a/n: Thank you so much for all the encouragement and feedback. In some ways, I wish this were a little more interactive, b/c I like the different views and paths that are suggested. Maybe to open it up a little bit, consider this: I always have a favorite chapter or part in every story I write. What's your favorite part? If it hasn't happened yet, well, I understand if you don't write in. :o) Thanks again!

Day Five

Her eyes were open again, staring at nothing in particular. She stayed curled up, trying to protect herself.

She wasn't afraid of Kostya anymore.

She wasn't afraid of rape.

She wasn't afraid of death.

Jill desperately tried to block out the truth. It'd come during that frightful kiss. She'd tried to break free, tried to plead for him to stop. And then somewhere in the midst of it, even though she'd tried to kill him and he tried to hurt her, she wanted it. She kissed him back. From there until Kostya pulled away, it was exposition, each showing what neither could admit to the side they were affiliated with.

Nick still called her name now and then, trying to get her to talk to him more. But she couldn't. She couldn't bear what he would think of her. Somehow, that was what made everything worse.

There was a shuffle of feet upstairs, and someone started down to the basement. Jill froze and shut her eyes. She took a deep breath, knowing it wouldn't be enough. She reopened her eyes, and found Ethan setting a plate in front of her.

She'd never felt so relieved in her life.

Kostya shrugged off the morning routine to Ethan. Lane found that very interesting. As soon as the younger Brit left the room, he motioned for Kostya to follow him outside.

The morning air was a bit moist for this famed desert. It was cool too, though nothing like any cold Kostya grew up with or that Lane had been through. The neighborhood was already awake and gone for the day. That was perfect as well. The two men started down the street on foot.

Lane glanced to the Russian. He was proud—always had been—and it usually was an asset. But with pride came stubbornness. Kostya's regard for the girl was making him . . . less reliable. And that greatly concerned Lane.

"We're almost there," Lane said, referring to the coming exchange. His words broke the morning ambience. Kostya didn't say anything but nodded. He'd always been the quiet sort, more thinking and planning than exhibiting. It worked. Lane led, Kostya backed him up, and Ethan picked up the slack.

Ethan had been with them for a year now. Before then, Lane would call on Kostya every now and then for whatever job came up. They did their work, took their cuts, and went back to whatever life they had. It wasn't much. Lane was fine with life, but part of Kostya's demeanor came from his history.

"Are you ready for tonight?" Lane asked. Again, Kostya just nodded. "And the girl?"

Kostya finally looked at him, his eyes steely. "Don't worry," he said. "You were right."

That surprised Lane. "Oh?" He was prodding, and Kostya knew it, but the Russian seemed inclined to share.

"I set a trap," he said. That definitely got Lane's attention. He waited till Kostya continued, though he switched to Russian. "I left my gun out, empty of course. She grabbed it when I wasn't looking."

Lane grinned. It was an old trick, and yet the fact that Kostya would even think to test Jill made him happy. Things would be okay for tonight.

"That explains the mood," Lane said. He was relieved that Jill went for the gun. If not, he had a larger problem on his hands. But now Kostya saw for himself the trouble the girl was.

"Is Byron ready?" Kostya asked, suddenly changing the topic and language. Lane nodded.

"He's just waiting for us in San Diego." Byron was a hacker, ready to disseminate the info as soon as they got it.

"Are you still planning the next job?" Kostya asked. His eyes seemed to look far off, and Lane knew this was one of his introspective moments. It was also one of the rare occasions that Kostya didn't act like a brick wall.

Lane nodded. "My cut from this will easily fund it. You sure you don't want to come on board for it?"

Kostya smiled but shook his head. He tucked his hands in his pockets and just stared at the ground as they walked.

"You still want to go back," Lane said. He knew what plagued Kostya. It came up every now and then. "You could, you know. Russia wouldn't know the difference."

Kostya shook his head again. "The government, yes, but I can't go back to my life there." Spoken in his native tongue, it almost sounded more mournful than usual. Lane knew Kostya's dilemma, though he didn't think it was a big deal. His family disowned him when Kostya, well, left the Russian military. Technically, he betrayed the Mother Land, but that didn't seem to bother the dark haired man nearly as much as consequences in his personal life.

Lane viewed it all as better off anyway. He gained a valuable asset, a partner in crime, and occasionally a friend (when his head and heart didn't get mixed up). Even so, he didn't mind if Kostya and he parted ways after this. Just as long as he got what he wanted.

Sara blinked.

"You're sure?" she asked again. Archie nodded.

"The tracker will be fine, as long as they don't see it," he said. Behind him, Grissom spoke up.

"Will they see it in the hard drive?"

Archie shrugged. "You'd have to know what you're doing, and beyond just working a computer."

Grissom leaned closer, hovering over Archie. "And they probably know what they're doing." He half-glared at the lab tech.

"I don't have any other option," Archie said. "It's up to you." Gil glanced at Sarah before nodding.

