Rescue, yah! But the angst is far from over, do not worry my friends. So much more angst to come, I can't even wait for it, so here's the next part of ...

Painful Journeys

By Goody

Bodies swarmed around him, organized and doing their job, moving fast, but Brass did not take notice of the SWAT team's activities. His eyes were fixed on Nigel Crane – dead. He would never see a courtroom, never face up to what he had done here, never feel guilt for his crimes – instead he had died relatively quickly at his own hand, throat slashed. Brass was glad he was dead but wasn't sure if this was justice. He was supposed to suffer a punishment of the law's choosing, not what he decided he deserved himself, but then again, since he was mentally unstable he never would have gotten the death penalty anyway so maybe this was better. At least he wouldn't hurt anyone again.

"Let's get him down, now guys, let's go! Where's that medic, he's still losing a lot of blood!"

The shouting drew Brass's attention and he tore his gaze away from the lifeless body of Nigel Crane to watch the progress of the SWAT team members. The rope holding Greg up from the ceiling was cut, his handcuffs were removed and his body was slowly lowered to the floor, one man carefully taking each of his arms trying to prevent further injury to his battered body. Brass stepped forward, breaking out of his brief stupor of shock and relief to take charge of the situation.

"Easy, don't lay him down, there's glass everywhere," he instructed, kneeling down to take the young man's pulse as a SWAT member leaned Greg against his chest, sure to hold his neck and head steady. Brass sighed when he felt the weak heartbeat still pumping through him, but frowned when he looked up and noticed the cop on Greg's left side, holding a bandage over the lab tech's stomach that was quickly turning red. Brass hadn't been able to see the wound from his previous vantage point.

"What is that? Is it bad?" he asked, still struggling to keep his professional tone. The kid looked like shit, bruises everywhere with just as many cuts and abrasions on every inch of skin plus there must have been a broken bone or two somewhere. But what was worst was the blood, it was everywhere; his pants were completely stained with it, not to mention the floor beneath him. Clearly he had been through hell but he was alive and he would stay that way.

"Looks like a stab wound, I don't think it hit anything vital but he's been bleeding out for awhile," the SWAT member answered, indicating the pool of blood at their feet that had dripped from Greg over the last few hours.

Brass nodded and since he didn't really want to look he turned to the doorway as he heard loud, rushed footsteps approaching. If that's Grissom and his crew I'll kill them, he thought. But it was the paramedics, rushing in to do their jobs. They had been forced to wait outside until the house was given the all clear but now they moved quickly, taking in the scene; there were six of them with two pairs hefting a stretcher between them prepared for anything, even this.

"Just these two," Brass instructed, pointing to Nick and Greg, then indicated Crane, "He's gone."

"All right, let's move," the chief medic ordered as they split into two groups and took charge of the victims. God Brass hated that word: victim. Just the connotation was horrible and not something he liked relating to two people he worked with. But that's what they were, victims of a madman's sick delusions and even with Crane dead Nick and Greg would still suffer, if not physically then mentally.

Noting he was in the way Brass stepped back to let the paramedics work, "Give them room guys," he ordered his men and swung his gaze around to check on Nick.

The Texan was no longer handcuffed and was quickly laid out and transferred to a waiting stretcher. The chief medic was cutting away the bandage already covering Nick's shoulder, and they all talked over top of him as they worked.

"Looks like we have a gunshot wound, no exit point, bullet's still in there. Minimal bleeding for now but it's not fresh he's lost a good amount already. Let's start him on antibiotics, reduce risk of infection early and then we'll start a drip."

Brass got closer; Nick was bruised, not as extensively as Greg but he clearly hadn't had an easy time of it either. The bullet wound wasn't pleasant but could have been a lot worse, bruising on his body was sporadic but dark and there was blood on his wrists; he had fought, Brass wasn't surprised. Judging from the somewhat relaxed demeanour of the medics Brass guessed there was little risk of fatality, but it was always better to check.

"How is he?"

