Disclaimer: I wished upon a star again; I asked it to give me two billion dollars so I could buy CSI from Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS. Again, the stupid star didn't do anything.
A million thanks to my partner in crime (beta) Stromchilde!
Day One - Let the Games Begin
His abrupt return to consciousness didn't surprise him for long, especially once he realized the pain he was feeling. His body stung and smarted from head to toe and his torso was on fire. His head pounded, his limbs felt like someone had pumped lead into them as he slept and to top it all off, he was really thirsty. Talk about feeling like crap.
Slowly he opened his eyes, hoping to at least find out where he was. He quickly closed them with a slight groan, as painfully bright light hit them, making his headache sharpen.
"Greg?" Catherine's voice, quiet and gentle, seemed to travel to his brain slowly.
He opened his eyes again, squinting until his eyes adjusted to the light which he found really wasn't all too bright. He saw that Catherine was watching him with a slightly worried look on her face from her chair, which she had rolled close to the couch he was lying on. Nick, Warrick, Sara and Deirdre were asleep in various places - mostly on the floor, some leaning up against various objects around the room. Brent and his pals must have taken him to the break room, he realized.
"How are you feeling?" Catherine asked, leaning forward from her seat beside him. She placed a hand on his forehead, taking his temperature like his mother used to do when he was little.
"Do you have any Tylenol?" Greg asked as a reply, his voice scratchy.
Catherine noticed this. She quickly went to the sink and filled a mug with water. "Nope, sorry," She answered quietly, helping him sit up and draping a jacket over his shoulders, then handing him the mug.
"Thanks," he mumbled, finishing the water in one gulp. "Where's Grissom?" As soon as the question left his mouth he realized that it was a stupid thing to ask. If the night shirt supervisor had been taken like he had, Catherine would have no more of an idea than he did.
Catherine shrugged. "Two guys - Paul and someone else - just came in here a while ago and took him." She replied, taking the mug from him and filling it again.
Greg nodded to his lap, unbelievably tired even though he had just woken up. "So what's been going on?"
Catherine filled him in on what he didn't know, which wasn't really much before insisting that she check if the wounds on his chest were getting infected.
Too tired to argue much, Greg complied, lying back down and letting her remove the remains that was once his favourite shirt. The cuts were appalling, making Greg wonder how he could have even put up with such torture without going insane but the blond CSI told him that it would be best if they left the makeshift bandages off to left them heal faster.
After hearing Catherine say that, and seeing the bruised and torn mess himself, Greg decided to wear Nick's coat zipped up. Having a cold at a time like this would be the last thing he wanted, after all. An argument followed this decision, only stopping when the sound of their semi-quiet voices awoke Nick.
The Texan looked around at his surroundings, obviously somewhat confused before seeing the others and recalling what had happened. "Hey, Greggo," he said groggily when he caught sight of Greg with his jacket zipped to the neck. "How're you feeling?"
Greg gave a slight half shrug then winced slightly. "Like I ate whole porcupine for dinner." He replied after a minute's thought.
Over the next few hours the rest other the team woke up, each asking Greg how he felt when they saw him sitting on the couch. More often than not he had a cup of water in his hands - Catherine had insisted that he keep drinking so that his body could replace that blood he had lost without causing him to become dehydrated. Greg had argued by telling her that if he kept drinking so much he'd end up with too few electrolytes but his statement went unheard.
When Deirdre woke she was furious with Catherine that the older woman hadn't told her that Greg was awake and Sara acted in a similar manner. It had seemed that the only way they had agreed to go to sleep was if Catherine told them if anything happened. Deirdre was the last to get up and they talked quietly for more than an hour until two men that none of them knew by name but Sara knew by sight came in and grabbed the tall brunette.
She didn't resist, just glanced at each one of them briefly as they guided her from the room. Like the rest of them she had realized that at this point, when they didn't know the entire situation and what was going on outside the lab, to fight against their captors was useless.