"We'll have to go with it," he said. He left the room and retreated to his office. He shut the door behind him.

He didn't know what to do. He knew what he was going to do, but whether or not it was the right thing was up in the air. It was kept under wraps from Ecklie. It was Grissom's case anyway, and his call, but Ecklie would give him crap no matter what. Brass was ready to have LVPD back them up at the exchange.

He wasn't sure how the exchange would go down. None of the notes said anything. Maybe they would drop off one before the trade. Gil checked his watch. It was noon. There wasn't much time left.

Someone knocked on the door behind him. It was Sara. She came in.

"The hard drive's ready. Information, tracker and all."

Gil nodded grimly.

"Now we wait."

Something was coming. Ethan and Lane moved about often, and so did Kostya. However, the Russian didn't come down to the basement. Not alone or to be alone with Jill. Nick wasn't surprised at the distance between them now. He was relieved, actually.

But he was nervous about Jill. Would she be all right? Would this rift with Kostya jeopardize her life? She was quiet still. She didn't say anything to him. Something bothered her, and she wouldn't tell him.

That hurt for some reason.

For the first time in a few hours, Kostya appeared. And he was alone. He glanced in Nick's direction, shooting him a warning look. Nick found that a bit odd since he was the one who ought to warn Kostya away. But the Russian didn't say anything to him. He moved straight over to Jill.

She stared at him, and Nick felt his body tighten with tension. He strained to hear what Kostya said.

"I want you to know something," he said, his voice low. "I understand why you used the gun. I probably would too." He paused, taking a chance to stare into her eyes. Nick tried to fight nausea. "Your father killed your mother. I don't think I would trust anyone after that."

Nick supposed it was some form of patching things up between them, but what threw Nick was the whole 'father killed mother' thing. He shifted his focus to Jill. She didn't deny it or correct him. Had her father really killed her mother? Or did she just make that up for sympathy?

He remembered back to when he'd asked about her family. She'd given him an evasive answer, not going into details about her family.

Obviously, she'd told Kostya more. Nick bit his lip. He felt . . . hurt that she hadn't confided in him. She hadn't told him much about her at all. And yet she opened up to Kostya.

Jealousy. Nick knew that's what it was, and he hated himself for it.

"I . . . Tonight, we leave," Kostya said. "I wanted you to know, before tonight."

Jill nodded slowly, and from Nick's perspective, she looked touched. He rolled his eyes, and froze.

Kostya leaned in and kissed Jill. It was short and chaste, but that made it seem even worse to Nick. Jill actually smiled at him as he left.

He tried to block out what just happened, except for the info about tonight. Nick knew he should focus on that tidbit, but Jill remained the sole beneficiary of his thoughts.

Lane led his men to the basement. Each of them was almost ready to go. They wore dark clothing but nothing that stood out too much—no military apparel. It was essential that they could still blend in a crowd if needed.

Nick and Jill could sense their readiness. Their faces said it all. Lane nodded to Ethan, who then cut Nick free. Nick stood tensely, unsure of what was going on.

"Kostya," Lane said. The Russian looked to his friend. "Hit him." Kostya stared back at Lane, but not before his eyes flickered to Jill.

"Let Ethan," Kostya said back in his native tongue. Lane sighed. It'd always been the plan to have the CSI injured for the exchange. It was an added distraction for the police. However, Lane decided that Kostya should do it. For all the Russian said early that morning, Lane needed a little more conviction.

He shook his head, then nodded towards Nick. "I want you to do it. Ethan," he called out. "Stay with him." Lane turned to leave, and went upstairs.

Kostya glanced at Ethan, but the young blonde's face was impassive. Kostya bit down on his tongue, knowing what he had to do. Suddenly he spun his body around and flung out one arm. It hit Nick in the face, spiraling him to the ground. Jill gasped, but Kostya tried to block that out.

Nick tried to get up, but Kostya didn't wait. He kicked him in the stomach. Nick groaned and rolled onto his back.

"Hey man—" Nick started to say. Kostya cut him off by kicking him in the side.

"Kostya, no!" Jill cried out. It cut through him, but he made himself not look at her. He leaned over and picked up the CSI, ignoring the fact that he was clutching his stomach. Kostya grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him up and towards the wall. A sickening thud followed as Nick's back hit the wall. Jill yelled behind him.

Nick winced and stammered for breath. Kostya released him for a moment, then punched him hard in the chest. He didn't wait for any reaction before hitting him in the face.

When blood finally showed on Nick's face, Kostya stopped. Jill was still shouting behind him, but he tuned her out. He let go of Nick, and the CSI crumpled to the floor. Kostya gave him one last kick, a light one even, but the man groaned.

"How could you?" he heard Jill whisper, her voice on the edge of tears. Kostya didn't look her way. He simply couldn't. He quickly went for the stairs. As he passed Ethan, his voice kicked in.

"Let her go, but watch them." Ethan just nodded and started on it as Kostya left the room.

