Okay, super long chapter, it's late, I'm tired, and I wrote an individual thank you to all my reviewers, saved it on a disk and now the disk won't open them, so I'm very sorry, and very appreciative of all my reviewers, but I simply don't have the strength to write them again, it takes a good forty minutes and I have to get to bed. But enjoy the long chapter of

What It's Worth

By Goody

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.

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.

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.

TBC

I'm gonna get shot! I'm sorry, I love you! I have a problem, I'm addicted to cliff hangers, I need help!

Once again, I'm sorry to my reviewers for not having the individual thanks, the damn disk won't open and I simply have to get to bed, so it's either no thank you's, or no chapter, I could guess which you guys would prefer.

Sorry if the medical stuff isn't as accurate as last chapter's, it's hard to find info on individual cases so it's mostly made up, but I do watch ER.

Anyway, I'm off to bed, hope my cliffie isn't too lethal. Happy Thanksgiving, later days, Goody.