Author's note: Nothing intellectual or well thought out about this. No explanations given.I needed some Greg angst and I thought I'd use Nick and Warrick to get it. I haven't seen much friendship interaction between these three in fics even though it's on the show. I was inspired by the concern that's all over Warrick's face in the hospital scene in Play With Fire. Whatever happened just before that scene would make a good fic or two if you ask me. This story may not make sense but it's all in the name of Greg angst :o)
Feedback welcome. Curious to know your take on the writing style.
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, time, place, or character.
Summary:People say the third times the charm. Will Nick and Warrick findwhat they're looking for?One shot/Friendship piece
Rating: T/PG-13
Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: none. No slash. Friendship piece.
Spoilers: Play with Fire (mentioned)
Title: The Third Time
By: lookaway618
This was the third lead they had, the third place they'd check.
People always say the third times the charm….
They didn't have time to wait for the police…or maybe they just didn't have the patience.
Warrick Brown's arms were tense as he held his gun in front of him, fanning around, his eyes darting back and forth searching for any movement, any shadow, any sign of life.
He took the stairs carefully, coming down side-ways so his gun could level with anyone that might be waiting beneath. Placing one foot in front of the other he slowly made his way down the dark stairs to the basement.
He could hear Nick Stoke's footfalls above him as he cleared the first floor.
Warrick's senses suddenly heightened as he ended his decent and followed the length of hallway.
Three doors to choose from, one on each side and the other in front of him. He inched his way down the hall frustratingly wanting to hurry but still aware of the precautions to take. The door to his right was wide open, the room empty, save for a lounge chair and a small television on a stand. "Clear." He whispered to himself as he took a breath…on to door number two.
The door across the hall was slightly ajar, Warrick pushed it the rest of the way open with his foot, his gun ready in his hand. A cockroach scrambled across the tiled floor hiding beneath the rotten molding under the sink. Warrick's eyes strained to see the remnants of the bathroom. The curtain around the tub lay open giving him leave of having to investigate the rank space further. No bodies evident. Clear again. He backed away turning his attention to the last door, the door at the end of the hallway.
The third times the charm.
He approached the door and noted a smear of blood on the handle. He'd sample it later. Careful of the smear, the door opened easily. He pushed the door aside quickly and squinted into the dark space. This room was different. The floor was gray, cold, unfinished. A small window near the ceiling let in an inch of light through a hole in the black garbage bag that had been draped over it. Warrick shivered as he stepped in further, arms still extended, gun still at the ready.
The room was cold and he wasn't alone.
He could feel it.
He could hear the ragged breathing.
He stood still for a moment feeling the distance, focusing his judgment for an accurate shot. He spun around fast, gun aimed, ready to fire.
Only his finger slipped from the trigger as his mind registered the figure in front of him.
Nick was nearly finished with his floor. He'd just cleared the bedroom and was heading toward the master bath with his gun still drawn.
The tension in the house was thick. It seemed abandoned yet in some places showed recent signs of life. If this was the right place, if this is where their search would end then he could already see plenty of evidence that might serve useful, but for now he would walk on, he would pass it up to first find exactly what he was here for.
He kicked in the bathroom door. It was empty, filthy, but empty. He turned to leave but stopped, noticing a Polaroid face down on the floor. He bent at the waist and picked it up with gloved fingers. Anger traced the lines of his face at the image in front of him.
"Nick!" He jumped a little, but hesitated. "Nick, I need you down here now!" He could hear the urgency in his voice. He'd have to leave it. There would be prints and he didn't have a bag. He placed the picture back where he'd found it and headed for the stairs. He took the steps down cautiously, gun in his hand.
"Warrick?" The hallway was dark, "Back here."
Nick followed the voice and found the end of his tunnel and came through the door to find his partner kneeling on the floor next to a motionless figure.
"I tried calling it in, man, but the radio's not working down here."
Nick barely heard him.
Even in the dark he knew what he was seeing. He'd just seen it in the Polaroid upstairs.
He breathed in deeply as he holstered his gun and knelt on the other side of Greg Sanders.
The small light from the window revealed little and Warrick shown his flashlight over the limp form of their friend.
"Jesus." Nick whispered as he saw in person what he'd witnessed in the photo. "What did they do to him?"
