Author's Note: Hello and welcome to my second CSI fic!! Massive thanks to everyone who has read/reviewed my first CSI fic called "Bad Timing." Since I'm still traumatized by Warrick's death and Grissom leaving (even though it was prophesized that both was coming, it doesn't lessen the pain), this fic takes place in Season 8 - when Greg is still CSI level I, Warrick is still alive, Sara is still missing in action, and Grissom is still the boss. I have used some of what I created in "Bad Timing" as a basis for this fic in terms of characters. This will NOT be a slash story – just a story involving the platonic love associated with friendship mixed with a touch of angst and a hint of action.

Title: No Way Out

Chapter 1: Trouble in the Panic Room

Among the three of them, Greg Sanders was the first to step into the small cozy room. A harmless façade of bookcases and old furniture made the room appear innocent and chaste. If it wasn't for a fourth adjoining wall, the room would have made a complete square. Covered with a thin film of dust, the room seemed untouched or abandoned. There was no need for any suspicion because the stillness gave the impression that nothing could possibly go wrong.

With his flashlight in tow, Greg beamed it around the darkness of the basement in search of a light switch to illuminate the place better. He spotted an old stained glass tiffany lamp on a dusty end table. Greg looked at it curiously. The peculiar lamp had maroon-colored tassels hanging off each point in the lampshade giving it a rather antique but sleazy feel to it.

Greg absentmindedly disturbed the dust on the table as he reached for the copper lamp pull. He coughed lightly as he inhaled a mouth full of dust. An orange light came on when he pulled the cord. But just as he released the pull, a deep rumble shook the ground for a few seconds. Before anyone could grasp or react to what was happening, a long thick sheet of milky-white frosted glass came down from the ceiling and sealed off the square room, holding Greg captive inside. The heavy glass slid down forcefully leaving no time for Greg to attempt an escape.

"What was that?!" Nick Stokes yelled as he looked for the source of the noise. A handful of soil sprinkled on top of his head when the tremor finally stopped. He brushed a few crumbs off his cheek. "Greg!!" Nick cried when he realized what had happened to his friend.

Detective Jim Brass, who was standing only a few paces from Nick, watched the glass fall to a close. He, too, was shocked and bewildered at the sight of an unexpected trapdoor.

"LET ME OUT!!!" Greg hollered desperately. He pounded his fists on the glass that stood between him and the other side. His voice sounded muffled due to the thickness of the glass.

"Greg! Are you ok?" Nick shouted. He advanced towards the glass wall.

"Nick!!!" Greg replied. He wanted to sound brave and in control but this freaked him out. It scared the crap out of him.

"Hang on." Nick shouted. His nervous fingers felt around the grimy frame of the trap doorway for a switch or lever that would release the glass and free Greg. In his dismay, there were none that he could locate.

The blurry features of his colleague's worried face through the thick glass gave him enough reason to be anxious. With nothing but a chunky sheet of glass separating the two, they stood face to face, running out of ideas. Nick could see his breath forming on the glass as he tried to slide it any which way he could. The glass did not budge. He found a piece of rusted old metal that had been lying around the old basement and brought it down on the glass as hard as he could several times in hopes of breaking it, but the glass did not break. It was too thick and produced only a few scratches on the surface. He tried to pry the edges with the piece of metal but it did not intimidate the stubborn glass.

"I'm going to check around the other side." Brass said and quickly disappeared behind a wall in the labyrinth of a basement.

The strains of claustrophobia crept up on him as Greg clawed at the glass in hopes of finding a way out of the cell. Around him was a room filled with old memorabilia. Aged photographs and other posters tacked loosely on the peeling walls. There was a decrepit drawing table to the left holding a scatter of yellowing papers, some so old that the ink had faded away. To his right sat a broken and worn leather recliner with a web of a thousand cracks running through it.