The second paramedic looked up, "He needs a blood transfusion and the bullet out of his arm but it doesn't seem to have hit anything too serious. His pulse is good but if his pupils are any indication he's got a concussion, I'd say he's going to be all right eventually though."

"Thanks," Brass replied casually, downplaying his encompassing joy at the news that the CSI may come out of this unscathed, at least physically. Urgent shouting from a few feet away quickly changed his feelings though and the brief joy he had felt turned to ash.

"Let's move, we have to get this guy to a hospital now. We have serious blood loss and his pressure's dropping, thirty over one eighty."

Greg was motionless as he was being strapped onto the stretcher hurriedly, neck braced and railings up, his chest barely expanding, they were moving him out of the room in moments. Brass followed, shouting for the chief medic.

"Hey, is he going to be all right?" Brass shouted, running with them so as not to slow them down.

"We'll know better when we get him to a hospital," the man replied but from the look in Brass's eye he could tell the cop wasn't happy with that answer, so shrugged and continued apologetically, "We'll do our best, he's lost a lot of blood, not to mention all the internal problems he must have judging by these bruises. Right now, I'd have to say it's fifty/fifty."

They had reached the front door of the house, Brass's chest felt uncomfortably tight as he took a final look at the lab tech then nodded, understanding, "Okay, get him out of here."

The medics hadn't even slowed when he stopped and soon they were gone with their patient; he could hear the others coming down the stairs after them, most likely with Nick. At least he was far from critical.

Sighing he stepped outside and began to jog across the street, he had news to break to some worried CSIs.


The SWAT team had gone in a few minutes ago but the CSIs were yet to see or be told anything, and they were all working hard to hide their anxiety.

Catherine paced, arms crossed, Warrick sighed, tapping his foot impatiently, Sara ran her hands through her hair, trying not to scream in frustration, Grissom just watched the horizon, stoic.

They had moved closer than they were supposed to when the SWAT team went in, but they still kept their distance from the house, having not gotten the all clear yet. Each of them were worried and anxious but they waited and hated it. They could see nothing in the house's windows, all the activity seemed to be centered in rooms not facing the road, and they could only hear a muffled word or two of the loudest shouts coming from inside. Their hearts had leapt into their throats and they all moved even closer when they saw the paramedics had been sent in. The medics were good, it meant someone was alive to be cared for.

Minutes passed and still they were told nothing.

"Come on, what's going on in there?" Catherine mumbled irritably, needing answers as they all did.

Then they saw the paramedics come back out, working furiously on whoever was strapped to their stretcher, but they couldn't see who it was due to the neck brace and people in the way. It would have taken an act of God to keep them on the sidelines then.

As one they sprinted across the street towards the house, desperate to know what had happened, to find the fate of their friends but before they got there Brass intercepted them, keeping them from their goal.

"Wait, you can't go in yet," he said, already sounding tired.

"Brass, what's going on, who is that?" Grissom asked, indicating the stretcher being pushed towards the medi-vac chopper.

"Where are Nick and Greg?" Sara added before he answered.

Brass held up his hands to stop their questions, "Nick and Greg are alive, we got them, that's them on the stretchers. Crane's dead, looks like suicide."

"Are they okay?" Catherine asked, not having to elaborate who 'they' were.

Brass looked away first before replying, trying to sound positive, but he was never known for being comforting, "They think Nick's going to be all right, there's nothing too serious except a shoulder wound, but Greg … he …"

"What?" Warrick demanded. Brass decided not to sugarcoat it, knowing the CSIs would see right through him.

"They said it's fifty/fifty. He's been bleeding out awhile and there may be internal injuries, we're flying him out now, Nick'll be in the ambulance," he said, finally allowing some of his emotions to show in front of the only people that were as worried as he was.

"Oh God," Catherine mumbled, pacing again, unable to stand still. "So, he might not make it?"

"That's what they tell me," Brass said apologetically, both for delivering the news and not having more information. Catherine seemed to crumble a bit more as the others remained in a state of overwhelmed shock.

"Can we go with them?" Grissom asked, eyes drawn to the house once more as Nick was gurneyed out.

"Just one with each," Brass replied, knowing there was only so much room.