Eight hours later, Deirdre gently woke Greg up. Grissom had returned now sporting a black eye and multiple bruises. The look on his usually somewhat apathetic face told Greg that something was seriously wrong; the supervisor looked particularly pale.
"What's wrong, Griss?" Warrick finally asked, worry written all over his face.
Grissom sat down glancing at the team before speaking up. "There are 10 people who have taken us and the rest of the lab hostage. Most of them are convicts, charged for multiple murders if I remember correctly. I testified against all of them and they were convicted because of the evidence gathered here."
"I don't remember..." Catherine began, but was interrupted.
"You wouldn't," said Grissom. "They were all tried about a year before you became a CSI."
"Talk about holding a grudge." Greg muttered. No one laughed but he hadn't really expected them to.
"So these people've done this... for revenge?" Deirdre asked, incredulous.
Grissom nodded, his eyes downcast which made Greg suspect there was an 'and' involved.
" What else?" Catherine asked, she had gotten up off of her seat when Grissom came in and was still standing, looking extremely concerned and trying not to pace as she watched him. She scrutinized him for a moment then got him a cup of water. That seemed to be her favourite cure right now.
Grissom accepted the offered mug. He didn't look up as he spoke. "They killed Sara and Hodges."
Captain Jim Brass briskly walked into the Las Vegas Police Department his face grim and his stride furious. The place had been hectic ever since they discovered that ten suspects had taken control of the crime lab about 16 hours ago. All officers were now on duty, the sheriff was talking to the mayor and negotiators and SWAT were being called in. Adding to the chaos; the press was almost breaking the front door down trying to get an interview.
Sitting down at his desk, Brass picked up one of the folders about the hostage situation showing background information on one of the hostages. He dropped the folder, knowing that if he opened it, he would forget that he was pretending he didn't know them and that they were just another set of people he had to find some way to rescue. He ran a nervous hand over his short, thinning hair as he picked up another folder, reading the situation, which little was known about since they couldn't get any footage about it. The only information they had so far was from Caroline.
To her luck, the receptionist was taking a personal call on her cell phone when the suspects entered the crime lab. She had gone outside to avoid the echoing sounds of Bobby's work. The ten suspects hadn't noticed her. Too intent on their goal, Brass guessed.
Caroline hadn't been able to identify anyone because of the masks on their faces but Brass was still hopeful. The intruders would all eventually take their masks off and if any of the officers now stationed around the crime lab could get a glimpse, they would get an idea of what they were dealing with.
Caroline had told them that there were nine males and one female in the group. All of them were tall - with the exception of the woman - and that all had somehow managed to get a hold of various guns. According to the report, Caroline had also mentioned that the one who appeared to be the leader looked vaguely familiar to her somehow and had greying black hair with what looked to be a tattoo at the base of his neck. The databases were being checked for people who matched these vague descriptions but he knew that that wouldn't be much help.
He quickly finished reading the report and decided that he wanted to talk to Caroline himself. After finding out that she was still in the interrogation room, apparently understanding that using the room was just a formality and wanting to help her co-workers as much as possible, he grabbed two mugs of coffee and entered the room.
"Caroline," he began softly, sitting down and placing one of the mugs before her. The blond looked up at him and gave him a quivering smile as thanks. "I know you've already answered questions," Brass continued, "but there are some other things that I want to know."
Caroline nodded, sipping her coffee.
"Did you see how the suspects arrived?" Brass asked, switching on the recorder.
The receptionist nodded again. "They came in two cars, SUVs, parked on the other side of the road. One's grey and the other's metallic blue or green."
"And how exactly did they come in? Did they try to appear inconspicuous or did they just barge into the lab without a care who saw them?"
"They just sort of ran in. The guy at the front was yelling at them to make sure that no one had guns on them. The woman was at the back and she shot an officer who was pulling into the parking lot. They didn't seem to care that he had seen them, they just seemed really mad. One of them had this grin on his face though, like he was some football player about to tackle a guy who stole his girlfriend from him or something."