Facing Greg in the opposite end was a large wooden cabinet towering almost to the ceiling. Cherubs and angels were carved into the design in the wood giving it a harmless yet mysterious feeling. The cabinet was eight feet away from where Greg stood. A few broken bookcases and other furniture littered around the grand cabinet, making it seem less threatening. About midway into the cell, was a dirty medium sized thread-bared rug with all sorts of old stains on it. The floorboards under Greg's feet squeaked when he shifted his weight.

"Stay calm. We'll find a way to get you out." Nick called to Greg.

"Hurry up!" Greg insisted in a high-pitched nervous voice. But his voice was distant and muffled because of the thickness of the glass.

"It appears to be some sort of panic room." Nick yelled.

"Panic room? What the hell is a panic room?!" Greg called back.

"Don't you watch movies, Greg? There is a movie with the same name. You know, the one with Jodie Foster…?" Nick tried to remain calm.

"This is not a good time to be sharing movie details." Greg hollered angrily. "Get me outta here!!" He pleaded. "I'm getting claustrophobic."

"A panic room is like a safe room." Nick explained while examining the surroundings to find a way to lift the glass. "Basically, it's just a secret place in the house where people can hole up in the event of an emergency."

"A safe room?" Greg shouted. Nick could detect the fright in his voice. "I don't feel very safe in here. This place makes my skin crawl."

"Greg, did you touch anything in there that might have triggered the mechanism to release the trapdoor?" Nick said loudly.

"All I did was turn on that lamp." Greg said. He rushed over to the lamp and tried to pull on the copper chain again in hopes it would reverse the mechanism. But nothing happened. "There must be another way." He sounded defeated.

"We'll find it." Nick promised.

"I found a door. But it's bolted." Brass huffed trying to catch his breath as he found his way back to Nick. "Back up is on the way."

"Greg? I'm going to be right back, ok?" Nick said. "Brass might've found something."

"Ok." Greg replied with an uneasy tone.

Greg listened to their footsteps fade into the distance until the silence confirmed that he was all alone. He heard a loud thumping noise in his ear and soon realized foolishly that it was just the rhythm of his own heart beating. He couldn't tell if it was an adrenaline rush or anxiety that swept through his veins. But an odd, intense feeling developed in his gut made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He wished Nick and Brass would hurry back. There was something about this room that suddenly wasn't right. He almost felt like he was being watched.

Two long minutes passed before he heard Nick's footsteps coming towards the frosted glass.

"How ya doing? Ok?" Nick called out.

"Now I know what a lab rat really feels like." Greg answered sheepishly. Although he managed a joke, his voice was deeply stressed.

"Greg, listen to me – do you see any possible doors or openings in the room? It may be hidden." Nick said.

Nick could see Greg's shadowy figure move away from the frosted glass. Greg inspected and felt around the walls for voids but there was nothing suspicious.

"I can't find any." Greg reported as he came back in front of the glass.

"Brass found a bolted door on the other side. It looks like it could lead into that room somehow. He's working on it as we speak. More help is on the way." Nick reassured. "We'll have you outta there in no time."

Suddenly the sound of a small click came from somewhere in the room. It was like the sound of someone turning a key in a lock. Greg spun around and had his back against the frosted glass wall. His eyes darted nervously around the room and settled onto the direction of the grand cabinet with the cherub wood carvings. His heart raced and banged violently in his chest.

"Uh…Nick?" Greg said in an agitated tone.

"Yep." Nick grunted as he tried to pry the bottom edge of the glass with an old crowbar.

"I-I think someone or some thing's in here." Greg cried in horror.

"Don't be silly." Nick replied without stopping his efforts. "You're just paranoid. Believe me when I tell you I know all about being trapped in confined places." He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a sleeve.

If anyone knew anything about being trapped, it was Nick. The grotesque experience of being buried alive was not something anyone could readily forget. Nick understood the tricks the mind can play on a person when they're caged under such massive duress. The desperation, the paranoia, the terror, and the inability to think rationally were just the beginning. Once the dementia set in, the battle to survive shifts and hope diminishes. No one should ever have to go through that.

"The important thing to remember is that I will get you out." Nick offered. "Just relax."

