walkie-talkie as he couldn't seem to get his fingers to respond to hit reply.

In the car, Grissom turned to Nick, "Tell him to find the cooling unit, there's usually a brand name on there somewhere."

"All right. Greg, Grissom thinks there might be something on the cooling unit. Can you find that and look?" A pause that was too long. "Greg? Greg can you hear me? Please, G, if you can hear me, answer! Greg, you have to get up and find the cooling unit. Do you understand? Greg!"

While Nick panicked, Greg heard every word. He could see the vent that was filling the room with the freezing air. It was on the far wall, and right now he was concentrating on how he would get there, so much so that he couldn't answer Nick. He could barely stand up since his body was numb and his mind uncooperative, but still he started awkwardly straight across the room.

"Greg! Greg, don't give up. Talk to me!" Nick continued pleading.

Greg was nearly at the vent, still stumbling. It was close to the floor and he decided to just let himself fall. He stayed there a moment, shivering and gasping freezing air that froze his nostrils and mouth. The walkie-talkie fell out of his hand, but he could still hear Nick's voice coming through. Struggling slowly onto his knees, he forced himself to stay where he was, the coldest part of the freezer. He was eyelevel with the vent now and saw no words or symbols, but there was a layer of ice on the bottom. Pulling his sleeve over his hand, he wiped the frost away and fell to the floor again, a shaking hand reaching for the walkie-talkie once more.

"Greg! Please answer me G," Nick begged a final time.

Beside him, Grissom frowned, "Nicky, he may have lost consciousness."

Nick didn't want to consider it, and was about to hit talk again, when the static disappeared, meaning the other end was trying to get through.

"EZ-Freeze 3200," Greg grit out, trying very hard to keep his teeth from chattering.

"Greg! That's great. You're doing amazing Greg," Nick picked up his cell phone, beyond relieved. "Sara?"

"Yeah, I'm still here, I'm pulling into the lab now," she replied.

"When you get in there look up all the companies that purchased an EZ-Freeze 3200 and find out where they are," Nick told her, not having to explain why.

"I'm on it," Sara promised and hung up as she ran into the building at full speed.

Nick's attention was immediately brought back to the walkie-talkie, "Greg, Sara's working on finding you and we'll be there the second she does, okay? Greg?"

A pause. Greg was pulling himself back into his old corner where he curled up tightly. The shivering was lessening and the cold didn't seem nearly as severe as before.

"Nick, it's not so bad anymore. Getting k...kind of warm," Greg said dreamily, eyelids yearning to be closed.

"It sounds like he stopped shaking. He's probably going to pass out soon, try to keep him awake," Grissom suggested, eyes never leaving the road or the buildings on it. They were both alertly looking for any secluded building that could have freezers, but none were popping out at them.

"Greg, listen to me, stay awake," Nick started, but Greg wasn't done and wouldn't release the talk button. Nick could only barely hear what Greg was saying; his voice had grown even weaker and he couldn't hold the walkie talkie up anymore. Putting the radio to his ear Nick could hear better and realized that Greg was singing again, something much slower and more intense than before.

"Wake me up, when September ends ..."

When he finished off one chorus he started speaking louder and slower, his voice getting more slurred as his mind wandered aimlessly.

"I always wanted to be a rock star. In high school I was too geeky, couldn't be in a band if you like chess ... or if you wear braces, it's like an unwritten rule. Should be written down though ... Nick, write that down for me. But I liked where I was now, out of the lab ... I was a Crime Scene Investigator. Doing something ... doing something great. I caught bad guys, I put away murderers, cleaned up the street. I'm like Batman ... yeah, I'm Batman."

He laughed at his own joke for a moment, still not releasing the talk button, and then his mind shifted again and his rambling became eerily serious and coherent.

"Nick, if you don't find me, it's not your fault, it's no one's fault. You did everything you could so don't beat yourself up.... You can't save everyone," Greg spoke slowly but with the clarity that came with one's final moments of life. "And don't shut everyone out, deal with it, let them help. You don't open up easily, so don't push everyone away because of me."

Nick had one hand over his face, trying to compose himself as he listened to what Greg believed would be his final words.

"Thank everyone, for supporting me, and making me part of the team. That meant a lot... Tell Sara she's per...perfect how she is and men are stupid not to want her. Tell Grissom he's stupid... and also the smartest guy I know.... Let C...Catherine know I never would have made it anywhere without her support, and uh thank ... thank Warrick for always taking the time to be patient with me in the field, and for teaching me to be slick... And tell yourself thanks for being an awesome friend ...and for accepting me, ... even when I was weird ... or when I pissed you off... you never made me feel like an outsider ... just one of the team... the team ... gonna miss the team." There was a long silence, and then a barely audible, whispered voice, spoke one last time, "Bye Nick."

"Greg? Greg, no! Talk to me! Don't give up G, please, we're so close," Nick said, to himself and Greg.

Almost fifteen miles away Greg's finger fell off the talk button and his eyelids won the battle and finally closed as his head tipped forward to lean against his knees, with Nick's voice still echoing in his ear.

"Greg, don't do this, please answer me. Greg? God, don't give up," Nick begged, but he would get no response. "Greg! Talk to me! Greg!"

Grissom had listened to all of this silently, eyes forward, trying to give Nick and Greg as much privacy as possible in the confined space, but now he had to talk.

"Nick, he's not going to answer," Grissom had to tell him.

There were beginnings of tears of denial, rage and grief in Nick's eyes when he turned to his boss, "He's still alive Gris, he has to be."

"I know Nick, right now he's most likely just passed out," Grissom agreed, staying calm.

"How long until he ...?" Nick couldn't finish the question.

Grissom hated to answer, "It must be colder than I thought in there, if he's already passed out he could die within minutes."

Nick's jaw dropped open, horrified, "What? No, no, that can't be right."

"It's okay, we'll find him. Even if we're late, people whose hearts stop in extreme cold can often be resuscitated successfully even twenty or thirty minutes afterwards. There are some cases of people living even after hours," Grissom pointed out optimistically.

Before Nick replied, his phone rang again. Flipping it open, he knew who it was, "Sara, please tell me you have something."

"The EZ-Freeze 3200 is a fairly newer model, there are only a few bought in the Vegas area so far. I'm mapping out the addresses now of the ones in our search region. We have one at Driscoll Street in Manelli's Restaurant, one in a grocery store on Faneth and the last one was for Hindrick Meat Packing on Sussex, I've never heard of it ... Nick it's under construction!" she finished excitedly as she read the list.

"Like the background on that picture. That's the one then," Nick agreed enthusiastically and yelled at Grissom, "Hindrick Meat Packing on Sussex, it's under construction."

"Thank god. We're going in the right direction but we're still more than ten minutes away," Grissom replied, "Call the other units, someone may be closer."

Nick nodded and reached for the radio, "Sara, we're on our way there, you're amazing. I'll call you when we find anything."

"Just find Greg, don't worry about calling anyone," Sara suggested and then hung up. Nick did the same and made the general broadcast.

"All units, this is CSI Stokes, we have a likely location on our target, it's Hindrick Meat Packing on Sussex road, north of the city. Is anyone in proximity? Repeat, Hindrick Meat Packing on Sussex road, is anyone in proximity?"

There was a moment of static as they waited for replies. Three separate cars reported they were nearby, heading in the same direction as Nick and Grissom, but no one was closer than the CSIs.

"It sounds like we'll be getting there first. All units meet us there for backup and send in medical help as well," Nick requested and put the radio down. Then he picked up the walkie-talkie for a last time, "Greg? Greg I know you probably can't hear me, but you have to hold on, okay? We know where you are, we're coming to get you, I promise, and I'm gonna keep it this time. We'll be there in a few minutes, just hold on. I'm coming. I swear to you, I'll be there."

He finished quietly, not sure if he was promising himself or Greg, and then he could only sit impatiently as Grissom tore through the streets, heedless of the speed limit or stop signs. They were only suggestions at times like these.

"Nick, do you have your seatbelt on?" Grissom asked calmly, never taking his eyes off the road.

"I can in ...whoa!" Before Nick could even pull the belt across his chest Grissom had taken a sharp turn at full speed, knocking Nick into the passenger door. He winced and as soon as they straightened out, reached for the seatbelt and fastened himself in tightly.

"Sorry," Grissom said absently.

Nick shook his head, "No, it's okay. Whatever you gotta do."

"Good to know," Grissom commented, right before pulling another sharp turn that threw Nick in the opposite direction this time.

"Geez Grissom, but we're not going to do Greg any good if we become part of the asphalt on the way," Nick exclaimed, amazed his normally reserved boss was driving so insanely. Then a small black blur on the road caught his attention. "Cat!"

Grissom swerved, the car tilted slightly, the cat ran away, Grissom regained control and they were going full speed once more.

"It's like driving your own rollercoaster," Grissom remarked thoughtfully. "It's kind of exhilarating."

"Just don't coast us into a tree and I'm fine," Nick said, clutching the door handle.

Speeding and cutting corners on the relatively isolated roads, they managed to make the drive in just over ten minutes. As each second ticked by Nick's panic and worry went up a notch and when they finally had the Hindrick Meat Packing building in sight he nearly leapt out of the car.

"There. Grissom, there it is!" he exclaimed, pointing as if his boss could have missed it.

"I see it," Grissom assured him, turning surprisingly early. The driveway and parking lot were at the far side of the building and it was much faster to cut across the surrounding desert. Nick had no objections and waited with his fingers wrapped around the door handle as the building slowly came closer.

"There's the door. Stop there," Nick suggested. Grissom agreed and brought the car to a halt as close to the door as possible, two tires up on the curb.

Nick was gone and headed inside before he had a chance to turn off the ignition.

"Nicky, wait!" Grissom cautioned, drawing his gun as he jumped out to follow. They hadn't found Dallas yet after all, he could very well be waiting inside.

But Nick would not slow down. He rushed through the front doors, adrenaline making him short of breath, and stopped to take in his surroundings. It was a large uncompleted room, the walls were almost finished and it looked like countertops and machinery were being installed, but there was no sign of a freezer of any kind.

"Greg! Greg!" he yelled as he moved farther into the room, still oblivious to the fact that he could be walking into danger.

It was then Grissom caught up, coming swiftly through the front glass door, but then not straying far from it.

He had his gun drawn low and was clearly wary, "Nick, you have to slow down, we don't know who else could be here."

"Greg's here, that's all I care about," Nick replied, walking across the room. There was a tall metal pole near the far wall that looked familiar. It was the same one as in the photo the kidnappers had sent them. Nick could tell by the drying pool of liquid and the blood spatter halfway up the pole's length, dripping down. As he knelt down to touch the liquid he could tell it was alcohol. Turning, he saw that on this side the room branched off into a corridor with what looked like a swinging door at the end.

Without a second thought he ran towards the corridor at full speed. Grissom saw him take off and cursed, but followed, gun still drawn.

When Nick passed through the swinging door the hallway turned right and a few meters away stood a beautiful, cold steel door. They had been right. This was it.

The first thing Nick did was bang on the hard steel, calling Greg's name.

"Greg! Greg, we're here!" he shouted, simultaneously relieved and terrified. He pulled on the door handle and cursed when it wouldn't budge. Then he saw the keypad further along the wall and remembered the code Memphis had given him. Hands shaking, he pulled the small piece of paper out of his pocket.

"2 6 9 3 0," Nick repeated each number as he punched it into the keypad. Just as he hit enter, Grissom came in, gun held low. His eyes did a quick sweep of the hallway for danger, but then his focus immediately switched to the same door that had grabbed Nick's attention. They both knew Greg was on the other side, slowly dying, freezing, and it was a miracle they had found him at all. If only they weren't too late.

Nick heard Grissom follow him, but didn't turn as he hit the last button. The previously glowing keypad turned black and he hoped that was a good sign as his hands quickly wrapped around the door handle once more. He pulled up a few times, then pushed down, and then pulled again but nothing happened. He kept pulling frantically but there was nothing.

Terrified, Nick realized that Memphis had lied. The code didn't work and the door was still locked.

***

"It didn't work." Grissom heard Nick mutter as he slowly released the metal handle, shocked and shaking worse than before.

"What do you mean?" Grissom asked, feeling his own sickening panic rising with these words. "That guy gave you the door code didn't he?"

"It ... it didn't work," Nick replied, obviously still in terrified shock. The keypad on the wall lit up again. Nick pulled and pushed but there was still nothing. He punched the code in again, slowly, repeating it once more.

"Come on, please," Nick pleaded. "2 6 9 3 0."

The keypad went black. Nick pulled. Nothing.

"No!" Nick yelled furiously, banging on the door. "No! Open goddamn you! Please, you son of a bitch!" He kicked it and punched it one more time, falling against it exhausted, then begged again, "Greg! Greg, we're here! Hold on! Just a little longer."

"Let me see that paper," Grissom requested. Nick handed it to him then walked away to the far wall, holding back a scream of frustration and terror.

"2 6 9 3 0," Grissom read. Just what Nick had punched in. He stared at it, longing for an idea to strike him. They were so close but in some ways just as far as they had been an hour ago.

Behind Grissom, Nick was pacing. His breathing became harsh as the panic he had been reining in all night broke free when his emotional barriers collapsed under the stress of this latest development.

"To hell with this."

Nick took out his gun and clicked off the safety.

"Grissom, get out of the way, I'm getting him out of there," Nick said, sounding calmer as he aimed for the keypad on the wall. To him this was the only option, he would be doing something, he would get Greg out of there, he wouldn't be standing around anymore.

The only obstacle in his way was Grissom, who seemed to have no intention of moving.

"Easy Nicky. Put the gun down, this isn't gonna help," Grissom said, slowly reaching for the gun and knowing this was a bad idea.

"Gris, move, I can get him out," Nick shouted at him, attempting to sound confident in his decision, unaware he came off as desperate and afraid.