Grissom nodded and looked at his team, unhesitant with his decisions, "Catherine, go with Greg, Warrick, you got Nick. Keep us posted on how they are."

"Sure thing," Warrick promised, jogging away to catch up with Nick's stretcher.

"Thanks Gil," Catherine said before she went after Greg, only barely making it into the chopper before it lifted off.

Grissom watched them both leave and then turned to Sara, "How are you doing?"

"I'm good," Sara replied automatically, not about to bring up the mental drain this was having on her or her desire to be with their friends when they woke up or sit with them as they recovered, but she understood why Gil had chosen Catherine and Warrick to leave.

"You feel like processing?"

She was tough, she could still function amidst this chaos and push aside her emotions until she had time to deal with them, "Yeah, let's go." And she really wanted to see Nigel Crane dead for herself.

"Get your kit, we'll make it fast and then go to the hospital, it'll be hours before we're allowed to see them anyway, might as well keep busy," Grissom said, sounding casual, as if that were the real reason he was willing to process such a personal case. He was convincing too, few would have realized that he just couldn't stand the waiting at the hospital, the uncertainty and powerlessness, and all that time to brood and ponder his emotions not to mention be plagued with endless 'what if' scenarios. It would be too hard, all that time to contemplate what he could have done differently, nothing to do but think of his own emotions, his worries and fears and have them escalate and grow. No, this job, the detached way he looked at crime scenes, was much easier and he welcomed it.

He looked at Brass who didn't appear to be going anywhere either; another man who avoided the complexities of his own feelings.

"Top floor?" Grissom asked and Brass nodded.

Sara had her kit and was back in a moment. Silently she and Grissom entered the house, Brass not far behind. They reached the top of the stairs and took a deep breath before continuing, believing they were prepared for anything. They may have been wrong.


Catherine could see the Medi-vac helicopter getting ready for take off and ran faster than she had in years to catch it. The paramedics inside were too busy working on Greg to notice her trying to make it there in time and they were rather startled when she suddenly latched on to the railing and pulled herself inside.

"Who are you?" the first medic asked, surprised.

She took out her badge as she struggled to see around the man and get a glimpse of Greg, "Catherine Willows, Crime Scene Investigator."

The man rolled his eyes, incredulous, "Look, I know you guys like collecting your evidence as fast as possible but we're trying to keep this guy alive so if you could wait until later to gather your samples …"

"No, that's not it. He's a friend, I work with him, I'll stay out of the way, I promise, I just have to be here," Catherine said earnestly. The medic could tell it was true and that she was honestly concerned, he indicated a seat she could take close to Greg's head but out of their way.

"Thank you," she said sincerely and moved to sit down but stopped when she got her first real glimpse of the young CSI in training. "Oh god, Greg."

He looked far worse than she had ever seen him, even after the lab explosion. Whereas then his face had been covered only in smoke residue, this time there were small abrasions on his face and arms, with larger ones near his stomach, seemingly inflicted more exactly than the others. Bruising was extensive to say the least, there were few parts of his body that weren't a purplish brown, especially his face and chest, and Catherine understood what Brass had meant by possible internal injuries, she didn't see how he couldn't have damage internally. Clearly he had suffered; she thought he looked like pain.

She was so stunned by his appearance that she had to be led to her seat by one of the paramedics.

"How's he doing?" she asked on reflex; she thought her voice sound automatic, unfeeling despite the wealth of emotions shifting through her.

The man that answered didn't look up as he worked, "He's lost a lot of blood and who knows what's happening internally. He has a few broken ribs but his breathing sounds good so it's not likely he punctured a lung. There's also some severe head trauma. We'll do our best his chances aren't good."

A female medic saw the harrowing effect this had on Catherine when she dropped her head into her hands and wanted to distract her somehow.

"What's his name?" she asked.

"Greg, Greg Sanders, why?" Catherine responded.

The medic smiled, appearing reassuring, "It's good to know in case he wakes up and we have to talk to him. Talking helps sometimes."