Greg froze when he heard the noise again. This time, there was an additional squeak like from a rusty old hinge. He didn't know what he should do. His professional stamina told him to go check it out. But his instincts told him to remain where he was. In his two years as a CSI field investigator, he had never encountered anything this bizarre. And he thought he'd seen everything already. This was something out of a sci-fi movie. He wondered if this was a dream. Petrified, Greg watched the knob on the cabinet door turn slowly. He hardly blinked.

His breath quickened as the door swung open. Because of the darkness, Greg could not see anything except for what resembled a figure of a man lurking in the shadows. He heard the man's ragged breathing. It reminded Greg of the way a bull puffed right before it charged. He noticed the burly figure was holding something in his hand.

"Who's there?" Greg shouted at the cabinet. "S-show yourself." He tried to administer a bit of authority to his voice but failed miserably.

"Greg? What's going on?" Nick called when he heard Greg's frantic shout.

Greg realized all too soon what the man was holding when he brought it up to shoulder length. To his horror, it was a gun pointed right at him. Greg's dark brown eyes grew wide with fear. He couldn't take his eyes away from the barrel of the gun. There was nowhere to run and no weapon to take up for self defense. The inability to escape rendered him helpless and cornered like an animal. Greg knew what it meant when he heard the life-threatening sound of the firearm being cocked. Every muscle in his body tensed.

"NO!! PLEASE DON'T!!!" Greg screamed in a near sob.

"What's happening in there?!?!" Nick cried when he heard Greg's merciful plea. It was the last thing he heard before a loud crack of gunfire erupted.

The force of the bullet was so strong that it knocked the wind right out of Greg and threw him over backwards. After losing his balance, his back slammed hard against the wall. An instant spray of blood splattered across the frosted glass upon impact followed by the dreadful sound of Greg's weight falling to the floor in a loud thud.

"GREG!!!!!!!" Nick shrieked in horror upon hearing the gunshot and seeing the blood smear. He hammered his fists desperately at the glass.

Brass came running towards the sound of the gun shot. With his gun drawn, he swept the area cautiously for movement. He eventually came face to face with the bloodied glass. Aghast at the sight before him, he swore vilely under his breath. He immediately radioed the dispatcher stating the situation and the need for emergency medical assistance.

"GREG!!!" Nick screamed. This can't be happening. This can't be happening at all. He thought in horror. The blood in his veins ran cold as he tried with all his might to break the glass. Out of desperation, he fired his gun at the glass, in hopes of taking it down. But the glass deflected the bullet and did not even leave a crack.

The fraction of a second it took for the bullet to enter his body felt like an eternity. Time swam in slow motion. Greg, like a deer staring into the on-coming headlights of a Mack truck, couldn't move a muscle in his body. There was nothing he could do to save his own life. Things were suddenly different when faced with the barrel of a gun. He had no idea how Brass could deal with it on a daily basis.

Greg knew the bullet struck him. He just wasn't sure where exactly. A hot, burning sensation ripped through his upper torso. For a brief moment, he felt the air being sucked out of his lungs then staggering pain like as if his chest was about to explode. The strong acrid smell of fresh gunpowder and burnt flesh intertwined.

He felt a sickly, warm, gushy feeling in the side of his neck before his back was thrown against the wall. The back of his head must have smacked against the wall pretty hard because after that, his vision blurred terribly. His legs were useless, as was the rest of his body. He lost consciousness before his body hit the floor.

Gravity had caused the blood droplets to pull downwards. Even through the frosted glass, Greg's nebulous form could be seen lying motionless in a heap on the floor.

The rage inside Nick exploded because he knew they were losing precious seconds not being able to gain access to Greg. This only made Greg one step closer to death, especially since the extent of the injury was unknown.

Oh please, oh please don't let Greg be dead. Nick prayed repetitively.