"Nick, no. We'll figure this out. This isn't television - shooting the keypad will not open the door, you'll probably end up trapping Greg in there longer," Grissom pushed, stepping closer, almost touching the barrel.

Nick growled, about to go insane with frustration and helplessness, "What else can we do? Greg's freezing to death ten feet away, we can't just stand here. We have no other option!"

"Yes we do, things aren't always as simple as they seem."

Then Grissom's eyes lit up as his own words inspired him with a new idea. Holding out the piece of paper again, he repeated the code and his eye lingered on the last number. "2 6 9 3 0. Zero. Zero. No, not zero. It's an eight. Nick, the zero's an eight!"

Nick lowered the gun, immediately giving Grissom his full attention. The supervisor was already at the keypad, punching in the code himself.

"What?"

"There's a trace of a loop at the top, it's barely there," Grissom explained as he dialled. "The zero could be an eight."

He almost hesitated over the enter button, scared to be wrong, but his finger eventually fell and punched it. The keypad lit up green and there was a low beep.

Grissom breathed.

Nick lunged at the door handle. He pushed down. It moved, the lock clicked, and as Nick pulled, the steel swung open.

The cold was paralyzing, even before stepping through the door. Grissom was still at the keypad and almost had to turn away from the chill of the air that leaked out. Nick sucked in a shocked breath, but didn't let that slow him. Pulling once again, the door opened wide enough to enter.

Nick stepped in. The air might as well have been ice. The CSI thought he may have frostbite just from entering and couldn't imagine how Greg had survived in here for more than an hour.

Greg.

There he was, the person the entire LVPD had been searching for the past few hours. The only object in the entire bare freezer, he was huddled in the far corner, head on his knees, unconscious and unmoving.

"Greg, oh my god," Nick whispered as he crossed the room to kneel in front of the frozen younger man.

His heart hurt and Greg looked so peaceful. His eyes looked frozen shut and he was so small - Nick saw the walkie-talkie was still in his hand. Nick felt the urge to touch him, to feel him alive and safe, but first he had to move him. With one arm beneath his knees and the other supporting Greg's shoulders, Nick hefted the smaller man up, and carried him out of his forced prison.

"It's okay Greggo, I'm getting you out of here, you're safe," Nick promised softly.

Grissom was waiting at the door, holding it open to make sure Nick didn't get locked in, however briefly. Nick paid him no mind as he rushed into the hallway with his burden. He went halfway down the hall, far away from the cold, and then collapsed against the wall. Lowering himself to the floor, he was eventually sitting with his legs stretched out, holding Greg as close to his chest as possible with his arms around him, trying to will his warmth into the frozen body he held.

"Greg? Can you hear me?" Nick asked quietly as he rubbed the former labrat's arms and chest to warm him up.

"Nick, don't rub his arms, just keep him still and keep him close," Grissom instructed, catching up.

"Why?" Nick asked, knowing he should trust Grissom's judgment but also finding it hard to fight his instincts and what seemed common sense on how to keep someone warm.

"It's complicated, just trust me," Grissom requested as he knelt in front of the two. Reaching a hand out, Nick stopped rubbing and watched as Grissom's fingers touched Greg's neck.

Long seconds passed. Grissom frowned, Nick held his breath, Greg was still, and then finally, Grissom sighed.

Relieved.

"He has a heartbeat," he announced, smiling.

Nick felt himself breathe and let his head drop to rest against Greg's shoulder, tears of relieved joy pricking his eyes. Moving his hand to Greg's chest, Grissom felt it slightly rise.

"He's breathing on his own too, just barely, but we still have to keep him warm," Grissom pointed out, shucking off his jacket and placing it backwards over Greg's chest. "Stay like that, I'm going to go get the blankets out of the car."

Nick nodded, "Sure, I'll be right here."

Grissom smiled, knowing that he wouldn't have been able to make Nick move anyway, and then disappeared down the short hallway and out the swinging door.

Now alone, Nick laid his head back against the wall, relieved beyond all reason. No more cold, no more kidnappers, no more panic, just Greg, safe and alive. Rocking as he continued to warm Greg's body, Nick said his thanks.

"We found you, Greggo, you're safe. It's gonna be all right .... Thank you. Thank you for holding on. Stay strong man. You're gonna be okay, I promise."

He rested his chin on the top of Greg's head and the hair was like icicles. It hurt Nick to imagine just how cold Greg must be, especially since he was getting a chill just from holding him. He put a hand on Greg's cheek and found no warmth there. His attention moved downward and he pried the walkie-talkie from the frozen fingers and set it aside. Then he removed Greg's right hand from beneath the coat and laid it out carefully. The index and middle fingers were horribly swollen, bruised and the bones felt crushed. Then he picked up the left hand and felt his chest tighten even more. The nails on the last three fingers were bleeding and barely attached. It was a horrible sight and Nick didn't want to imagine the pain involved with this second, meticulously inflicted injury.

Still, Nick hurt for him.

"You're safe now. I promise you that Greg. No matter what I have to do, I promise you're safe," he whispered. Then he was silent and listened to Greg's shallow breathing.

A few seconds later Grissom reappeared, a huge bundle of blankets draped over his arms.

"We had all those in the car?" Nick asked, leaning Greg forward so he could wrap one around the young man's frozen shoulders.

"No, two black and whites are here. They're securing the perimeter but I got the thermal blankets out of their trunks," Grissom explained as he lifted up Greg's legs and wrapped them several times with the thick blanket. He also pushed a plain black winter hat on Greg's head, knowing he couldn't afford to lose heat anywhere.

"Hey, don't mess up his hair," Nick joked lightly.

"He needs a trim anyway," Grissom pointed out.

As they wrapped Greg in every piece of fabric they had, Nick suddenly felt the strong urge to get him proper medical treatment, "Are the medics on the way?"

"They should be, we called them in already. It'll probably just be a few more minutes," Grissom assured him.

When they were done all that could be seen of Greg beneath the blankets was his face and a few strands of hair sticking out of the hat. He was in what should have been a cocoon of heat, but Nick couldn't feel him getting any warmer.

Then both men turned when a voice called out from the next room.

"Grissom! Nick!"

Grissom stood and moved to the end of the hallway, and waved, "Jim, over here!"

When he turned back, Brass came shortly behind him, gun drawn low as Grissom had done, but when he saw the three CSIs he sighed and holstered his weapon. After a few more steps that brief relief turned into shocked concern.

"Jesus Sanders. Is he okay?" From this distance Greg appeared completely unresponsive and lifeless, making the cop fear the worst.

"Far as we can tell," Grissom answered. "He's breathing on his own but his heartbeat's pretty low."

"Well the EMT's are in route, they should be here soon. I've got my guys going over the whole place for this Dallas guy. You two see anything when you got here?" Brass asked. His tone was professional, his regular tough cop persona, but he also knelt down and draped his own jacket over the impressive bundle already covering Greg.

"Parking lot was empty," Nick noted.

"We didn't see anyone," Grissom added, having looked closer than Nick upon entering. "I don't think anyone's here."

Brass nodded, "Yeah, that's what my guys are telling me."

The room was making the seasoned cop tense with discomfort. There was a mix of panic, relief and fear in the small space from the two CSIs, not to mention the unnatural stillness and the white pallor of Greg, who to Brass appeared dead. It all combined to create an uncomfortable tension that was invading his bones.

On the floor, Nick frowned as he put a hand on Greg's skin. It didn't feel any warmer, at all. He wasn't expecting an immediate miracle but Greg's pulse didn't seem any better either. He realized his own hands felt colder than he would have thought, a kind of moist, freezing cold and his eyes widened as he realized his mistake.

"Dammit. God, I'm so stupid, what the hell was I thinking?" Nick berated himself as he threw the blankets off of himself and Greg, who remained dead to the world.

This immediately grabbed Brass and Grissom's attention and they rushed over.

"Hey, what are you doing Stokes?" Brass demanded.

Grissom picked up the discarded blankets and tried to replace them, "Nicky what's wrong? We have to keep him warm."

Nick never stopped moving as he explained, "I am keeping him warm. Remember that photo those bastards sent us? There was something weird about it."

Brass watched confused as Nick began to try to remove Greg's shirt, but a look of understanding appeared on Grissom's face and he quickly began to help by unbuckling Greg's pants.

"Try to move him as little as possible," Grissom instructed as he pulled at the jeans.

"What the hell are you two doing?" Brass demanded.

"In the picture, Greg was drenched, which means his clothes are wet and frozen. We'll never get him warm with them on," Grissom explained.

He managed to get the pants off but left the underwear as Nick completely stripped Greg's upper half. Grissom threw the clothes aside and they both replaced the blankets and jackets as quickly as possible.

Despite all the shifting and being undressed by his co-workers, Greg remained completely unresponsive and could be manoeuvred like a rag doll.

"There Greggo," Nick whispered as he held Greg to warm him up once more, "Sorry about that."

Feeling slightly unneeded, Brass took his leave, "Right. I'm gonna go check on those paramedics."

"Sure Jim," Grissom said off hand, tucking the blankets in tighter.

When Brass was gone, Nick pointed to the pile of clothes, "Gris, could you do me a favour? Make sure we don't lose that T-Shirt, I think it's one of his favourites."

"Yeah," Grissom replied obligingly. He picked up the shirt and cringed. He had never seen it before, meaning Greg must have worn it under the new, more professional clothes he had been sporting lately, which he was somehow grateful for. The insignia only had two blanked out faces and the word 'nimrod'. "I can see why, it's lovely."

Nick laughed at the sarcasm, "It's the sentimental value. It's the cover of his favourite Greenday CD."

"Sounds like an environment friendly awareness group," Grissom commented.

"Yeah, I don't get it either, but he loves the stuff," Nick said affectionately, then sighed shakily.

Grissom smiled, "He'll be all right Nick. You did good. You found him."

"He found himself," Nick said, clearly reflecting.

More sounds began to echo down the short hallway and they both turned as the paramedics finally arrived. Two EMTs, a man and a woman, pulled a stretcher through the swinging door and assessed the situation. It was obvious who their patient was. The male medic began unstrapping the gurney buckles while the woman knelt in front of Greg.

"What have we got?" she asked, her fingers immediately going for Greg's neck. She frowned when she felt the weak heartbeat and frozen skin.

"Severe hypothermia and at least two broken fingers, right hand, and his left hand is pretty bad too," Nick answered as he sat up taller to talk to the woman. "Beyond that, I don't know."

"Hypothermia? The guy spend the night in the desert?" the other medic asked as he joined his partner with a small kit.

Grissom indicated the huge steel door, "He was locked in that storage freezer for more than an hour."

The man cringed and nodded, "Gotcha."

Meanwhile, the woman was all business, "His body's not responding to touch or cold, his core temperature's got to be critical, he's barely holding on."

"Do you need to take him?" Nick asked, ready to move from his position so they could better treat Greg.

"Actually he's probably best right where he is, if you don't mind staying there a few more minutes," the male medic requested.

"No, that's fine," Nick replied, leaning back against the wall again.

"Good, cause your body heat's probably keeping him alive right now," the woman noted as she rifled through the medical kit.

Nick didn't like the sound of that. Grissom didn't either but could only stand and watch.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked as he saw the EMTs insert a needle in Greg's arm.

"IV fluids for dehydration," the man answered.

"What? He was only in there an hour," Nick said, shocked.

"That's all it takes. He's in critical condition, most of his blood is almost frozen, the IV fluids are warm, they'll help," the medic elaborated.

The woman was taking Greg's temperature with an ear thermometer and frowned at the readout.

"82.2," she told her counterpart, and even though they weren't trained medical personnel Grissom and Nick were both aware that that temperature was very low and very bad.

The medics knew it too and they wanted to move Greg now.

"All right, let's get the gurney down," the woman requested. The other EMT lowered the stretcher almost to the floor to make it easier to move Greg onto it.

With two people on each side of Greg's body, the male medic counted down to lift.

"Lift on three. One, two, three."

One blanket fell as they moved him which Grissom picked up and then hurried to follow the already moving gurney. One medic was at the head of the stretcher and the other was at the foot holding up the IV bag, with Nick right by Greg's side.

There were a few cops in the large room that led to the front doors, and they all stopped to turn and watch the gurney pass by, knowing its passenger was the CSI the entire operation had been focussed on finding. Now if only he survived.

Nick wanted nothing more than to get Greg into the waiting ambulance and into a hospital. The paramedics had the same idea as the female EMT ran ahead of the stretcher to open the back doors of their vehicle. Just as they were about to lift Greg into the ambulance another car pulled into the quickly filling parking lot. Stopping close to the ambulance, Nick saw Warrick and Catherine rushing over. Turning around, he saw the medics already had Greg in the back of the ambulance and they would be shutting the doors any second.

"Grissom ... I gotta ..." Nick pointed to the vehicle.

Grissom nodded, encouraging him, "Go, I'll talk to them. Call us with any news."

"Sure thing," Nick promised, one foot already in the ambulance. Quickly climbing the rest of the way, the doors shut behind him, the siren screamed to life, and then they were taking off, away from the crime scene.

Just as the tires started turning, Warrick and Catherine came to a stop in front of Grissom.

"Grissom, we heard on the radio. How is he?" Catherine asked as she and Warrick joined the supervisor in watching the vehicle disappear down the empty highway.

Only when it was practically gone did Grissom turn to face them.

"Alive. His core temperature was dangerously low, so was his heartbeat. He was unconscious, but he was breathing on his own," Grissom reported, doing his best to sound optimistic, which wasn't really natural for him.

"Think he'll be okay?"

"I hope so," was all Grissom could offer as a reply. Despite his PhD in entomology, he was no doctor and would not make false promises.