Catherine nodded, understanding then turned from the woman and reached out to stroke Greg's blood matted hair, trying to hold back her tears at the thought of what had been done to him.

"Hey Greg, it's Catherine, we found you kid. You just hold on all right. That son of a bitch Crane is dead, he won't hurt anyone again. You're safe now, Nick too, so just stick in there, don't let go on us," she whispered this as she continued to stroke his hair, it was supposed to be a comforting gesture but all she saw when she looked at him was pain and nothing could change that. Bruises and wounds like these didn't just happen quickly, it indicated hours of torture, of pain that never should have happened. Her emotional barriers broke down at the injustice of it, the cruelty. He was so young, he didn't deserve the horrible things that kept happening to him. Her hands began to shake as tears slipped down her cheek and she leaned forward, oblivious of the medics, to kiss him lightly on the forehead. "You're safe now … you're safe, I promise."

The paramedics continued working, accustomed to concerned friends and family speaking to their patients, they didn't mind as long as they stayed out of the way.

"How's that drip coming?" the chief medic asked.

"It's in, how's the bleeding?" the woman asked.

The chief removed the bandage he had over the stab wound and checked, "Slow, but only because he's lost so much. HB's still too low, he's in shock. Get a mask on him."

Catherine watched as they did all this, put on the oxygen mask, inserted the IV, and attached the monitors, all with a detached interest, as though all of it was so common, it happened every day and it didn't mean anything. It didn't mean Greg was in serious condition, it didn't mean he was barely hanging on, it didn't mean they could lose him because of the delusions of some psychopath. It was just procedure she thought, they do it for everyone, he'll be fine, he always bounces back. She actually smiled when she realized she had thought that because she remembered when she had met Greg when he first started, his enthusiasm and energy had forced her to comment on his likeness to Tigger, always bouncing around. The thought encouraged her, yes, Greg would bounce back, and play his music, and crack his horrible jokes, and earn the CSI certification he was working so hard to get because that would be fair, that would be right. That was what had to happen, all other possibilities were not to be conceived.

"Pressure's dropping."

Harsh reality had a way of easily destroying Catherine's wishful imaginings as things in the helicopter suddenly became hectic.

The consistent beeps that had filled the cabin for the past few minutes slowed and then abruptly disappeared to be replaced with a horrifying, steady wail. Beside her, the female paramedic said the most horrible words imaginable:

"He's flatlined."

Catherine prayed.


Warrick sighed; he was getting really tired of riding with Nick to the hospital. Technically this was only the second time, but it was still two times too many, especially since both occasions were caused by that sick bastard, Nigel Crane. Trying to focus elsewhere for a moment, Warrick looked out the back window, watching the desert pass by them, but as always his gaze eventually settled on Nick, beyond thankful his friend was alive, but astronomically angry about the state they had found him in.

He watched the paramedics treat the injuries as best they could. The bruises were extensive, stretching across his face, chest and arms, but there was nothing to be done about those, the bullet wound had been cleaned and bandaged, and an IV drip of antibiotics was started, which was about all they could do before they got to the hospital where the bullet could be removed, and then there was the true sign of Nick's imprisonment, his wrists. One medic was cleaning and bandaging them now, it almost looked like a poor suicide attempt. Clearly Nick had been handcuffed for some time and judging by the cuts and blood on his wrists he had definitely fought back, which didn't surprise Warrick, he knew his friend wouldn't go down without a fight, but was thankful the cuts weren't deep and no arteries had been hit. He asked the medic and he had said there would be no scars. That was important, scars were reminders and he knew Nick wouldn't need those.

"You're sure he's going to be all right?" Warrick asked for what he knew was at least the third time.

"Yes sir, none of his injuries are severe; I don't see why there would be any problems in his recovery, I don't even think all this blood is his," the medic remarked. It had been meant to be reassuring but Warrick was not comforted; if the blood wasn't Nick's he knew the only other person's it could be and it wasn't something he wanted to think about.