"And you didn't get to see their faces or notice anything unique about any of them?"
She shook her head. "I already told the sheriff everything I can remember about them."
"Could you tell what types of guns they had with them?"
"The woman had a .22 rifle, at least it looked like a .22. Umm... a few of them had 9mms, I don't know what the others are though." She took another sip of coffee and sniffled.
Brass asked her a few more questions but was soon interrupted by a knock on the door. He sighed; he had made it clear to multiple people that interrogations shouldn't be interrupted. Brass stood up and answered it. On the other side of the door stood one of the newer officers, looking somewhat hesitant.
"There's a woman in your office demanding to see you, Captain Brass." he said. "She says that she's related to Greg Sanders and refuses to leave until she gets answers."
Brass sighed in exasperation. "Can't you get her to talk to someone else?"
The younger man shook his head and told him promptly, "She said that she would speak only to you."
Reluctantly he turned back to Caroline. "Do you mind if we wrap this up later?" He asked her, already stepping back to let her precede him through the door.
"You know where to find me," she said, standing up and leaving.
Frowning, the police captain walked back to his office where which he found a woman who looked so much like the DNA tech that they had to have been fraternal twins. She was sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk and drumming her fingers on her crossed legs, looking no less than furious.
"May I help you?" He asked her politely, closing the door behind himself and sitting down.
"If you couldn't than I wouldn't have asked to speak with you." she snapped. She closed her eyes for a moment then took a deep breath, obviously trying to control herself. "My name is Andrea Sanders. My brother - I'm sure you can guess who he is - speaks very highly of you and I trust his opinions, thus I trust that you will answer my questions. I want to know what the hell is going on and what the hell those bastards who took control of your crime lab are doing to my little brother."
This took Brass by surprise slightly. "Little? I thought you would be Greg's twin."
"Okay, he's about five minutes younger than me, whatever." Andrea rolled he eyes. "Just tell me what is going on."
"You do realize that most of the information is classified." Brass leaned forward in his chair and placed his elbows on his desk. "So the details I can give you are sparse -"
"Then it's rather lucky that I'm a lawyer." She snapped in reply, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I know my rights and being Greg's emergency contact, I should have been told about this situation as soon as it occurred instead of having to hear it on the news. This also means that I should be able to find out everything you know about the case."
Brass hesitated over Greg's file, not wanting to open it, but having to check if the information given to him was right. Finally, he did and sure enough, right under the heading 'Emergency Contacts' was Andrea's name, address and home and cell phone numbers.
"You never checked his file?" Andrea was starring at him, incredulous. Then suddenly, she was standing up and yelling at him. "HOW CAN YOU NOT CHECK HIS FILE? I'M ON HIS CONTACTS FOR A REASON AND THAT REASON IS BECAUSE I WANT TO KNOW IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO HIM!" She took a breath and Brass took advantage of her temporary silence.
"Ms. Sanders," he said, trying to calm the obviously somewhat distraught woman before him. " Please understand what it's like for this entire department for something like this to happen. We all have friends in the crime lab, we have officers trapped in there in the same position Greg is in. The officers who are watching the lab are currently in an unimaginable amount of danger..."
Andrea sniffled and sat back down. Her worried, anxious anger had apparently been spent. "Of-of course, Captain Brass, I'm sorry. It's just, this really isn't easy for me to realize that I may never see Greg again... " She sniffled again and wiped her eyes brusquely before looking at him again. "May I ask what the situation is?"
Greg felt like he had been punched in the gut and he could tell from the wide eyed looks the others were giving Grissom that everyone else felt the same way. The room was frozen with a shocked and horrified silence before Deirdre finally spoke up.
"Dead?" She repeated the word weakly. Everyone knew that she felt more comfortable with them in eight months than she did with the crime lab she worked with in Eugene, Oregon, for nearly five years. Deirdre was especially close to Sara, almost sisters. She hesitated, then asked, "How?"