Jill glared at the Russian's back as he left. She felt so angry and confused at him. It all seemed to amuse Ethan, who wore a smirk more often than most businessmen wore suits. He cut her free though, and Jill ran past him to go to Nick's side.

The CSI hadn't moved yet. His eyes were closed and he just lay on the floor. Jill reached out a hand to his face. He winced, and she pulled back.

"Nick," she called softly. He groaned in reply. His jaw was bruising quickly, and a gash on his cheek bled down his face. His nose bled as well, and he moved enough to swipe the blood away. Instead, though, it smeared. Jill winced just seeing the red. She inched closer to him and used the hem of her shirt as a rag. She dabbed at it with her tongue and slowly wiped the streaks of blood away.

"Ow," Nick said, jerking his head back. It just smacked against the floor, and he groaned louder.

"Hold still," she ordered gently. Her eyes wandered over his body, checking for injuries. He seemed to still cradle his stomach with his arms, but she knew there wasn't anything she could do about that. His hips were so narrow, which she thought was a bit surprising for the rest of his frame. His broad shoulders, that square jaw . . . He was built too. His shirt clung to his torso, and she could see the definition there.

"Are you checking me out?" he said suddenly. He was staring at her, and Jill jumped a bit.

"Checking for injuries," she justified. He smirked at that.

"Right."

She rolled her eyes. "How can you joke about that now?" she asked, trying to steer away from her awkwardness. Nick shrugged.

"I know I'm hot."

She just stared at him. Where on earth did this side of him come from? It was timed badly, entirely presumptuous, and on top of that—

--it was kind of cute.

Damn. She finally granted him a shy smile, and behind her she heard Ethan cough.

"How are you holding up?" he asked. Somewhere inside she felt her heart double-beat.

"Me? You're the one who just got beat up," she said, trying to be stern. It didn't work. Nick looked at her, into her brown eyes.

"I'm more worried about you."

He kept staring at her, and she found herself looking away to her hands. "Well, don't. I'll be okay."

Nick finally relented and started sitting up. "I can't help it," he said, trying not to groan as he moved. "I care too much about you."

Jill froze, and so did Nick. She waited for him to stammer, to explain, to take it back.

But he didn't.

They heard footsteps above them, and knew it was time.

"Listen," Nick said, taking his voice down to a whisper. "No matter what happens, be careful. If you see a way out, take it. No matter what." Jill nodded with a gulp. "And if they don't let you go . . ." Nick trailed off, even as he heard Lane and Kostya speaking in Russian as they entered the basement. Nick glanced in their direction and back to Jill.

"If they don't let you go, don't give up," he said, his eyes wide and unrelenting in intensity. "I'll find you."

She nodded. She felt so . . . she wanted to say something, to let him know how much she knew that he cared, and that she--

"Let's go," Lane said, not caring what his hostages were talking about. Jill glanced at the men, then shot Nick a look of uncertainty. Suddenly Ethan was by them, and he quickly retied Nick's hands together. He and Lane dragged the CSI upstairs, and Jill was left alone with Kostya.

She found herself doubting again. His eyes were dark, intimidating. They penetrated her, and Jill leaned back ever so slightly. But he made up the distance and took her hands in his. Slowly, he tied them together, never taking his eyes off hers.

She could see him in her mind, hitting Nick, kicking him. Suddenly she looked away, disgust rising within her.

But Kostya touched her face, bringing it back so he could stare at her again. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe apologize for treating Nick badly. Maybe for what would happen tonight. But Jill wasn't sure, and he never finished it.

Suddenly he leaned in and kissed her. She almost lost her balance and fell back, but his hands were there, his arms supporting her. His kiss was desperate and fervent, and Jill found herself accepting it, even as her mind lingered on Nick.

He pulled back just as suddenly and led her upstairs. Jill's mind was reeling from everything, but it'd all have to go away for now. Lane took her to one car, an SUV, and they drove off.

She ignored the older Brit, ignored the danger he presented, and ignored what could happen tonight. To her, other things were at stake, including her heart.

She just didn't know to who she might lose it to.

Grim faces filled the room. No note had shown up. And it was an hour before the meet was to take place, at some unknown location.

Brass sighed. No note was worrisome. It might mean the hostages weren't alive anymore. He thought of them as 'hostages'—attaching names, especially that of Nick Stokes, just broke his focus too much.

Suddenly the phone rang in the conference room. Grissom frowned at it, and picked it up.

"Grissom," he said. The voice on the other line was distinctly British.

"Mr. Grissom," the voice greeted. "Are you ready to trade?"

Gil leaned forward in his seat. The other CSIs and the detective saw the intensity on his face.

"Yes."

"Good. Nick will be relieved," the British man said. "Send someone with the information to the middle of Freemont Street. You have 1 hour."

The call went dead, and Gil stared into it for several seconds. Suddenly he jumped up.

"Freemont Street."