Filled with horror and shock, Nick picked up anything he could find lying around and made continuous attempts at breaking the glass. Out of fear, anguish, and frustration, tears blurred his vision and started streaming down his face. With clenched jaws, he did nothing to brush the tears away. He was afraid it might take up too much time. Every second was crucial. Nick didn't want to admit it, but he feared it was already too late.

After being violently beaten by a band of hooded delinquents in a dark alley in the middle of the night, Greg became the center of his friends' empathy. Witnessing the repercussions of that night gave the entire team a wake up call. They remembered sitting in the waiting room to hear news from the doctor about Greg's condition. And when they finally got to see him, they were in for a shock. Greg had just come out of surgery. His face was covered with so much bruising and swelling that it made him barely recognizable. There were defensive wounds covering the length of both arms. His swollen hands and knuckles were bandaged up. And these were just the injuries that were visible. The hospital gown and blanket concealed the rest of the damage. With his head swathed in bandages and a tube pushing oxygen into his nose, he laid there in a drug-induced sleep. His friends were glad that he was asleep. The sight brought tears to their eyes.

Ever since that dreadful day, the whole team made a promise to themselves that they would look after Greg. Greg's rank was only CSI level I and because of his newness, he needed much guidance and protection. The team, especially Grissom, felt the full weight of guilt.

"Damn it!!" Nick shouted in vain. Greg's blood splatter on the glass mocked him.

"It's bullet proof. Unbreakable glass – built like how a safe room should be built. There must be a way to reverse this." Brass said in between huffs as he reached around the walls to look for any switches.

"We don't have time to wait for the fire department to arrive. It'll be too late." Nick said. He dropped to his knees and turned to the blurry figure lying on the floor on the other side of the glass. He rapped his fist on the glass. "Greg?? Can you hear me??" He placed his ear against the wall in hopes of hearing a reply, a word, a moan – anything that would imply that Greg was still alive.

There was no answer. No movement.

Suddenly, there was a humming noise that came from somewhere above the wall structure. Brass and Nick looked up to see what was making that sound. There was a rumbling noise identical to the one they heard earlier. Nick and Brass shielded their eyes as a sprinkle of debris from the ceiling rained on their heads.

The rumbling eventually stopped. And like as if by magic, the thick frosted glass wall lifted upwards by itself. The glass wall miraculously disappeared into the dark ceiling and silence resumed all around. A whiff of stale air blew out of the stuffy room. Nick noticed more splatters of blood on the wooden planks of the floor in front of him. His eyes turned to the motionless body lying a few feet away.

Greg was lying on his side with his arms draping limply over each other. His stillness made it appear like nothing more than an innocent sleep.

"Greg?" Nick scurried over. The moment he put his hand on Greg's shoulder, he saw the blood. Fresh blood had soaked through the entire front of Greg's CSI vest leaving it slick and soggy. A small puddle of blood had collected under Greg. The wooden floorboards absorbed the blood and left a dark blot of a stain.

Nick turned Greg over gently. Through the light from the tiffany lamp, Nick was able to see Greg's face. It was deathly pale and a true shade of white. Greg showed no signs of regaining consciousness when his name was called. Nick couldn't control his hands from trembling when he reached for Greg's neck to feel for a pulse. With his middle and index fingers around the side of Greg's neck, Nick's grim face changed to one with hope.

"There's a pulse! He's alive!" Nick exclaimed in a triumphant yet shaky tone. There were enough reasons for worry.

Nick held his breath as he proceeded to inspect the injury. He pulled open Greg's vest to reveal a blood soaked shirt and repulsive gore. Brass cringed at the sight of the wound. On his chest under the right clavicle, perhaps about three ribs down, was the remnant of a messy gunshot wound. The heat of the bullet melted the fibers on the t-shirt around the wound. Blistered flesh tainted the color around the lesion leaving blackened smudges. As a result, the rather large rip dabbled with both fresh and dried blood looked exceedingly grotesque. It made locating the exact entrance of the bullet all the more difficult. New blood was constantly forming and seeping out of the wound.