"We all do," Catherine added. When Grissom turned around it was obvious it was time to get down to business, "We didn't find much in the car at the warehouse by the way, it was pretty clean. There was a police scanner though, a good one, these guys probably knew every step we were making, not that it matters now that we found Greg."

Grissom shook his head, "It does matter. Memphis may be dead but this Dallas guy is still on the loose, faceless, nameless. I want him found."

This said, Grissom headed immediately back into the building. On his way through the door he grabbed Brass for an extra touch of authority and then yelled for every cop scouring the room to hear.

"Okay, I need everybody out! Do not touch anything, try to retrace your footsteps and do not move anything! This is a crime scene now and we have to process it."

A few of the police officers immediately started to head out, but several just stood silently for a moment, hating to be ordered around by the CSI civilians. Brass handled it.

"You heard the man, out. This is an active investigation, we still got a killer and kidnapper on the loose that needs catching."

With this reminder the rest of the officers took their leave and the room was empty. In the art of forensics, this was a CSI's bare canvas.

"They didn't leave us much," Catherine noted on a quick once over. There was hardly anything there besides construction equipment.

"They don't have to leave much, just enough. Warrick, through those swinging doors is a hallway and the freezer we found Greg in, it's all yours. Catherine, you and I are in here. Dust everything. I have a feeling these guys are going to have records, Nick seemed to think they were military of some kind. One good print and we're set," Grissom said, slipping back into supervisor mode even though Warrick and Catherine weren't on his team anymore. They didn't mind though, it was efficient, and this was no case for showboating, it was for solving. Not just to have justice, but so they could all find closure. These guys had hurt one of their own after all, and they fully intended to return the favour.


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In the ambulance Nick tried to mask his concern - from the way the EMTs were acting Greg's condition was pretty serious - but he did not try to hide his relief or joy at finding Greg alive.

"Hang in there G," was all Nick requested.

After taking a few minutes to appreciate the repercussions of getting their newest CSI back in generally one piece Nick remembered a promise he had made.

"Oh yeah," he whispered to himself as he took out his cell phone. It was answered by the second ring.

"Hey Sara, it's Nick. We found him," he announced, triumphant and relieved.

"Yeah, I heard on the scanner. How is he doing?" she asked.

Nick answered simply. "His temperature's pretty low but we're doing what we can. It can only go up right?"

"Let's hope so. Thanks for updating me but I gotta get going, I'm heading out to help process the meat plant."

A dark look crossed Nick's face, "And find Dallas."

"We'll do our best, and that pretty much assures us a slam dunk with our track record," Sara replied optimistically.

Nick laughed briefly, "Someone's getting cocky."

"Must be contagious. Just watch over Greg for us until we can get to see him," she asked.

"No problem. Bye Sara," Nick signed off.

"Bye," she replied and then there was only dial tone. Along with the dial tone Nick could hear another out of place beeping sound. He looked up and saw the EMTs had attached a miniature heart monitor to Greg, with each blip representing a heartbeat. As he listened to the weak beeping sounds he felt his first real stab of deep concern since they had found Greg alive. He could see it on the medics' faces as clearly as he heard it himself; the beeps were awfully slow.

He saw the medics were also hooking up an oxygen mask to Greg's face that led to an odd looking O2 canister.

Hating to interfere, but curious, he asked, "What are you doing? I thought he was breathing on his own."

"He is," the man replied curtly, "but a little help doesn't hurt. Besides, this is a Res-Q-Air mask, it's feeding him warm, humidified air to raise his core temperature."

"Oh, that's good," Nick said, clearly a little uninformed on the topic. As the female medic checked Greg's pupils she knocked off one of the blankets which Nick tried to replace.

"Don't worry if those fall off," she told him, sounding only informative and not unkind. "Blankets and any kind of external warming don't really do much at this stage, it's the inside you have to worry about. Did you move him around at all after you found him?"

"Uh, I carried him out of the freezer, we wrapped him in blankets, then we realized we forgot to strip his clothes, we did that and replaced the blankets," Nick said firmly.

"Heart rate is still slowing. He may have been jostled around too much," the other medic pointed out. Turning to him, Nick's eyes widened to see he was preparing the defibrillator paddles.

"Wait, what do you mean? It's warm, he's out of the freezer, his heart rate has to get better," Nick told them, firmly believing what he said. But the EMTs disagreed and were shaking their heads.

"Look, we don't have time for a medical lesson, short version, when the body gets too cold, the blood in the arms and legs stops flowing. When the body gets warm again or is moved, the blood flows again and brings the cold blood that was trapped in the arms and legs back to the core of the body and lowers the temperature, not to mention carries with it a few toxins and acids. We're doing what we ... " That horrible steady wail filled the ambulance. "Paddles! He's flatlining!"

Nick moved back as far as possible when the woman shouted, "Clear!" and touched the paddles to Greg's bare chest, coursing electricity through his body. He gasped and turned away because it was horrible to watch, but then the wonderful beeping returned to the heart monitor and the paddles were put aside.

Breathing a sigh of relief Nick put his head in his hands, "Oh my god."

Turning to him sympathetically, the woman felt she had to warn him, "It'll be at least twelve more minutes until we get to the hospital, you should know, we'll probably lose him again at least one more time, but we should be able to bring him back with the paddles."

Nick couldn't believe what he was hearing from this trained medical professional, "You plan on losing him again...?"

"With the cold blood still circulating through him, there's not much we can do except prepare for the inevitable and wait," she explained.

Shrugging helplessly, Nick suddenly thought about the quarter, spinning for as long as possible until friction and gravity took it down. The quarter had to stop, it was inevitable. Just like the heart. Nick just prayed that Greg's heart had a few more spins left in it and that gravity and friction would show some mercy.


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"I didn't get much. I bagged Greg's clothes to take a closer look at, at the lab, there was nothing in that freezer except a strip of duct tape, probably from off Greg. I did lift a few fingerprints off the keypad by the door, but they're looking kind of smudged," Warrick announced as he walked back into the large open room of the meat plant where Grissom and Catherine were still working, now with Sara as well.

"Those are probably just Nick and I's prints, we were the last ones to open it," Grissom supplied without pausing his dusting. "We weren't wearing gloves."

Warrick's announcement about how little he had found didn't help lift anyone's spirits since they had found depressingly little themselves. There was no chance for footprints after so many people had walked through the room, the few prints they found hardly looked usable and the only trace materials they had found so far was the blood on and near the support pole, which didn't help them much since they were pretty much certain it was all Greg's.

Not knowing this though, Warrick asked, "All right then. You guys get anything?"

"Only if you count a whole lot of nothing," Catherine replied, frustrated.

He nodded, understanding, then sniffed, "You guys smell that? Like strong alcohol?"

"Yeah, that's from over here," Catherine answered indicating the dark floor around where she was dusting, "There's a drying pool of it right here where Greg must have been tied up, probably what he was soaked with. Doesn't really tell us much though."

"It does when you find the source," Sara called out, smiling as she reached into the trashcan she had taken the lid off of. Turning to the rest of the group she displayed her find.

"Nice," Warrick commented.

Grissom agreed and was quickly beside her, holding open a large evidence bag for the empty alcohol bottle.

"We should rush this to the lab," he said as she put it in carefully. "We can fume it for prints and get DNA."

"I'll take it," Warrick offered, on his way out anyway.

"Make it a first priority, if we move fast we can catch this guy before he leaves town or disappears," Grissom noted.

Warrick understood and left quickly with the samples they already had, eager to find a breakthrough.

When he got outside he was surprised to see not only a few police cars, but a civilian as well, being interviewed by Brass. He didn't look like a reporter, which Warrick was grateful for - the later the media found out about all this the better. But he did wonder who the man was, and was soon able to find out as Brass waved him over to join their conversation.

"What's up?" Warrick asked as he stood next to Brass.

"Warrick Brown, this is Malcolm Retter, he owns this building and isn't too happy about us being here," Brass explained. Warrick's eyebrows shot up - this man had a lot to answer to.

"Sir, are you aware of why we have cordoned off this facility as a crime scene?" Warrick asked the seemingly frustrated man, while he and Brass judged his reactions.

"Only the little this detective will tell me. Some guys were using this place to hide out from the cops," Retter replied, clearly not too concerned about the matter. Warrick sized him up - tough, definitely a good businessman, probably had a decent education but got where he was on street smarts and understanding people. His kind were the hardest to deal with.

"Well, those guys were wanted for murder and kidnapping, so we're gonna need to know why they may have been using your establishment here as a base of operations," Warrick continued.

Retter shrugged, "I have no idea. I have a lot of construction guys working here during the week, any one of them would know about it and any of their buddies that they told."

Brass nodded but did not take Retter's word for it. As usual he was working on the assumption that everyone lied to cops, and he was usually right.

"Then we're going to need a list of those names and we'll check it out," Brass offered.

Retter scoffed, "Right, call my secretary, I don't have time for this."

"Make time, trust me, it'll save you a lot of hassle in the long run," Brass suggested. "After all, we can be here a few days, or we can be here a few weeks, and I'm betting you've got a completion contract on the line."

Though Retter rolled his eyes, he also pulled out his cell phone to make some calls.

"And while you're here, we're going to need your fingerprints and a DNA sample," Warrick added as he put down his case and took out a fresh swab.

Retter closed the phone and appeared shocked, "Are you accusing me of something? There's no way I'm giving you anything without my lawyer and I can get him here in twenty minutes."

"Then you better make a call. Or you can flat out refuse, but it would make me wonder what you were hiding," Brass commented.

Before either of them could say another word though, the increasingly irate Retter had opened his phone again and dialled a different number, then turned and walked away to speak in private, but Brass and Warrick could still hear his conversation clearly.

"I don't believe this ... Mitchell Warren, it's an emergency. No I won't hold... Mitchell, it's Malcolm, I'm at my construction site and it's covered in cops... A few dozen... I don't know how long ... No, I didn't do anything, some idiots decided to stay here to hide from the cops and now they're trying to get me to give them my DNA and fingerprints.... What do you mean cooperate, this is harassment! They're violating my rights.... No, I told you, nothing.... My god, you better be right. Good bye."

When Retter turned around again, Brass and Warrick were still waiting, feet tapping impatiently.

"He on his way?" Warrick asked, smirking since he knew the answer just by reading Retter's posture.

"You're lucky my lawyer is a very busy man. He suggests I cooperate. After I give these samples am I free to go?" Retter asked bitterly, clearly hating to have to answer to the police, or anyone for that matter.

"Of course," Brass promised. That is until Warrick finished swabbing Retter's cheek and then added, "Just as soon as you account for your whereabouts for the past ten hours."

"I can't believe this. I was home, sleeping. Do you have any idea what time it is?" Retter pointed out even though it was almost noon.

"Anyone verify that?" Brass pushed.

Retter started to fidget, losing confidence, "Just a girl whose name I didn't get."

Brass winced, "Oh, tough for you, that just won you a trip to the precinct."

Smirking, Brass called over a uniform to escort the distraught Retter to the station.

"You know you can't hold him just for having a weak alibi, right?" Warrick asked when the man was out of earshot.

Brass shrugged, "Yeah, but he doesn't know that, and apparently his fancy lawyer didn't tell him either."

"You really think he had anything to do with this?" Warrick questioned as he labelled the oral swab.

"You wanna risk not questioning him if there's a chance he did?" Brass countered.

There wasn't anything to consider.

"Nope."

Of all the cases the team had ever worked on, this one would definitely be the one where every lead was chased down until it was caught.

***

Greg's mind was cloudy as his eyes slitted open and he heard garbled voices speaking around him.

"Temperature ... degrees ...."

"Can you ... that IV ...?"

"Get me ... fresh gauze."

His body felt heavy and disjointed, looking down he saw he was covered in a thick layer of blankets. Blinking rapidly against the harsh light all around him, he tried to look around. There were two men in white coats on his right, it looked like they were studying an X-ray that they held up to the light. He heard something about fractures and then turned to continue his inspection of where he was. On his left there was a woman in blue scrubs doing something to his hand. He blinked when he looked at her and felt even more disconnected from the world because even though he could see she was holding his hand, he couldn't feel or move it.

This caused him to panic a little and he tried to sit up.

"Where ...?"

Pain quickly caused the haze in his mind to clear up a bit more as he felt a stabbing agony radiating from his right hand, and a weaker sting in his upper left arm. Memories he didn't want to see started to come back, and he immediately knew what was wrong with his hand so looked at his left arm and saw there was a needle in the crook of his elbow.

"Ah! Wha ...?" He tried to speak but his throat was raw and little came out. But what he had managed had been enough to get the nurse's attention that had been bandaging his fingers.

"Easy, it's okay, you're in the hospital," she told him slowly, laying a hand on his shoulder to keep him still.

"H...how?" he asked hoarsely and noticed for the first time his teeth were chattering, in fact most of his body was once again shivering and he was still very cold. The nurse brought a straw to his lips and he drank the water as she answered.

"You came in by ambulance Mr. Sanders, you were unconscious, you're suffering from severe hypothermia. But a man came with you, he said he works with you," she explained slowly and loudly even though Greg's mind was quickly clearing.

"Nick?" Greg asked hopefully as his gaze swept the room again in hopes of seeing the friend who had saved him. "F...found me?"

"Mr. Stokes is in the waiting room, we asked him to wait until your condition was stabilized," a new voice replied and Greg turned to see the two men in white coats were now beside his bed as well. "I'm Doctor Sargent, how are you feeling?"

It took a moment for Greg to reply, he was tired but still able to understand them perfectly, "My hand ... I c...can't feel ..."

He trailed off as he lifted the upper half of his left arm as much as possible and was still unable to feel or move his hand. The nurse beside him immediately pushed his arm back down as the doctor explained.

"Your fingers are in pretty rough shape, we anesthetized your hand to keep it still while they were stitched and bandaged. The feeling will return eventually, don't worry."

