a/n: Thanks everyone for your reviews! Please continue to let me know what you think (nicely, if possible). I'll post chapters as I have them, but be patient if I don't keep up the two a day thing. :o)

Over Indeed

Nick was unconscious, but that was expected. The medical staff of the Urgent Care facility had bandaged him up, cleaned up his appearance, and started him on blood and an IV. Nick was lucky, the doctors had said. The damage could have been worse.

"Yeah," Warrick huffed, "if Nigel Crane had aimed 5 centimeters to the left." He shook his head as the others nodded somberly.

They all sat around Nick's bed, just waiting. The notoriety of the case must have helped bend the rules somewhat, because the doctors didn't object to the colleagues and friends sitting in his room.

The TV was on, muted, but quite lively as a reporter eagerly stated that Nick Stokes had been found, alive. The CSI team had noticed a dull roar of noise outside the hospital, and combined with bright lights and the broadcast, it seemed the press had found where Nick was being treated.

"His parents are on their way," Brass said as he entered the room. He took a look at Nick, his eyes falling on the obvious bandages on his face. He frowned, but turned his attention to the group. "I have two armed officers outside the door. They've been instructed to allow only you guys and his parents inside, plus medical staff."

"Have they seen Crane's photo?" Sara asked. Brass nodded.

"They're on alert. Everyone else is still looking for Crane, but so far, nothing," Brass said.

"You didn't get him?"

All heads turned to Nick, whose eyes were closed but his lips moving. Everyone stood up and leaned towards him, looking at each other excitedly.

"No, sorry, kid," Brass said with a chuckle.

"How're you feeling?" That came from Sara and Warrick simultaneously. Catherine stepped out of the room to call the doctor as Nick opened his eyes. He swallowed, blinking as he did.

"I'll live," he said. He shot a look at Grissom. "Right?"

Gil smiled at the young CSI and nodded. He opened his mouth to verbalize his relief when he noticed a disturbed look on Nick's face.

"What is it, Nick?" he asked. Nick frowned, and started shaking his head.

"I just can't remember what . . ." he trailed off. He seemed exhausted, but something pushed him to try again. "Was Nigel there, when I was rescued?"

Warrick shot a look to Sara. "You remember that?"

Nick shook his head. "Just bits and pieces. Was he?" he asked. Warrick nodded, and Nick bit on his lip. His body seemed to slump further into the pillows and bed.

"What's wrong?" Sara asked. She frowned and tucked her brown hair behind her ears. Nick closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, wincing as he exhaled.

"He said he'd come back for me," Nick said quietly. "I had hoped that was just a nightmare."

The CSIs glanced at each other. Fear, disgust, and anger were clearly the mixture of emotions among them. Grissom gritted his teeth, and gave Nick his best determined look.

"It was a nightmare, Nick," he said. "It's over."

Nick was transported back to Las Vegas the next day, for one more day in the hospital under observation. His parents were at his side constantly now, so the CSIs started to process the evidence.

Greg glared into the microscope, studying glass fragments while waiting for the DNA results to come back. His music was a light classical piece, no doubt unusual for him, but fitting for his mood and friendly for the tension in the lab.

Grissom was pushing everyone to get the story constructed. He was confident that Nigel Crane would be found, one way or another. Greg sort of wondered what his boss meant by that. He also wondered why evidence mattered so much when they had an eye witness that was a professional in the field of criminal investigation. Nick would know what happened. But you have to have physical findings to back it up. Greg sighed. Work could certainly be tedious.

His machines beeped, and suddenly a piece of paper fluidly emerged from his laser printer. Greg's eyes poured over the results. He raised an eyebrow, and made his way to Grissom's office.

Grissom was back to watching video tapes again. "I'm trying to figure out where he would go," he'd said. That hadn't helped before, but Greg wasn't about to tell him that. He simply held up the paper for Grissom to grab.

"DNA results from two types of glass," Greg started. "The first was a typical window pane. The blood came back as Nick's. The second glass was indeed your standard room light bulb, but the blood on it actually belongs to . . ." He delayed the answer with an imaginary drum roll in his mind, while Grissom just stared at him.

"Who, Greg?"

He cleared his throat, dismissing the drum line. "Nigel Crane." Grissom looked confused, so Greg continued. "I also found a print on the light bulb fragments. Just a partial, but enough to show that Nick actually handled that bulb sometime before it broke."

"Interesting," was all Gil said. Greg nodded, but didn't understand precisely what it meant.

"Sooooo," he said, baiting a discussion, "did Nick break the bulb?" And why? was the unvoiced question in his mind. Grissom just stood up.

"I'm not certain," he said, throwing on his jacket. "But I think Nick can tell us."

Grissom hadn't wanted to get a statement from Nick yet. He'd warned Brass to back off for now. Between the physical damage Nick had suffered and the weird factor of Nigel Crane, he thought Nick just might need some space.