"The woman, Kristal. She took them out back and shot them both in the head." Grissom tried to seem reassuring to them, but failed as he added, "They didn't feel a thing."
"God," Warrick muttered, starring at Grissom in undisguised shock and disbelief.
"They're gonna kill all of us, aren't they?" Nick asked suddenly, looking pensive but with watery eyes. "They're here for revenge after all and they know that they'd get the death penalty for this anyway. So why not help out other criminals and get rid of us at the same time?"
His question wasn't answered but it didn't have to be. He had put his finger on the ugly truth and everyone knew it.
They sat in silence for more than two hours, each lost in their own thoughts before the rattling of chains brought them back to the painful nightmare they were in. The door finally opened and Wayne came in with two of his friends, who Grissom could identify as Tyler Affertun and Scott Klirtly.
"I'm sure you've been told what happened to your two colleagues." Wayne told them, a heartless and cruel grin on his face. "You've had long enough to grieve about it and frankly, I'm getting bored."
Tyler, the lankiest of the three, had lime green hair and a scar on one cheek. He grinned and beckoned Warrick forward. The tall CSI hesitated, then stood, glancing around at the rest of the team before following them out of the room. Scott gave Deirdre a lustful look that made her skin crawl, then he quickly followed and locked the door behind them.
The room was again quiet for a while before a snapping noise filled it. Greg looked around and saw Deirdre sitting at her place on a countertop and snapping the finger on her left hand repeatedly. He remembered that she did that when she was nervous or trying to figure something out. Greg had no doubt that he knew what she was trying to come to a conclusion to, but he also was aware that it was a dangerous idea if they wanted to stand any chance of keeping Warrick, at least, alive.
It was Grissom, though who quietly told her that if Wayne or any of his friends heard of this conversation, there would be problems. "Deirdre, we can't force our way out of here, even more so while they have Warrick."
"I know that we can't escape while they've got Warrick." she retorted in a harsh whisper. "But why not while no one's missing? They're going to kill us all anyway, why just stand here like cows in a slaughter house?"
"Because we don't know what Brass or the sheriff are up to." Greg told her, sighing. He really didn't feel like having an argument in the room; it was tense enough without that.
A few minutes later, they could all guess fairly accurately what was being planned as a familiar ringing sounded through the crime lab.
…
Brass looked up as two officers escorted a middle-aged, thin man with dirty blond hair and glasses into his office. He had been going over the other hostages' files for the past two hours, phoning their contacts and explaining the situation and waiting for updates about it himself.
"Captain Brass?" The man inquired, holding out his hand. "I'm Todd Derranes, the negotiator you've been waiting for."
Jim shook the negotiator's hand, standing and nodding his hello before sitting back down. Derranes sat in the chair in front of Brass' desk and listened patiently as the captain filled him in on the small amount they knew, then asked if he could speak with Caroline himself. Derranes spent a half an hour on the phone with the receptionist after receiving her number, read the nightshift's files, then asked Brass to switch patrols around the crime lab so he could talk to the officers who had been watching it for the past day.
In talking to the police officers, some disturbing news came forth: two guns shots were heard from the crime lab about an hour ago. Brass found himself thinking that the eight officers being questioned by the interrogator were very lucky he was watching from behind the one-way mirror. He was furious that this hadn't been radioed in even though he could have done nothing with the knowledge. This meant that two of his colleagues may have been shot and killed.
Forty-five minutes later, they were driving out to the crime lab which had been cordoned off. Reporters were trying to question officers and civilians alike, or making reports for the evening news. The civilians themselves were inquiring what exactly was going on, trying to get a better look at the crime lab from their places behind the yellow tape fluttering in the breeze with a few giving their thoughts to reporters.
"I want the media out of here." Derranes told Brass as an officer opened the barricade for them and they drove through. "And I want vantage points set up around the entire building. When's SWAT getting here?"