Without hesitation, Nick quickly applied direct pressure to help stop the bleeding. He pressed his bare hands over the wound. Greg's blood oozed through his fingers almost immediately.

"Oh God!" Nick moaned as he frantically held his slippery hands in place. "We have to get him to a hospital."

Brass, who knelt beside Nick and Greg, berated into his radio for status on the ambulance. Judging by the tension in his voice, it was pretty obvious that he was just as worried as Nick.

Detective Jim Brass was always known to keep his cool in all situations. With over twenty years of experience on the force, he's dealt with every possible situation. In his law enforcement career, he had been caught in the crossfire three times. The first was a minor bullet graze to the scalp during a bank heist. It was his first "badge of courage" and quite proud of it. The second was a bullet in the leg that left him miserably bedridden for a month. The third and most recent was the through-and-through to the shoulder that almost sent him into the grave. William Cutler, a suspect in a triple homicide, was the one who pulled the trigger.

The relationship between Brass and Greg was never a close one. Everything was strictly professional. It took a while for the friendship part to kick in. Brass saw Greg as an eccentric smart ass. And Greg saw Brass as unmovable.

Like everyone else, Brass made the big turn around after Greg's beating. Feeling incredibly sorry for the kid, Brass decided to give him a break. Brass often compared Greg to okra – it's an acquired taste. You don't like it at first but when you got used to it, it's not so bad. With all the teasing set aside, Greg was glad to have Brass' friendship at last.

"Where is that ambulance?" Brass demanded firmly through the radio. "We need it here NOW." He ordered with authority. A response came shortly stating that the ambulance was two blocks away.

"Please hang on. Hang on." Nick begged the lifeless body sprawled on the floor.

"I'm gonna go meet up with the paramedics and show them the way down here." Brass said as he got up.

Nick nodded and brought his attention back to Greg. He could hear the sound of Brass' quick footsteps diminish as he went further and further away from the basement.

Nick's head was reeling with dizzy thoughts about Greg's current state. He told himself that this had to be some sort of cruel nightmare that he was experiencing. He willed himself to wake but somehow deep in his gut, he knew this was not a dream.

Nick remembered how insanely giddy Greg had been earlier that evening. For the first time in years, Greg had managed to pull off a practical joke on Nick successfully. It was the old Vaseline on the locker door handle prank. Nick couldn't believe he fell for the simplest trick in the book. Greg chose the Vaseline joke because it was something so simple that he guessed Nick would never have expected. He was so proud of himself and relished in his glory. Instead of vowing for vengeance, Nick congratulated Greg for a job well done and advised him to use it on Warrick next time. After all, Greg did learn from the best.

All the laughter from the young CSI was gone. What was left of him lay sprawled across the floor in his own blood. To think that a life could be snuffed out in less then a second, well, that was just incomprehensible. It was, by far, too morbid to think he may never hear Greg's laughter again. Tears fell from Nick's eyes.

The two paramedics finally weaved their way into the room with their medical kits and a stretcher in tow. With stern faces, they assessed the problem quickly. Nick moved back and allowed the paramedics to work on Greg. He stood there with hands dripping of blood and watched the paramedics cut open Greg's clothing. The initial shock refused to leave his mind or body. Greg was the only thing on his mind.

Brass stared at Greg and shook his head in dismay. Dear God – he's just a kid. Just a kid. He thought grimly.

Brass watched the paramedics hook Greg up to all sorts of tubes and contraptions. He turned away. He just couldn't look at it anymore. To keep himself occupied enough so he wouldn't succumb to tears, Brass headed towards the grand cabinet. He pulled the knob and the door opened with a squeak.

The cabinet was hollowed out. There were no shelves – just an empty space. The area was big enough for a man to conceal himself with room to spare. Brass jumped up into the cabinet and inspected the structure of the interior. He banged around the wood with the heel of his fist and discovered a loose panel in the deep end of the cabinet. He pried the panel free with a makeshift crowbar he'd found lying around. He let out a gasp when the panel fell over backwards to reveal a dark tunnel.