But the evidence results were coming back, and Grissom had to know what happened. The pieces weren't in the right order, and that was messing him up.

It was 9 pm, two nights after Nick had been found. Grissom waved to the guards at Nick's door, and flashed his ID badge. They nodded back to him.

Mr. and Mrs. Stokes seemed to have stepped out for awhile, which Grissom was grateful for. Nick smiled as Gil entered.

"Hey," he said simply. "They're grabbing dinner," he added, filling in for the unspoken question about his parents.

"How are you feeling today?" Grissom asked, taking a seat next to Nick's bed. The young CSI sat up, grimacing slightly but sighing as he leaned back.

"I'm okay. The doctor said I can leave tomorrow."

That surprised Gil. He thought the gunshot wound was serious enough to warrant more than just a couple of days in the hospital. Then again, it had been a through-and-through that missed anything important.

Gil finally smiled. "That's good," he said. "You'll feel better resting at home." He said it, but doubted it at the same time. He'd sent someone to check Nick's place, and his attic was just like Jane Galloway's.

Nick didn't say anything for awhile, but finally cleared his throat. "I . . . I think Crane has been watching me. My house," he said. His eyes focused on the bed sheets. Nick fumbled with his hands, the discomfort obvious to him.

"Nick, I think you should know that we did find evidence," Grissom started. "Crane was in your house."

Nick simply nodded and studied his hands. Grissom noticed the cuts on his palms, and decided to change the subject.

"How did you cut your hands?" The cuts were already healing, fading away, unlike his other wounds which would linger for awhile.

"A window. I tried to get away," Nick said, "day after I was taken." He swallowed and gave himself a moment. "I broke the glass with a chair, climbed through it. The glass cut my hands as I got out."

Grissom nodded, but glanced to the side—his classic sign of thinking ahead. "What about Crane?" He noticed Nick flinched ever so slightly at the name. "How did you get by him?"

Nick took another breath. "I was locked up in the basement and handcuffed. I couldn't fight him off very well, so I unscrewed the light bulb." Grissom started to nod.

"And when Crane came back, you used it against him."

"Yeah," Nick said. "Too bad he caught me later anyway."

Grissom cocked his head to the side. "What happened?" He knew Nick was struggling with all this, but he needed to know—and Nick needed to let it out.

"I took off into the woods," he said. "I wound up at a parking lot, right by the lake. Crane pulled up in his truck just a few seconds later." He sighed, and Grissom could see in his eyes that he was reliving the scene in his mind. "If he hadn't had my gun, I could have made it. But . . ." He shook his head.

"What?" Grissom prodded. He heard Nick sigh again.

"I was afraid he might actually pull the trigger." He cleared his throat and shifted his body. "He must have knocked me out after that."

Grissom waited a moment before saying anything else. "Do you still want to talk about it?" His voice was soft, sensitive, which was unusual for him. Even so, Nick shook his head.

"You need to know," he said, "for the investigation."

Grissom nodded. "There was one thing I found that I wondered about." Nick raised an eyebrow. "A chain."

The younger CSI nodded. "After I escaped, he chained me in that closet. No more surprises, I guess."

"But you still got away again," Gil filled in. "How?"

Nick stopped to think. He didn't say anything for a full minute, just lost in his memories and emotions.

"You know, Gris," he started. "The worst thing about it was not being able to predict how he'd act." Nick's voice was low and shaky. "He brought me up to the living room after awhile. He let me get cleaned up, eat dinner, watch TV . . . I might as well have been his guest. And then he got set off again."

"From what?" Grissom shifted closer to Nick.

"Press conference," Nick answered shortly. "He said something about us being friends, and him not being a kidnapper. I played along, and he knew. He knew I was just playing along, and got mad." He raised a hand to his face. "That's when I got this," he said, fingering the gauze over his cheek.

"So how did you get free?"

Nick swallowed again, and Grissom could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

"He was putting me back down in the basement," Nick said. "He was so upset. He had a gun to my head the whole time. But I threw him off, and locked him in the basement."

"Is that when you called us?"

Nick nodded. "I was trying to find the keys to get out, but found my phone instead."

"I'm glad you did," Grissom said, a smile starting to spread over his face. Nick saw it, and finally relaxed enough to smile himself. "If it weren't for that, we might not have found you yet."

"Or alive, at least," Nick added. His smile vanished, and he leaned back in his bed.

Grissom stood and patted Nick's hand. "Hey," he said, getting Nick's focus. "You made it." Nick nodded, and Gil turned to leave.

"Hey Gris," he said softly. Gil turned back. "Thanks."

Grissom smiled again. "It wasn't the same without you, Nick." He left the room, leaving Nick to rest with a slight smile on his face.