Greg swallowed and tried to find the strength to speak again, ask more questions, but he was still so cold and every shiver of his body caused his bruised body and broken, non-anesthetized fingers to send waves of pain through him which stole away his energy to speak.

The doctor seemed to sense this and continued, "Can you tell me if you feel any pain anywhere else? Any trouble breathing?"

With a quick, deep breath Greg found he had no trouble breathing but his skin felt tight and throbbed every time he breathed in.

"Chest h...hurts a little. Still c...cold," he stammered out, shifting deeper into the folds of blankets.

"We know, we're raising your temperature as quickly as possible but it's a slow process, the chest pain is most likely from the defib paddles the EMT's had to use; you've had a rough few hours. Now Mr. Sanders your condition is getting better but we still haven't set your broken fingers. I'm going to give you a mild sedative to help you sleep a few hours, by the time you wake up your temperature should be back to normal and you'll be all fixed up," the doctor said assuredly as he took the needle the nurse offered and began to empty it into Greg's IV line.

Almost immediately Greg could feel the warmth of the sedative lulling him into sleep. His eyes yearned to close but his mind fought for more answers.

"D...Dallas ... Memphis?" he asked as he fought his eyelids for control.

The nurse didn't understand of course and replaced her hand on his shoulder as she said softly, "No, Desert palms, you're still in Las Vegas."

The drugs kicked in quickly and Greg was unable to explain to her what he had meant. She had no way of knowing he was asking about the two men who had kidnapped him, and wanted to know what had become of them. She couldn't possibly know that he was frightened of the sleep that beckoned him because he didn't know what could happen as he slept, because sleep made him vulnerable. But she had told him that Nick was nearby, that Nick had somehow found him. If Nick was around he would protect him, of that Greg was certain. Taking comfort from this thought Greg was able to fall into unconsciousness with as much peace of mind as possible.


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Two hours after leaving Hindrick Meat Packing with the evidence they had gathered, Warrick was sitting in the break room, forced to wait as his results were processed. Normally he was pretty good about giving the techs the time they needed but tonight he was understandably anxious and impatient. Just as he was about to stand up to track down a lab tech to tell him anything, Jacqui found him and presented him with a file.

"Got an ID on your dead kidnapper," she announced cheerfully.

Warrick's eyebrows shot up with interest, "Memphis?"

"Warren Young, Memphis was his hometown."

"Well, how clever of him. What do we know?" he asked, flipping through the file.

"Two previous arrests, one for grand theft, one for murder. Cops couldn't get enough evidence to convict him of either one," Jacqui replied.

"Too bad for us," Warrick mumbled as he took out the mugshot and saw it was definitely their guy - larger build, brown hair, small scar above the left eye. He had seen the kidnapper for the first time when he had stopped by to see Doc Robbins earlier during Memphis's autopsy. No surprise, cause of death was a bullet to the heart, but now they had a name to go on at least. Two names, Warrick thought to himself as he read the printout beneath the picture. "Only one name under his known associates, Ryan Warner. Could be Dallas."

Warrick sounded hopeful but Jacqui quickly extinguished that hope when she replied, "I don't think so, I pulled his file too. Him they did have enough evidence to convict for murder, he's doing 25 to life at Riker's."

"Well, I guess it's never that easy. Did Young have a job?" Warrick asked.

"No record of employment, or address," Jacqui replied.

"Hired professional, not surprising," Warrick said. "What about that bottle, you get any prints?"

"Yeah, they were all a match to Young. Nothing you brought in was from the second guy."

"Damn," Warrick swore, flipping through Young's file again. "It's like he's a ghost."

"Who's a ghost?" Mia asked as she walked in with a results sheet.

"The second kidnapper," Warrick replied. "Let me guess, DNA on the bottle belonged to Warren Young?"

"Nail on the head. One DNA contribution, one CODIS match," Mia said, handing him the sheet which didn't help them at all.

"All right, thanks, both of you. I'm gonna see how Arch is doing," he said as he headed for the door.

"Warrick!" Mia called him back. He turned around and she shifted nervously, "Any word on Greg?"

Expression softening, Warrick sighed, "No, not yet. I talked to Nick a few minutes ago, doctors still haven't told him anything, but he said he'll call with any news. Just, keep your fingers crossed."

"Sure," Mia nodded.

"We all are," Jacqui added.

"Later," Warrick replied, smiled, waved and was gone. When he reached the A/V lab he saw Arch was still crossing wires and replacing screws in the evidence he had been given.

"I'm guessing you don't have anything yet," Warrick surmised as he watched Archie tap the unresponsive keys on the laptop.

"Not quite. This is a newer model but the impact technology isn't quite up to specs, it got pretty trashed when it fell," Archie explained as he took a break to talk with the CSI.

"You're lucky it doesn't have a bullet in it," Warrick reminded him. "Was the disk damaged?"

"Nah, it's fine, not even a scratch, but that still doesn't mean I'll be able to open it. Least not until I fix this," Archie said, pointing to Memphis's computer that had been brought back from the drop spot.

"Why's that?"

"Well I seriously have my doubts about being able to crack the encryption code on the disk without the password, but Nick said this guy checked to see if it was the right disk, which meant he knew the code. What I'm hoping is that this baby has keystroke memory, then I'll know exactly what he typed. Once we know that we could have this thing open in a matter of minutes," Archie explained quite clearly and also slightly excited for the challenge.

"Sounds good, keep working on it," Warrick encouraged him just as his phone rang.

"Is it Nick?" Archie asked, as eager as the rest of the lab for news on Greg. But Warrick shook his head.

"Grissom. Hey, what do you got? ... Well, we got an ID on Memphis, real name is Warren Young, Memphis was his hometown. Got a rap sheet for murder and grand theft, no conviction though. Only one accomplice listed but he's doing time at Riker's. So far there's no prints or DNA from the second guy, Dallas.... No, no word yet ... yeah I'll keep looking ... kay, see you then."

Archie was looking at him expectantly and Warrick answered his silent enquiry, "Grissom, Sara and Catherine are headed back, they didn't find anything else at the meat plant."

"What's that leave you with?" Archie asked.

Warrick sighed, "Whatever you get, one name, and a whole lot of questions."

"No pressure there. Good luck," Archie said as he stood to leave.

"You too," Warrick replied, pointing to the pile of wires coming out of the laptop.

"I'll need it," Archie whispered when he was gone as he got straight back to work.

When Warrick entered the hall though he was immediately flagged down again by Brass.

"Hey, I found out an interesting tidbit about our building owner, Malcolm Retter," he said in greeting, immediately earning Warrick's attention.

"And that is?"

"Well I called his secretary like he said, to get that list of workers and dammit if it hasn't been two hours and the guy's lawyer still hasn't shown, which means he's not saying a word yet. So I take the opportunity to ask this girl if Retter's lawyer is always so punctual. She tells me that Mitchell Warren is the company lawyer, but he's on vacation, incommunicado in the South Pacific. No way to get a hold of him," Brass explained, causing Warrick's brow to furrow.

"So if he wasn't talking to his lawyer, who did he call out there when we were at the construction site?" Warrick asked aloud what they were both wondering.

Brass raised his eyebrows, "That's what I was just about to find out. Care to join me?"

"I'm there," Warrick said, following the detective back down the hall. Though he was deep in thought about who Retter may have talked to and the repercussions, he was also mildly thrilled; they may have gotten their first break.


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Six hours. Six whole hours he had been waiting. Three hundred sixty minutes. He didn't even want to calculate how many seconds. He just wanted to see Greg and as of yet he had been denied that and was forced to pace the waiting room, not willing to sit. Logically he knew that the long wait was probably good. After all this time he didn't believe anything could go horribly wrong and they would have told him immediately if Greg had ....

He skipped over that thought.

What he couldn't skip over was the continuous loop running in his mind, replaying the horrible moments in the ambulance. He constantly heard the whine of the heart monitor relaying the loss of a pulse, and he couldn't stop seeing the paddles. The paramedic had been right and Greg's heart had stopped again before they got to the hospital. The second round with the defibrillator had been less surprising, but much scarier. After the first shock Greg's heart still wasn't beating and they had to use a second, more powerful charge which had lifted Greg's body almost clear off the table, his head falling lifelessly to the side as he landed. Now, Nick wished he hadn't watched, but immediately afterwards the steady beep had returned and Greg's heart was back in the fight to keep him alive.

Six hours later, as he rubbed his exhausted eyes, Nick couldn't help worrying over what would be taking so long. All he wanted was to see Greg, his friend. Hear him laugh, see him smile, make fun of him when he complained about the hospital food and the boredom, and he wanted to be there for him, because he knew he would need a friend when he woke up, and he didn't plan on going anywhere.

In some way Nick had been busy the entire time he waited. As the only person at the hospital he was fielding all calls on Greg's health. It was touching to know how many people cared about the former lab tech, and Nick had been writing down the name of every person who called to show to Greg later to let him know that everyone was worried about him. If he ever got to see him that was.

A brief talk with Grissom nearly an hour ago had brought him up to speed on what they had found. They had Memphis's real name, Warren Young, his criminal history, and a former accomplice doing time at Riker's that they were going to talk to. But they still had nothing to put a face to 'Dallas' and the leads were running out. They had one possible suspect, Malcolm Retter, whom they had caught in a lie, but he was saying absolutely nothing, literally. They didn't have enough to force his hand just yet or threaten jail time on him, but they were in the works of getting a warrant to search his property and that would hopefully turn up something.

Nick asked only to be kept posted and then went back to waiting.

When his cell rang again he was surprised to see Archie's name come up since the AV tech had already called once to ask how Greg was.

"Hey Arch, what's up?" Nick asked curiously.

Ignoring Nick's question he replied, "Hey Nick, any news on Greg?"

"No, nothing. I told you I'd call the lab when I found out anything," Nick pointed out.

He could almost see Archie nod, "Yeah, I know, that's not the only reason I called. PD got me the phone records from the news company that aired the kidnapping story to try to trace who broke the story. The call came back as unknown but I used the time stamp to try to trace the call back through the company, which shouldn't have been too difficult if the call had been made from any normal cell or landline, only the call was untraceable."

The pieces weren't clicking yet and Nick said as much, "I don't understand, that doesn't tell us anything."

"Actually, yeah, it does. See the call couldn't be traced because the signal was being bounced around again. I checked the frequencies and satellites used and it was an exact match to the results from before," Archie continued excitedly, enjoying the adrenaline rush of his find.

"What results from before? What are you talking about?" Nick asked, still not quite following.

"From the ransom call, the one we couldn't trace. I can pretty much guarantee whoever made the ransom call also tipped off the media about the story," Archie assured him.

"You're telling me the guys who kidnapped Greg broke their own story to the news?" Nick was surprised to say the least. The kidnapping had been the top story on the news all morning and exposure like that usually meant a case would either be resolved quickly or end horribly. Breaking it like that had been a huge risk, indicating Dallas and Memphis had been even more confident with their criminal skills than Nick had imagined. But those abilities hadn't helped Memphis in the end, and with any luck Dallas would soon suffer the same fate.

"Of course," Nick sighed. "They were trying to put pressure on the cops. They made us think that they thought they were being pressured by us, making us more cautious and more willing to concede to their demands. Damn it, we were played."

"That sounds risky," Archie noted.

Nick agreed, "It was, but it was also smart. It almost worked. They almost won."

"As my grandfather would undoubtedly say, almost only counts in horseshoes. Anyway, I gotta get back to work, we have some more evidence coming in. Be sure to call whenever you hear anything," Archie made Nick promise.

"I will Arch, I'll let everyone know as soon as these damn doctors decide to tell me anything. Talk to you later," Nick said as he hung up and picked up the same magazine he had flipped through twenty-six times already.

Not too long after that his phone rang again with another important call. The nurse glared at him due to the frequency that his cell had been going off her entire shift, but he smiled at her and that seemed to make it all right. The caller ID said it was Brass; he hoped the detective had good news for him.

"Stokes."

"Hey Nick, any news on Sanders?" Brass asked in greeting.

Smiling at how Brass refused to call Greg by his first name, he replied with his usual answer, "Nothing yet. You guys find anything?"

"No, sorry, nothing on Dallas. The Eckleton factory has been closed for eight years, but we're looking into old employees anyway, place might not have been a random pick. We're doing the same for the construction building but it could take awhile. I just wanted to let you know that I'm sending one of my guys to guard Greg's room and another to watch you for awhile."

Nick's eyes widened, "What? Why?"

"Come on Nick, this Dallas guy is on the loose, he's dangerous, he's most likely angry, and you and Greg are the only two that would be able to ID him in a hundred years, even if it is only his voice," Brass replied evenly. Nick couldn't deny the logic. No one else had seen Dallas and he had used a voice modifier on the phone, meaning no one else could identify his voice either.

"Yeah, I get it. Better safe than sorry I guess. When are they coming?"

"They're on their way now," Brass answered.

Nick didn't fight it. Normally he would have argued he didn't need to be protected, but he had to admit he liked the thought of someone watching over Greg at all times. It could give them both peace of mind.

"Okay, I'll be here. Talk to you later Jim," Nick said in good-bye and hung up.

It was then that he was introduced to his first doctor after a long day of him pestering nurses that could tell him nothing.

"Mr. Stokes?" the tall doctor asked as he came into the near empty waiting room.

"Yeah, call me Nick," he requested. The man introduced himself as Dr. Sargent

Nick was direct, "How's Greg doing?"

He liked Dr. Sargent's reply. He smiled genuinely, both at Greg's condition and Nick's enthusiasm.

"Mr. Sanders is doing quite well. We've got his temperature up and his breathing and heart are much stronger, he should be fine," he answered and Nick felt the first easy breath leave his lungs all day.