Seeing Nick so beat up, so weak, was very hard though, and Warrick cringed just thinking about what he and Greg must have gone through to end up like this. It must have been Hell, pure and simple. He felt his anger rise as he looked at his friend; broken. It wasn't right, Nick didn't deserve this. He was a good guy, he treated everyone with respect, he worked hard and people loved him; it was sick that it was those very attributes which drew Nigel Crane to Nick in the first place, which made the stalker idolize him and caused Nick to be the victim of Crane's delusions. Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but Warrick knew it was something Nick could have lived without from Nigel Crane.

As they made their way to the hospital Warrick was lost in thought, but not so much that he didn't notice as Nick's head began to lull and his eyes started to flicker. He was on his feet in a second, practically pushing the paramedic out of the way to get to Nick's side.

"Nick, can you hear me? You there man?" he asked intensely, gripping Nick's good shoulder to draw his attention if he was about to regain consciousness.

"Take it slow with him if he does wake up, he's going to be disoriented," the medic warned but did not dissuade him from talking to him. Warrick gave a barely detectable nod, not looking away as he saw Nick's eyes start to open.

His eyes were glazed and he was clearly confused, but Warrick still couldn't keep the smile from his face as Nick woke up, another wonderful reminder that he was indeed very much alive.

"Hey man, good to see you. It's Warrick, it's okay, we're in an ambulance, you're safe, you're gonna be fine," he said, sounding assuring and believing it. Nick nodded, mostly indicating he understood where he was, and opened his mouth to speak but his throat was so dry it turned into a coughing fit, and his face creased with pain as he was reminded of his injuries.

Warrick took a water bottle offered by a paramedic and gave Nick a drink, "Here man, take it easy."

Nick drank just enough to wet his mouth and throat, the water seemed to rejuvenate him, and his eyes were less clouded but heavyset with worry as he was finally able to ask, "Greg?"

Warrick's stomach clenched and he looked away for a moment, preparing his answer and hoping Nick was still disoriented enough not to notice his hesitation.

"We got him, he's all right. They flew him out in the chopper, you know how impatient he is, couldn't wait for the ambulance, you can see him when we get to the hospital," Warrick promised, fervently hoping he was not lying. He did not forget what Brass had said – a fifty/fifty chance – but he desperately tried not to dwell on it. It was an impossible future in his eyes, far removed from reality. Greg couldn't die, the doctors were wrong he convinced himself because if he did the ramifications would destroy everything, their team, their work – everything. So he didn't think about, did not let himself imagine the worst case scenario, instead he kept his focus on Nick, it was him who needed him now though he sent out prayers for Greg's recovery and well being.

Nick had not noticed Warrick's hesitation though, or his fear, he had heard only that Greg was alive. His sigh of relief at the words sounded like it came from the depth of his heart, it was deep and seemed to expel all the tension from his body, deflating him and smoothing the lines of worry on his face, "Thank god, oh Jesus, thank god. I thought he was dead. I thought that bastard killed him."

This Nick had said to himself, revelling in his own peace of mind, but Warrick still felt the urge to reply, "Yeah, he's alive. You did good Nick, we never would have found you if you hadn't made that call to Grissom. But we got there in time, Greg's a fighter, he stuck in there."

A sad laugh escaped Nick's throat.

"You have no idea," he said, his voice tinged with sadness but also a good dose of pride.

Knowing Greg was alive and safe had dispelled the last of the soul encompassing fear and tension that had plagued Nick throughout this entire ordeal. He suddenly found that it was replaced by a profound sense of relief and joy but also by an overwhelming urge to rest and allow his wounds, of body and mind to heal. Warrick saw his eyes were getting heavy again but had to tell him one last thing before he fell asleep.

"Nick man, I don't know if you were awake or not when it happened, but Nigel Crane's dead too, he won't be back again. He killed himself."

There was no sign of surprise or further relief in Nick's eyes as they drifted shut as this news was delivered and it was clear to Warrick that Nick had already known Crane was dead. Yet he still shook his head once, as if in denial of the fact and started to speak. Warrick leaned closer as Nick whispered his last words before falling back to unconsciousness.

"No … Crane … didn't kill himself."