Greg lay on his side, his arms pulled back behind him. A black cloth tied around his head covered his eyes, but failed to cover a line of blood running from his temple. His shirt was gone exposing chilled skin on his back that was blotted with deep bruising and scrapes. The beam from the flashlight swept over Greg's back illuminating the ugly white scars left from the lab explosion, which now stood out ghostly on the discolored skin. Warrick grunted and kept the beam moving.
It was the first time either man had seen the actual reminders of the incident that had changed Greg so drastically. There was no doubt that after today there would be more changes to come.
Nick couldn't stand it, he reached for the blindfold, but Warrick's hand stopped him. "Wait."
Nick's face showed his confusion, anger almost.
"Warrick, he's…"
"Pictures, man. This is a crime scene." It sounded so harsh but Nick could see the grief in his eyes even as he said it. Nick understood, but was torn. He turned back to Greg. It had to be done. He looked awful. Pictures would help the case. Help put away whoever did this.
"God damn it."
His head fell, turning away as he placed a fist on his forehead. "Hurry the hell up."
Nick scooted away as Warrick stood and shot several photos. He was as quick as he could be. Maybe some dignity could be saved. He nodded.
Nick was back beside him again in a second…
"Greg?"
…pulling off the blindfold gently, revealing a horrible bruise and a large cut over an eyebrow.
"Jesus," a curse or a prayer.
Warrick took a knee and put a hand under Greg's face and tried to wake him.
"Greg. Hey Greggo. Wake up for me, man."
He lifted the limp head a little and they heard a faint groan as Greg began to stir.
"Come on Greg."
Nick watched as eyelids fluttered weakly and then blinked and closed again over rolling orbs.
"Come on," he whispered.
Eyes blinked again a couple of times and finally stayed open and seemed to focus on Warrick.
"Hey man." Warrick's voice sounded husky. Did he have tears to hide?
Greg's eyes closed again and he swallowed. "Hey," he whispered, barely above a breath.
Nick smiled as he choked back his own tears. "We found you man. We got you."
Greg swallowed again and tried to open his eyes. "Nick?"
Nick scooted closer into Greg's line of sight. "Yeah man. I'm right here."
Greg was trying desperately to speak. "Did… you get…him?" He was shivering.
Nick's eyes met Warrick's over Greg, sharing the same regret. They hadn't. Hadn't even seen him. There was plenty of evidence around them though. They'd get him.
"No. Not yet. We got you Greg."
Greg seemed to sigh and then breathed in heavy breaths before his eyes squeezed down hard and a small moan escaped his dry lips as he fought to ride a sudden wave of pain.
"Easy man." Warrick laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and Greg suddenly struggled to move. Warrick tried the radio again. "Damn it! I can't get a signal."
Nick pulled his knife and went to the ropes that bound Greg's wrists, but a loud groan and a flinch under his hand stopped him and Warrick bent down low to hear the ragged whisper.
"Broken," he gasped.
"What's broken Greg?"
Greg swallowed hard and fought to breathe. His eyelids lifted slowly and he focused on the paleness of Warrick's eyes.
"...broke my arm…the wrist," he breathed.
"We'll be careful."
Warrick turned his attention to Greg's bound wrists and saw immediately that both seemed badly damaged from the ropes but he noted the more severe bruising and exaggerated swelling of the left one.
"Watch that left one."
He gestured for Nick to continue as he used both hands to gently hold the wounded arm as steady as he could as Nick again went to cut through the coarse fibers.
Greg bit his lip as his arm was jostled, even as his body complained of it's previous mistreatment, and he could hear Warrick talking low and soothing in his ear though he couldn't quite make out the words.
The knife finally jerked through the last of the strands and Warrick gently lifted the left arm and Nick placed his hands on Greg's back and shoulder and gently turned him over. They released his trapped right arm from underneath him and both shared a look of concern as Greg groaned and bit off a cry of pain and they tried to settle him again.
Nick cradled him in his arms as he trembled. He could feel the cold and pain radiating from him. He carefully shrugged out of his jacket and brought it around the young CSI before pulling him closer to him to warm him if not calm him as well.
"We've got to get him out of here…get the police here. Paramedics won't come near this place until cops are on site."
Greg lay trembling in Nick's arms shivering uncontrollably and looking to Warrick who put a hand on top of Greg's shaking one and squeezed gently.
Assurance once more…the third times the charm…
"We've got you, man."
Then he pulled his radio and tried once again for the police…
… the third time...