"That's ... oh that's great. That's good to hear," Nick said smiling widely. "So, no blood toxins or anything?"

"No, the EMTs and yourself did a good job, there's nothing like that. Sorry we left you waiting so long but it's a delicate process to raise someone's temperature. Too drastic a change too quickly can be hazardous, but he's doing quite well now. His temperature is stable but there's a very likely chance he'll develop a fever shortly, it's common, so we're going to keep him a few days."

Nick's smile faded a little when he then asked, "Uh, what about his hands?"

The doctor's did the same, "Ah, his fingers. Two of them were broken quite severely. We've set them as best we can but there are multiple fractures and the healing will be slow and possibly difficult. We're going to have him come in for x-rays every few days to make sure the bones are still straight and aligned. It's very likely he'll need several re-settings over the next few weeks, there's really no way around it. If he's careful, and I stress this, and comes in regularly to have it looked at he could retain full mobility in the appendages."

Nick appreciated Dr. Sargent's straightforwardness and nodded, "What if they don't heal right?"

"Best case would be the fingers would be visually crooked but still be as functional as before. Worst case would be complete loss of use but I can't see that as being any kind of concern if he follows our instructions at all."

"Oh, he'll follow them," Nick assured him firmly.

Dr. Sargent clearly believed him, "That's good to hear. As for his other hand, we had to remove most of the nail on the three injured fingers to bandage them properly but the nerves are intact and there's a good chance they'll grow back in time."

"Okay," Nick nodded, listening but also eager, "Can I see him yet?"

Here Dr. Sargent looked very slightly irritated, "Actually I wanted him to rest for a few hours, I can only imagine the ordeal he's been through. But he's awake now and asked to see you specifically, I had a feeling he wouldn't take no for an answer. His throat suffered some considerable bruising so keep the talking to a minimum. He's in room 802, you can go right in."

Nick's smile threatened to spread clear off his face and he was almost down the hall before Sargent was finished, though he did throw a "Thanks doc!" over his shoulder.

The doctor waved briefly, sighed and moved on to his next patient.

When he reached room 802 Nick's quick jog came to a dead stop. He tried to keep his cheerful smile, even knowing the condition he would find Greg in wouldn't be pleasant, then took a deep breath, and was ready. He knocked lightly and went in.

Greg had been staring vacantly at the wall, clearly deep in thought, but his eyes quickly snapped to the door when it opened and he forced his own smile when Nick came in. He was sitting up, covered in a considerable mass of blankets, with both his hands hidden among the folds. His face was considerably bruised, as was most of his body, and the cut above his eye had been stitched, but he was alive - what else could possibly matter?

Entering slowly, almost hesitant, Nick took a seat in the chair next to the bed and leaned forward to make conversation easier.

"Hey," he started off softly.

"Hey," Greg replied, voice noticeably hoarse, but he was smiling.

"How you feeling?" Nick asked, staying on safe ground for now.

Greg rolled his eyes a little, "Pretty crappy. It's probably similar to being thrown out a window by a psychopath."

"Well in that case I can definitely relate," Nick replied easily.

Silence for a moment.

"I'm ... I'm really glad you're okay, Greg, really glad," Nick said eventually, stumbling a little as he tried to find the right words to convey everything he and the rest of the team had gone through.

"Thanks. And thank you, for finding me," Greg said seriously. "I ... I really didn't want that freezer to be the last thing I ever see."

"You did all the work G, we just followed your clues. Besides, I promised you, and I really had to keep this one. But the whole department was looking for you, we were all really worried. Really worried, and everyone's gonna be really glad to hear you're all right. Thank you though, for not giving up, you stuck in there, through everything. I know it must have been hard, but you kept going, I'm proud of you," Nick replied, squeezing Greg's shoulder lightly.

"Hey, you're looking at the guy who is still hitting on Sara after being shot down for five years, you'd think you'd realize by now that Gregory Sanders does not know the meaning of quit," Greg was quick to reply, breaking the tension of the moment but also smiling to show he appreciated the comment.

Nick laughed, "I guess I'm just a slow learner. Seriously though, everyone is going to be really glad you're okay."

"I'm pretty happy about it myself," Greg said with a soft smile. A moment passed and his look became uncertain, nervous, "So uh Memphis is ... is really dead? For sure?"

"Yeah, for sure, sure. He took three rounds in the chest from a SWAT sniper, he didn't have a chance," Nick said reassuringly.

Greg nodded and breathed deeply, releasing a huge burden of tension, and his eyes watered slightly as he laid back tiredly, "That's ... oh my god ... ... I ... I know I shouldn't be happy but ..."

"Hey, that guy put you through hell, you feel however the hell you want," Nick was quick to reply. "He doesn't deserve your sympathy, he was gonna leave you to die."

"'kay... okay thanks." Feeling as though Nick deserved to know more to rationalize his feelings, Greg then added, "But I uh ... I don't think he was gonna leave me. It's just he ... he said he was gonna find me again ... after everything ... 'finish it'. He was gonna come back, I know it ... and it would have been worse than dying in there."

The memory was fresh and Greg's voice was laced with fear and pain as he spoke, making it more hoarse as his breathing became more rapid. Nick's own eyes began to water from the fear in Greg's voice and he didn't hesitate to move onto the bed.

"God Greg, I'm sorry."

Sitting gently on the edge, he put an arm around Greg's shoulder and pulled him forward, holding him as the shudders passed through his body that were no longer caused by cold but from residual fear. Greg didn't resist, he leaned into Nick's shoulder and tried to let go of everything that he had been through, the pain and fear and anxiety. As a few tears slipped down his cheeks he took comfort in the safety he felt at the moment, even though he knew the emotions and memories that plagued him would never disappear entirely.

"I'm sorry Greg, I'm so sorry this happened to you. But he's gone, he's gone forever, he can't hurt you again," Nick whispered assuringly but even as he spoke, he knew it was a lie. Even the dead or locked away could cause pain. The paranoia and nightmares caused by Nigel Crane, that stayed with him until this day had shown him that, but it was not a lesson he was eager to share with the freshly wounded CSI 1 so he told him comforting lies that he hoped could come true.

"You're okay, it's okay," Nick said quietly a few minutes later when he felt Greg begin to pull away.

Head down, Greg wiped his cheek on his shoulder to erase any trace of tears and made no attempt at eye contact.

"Thanks, I uh ... I think I'm good," Greg said haltingly, breathing deeply to calm himself down. After all Memphis had done to torment Greg, he was now determined to not let the memories, or even the present pain, get to him. He wanted to be strong, stronger than Memphis, and stronger than both criminals had given him credit for.

After patting him on the shoulder one last time Nick shifted down the bed a little to give him some space. He also noticed how much hoarser Greg's voice was and offered him a nearby cup of ice chips.

"Here," Nick said holding out the cup, unsure if the change was because of the bruising on his throat or the emotional outpouring.

Looking up, Greg's first impulse was to reach for it but then he tensed and drew into himself as he stared at his lap.

"Um ... I uh ... I can't ..." Greg's hands were shifting slightly beneath the blankets. When Nick noticed, his features softened with empathy as he realized that Greg's injured hands probably couldn't hold anything.

"Sorry, your hands, I forgot. I can just ..." Nick was searching for a spoon but Greg was quick to stop him.

"Don't worry about it, I don't want them. Ice and me, not exactly on the best of terms right now," Greg joked nervously and sighed with relief as Nick put the cup down.

"I guess I can understand that."

In truth, Greg's throat was very dry and it was getting more difficult to speak, but he could not deal with Nick having to spoon feed him ice chips on top of all the painful and degrading situations he had been through already. For a long time he had not been in control of anything and it wasn't a feeling he wished to revisit anytime soon.

"So, how are they?" Nick asked, indicating his hands.

For a long moment Greg stared at his own lap, internally debating, until he reluctantly pulled his arms out from beneath the blankets. The two broken fingers were wrapped and placed in metal casts to keep them still, the last three fingers on his left hand were tightly bandaged and oddly relaxed instead of tense like the other. What Nick noticed immediately was that the right hand was shaking.

"Your hand ... are you still cold? Do you need more blankets or anything?"

Greg shook his head, "No, that's ... that's just nerves, side effect. It'll stop ... it ... it should stop." Now self conscious Greg quickly hid the injury beneath the blankets once more. A moment of tense silence followed as they avoided eye contact and then Greg forced a smile to joke badly, "This one's cool though, almost feels like it's not there."

As he said this he banged his left hand against the bed's metal bar. Nick quickly lunged and grabbed his wrist to keep him still when it looked like he might do it again.

"Greg, god, what are you doing? Stop," he requested as he placed the hand gently on Greg's chest and sat back down.

Greg was still smiling, amused by Nick's reaction, "I can't feel it, hand's anesthetized, just until it heals a little and stops hurting, and to keep me from using it."

"Well then you shouldn't be banging it against things," Nick lectured, his protectiveness emerging again.

"Sorry," Greg replied quietly, crestfallen and eerily submissive.

The uncharacteristic behavior tore at Nick's heart and he touched Greg's shoulder again, "No, G, I'm sorry. You have no idea how sorry. It's ... it's my fault you're in here at all."

Greg looked up confused, "What are you talking about?"

"I ... I did everything wrong. I didn't stop them, I didn't help you. I didn't do anything, I just complied, and you got hurt, over and over, and I did nothing. Absolutely nothing." Nick spoke as a man drowning in regret, and Greg shook his head in disagreement.

"Nick, how could you think this was your fault? There was nothing you could do. They had guns, they were dangerous, options were limited," Greg pointed out, but Nick would not allow himself to be so easily admonished.

"I could have crashed the car, I could have checked the backseat, I could have fought back instead of just letting them take you," Nick said hurriedly. He sounded as though he was trying to convince himself as well as Greg, it was almost as if he was unwilling to release the blame he felt.

But Greg shook his head and disagreed, "And I could be a millionaire if only I had picked 17 on the lottery last night. Nick, there's no way we could have known they were there, any of those things probably would have ended with either one or both of us being dead. You did what you could, you found me, and I know you tried to fight them but sometimes you can't win. It was the ultimate lose/lose situation really, so I'd say we did pretty well. And if I had to choose between sore fingers, and either of us being dead, I think it's pretty obvious what I'd pick."

Nick nodded, understanding what he was saying, "Sore fingers."

"Actually I was going to say none of the above, but that was my second choice," Greg shrugged and his smile somehow managed to convince Nick to laugh and for the first time in hours it didn't feel unnatural.

Inside, Nick still felt deeply that he was responsible, and though Greg's lack of any kind of grudge helped slightly, he still harbored deep feelings of blame and regret. But for Greg's sake he smiled and mentally decided to not bring it up again.

"That'd probably be the smart pick," Nick agreed.

When there was suddenly a loud knock on the door both men jumped and turned, nerves still on edge, then they took a breath, relaxing as Nick stood up to open it.

"I got it ... Oh, hey Hitchman," he said, reaching out to shake the hand of the police officer that had been waiting in the hall.

"Hey Stokes, I was just looking for you, let you know I'm here. I'll be in the waiting room whenever you're ready," the uniformed cop replied.

"Okay, thanks, I'll just be a few more minutes," Nick said. He had worked with Hitchman a few times on cases and they were on good terms. He was one of the few cops who really accepted the CSIs and their place in law enforcement, even though they were civilians, and Nick guessed that was why Brass had chosen him for bodyguard duty.

"No rush," Hitchman assured him, then leaned in the doorway slightly and waved quickly, "Hey Sanders, get better quick okay, you're the only one who makes evidence collection interesting."

Greg smiled, touched that the officer cared, "I'll do my best."

Hitchman nodded to that and disappeared into the hallway. When Nick took his seat again, Greg was quick to ask, "Ready for what?"

"To go home I guess, he's my police escort, Brass sent him down. There's gonna be someone at your door too so don't worry," Nick said assuringly.

But this news of police protection just made Greg more nervous, "Worry about what? Memphis is dead, you said so."

"Yeah," Nick shrugged, "But Dallas is still out there somewhere and as of yet we have no leads on who he even is. He'll probably just leave town, but if he's established and wants to stay we could be at risk, we're the only ones who could identify him."

"I guess," Greg said softly, still unsettled by the idea.

"Relax, they're here to protect you, nothing's gonna happen. Someone will be outside your door at all times, watching who goes in and out, you won't even know that they're here. Besides, we'll probably catch Dallas before you get out of here, it's top priority on everyone's list, we'll get him. Anyway, Doc says you shouldn't be talking too much, so I'm gonna go, let you get some rest."

"Okay, thanks, for everything you know," Greg said sincerely as he laid back and stifled a yawn.

"Yeah, I know. Get some sleep, you'll need it. I have a feeling you're going to be swarmed with visitors the next few days and you'll need your energy," Nick said in farewell as he stood up to leave.

"All right," Greg answered slowly as he shifted into a sleeping position but looked in no way eager to close his eyes for any reason

"Uh, when will you be back?" Greg then asked hesitantly. Nick easily detected the trace of fear and nervousness in Greg's voice and body language and slowly sat back down.

Smiling, he put a hand on Greg's arm.

"Actually, I don't need to go. I'm gonna stay right here, but no more talking, you still have to get some rest," Nick said firmly.

Greg nodded, knowing he should argue, tell Nick it was okay to leave, he didn't need a watchdog, but he wanted him to stay and breathed easier with him there, "Okay. Thanks."

"My pleasure," Nick said smiling as he leaned back in his chair. Greg sighed deeply and laid down, relaxing. Exhaustion had been slowly setting in during their emotional conversation and despite the nightmares that he knew would plague him, Greg's breathing eventually evened out and he fell into a deep, healing sleep.

Nick smiled from his chair, glad Greg was resting and didn't move as promised. A few minutes later a nurse entered quietly and knelt down by the chair.

"I'm sorry sir, but visiting hours are over," she told him quietly.