"Found something." Brass called from his crouched position in the cabinet.

By then, the backup had arrived and the whole vicinity swarmed with uniforms. "I want you to canvas the area. No one goes in or out of this place. Take your guys and find out where this tunnel leads. I want to know about every corner." Brass threw orders at his officers. The officers nodded in attention and sped to work.

When Brass made it back to where Nick stood, the paramedics have stabilized Greg and strapped him securely onto the stretcher. They were ready to transport the patient to the hospital.

"How is he?" Brass asked to no one in particular.

"Still unconscious. He's lost a lot of blood." Nick said with a faltering and near distraught voice. He looked up to meet Brass' worried gaze. "It doesn't look good."

"Have you called Grissom?" Brass inquired.

"Not yet." Nick answered in a weak tone.

Brass put a comforting hand on Nick's shoulder. "Do you want me to call him?" He offered.

"No, it's ok. I'll do it." Nick said.

"Greg'll be alright." Brass said optimistically. They watched the paramedics quickly gather up their equipment.

"I'm gonna go with them." Nick said as he wiped Greg's blood off his hands with a napkin.

"Ok, I'll take care of things around here." Brass said. "Keep me posted on Greg."

"Sure." Nick muttered as he hurried after the pair of paramedics. He didn't want to dump everything on Brass. It was not his style at all. He knew responsibility and always came through. But Greg needed him more than anything at that moment.

Nick had adopted Greg as a little brother since Greg's days at the lab. Greg hailed from San Gabriel, California and was new to Las Vegas. He didn't have any family here and no friends. He was fresh out of Grad school and managed to snag a job one state over with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. It was not a difficult transition because there wasn't much to leave behind. His mother moved to New York to start a business and his estranged father had not been an imminent part of his life since he was about five.

Greg appeared to be a quirky kid with an eccentric sense of humor. He proved to be highly efficient around the lab. He treated the equipment with as much regard as one would a respected elder. But even through his expertise, Greg always seemed to have a way of hiding his loneliness in a mass of jokes. He behaved the way he did mostly because he wanted to be liked. Always seeming to be the happy-camper with everything going for him, Greg didn't want others to find out he had a vulnerable side.

Perhaps Nick saw something in the youngster that somewhat reminded him of himself. Maybe Nick knew what it was like to move to a brand new environment, not knowing anyone and forced to build up a life in a place he was not familiar with. He decided that he needed to take him under his wing and protect him as if he were his blood-brother. The teasing was affectionate and somehow, Nick knew that Greg was aware of it. He looked out for Greg. But this time, he failed.

The paramedics loaded Greg into the back of the bus with ease and routine like they had done a million times before. One of the paramedics motioned for Nick to go in before boarding the ambulance himself. The driver slammed the back doors shut and scurried around to the driver's seat.

The ride was bumpy as they sped into the darkness of the night with sirens wailing. Lying on the stretcher with a chest full of old blood and bloodied bandages, Greg remained inert to his surroundings. He was sandwiched between Nick on one side and the paramedic on the other. Nick hung onto his seat as he helplessly watched the paramedic go about his business.

Greg's pulse continued to get weaker. His ashy complexion was partly obscured by the oxygen mask that clung to his face. The neat grey colored t-shirt that Greg wore had been mutilated and stained with dried blood. Greg's chest was covered with an array of tubes and probes along with blood-soaked bandages. Nick turned his attention to the shallow rise and fall of Greg's chest. It seemed like breathing was a difficult task for Greg especially when he drew in air.

Somewhere in the background of the beeping and buzzing of machines, Nick could hear the driver of the ambulance radio the hospital to have a trauma team ready to receive them when they arrive at the ER.

"Greg?" Nick whimpered softly at the unconscious figure lying in front of him. He leaned forward and gently touched the top of Greg's hair. "You're gonna be ok, bro." He whispered. The salty lump balled up in Nick's throat and hot tears blurred his vision.

End of Chapter 1

Author's Note: Thanks for reading!! Hope you get a chance to sign a review.