He took in a deep breath, enjoying the sensation of his chest expanding with wonderful oxygen and no longer being constricted by his own fear or pain. There were no knots of tension in his stomach, no mind numbing terror that a madman was about to attack him or his best friend. There was just safety and comfort, it was over and he was so tired.

"I did."

Sleep overtook him, and Warrick sat stunned.

TBC

I love cliffhangers, well, writing them at least. Hope I was able to shock a few of you and for those wondering if we find out what happens in the room, the answer is a big yes. It's coming next chapter which I'm sure most of you will stick around for. On to personal replies:

Silent Bob(ette) – Laughed so hard at your reaction, I could picture it clearly, very funny. Oh, my own junkie, I think I will make you give me your car before you get the next chappy then. j/k. Thanks for the wonderfully long review, and I also think Greg should have gotten hurt somehow in the ghetto, but I'm mostly just glad he was in the eppy so much.

Jenben – lol, I skip beginning chapters all the time, I don't blame you in the least, I find it happens a lot in the LotR fics I read so don't worry about it. They'll be lots of comfort coming up too, so just don't skip over it.

iHUGtrees – My ideas? Mostly at night, when I'm trying to sleep I picture visions of h/c in my head and plot points develop as I ponder – this usually makes me not able to sleep for awhile because I have to keep getting up and writing down the ideas, but it's worth it.

Aurora – Yeah, I never saw it, but the episode transcript was really detailed and I checked out the screencaps. I'm glad I have seen it now though, there's nothing better than the real thing angst-wise.

LXG-Gurl121 – Oh yes, what happened in the room will definitely be revealed, but I must leave you guessing for at least a chapter or two to make it interesting. Lab explosion, such a great ep, but could have used a little more concern for our poor little Greggo, though him in a hospital bed, great!

BabyAlyx96 – Thank you for that … astonished sounding review. Made me smile.

Felina-Feral – Nigel's death will be revealed shortly, but one must be patient. As for Pain of Love, wow, haven't thought about that fic in awhile. Unfortunately I'm horrible for starting and not finishing my fics and Pain of Love is actually quite far down my list of ones to finish up so I really can't see it happening unless I somehow can make a living off writing fanfiction in the near future. (that would be sooo cool) Sorry.

Jackie – yep, Nigel's death will not remain a secret for long. But all the CSIs will have to share in the telling of it, just to build the angst.

Kenzimone – lolololol, convenient take anywhere medieval torture devices, that's great. Us angst lovers would be in heaven, you're right. And yes, lots more angst to come. If there's no angst, what's the point?

Djembe – Oh, I wouldn't dream of jumping right to the hospital, and lose all the dramatic tension of the waiting and the sitting by the bedside and the medics working, so much to write about. So no worries, as you saw, the time lapse elves have no power on my muse, it is immune. And no, you didn't miss the point, the scene was left out to leave you guessing but I'll be telling that part next chapter I think, I'm just spreading the angst out as much as possible. Thank you for your great reviews though, always a joy to read.

Mellaithwen – Oh, it was season five episode, No Humans Involved, I think it was called. It was great cause Greg was in the field and he discovered the body and there was a shootout (but no one was hurt except gang members) and it made Greg kind of scared of the ghetto, but he also had this great part where he talked about how he doesn't carry a gun cause it's for cops and overall a lot of great Greg moments. Thoroughly enjoyable, him as a CSI is spectacular, he gets a lot more screen time.

My thanks to Elf fanatic lark, bree1387,HyperactiveForever, whiterose01, dee, cupotrover, lamako, higherbeingfriendsfan, sillie, SLynn, and Kristen999 for your great reviews as well. You are each getting an extra gift from Santa, I'll wrote him and told him so.

Sadly I will not have a computer when I go home later this week (I leave it in my dorm room and can't lug it back with me) so I won't be doing any writing until I get back from Christmas break. Sorry about the cliffie, but it'll give you time to ponder what will happen I guess. Thank you all for your interest thus far and I will try to get something out as soon as I get back home on the 3rd. Happy Holidays, Goody.