Nick shook his head, not moving, "I told him I'd stay."

"Dr. Sargent said he would sleep a few hours at least and he doesn't want him to be disturbed, please," the nurse said, understanding his wish to stay but also having to follow regulations. Despite the extreme circumstances that had landed Greg in the hospital, his condition wasn't critical and therefore visitors had to comply by hospital rules.

Knowing this, Nick nodded reluctantly and followed the nurse into the hallway. Once there he took out a card and gave it to her, "I know it's not policy or anything but this is my cell number, if he wakes up can you call me? Please. He really shouldn't be alone at any point."

The nurse smiled, touched by the gesture and secretly more than willing to accept the handsome CSI's phone number for any reason, "Of course. I know it's special circumstances."

"Okay, thanks," Nick said as he took a final look at Greg's door and then moved down the hall.

He spotted Hitchman immediately. The officer was sitting in the waiting room, flipping through the magazine Nick had read 48 times and seemingly finding it just as boring - who could possibly find 140 pages of interior decorating tips interesting? For this reason he was happy to see Nick because it meant they could leave.

"Hey, how's he doing?" Hitchman asked, standing up when Nick came in.

"Pretty good, considering. He's exhausted but I think he'll be okay," Nick told him with semi-confidence. It wasn't so much that he entirely believed that, but he fervently hoped it was true.

"That's good, so where we going?" Hitchman asked, only ordered to follow and look out for Nick, not dictate where he went.

"To the lab, I want to see if the guys found anything new," Nick replied as he looked up and down the hall. "Isn't there supposed to be someone watching Greg's door."

"Yeah, Reid is, he's just getting some coffee," Hitchman assured him as they made their way to the elevators.

"Reid," Nick mumbled when he stepped into lift. The name was familiar but he couldn't place it. "Isn't he on SWAT?"

"Yeah, there he is."

Just as he asked it Nick's question was answered when he saw Reid coming down the hall from the nurse's station with a fresh cup of coffee. Nick recognized him immediately and knew he definitely was on the SWAT team because he was the same man who had put three bullets into Memphis's chest, ending the hostage negotiations and nearly getting Greg killed.

Nick tensed slightly and considered confronting the man but the elevator doors closed before he could step out.

As they rode down Nick turned to Hitchman, "What is a SWAT member doing on guard duty?"

"Oh, word is he felt pretty bad about what went down at the factory, he shot your kidnapper right? Well he felt responsible so he asked Brass if he could watch the kid's door, kind of make up for it," Hitchman explained.

"Oh," Nick said, feeling somewhat guilty for having felt angry at seeing the man again. Brass was right, he had been doing his job, and he knew he shouldn't hold a grudge, but logic couldn't control all emotions and he still felt perturbed.

As they reached the lobby and Hitchman led the way to the parking lot, Nick thought he should call the lab and get the word spread on Greg's health to avoid the swarm of questions he would undoubtedly encounter when he got back.

"Hold up Hitchman, I gotta make a call first," Nick said as he took out his phone.

"No problem," Hitchman said, taking a seat again.

Nick dialled quickly and wasn't surprised he could only get one ring through.

"Brown."

"Hey Warrick, it's Nick."

"Nicky, you get any word on Greg?"

"Yeah, he's doing good. Doc says he's out of the woods, should make a full recovery if all goes well. I even talked to him for a few minutes, but he's sleeping now," Nick reported happily, neglecting to mention the mass of bruises, the inability to use his hands or his eerily submissive behaviour. He would allow everyone to enjoy the fact that Greg would be okay and then they could all deal with the aftermath together.

"That's great, I'll let everyone know. You staying there?" Warrick asked.

"No, visiting hours are over and he's going to sleep for a few more hours at least, I was gonna head to the lab and see if there was anything I could help with to track down Dallas," Nick replied.

"Maybe you should go home and get some sleep man, we got it covered here. You've been up for over a day," Warrick pointed out. He knew the rest of the team had been awake and working for just as long, but none of them had gone through nearly as traumatic an experience as Nick and Greg had while dealing with these kidnapper/murderers.

"No, I want to work, help find this guy. I owe Greg that much," he said, refusing to sleep just yet. "Have you guys found anything else?"

"Actually yeah, Archie got the mystery disk opened up thanks to Memphis's laptop which he pretty much had to superglue back together," Warrick said.

"Really? What was on it?" Nick asked, curious what was worth so much to the two criminals that they had been willing to kill for it

"Well, he doesn't exactly know yet," Warrick replied, cringing at his own words.

"You just said he opened it," Nick sighed.

"Yeah, but it's some kind of new software, super advanced according to him. He's not even sure what it does yet, he said he'll let us know."

"Must be something amazing, at least it better be after what went on over the damn thing," Nick grumbled bitterly.

"I hear that, but Archie seemed impressed so it must be something good. He might have it figured out by the time you get here," Warrick added.

"I hope so. What about Memp ... uh Young's old accomplice? At Riker's," Nick asked, grasping at all their available leads.

"Nothing yet, Brass and Grissom are there now but they haven't called in with any word on new suspects. I don't know how likely they are to get something out of this guy though, he wouldn't roll over on Young six years ago for the murder charge, even though he could have gotten half the sentence for testifying," Warrick explained. "I doubt he'd be willing to give up a name now."

"Well, maybe he'll be more willing to talk with Young dead," Nick said hopefully.

"Maybe," Warrick agreed. "We'll have to hope so cause Retter still hasn't said a word."

"The meat plant owner? It's been like seven hours. You get a warrant yet?" Nick asked, amazed by the man's determination to remain silent.

"Judge just came through, he's been backed up," Warrick replied. "We've got most of his work files here at the lab already but we haven't been to his house yet."

"All right, sounds good. I'll see you in about twenty minutes then and help you sort through it all," Nick guessed, checking his watch.

"All right, see you then, I'll let you know if we have anything," Warrick answered and hung up.

Nick put his own phone away and Hitchman stood up since they were clearly finally leaving. Finally, meaning after Nick then spent five minutes waiting for the nurse at the check-in desk so he could find out what the official visiting hours were, so he knew when to return. After that they were finally on their way and headed for the parking lot.

"Any breaks?" Hitchman asked as they walked.

"Not really, got a warrant to search a suspect's home, nothing solid," Nick answered vaguely, mulling the entire affair over in his own mind, trying to connect all the players and knowing he was missing something.

"So if we're going to the crime lab I'm probably just going to take off and get some paperwork done until you're ready to go home. I have a feeling you'll be pretty safe there," Hitchman pointed out.

Nick had no problem with that, not really wanting the escort at all, "Sure, whatever you want to do. You're going to have to drive though, I came in the ambulance."

"No problem," Hitchman said, leading the way to the patrol car, "Just remind me to send someone down to pick up Reid then."

"Oh, you came with him," Nick said, emphasizing the last word with dislike.

"You don't like the guy?" Hitchman asked, surprised by Nick's hostility.

"Let's just say I can't see us being friends," Nick replied.

"That's weird, I thought you guys would get along real well," Hitchman commented.

"Why's that?" Nick asked.

"I don't know, seems like you'd have a lot in common. Two cowboys out here in Vegas, both in law enforcement."

The air suddenly seemed to chill as Nick's hand froze above the door handle to the car and his whole body tensed, "Cowboys?"

Hitchman rolled his eyes as if agreeing it was a ridiculous saying, "His word. It's what he calls himself sometimes."

Nick could feel his heart dropping into his stomach as his chest tightened and his breathing became rapid, "Reid's from Texas?"

Reid. The man who had killed Memphis.

The man who had destroyed all their leads on the case with three well placed shots.

The man with enough knowledge of police procedure to organize this entire operation.

The man who was armed and alone with Greg right now.

"Yeah, you didn't know?"

"No, no I didn't. Hitchman, what's his hometown?" Nick asked, praying, shaking.

Hitchman shrugged off hand at the seemingly innocent question and replied:

"Dallas."

Nick began to run.

***

Epilogue

Many people, upon arriving home from work or some other task, will often say they've had a hard day. It is a common saying. But few can say that they have ever had as hard a day as Gregory Sanders.

In one day he had been kidnapped at gunpoint, threatened, beaten, tortured, frozen and clinically dead, for however brief a time.

Now he slept fitfully, his body attempting to heal itself after the traumatic events it had been through, and his mind was currently blissfully blank, lulled to rest by a mild sedative and exhaustion.

But what he didn't know, and could not possibly imagine, was that as the door to his private hospital room slowly crept open, admitting an unwelcome form, he was in more danger now than ever before.

It was an unseen danger, unexpected, and he was content with the promise of safety his friend had given him.

So unaware of this, Gregory Sanders slept on.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


"Hey Brass, you got a sec? It's important," Sara said seriously as she stopped the detective in the hallway.

He had just gotten back from a long and pointless trip out to Riker's with Grissom. Young's accomplice wouldn't even give them the time of day, and from the concerned, nervous look Sara was sporting he didn't think he'd like what she was going to tell him either, but he knew he had to listen none-the-less.

"Yeah, okay, come on in," he replied, ushering her into his office and shutting the door behind him.

She laid a sheaf of papers on his desk with a lot of numbers on them, and stood in front of the leather guest chair but didn't sit down. She was fidgeting, unnerved, and clearly reluctant to begin. He really wasn't going to like this.

"What have you got?" he asked, pre-emptively sitting before he heard the bad news.

"Well, you know how Retter didn't call his lawyer when you and Warrick talked to him? And he won't tell us who he did call?"

"Yeah," Brass nodded, waiting for the bombshell.

"Well, he also deleted his caller's list and address book on his cell so we couldn't track anything down until we got the phone records," at this she passed the papers to Brass and his eyes were immediately drawn to the number that occurred seven times in the last two days, emblazoned with a yellow highliter. The time stamp showed it was the number of the person Retter had called at the construction site.

"I assume you know who it belongs to?" he asked, wanting to end this horrid suspense.

She nodded, "Reverse directory, wasn't hard. Came up Tanner Reid."

"Reid? As in Lieutenant Tanner Reid, from third division SWAT?" Brass asked incredulously, but already knew what the answer would be.

"Yeah. I know you don't want to hear it, but this may have been an inside job," Sara said and waited for Brass's reaction, expecting anger or defensiveness of his officers. What she didn't expect was the all out panic that quickly spread across his features.

"Oh my god, you're sure about this, one hundred percent?" Brass demanded when a horrible, terrible realization struck him.

"I wouldn't have come to you if I wasn't," she pointed out, and he had known that, but didn't want to face what it meant.

"We gotta go, now!" Brass ordered, racing out of his office.

"Wh ... why? What's wrong?" Sara asked, following close behind.

"Reid is the officer who shot our suspect down at the factory," Brass reminded her, but this shed no light on the situation for her.

"So what?"

Brass risked taking the time to stop and look her in the eye to make sure she understood the gravity of what he was going to tell her.

"He came to me a few hours ago and said he felt bad for what happened, wanted to make up for it ... I put him on watch on Greg's door ... alone."


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
... nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.

Twenty-two steps per flight of stairs, eight floors, three steps at a time, full speed, and he still might be too late.

Reid. It all fit. The police scanner in the car, the kidnapper's knowledge of police procedure, even shooting Memphis, he had been tying up loose ends to this operation that had gotten far too complicated.

Three shots.

Nick knew there had been something wrong about it all. Memphis had been killed with three direct shots, assassin-style, even though SWAT always bragged about taking down a perp with a single bullet. Memphis had been executed, was collateral damage. Just like Greg.

Of course, they had never been meant to find Greg, at least not alive. If he had died in that freezer then everything would have been perfect - no witnesses, no trail, no evidence. Just a lot of dead ends and Reid would have walked away without a second glance.

But the plan was flawed, Greg had survived, though for exactly how long remained to be seen.

With this in mind, Nick's legs pumped hard and fast as he raced up the hospital staircase, faster than any elevator, as he desperately tried to make it to room 802, to stop a criminal, to save a friend and to keep from breaking yet another promise.

Eight floors seemed like eight hundred and he could feel every previous and passing second that Greg was alone, in danger. Fear pushed him faster than his fatigued body ever should have been able to manage and he paid no heed to the nurse he nearly trampled. He had to keep running, no distractions.

Why he had promised Greg again, he didn't know.

Yes he did. He thought Greg was safe, he thought the danger was gone. He thought it was a safe promise to make. He had been wrong.

He had promised Greg that he was safe, that it was over.

Now he ran and he prayed, because he had been very wrong, and he still had four flights to go.


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It was almost too easy, Lieutenant Tanner Reid reflected as he closed the door of the hospital room behind him.

No one had questioned him, no one had seen him, and no one suspected a thing.

Eight feet away lay just the person he was looking for. It wouldn't take long, he would be out again in five minutes, and it would be so easy. They had all made it so easy.

He knew the kid had friends. Those other CSIs didn't work that hard and for that long to find just anybody, at least not with that much passion, but none of those friends were here with him now, not even Stokes. They were all back at their precious lab, tracking down leads, and trying to help the kid by finding 'Dallas' as quickly as possible, only then would they come visit, not a moment before.

The irony was not lost on him and he almost laughed.

His steps were quiet as he crossed the room, as he did not want to wake the kid, not just yet. Hanging off the end of the bed was a chart containing all Greg's injuries and treatments, which he examined.

Yep, Memphis had done quite a number on him all right, Reid thought to himself, too bad he just didn't finish the job. Would have saved me a lot of trouble.

Putting the chart back down, he knew his next course of action. He walked up the side of the bed and poked Greg's left hand experimentally. No reaction, it was indeed anesthetized. Chuckling inwardly, he quietly took out a set of handcuffs, snapping one half around the metal bedframe, and the other around Greg's limp wrist, noting how it perfectly matched the bruise line from the last pair Greg had been forced to wear. Moving to the other side, he did the same thing to the right hand, with slightly greater care so as not to wake the occupant of the bed just yet.

With his contented grin spreading wider than ever, Reid completed his finishing touches. Pulling quickly, for he knew it would be loud, Reid tore off a long strip from the heavy duty medical tape he had taken on his way in, and before Greg's eyes had even twitched from the sound, the tape was firmly over his mouth.

Immediately awake, Greg tried to understand what was happening. He couldn't speak and barely move, looking down he saw he was handcuffed to the bed. Fear and panic gripped him and he pulled on the cuffs.

Where was Nick? He had said he wouldn't leave.

He looked up at the officer standing above him, and eyed him questioningly - was he there to guard him? - and tried to believe that it would be okay. Something must have happened, but there was an officer here so everything would be okay.

But this hope was shattered when the man smiled at his fear, and then he leaned close to whisper, "Miss me Greggo?"

The answer was clearly no, as a greater fear than he had ever felt suddenly gripped him, and he almost couldn't breathe.

Dallas.

As if the actions hadn't been proof enough, hearing his voice took away all doubt. Dallas was alone in his room, attacking him again, and as he struggled, he screamed for Nick, but little escaped the gag. Even so, Reid wrapped one massively strong hand around Greg's neck to restrict his air and cause fresh pain to old wounds.

"Now don't be like that, Greggo, we've got a lot of catching up to do. Let's talk about how much trouble you're causing me just by being alive, shall we? Then it'd be no witnesses, no evidence, just me ready to grab that damn disk as soon as it got logged into the evidence locker. But no, you had to go and survive being in that freezer somehow, when you were supposed to die like any normal person would have. Not that the situation can't be rectified, but you've been such a pain, let's see if we can give any of it back."

With this Reid released his hold on Greg's neck and he was able to breathe again, though only through his nose. His relief of air was short lived though as stabbing pain from his right hand stole his breath easily. Looking down he saw Reid removing the metal bindings from his broken fingers, leaving nothing to hold the shattered bones in place. Greg tried to pull away, to fight, to kick the man, but even if he hadn't been cuffed to the bed, Reid's grip was strong and held him firmly.

"Now, if memory serves," Reid mused delightfully as he easily overcame Greg's resistance, "this should hurt like hell."

With that he pulled both shattered fingers hard and away from the socket, causing incredible pain from new and old breaks alike. Greg screamed behind his gag and tried to arc away, but there was no escape - pain seemed to be everywhere.

Reid smiled and dropped Greg's hand back on the bed, where it instinctively tried to curl as close to the body as possible.

"Well that makes me feel better," Reid gloated, then patted Greg's chest with mock affection, "Don't you?"

Closing his eyes to block it all out and fight the coming tears, Greg tried to scream once more, praying for someone to hear. Even though he was muffled and not considerably loud, Reid was quick to once again mould his fingers around Greg's neck, cutting off the cry.

"Sorry stud, no one's coming this time, it's just you and me. And pretty soon, it'll just be me."

The pressure increased until Greg could take in no air at all, and suddenly he was suffocating again, dying again, and the frustrating despair of it was unbearable, but he could do nothing. His arms could barely move, his upper body was being held down, and though he could kick with his legs, Reid stood nowhere close to them. This time he would die, there was no doubt, and this death would be no better than dying in the freezer or at the hands of Memphis, and the unfairness made him want to cry out with rage.

As his air slowly dissipated Reid continued speaking, a cruel habit of his to ensure his voice was the last thing his victims heard, "In retrospect kid, you really were an innocent bystander in all this, wrong place at the wrong time I suppose, but that doesn't make you any less expendable."

The pressure increased unnecessarily with these last few words, and Reid leaned even closer as he added, "Besides, I promised Cowboy if I didn't get that disk he'd never see you again, and I'm nothing if not a man of my word."

With this last sneer from Reid, Greg felt the world darkening, his hearing faded away and his thoughts became almost nothingness. Within moments he had fallen so deep into the darkness that he didn't hear the door blasting open, or see the blur of motion as Nick barrelled into the room, not pausing to take in the scene before him, but instinctually tackling Reid, knocking him into the wall. Greg was only aware of the return of wonderful oxygen and was immediately focussed only on getting as much into his lungs as possible.

As he and Reid both connected with the wall Nick was thinking only one thing,

Greg was alive. Greg had to be alive, he reasoned, you don't keep choking a dead man.

But as Nick looked into the eyes of the sick bastard that had been the cause of so much pain in these past twenty-four hours, he slightly reconsidered his position on strangulation. He felt like he could choke this man for a year and it wouldn't be enough. But right now he had to worry about taking him down.

SWAT team members were well trained, and Nick was running purely on anger and fear. He had managed to surprise Reid and knock him into the wall, but as the officer quickly recovered and kneed Nick hard in the stomach, the CSI worried that he would not be landing anymore hits in this fight.

"Son of a bitch," Reid exclaimed before he threw a punch for Nick's jaw.

The Texan was already hunched over from the first blow and ducked a little more to avoid the second. From this position he grabbed Reid's waist and forced him to the ground, but didn't release his hold. The entire way up the eight flights of stairs Nick had cursed that he didn't have his gun and now he was desperately trying to get a hold of Reid's, but he wasn't giving it up just yet. This time Reid's fist did hit its mark and Nick fell to the side when he was struck hard in the temple. The SWAT sniper used that moment to begin to stand and free his sidearm from its holster, which quickly started to move to target Nick's forehead.

Searching desperately from his position on the floor, Nick grabbed the only thing in reach, the leg of a rolling food tray, and pushed it towards Reid with all his strength. It hit the kidnapper in the side and he stumbled against the hospital bed, his right arm lowered, but the weapon didn't fall. Rising quickly, Nick tried to tackle the gunman once more, but he was still no match for SWAT training. Reid grabbed his shoulders first and used his own momentum to flip him onto his back on the hard tile floor.

Nick lay there stunned, trying to breathe, and felt his heart drop past his toes when he looked up to see the cocked gun aimed for right between his eyes.

Reid was panting, angry, and seemed to want the world to know it, "Couldn't leave well enough alone, could you Cowboy? Couldn't have just had the goddamn disk when we came looking. No, we had to do this the hard way, the complicated way, and people got hurt. You know Memphis wasn't a bad partner, I didn't want to kill him, but you had to go get the entire LVPD on this case, and I know you damn CSIs can find shit no one thinks to look for. You brought so much manpower on that drop that we didn't stand a chance. So many people hurt, and dead, and from the looks of things, even more people are going to get hurt now, but at least it won't be me."

As he spoke, Nick had slowly risen to his feet, arms up, breathing hard, eyes never leaving the weapon trained at his head. As Dallas rambled he felt the soul-bearing fear that came when one was near death, because even though it was his job to see what the criminals missed, his scouring eyes could find nothing that would save him from the gun about to fire a bullet through his skull.

"It's been nice knowing you Cowboy."

Fortunately, Nick wasn't the only CSI in the room and Reid was totally unprepared for the strike from behind.

After getting a few lungfuls of air Greg had turned to helplessly watch as Nick fought to disarm and overcome a much larger man, with a lot more combat training. Nick was trying to protect him, to fight for him, and he couldn't even cheer him on. When he saw Reid flip Nick over he knew that the Texan would not be getting another chance to attack. But as Reid rambled, he also took a step back, preparing to fire, and that brought him just close enough to Greg's bed that when Greg pulled back his legs and kicked Reid in the back with all his strength, he was sent flying forward.

Nick had seen Greg move and was ready. Stepping out of the way, he grabbed Reid's shoulders as he went by and added to the gunman's momentum to throw him face first into the concrete wall of the hospital room. Reid hit the wall hard and collapsed, gun sliding from his grasp as he fell unconscious to the floor.

For a moment the room was filled with the most incredible silence, as if time itself was holding its breath.

Then, just as quickly, activity returned. Nick scrambled to pick up the fallen sidearm and held it shakily for a moment at Reid's head, until he was sure the man was truly out cold.

Behind him Greg sighed with indescribable relief as he fell back against his pillow, but this sigh quickly transformed into a heart wrenching moan as his body leaned forward to try and curl around his again broken fingers.

When Nick turned to Greg it was as though he was coming out of a trance. His entire being had been focussed on Dallas and his conflicting desire for revenge and for justice, for death or prison for this murderer. But as soon as he remembered Greg, he was Nick's only concern.

"Greg! Oh god, are you all right?" he asked as he holstered the gun in the back of his jeans. The younger man looked like he was in pain, but Nick couldn't see any further injuries and as Greg's chest heaved like a sob without tears, Nick's first action was to lift up an edge of the medical tape, "I'll be quick."

Greg hissed as the tape was removed and laid back down, closing his eyes as he seemed to be trying to control his breathing or will away the pain.

"Are you okay? Where are you ...? Oh crap," Nick saw the bindings holding Greg's fingers still were gone and both fingers were turned out at unnatural angle. "Jesus, you need a doctor."

"No," Greg hissed as he opened his eyes and sat up, focussed solely on his restraints, "Get these off me. I need them off."

Despite the pain Greg tugged at the cuffs himself, trying to pull himself free and only managing to rattle the bed railings.

"Easy Greg, take it easy, it's okay," Nick said as he tried to gently restrain Greg so he wouldn't hurt himself, but this seemed to do more harm than good, as Greg became more agitated and desperate, pulling harder each time the cuffs didn't come off. He couldn't stand to be restrained again so soon, powerless again, submissive, it was almost maddening.

"Get them off, please. Get them off! Get them off me, get them off!"

Still trying to keep him still Nick replied, "Easy Greg, I'll get them off, I promise, but you have to calm down so I can get the keys."

But Greg seemed unable to hear him. His eyes had moved from watching his trapped hands and were now transfixed on the motionless form of Dallas on the floor. He never looked away from the unconscious criminal as he continued to struggle and plead.

"Get them off. Get me out of these, please. Get them off!"

Before Nick could say more there was a voice behind him.

"Holy shit."

Nick turned and was angry, frustrated and relieved at the same time at the person he saw.

"Hitchman, give me your cuff keys!" he ordered, knowing that Greg was hurting himself more with each second he thrashed against the restraints.

But the officer was stuck in the doorway. The sight was a lot to take in. A destroyed hospital room, an unconscious SWAT officer he considered a friend, and two CSIs, one handcuffed to a bed, the other holding his friend down.

It took a second yell from Nick before he could snap into officer mode and take action.

"Hitchman, keys, now!"

"Yeah, right here," he mumbled, walking awkwardly around Reid's unconscious body to Greg's other side. Even with him there Greg kept pulling and thrashing, his hand was anesthetized but the rest of his arm worked just fine and his wrist was starting to bleed. Not wanting to hurt him more, Hitchman let Nick hold him still while he unlocked the cuff.

Behind them, nursing staff and doctors were starting to gather and ask questions, but they were ignored for the time.

When's Greg left hand was free he stopped yelling for his freedom, in fact he stopped yelling altogether. As Hitchman passed the keys to Nick to unlock Greg's right wrist, the young CSI was breathing heavily with panic, legs pushed underneath himself like he was ready to pounce, and eyes still fixed on Dallas, despite the few nurses now in his way.

"It's okay Greg, relax," Nick requested as he undid the second cuff.

Greg might as well have been a spring. As soon as the restraint was gone he leapt off the bed, headed straight for the far side of the room, and as far away from Dallas, as quickly as possible.

"Hey, easy."

Hitchman instinctually wrapped an arm around his chest, trying to stop him, but Nick yelled again.

"No, don't touch him, let him go."

The officer did as asked and Greg immediately continued on his path for the room's farthest corner. When he got there he seemed to shut down as the desperate panic was replaced with stillness. His breathing stopped altogether for a moment as he faced the wall, right hand clutched to his chest, then there was one hoarse gulp of air, unevenly followed by a few more. His expression was unseen, but would have shown frozen fear, confusion and shock cutting so deep that it was as though his body couldn't handle the trauma his mind was telling it that it was going through.

"What the hell is going on here?" several doctors demanded, but they got no answer yet.

A few nurses tried to approach Greg to check on him, but Hitchman thankfully held them a few meters away as Nick slowly inched his way towards the traumatized younger man and tried not to startle him.

"Greg?" Nick whispered softly, hoping to get him to turn.

But Greg stayed in his corner, eyes closed, forehead leaned against the concrete as his body struggled to try and make itself breathe.

"Greg, are you okay?" Nick asked as he continued to inch closer, noticing how every muscle and nerve in Greg's body was tensed to an exhausting degree. He could also just make out Greg opening his eyes, and there was fear, but also confusion and frustration.

"No. You said it was over," Greg hissed. His tone held the fear and confusion that goes along with emotional collapse, and there was just a hint of accusation that cut Nick deeply.

"I know, I'm sorry. I thought you were safe, but they're both gone now, we got 'em, they can't hurt you," Nick said with heartfelt sincerity as he slowly placed his hand on Greg's shoulder in what he thought would be a comforting gesture. Instead Greg pulled back as if burned and pushed his back against the wall. Nick moved back as well, giving Greg the space he clearly needed.

Greg's gaze flickered, it moved from Nick to Dallas's motionless body, to the bed with the cuffs still hanging from the railings and suddenly it was too much. The memories of the past day were too fresh in his mind for it to be able to endure something so equally as traumatic so soon. Someone had tried to kill him, again. Just like Memphis had almost killed him, but hadn't, because he was going to come back for him and it would have been so much worse. But he had been beaten and threatened and kidnapped and frozen, and alone, and it was all too much to handle.

Then suddenly with the memories came the cold. He was so cold and shivering again and it seemed like nothing could ever be warm, or okay, again. The fear and the stress and the pain piled onto one another and after so much, Greg finally broke down.

Tilting his head back, it chilled Nick to the bone as Greg began to laugh, but there was no joy in it, only nervous desperation and the sound of complete emotional breakdown. It was a quick, gasping laugh, and as he began to slide down the wall towards the floor it soon transformed into bitter tears mixed with angry, choked sobs.

Now sitting on the floor Greg rested his forehead against his knees and amidst the ragged laughter and frustrated tears Nick could hear Greg mumbling with each laugh, "Gone ... gone ... no ...."

"Greg ..." Nick started, even though he didn't know what he was going to say, but he was interrupted by a hand pushing him lightly aside.

"Excuse me."

It was Dr. Sargent. He had made his way past Hitchman and was crouching on the floor next to Nick, trying to examine Greg.

"Mr. Sanders, I need you to calm down and breathe for me, it's all right. I just need to examine you," Dr. Sargent requested, but Greg shook his head and pulled back further when the doctor tried to touch him.

"Call him Greg," Nick suggested.

"Greg please, breathe, relax, it's okay, I just need to look at you," Dr. Sargent tried again. This time when Greg was touched his reaction was almost violent.

"No!" he yelled, tears now flowing freely as he pushed himself further down the wall, legs tight to his chest. "No, no ... never ... never be gone, they'll never be gone."

It was as though Greg was quoting some kind of horrible memory. Just saying it seemed to be hurting the young CSI.

It was clear that Greg would not allow anyone near just yet, and Dr. Sargent took a step back and motioned for Nick to come closer.

"I have to examine him but I'm reluctant to try to sedate him in the condition he's in. Can you calm him down?" the doctor asked.

"I've been trying," Nick admitted, but knew that there was more he could do. "Okay, take a few steps back maybe, give me another minute with him."

Dr. Sargent nodded and stood a few feet away, whispering to a nurse to get a sedative ready.

Crouching down on his knees once more, Nick tried again to be a soothing presence for his friend.

"Greg. Greg you gotta listen to me, you gotta let the doc take a look at you, okay?"

The disturbing laughter had stopped and there was now only ragged breathing and tears as Greg leaned his head back against the wall, eyes clenched tight.

"G, I'm sorry, I know it's hard, but you gotta get checked out," Nick continued. He thought Greg was ignoring him or didn't care he was there, but when he opened his eyes and stared right at Nick with those pain-filled eyes, it was clear Greg had known he was there the whole time.

"You said it was over," Greg whispered again hoarsely, shaking his head a little. This time there was less accusation, instead there was loss. Greg had nothing to believe in, there was only confusion and nothing to hold on to that wasn't terrifying.

"I know Greg, I know, I'm so sorry. But they're gone, it's okay," Nick assured him, but Greg could no longer believe his words because he knew the truth. Memphis had told him what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"They'll never be gone," Greg repeated, haunted, shaking.

Nick gulped and knew Greg deserved the truth, not comforting lies, so decided to speak from experience.

"You're right, they'll never be gone. They'll stay with you and maybe change you and how you see things, but they can't control you, not if you don't let them. You just have to be strong Greg, stronger than them and stronger even than you think you can be, and then you'll control them. This becomes part of your life Greg, it doesn't become your life. And I know you probably feel alone right now, but you're not. We're all going to be here for you, I'll be here for you."

Head down, Greg finally seemed to be listening. He was still tense and shaking, but at least his breathing was under control now as he nodded upon hearing Nick's words. Seeing this, Nick placed a hand on Greg's shoulder and finally wasn't pushed away.

Nick smiled and came a little closer, "Life goes on Greg, I promise."

At this Greg flinched and shook his head, but did not pull away. Instead he met Nick's eye, "Don't. Don't promise, just do it."

Understanding, Nick nodded, "Yeah, okay, I can do that."

That was all Greg needed to hear. Doctor Sargent came over and all wounds that could be seen were patched, but those under the surface would be a long time in healing.


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Twenty minutes after Dallas had been taken down Nick was back in the hospital waiting room. He had gone with Greg at first when Doctor Sargent had him moved to another room for treatment but after he was examined they had asked him to leave while they bandaged and treated him. As soon as he entered the hallway the first person he saw was Officer Hitchman, who appeared to have been waiting for him.

"How is he?" the policeman asked immediately.

Nick sighed and was curt, "He'll be all right I guess, throat's a bit more mangled, fingers too."

Hitchman nodded then went right into the few sentences he had been practising, "I'm sorry I didn't get up here sooner. I didn't know what the hell you were doing and I was gonna follow you but my phone rang and it was Brass telling me to get up here with you, but I made him explain first so I didn't get here till ..."

"It's all right Hitchman, it all worked out in some strange kind of way. Did Brass say he was coming down?" Nick asked.

"Yeah, he should be here soon."

Then Nick's expression grew dark, "What about Reid?"

"He's been admitted, he's still out cold, has a concussion or something. He's cuffed to the bed, I left hospital security with him," Hitchman replied.

The sound of rushing feet made them both turn to see Brass and Sara coming down the hall towards them.

"Nick, how's Greg, is he okay?" Sara asked before she had even come to a stop.

"He's pretty shaken up, they had to sedate him to treat him. His fingers are broken again and he probably won't be able to talk for a few days with his throat starting to swell so bad," Nick reported.

"But he's all right?" Sara urged, having not heard the story of the whole encounter.

"He's ... confused. I think he just needs some time, he'll be okay," Nick answered, knowing she was asking more about his mental condition at this point. "How did you guys know Reid was Dallas?"

"Phone records," Sara said. "He was the person Retter called at the construction site."

"How are you doing?" Brass asked, seeing the new bruise forming around Nick's temple.

"Hmm? Oh, I'm fine, bruises, it's nothing," Nick replied, then his gaze immediately went back to Greg's door.

"You gonna stick around here for awhile?" Brass continued.

Nick nodded, "Yeah, I'm not leaving again."

"All right, I'm heading back to the station to see if I can get anything more out of Mr. Retter now that we have all his accomplices. Hitchman, go sit with Reid and call me when the son of a bitch wakes up," Brass said, easily dishing out the orders.

"I'm gonna stay too," Sara cut in before the detective could give her a job.

"You don't have to," Nick told her, feeling fine waiting on his own.

"No, I want to be here, for Greg," she replied sincerely and it was clear she was there to stay.

"Fine, but if you're just going to be waiting do me a favour and call Grissom and the others, update them on what's going on," Brass requested.

"Sure, no problem," Sara agreed.

With assignments handed out Brass's job was done and he turned with Hitchman to go down the hall, "Tell Sanders to feel better too, whenever he wakes up."

Sara waved half-heartedly to this, but Nick was already dropping his exhausted body into a chair in the hallway. The fatigue and stress radiating off him was almost palpable as he sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. Taking a quiet seat next to him, Sara knew a heart to heart was probably necessary.

"How you really doing?" she asked.

Nick looked at her and almost ended the conversation with a curt 'fine' but then decided he really did need to vent, "I don't know, this whole damn situation, it's all been so frustrating! And Greg's been through something so much worse. I mean, how many times can you handle someone trying to kill you in one day before you break a little? And it's not like I've been a big help."

"Hey, you got him out of that freezer and you just saved his life again. What more do you want?"

"I want this to have never happened at all. I want to have stopped these guys the second they got into Greg's car. I want Greg to be able to sleep at night after this. I want to have been able to keep my promises," Nick rambled, really feeling the guilt once more for having left Greg alone. "God, he nearly died again. If I'd been a few seconds later ...."

"You weren't. You were there for him, he's alive, he's going to be all right," Sara said forcefully, trying to push these ideas into Nick's head.

"He saved my life Sara, did you know that. Greg, in the room with Reid. I couldn't take him down and he was gonna shoot me, but Greg kicked him in the back. After everything he went through, he saved my life. How do I repay him for that?"

With a half smile and shrug, Sara replied, "Seems like you'd kind of be even."

"Yeah, maybe," Nick said quietly as he leaned back and his expression quickly shifted far away. Seeing he was falling into a contemplative state, Sara patted his knee and stood up.

"I'm gonna go make those calls, I'll be right back."

Nick nodded as she left but said nothing, he was busy working out some math.


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An hour later Doctor Sargent came to speak with Nick and Sara. Greg would recover well enough physically, his fingers had been reset and his throat needed time to heal, but he would be fine. He had also been sedated, and to ensure he got enough rest after going through another traumatic event he was being denied visitors for at least ten hours, so he could sleep undisturbed.

Nick was annoyed by this at first, but also understood why it was necessary, and after about twenty minutes of being persuaded by Sara, decided to go home for some rest himself. He felt guilty about leaving again the entire ride home, but knew that after a few hours sleep he would be rested enough to stay with Greg the entire next day and be there when he woke up.

Unfortunately when he got home, sleep was fleeting. Nightmares, memories and anxiety made rest almost impossible, but pure fatigue eventually caused him to sleep for almost five hours. It was good enough, and after a quick meal he was back at the hospital.

Greg was still being denied visitors but he said he would wait, and as he did information and revelations were revealed to him as officers and CSIs alike came by to visit.

After finding out that Reid had been taken into custody and would be charged with murder, kidnapping and attempted murder at the very least, and that he was going to be charged as an accomplice, Malcolm Retter confessed to everything the group had been guilty of. He admitted to having hired Dallas and Memphis to break into the Waller home and get the disk, then kill the couple. Unfortunately they had done things in the wrong order, and their inability to find the computer disk had caused the entire mess.

When asked about motive Retter reluctantly pointed the finger to an unknown player in the game, Robert Finch. Owner of a computer software company of his own, his merchandise had been second to Waller's for years and he knew Waller was coming out with a new product that would put him under for good: a decryptor that could break any code on any server, putting all the online information in the world at a person's fingertips, unless the opposing company had the decryptor as well. It was the Holy Grail of computer software and Finch knew it would be the hottest item on the industrial market. It was Finch who had given Retter the money he needed to start his own business after years of being in small time organized crime, and he had called in the favour. Retter had no choice but to agree, Finch had a file of blackmail worthy documents about Retter and had no qualms with mysteriously letting the police aware of any of them.

As for Dallas and Memphis, Retter had worked with Memphis before and asked if he knew anyone else for the job. He had been the one to bring in Reid. After some digging it was discovered that Reid was actually cousins with Memphis's former accomplice that they had visited at Rikers and that was how he had met Memphis.

And when Retter's pen signed his confession, the case was closed and all the players were put away, some in the ground, some behind bars. Retter received twenty-five to life for conspiracy to commit murder, as did Robert Finch, and Tanner Reid agreed to a plea bargain to avoid the death penalty and received life in prison with no chance of parole.

And as for the one man who was left alive, the victim of so much, that somehow survived, he had a lot of visitors and a lot of healing to do.


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"Hey Greggo, welcome back to the land of the living."

Eyes opening slowly after a long, drug induced sleep, Greg tried to respond to Nick's blurry outline.

"..."

But nothing would come out.

"Don't try to talk, doc says your throat's swelled pretty badly. Probably gonna be a week before you're up to any kind of conversation," Nick lectured from Greg's bedside.

Greg nodded in understanding of this but then motioned for a drink.

"Yeah, sure, here you go," Nick said holding out a glass with a straw. When he put it back down, Greg lifted his right hand and inspected it. The first two fingers had been reset but only hurt when he moved them, the rest of the hand was fine though. Seeing and feeling this, Greg motioned for a pencil.

"You want to try to write?" Nick asked skeptically. When Greg nodded he still seemed unsure, but rummaged through a table drawer and took out a pen and paper. "All right, you can try, but don't hurt yourself."

Greg propped the paper on his knee and spent a moment trying to adjust the pen between his few usable fingers. Nick watched, resisting the urge to help and recognizing Greg's determination to do it himself and feel in control.

Eventually Greg got it figured out and wrote out a scribbly, "Ur still here. Thanks."

"No problem man," Nick said, but Greg was already writing something new.

"Dallas?"

"He won't be seeing daylight for a long time. You've been out for awhile and we've had evidence processing all day, he's already taken a plea agreement, life in prison to get out of the death penalty," Nick answered, happy to see Greg's expression change from tense to relieved and satisfied.

After taking a moment to appreciate this fact, Greg wrote, "Testify?"

"You? No, you won't have to, it's all over, that's part of the bargain. You never have to see him again if you don't want to," Nick assured him and Greg smiled faintly in thanks.

"U ok?"

As Nick was trying to decipher the messy handwriting and short hand, he almost didn't notice Greg pointing to the fresh bruises on his face.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine, bastard got a few hits in, it's nothing, thanks to you," Nick's casual demeanour became serious as he continued. "Thanks Greg, for not giving up in there. You kept fighting even after all that, and you saved my life. I won't forget that."

Greg smiled again and looked away, embarrassed by the sentiment and suddenly glad he wasn't required to talk in fear his voice would crack with emotion.

"Me 2. Guess we're almost even."

"We're more than even, but I'll find a way to make it up to you," Nick promised. Greg smiled at this and then yawned, flinching when his massively bruised throat muscles were stretched. "Doc says you should try to get as much rest as possible. I'm heading back to the lab soon and Sara's going to come sit with you, but do you need anything before I go?"

Greg thought about it as Nick stood and pulled on his coat. It was a few seconds before Greg turned the paper towards him to read and Nick chuckled at what he had written:

"Get well soon presents?"

"Yeah, nice try Greggo. You never know, maybe we'll all chip in and get you a fruit basket ... a small one. Now get some rest," Nick ordered as he started for the door.

When he was almost gone Greg held up the pad one last time, smirking sarcastically, "You wound me Stokes."

In the doorway Nick sighed and became contemplative as he saw Greg's eyes shut to venture back into sleep.

"Well, I won't do that again," he promised quietly. Then he clicked off the light as he stepped into the hallway and left his friend to heal.

The end.

***

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