"Within an hour," Brass replied, shutting off the engine and climbing out of the vehicle. Members of the press immediately started yelling out questions to him, asking everything from how the hostages were fairing to what he thought of the situation. He ignored them though and loudly asked them to leave the area. They resisted of course but, after nearly a half an hour, the streets around the crime lab were finally free of news reporters.
Less than fifteen minutes after that, SWAT arrived, automatically setting up the vantage points Derranes had asked for with skilled speed. Finally they were in action and ready to help Grissom and everyone else trapped inside.
Stationed on the roof of a building across the street from the lab, Derranes accepted the phone from a member of SWAT and plugged it into the speakers they had set up so that everyone could hear what was being said, then dialed the lab's number. They waited through two rings before someone picked up.
"We're not negotiating." a voice, female and cruel, said before they even had a chance to talk. "But that doesn't mean we won't be nice. I'll tell you what; we'll leave one of them to tell you what happened before they die."
"Miss, please," Derranes said calmly, stretching out on the paved roof. "I understand that I'm probably useless here since people who can figure out how to get into a place like a crime lab can get out when they're done, even with the government's elite around it. But I'm just doing my job, just like you're undoubtedly doing yours."
"What's that supposed to mean?" The woman snapped.
"It means we know who you are and that you're not just doing this for yourself." he said, sitting up and grabbing a notepad from the ground beside him. Quickly, he scribbled 'run her voice through the database, see if you can come up with a match' on it and handed it to the man beside Brass while listening to the woman's reply.
"Who are you, then?"
" Me? I'm Todd and, miss? I really don't want you to have to die. So if you would please co-operate with us even if you state what you want or why you and your colleagues have done this, I could help you from getting the death sentence."
Her slightly crazed laugh resonated from the phone. "We're not afraid of dying Todd, that's why we did this. Well, that and revenge too."
"Revenge?" Derranes asked. "On whom?"
She laughed again, though this time it was a bit more of a chuckle. "That's up to you to figure out, isn't it?" She asked before hanging up.
…
When Warrick finally returned he could barely stand. Greg had to admit though, that he was surprised Warrick could even manage that. His tormenter obviously hadn't been Brent, since he bore no knife marks but whoever it was didn't need a knife to make his victim suffer. The tall CSI had so many bruises on his body that his skin was more purple and black than it was brown.
Greg had been able to help Warrick sit down on the couch he had been occupying not five minutes ago before Wayne grabbed him by the collar of Nick's still zipped-up jacket making him wince in pain as unexpected pressure was put on his still very sore chest and dragged him from the room.
At first Greg struggled but stopped once he realized what had happened and remembered that struggling would be fruitless. Wayne hauled him into the shop. Though he already knew what was happening, he shuddered when he was pushed through the doors. Once again he was tied to the hydraulic lift. To his horror Brent was there, only this time he was wielding a wrench.
Greg tried not to think of the pain and damage that would do to him and tried not to stare at the metal object in the convict's hand but his eyes found themselves following the wrench's every menacing movement just as his mind told him that Sara and Hodges were lucky.
"Hey Ray, get the old dude." Tyler told a rat-faced man with black eyes to his left. The rat-man grinned demonically before leaving at a trot and returning rather quickly with Grissom.
"Let's see your boo-boos, Lab Rat," Brent said somewhat happily as he approached and Ray and Tyler roughly tied Grissom to a door. Grissom was saying something, but Greg couldn't understand it. Not that he was trying that hard, anyway. The majority of his concentration was Brent's approaching wrench, which the older man was swinging threateningly.
Brent reached forward and unzipped Nick's jacket, revealing the cuts and bruises on Greg's upper body. The convicts grinned and cackled at the bloody sight, making Greg feel sick, wondering how they could think something like that was funny. He inhaled sharply as Brent poked at one of the wounds on his chest.
"Those look painful," Brent told the tech as he continued to probe roughly at the injuries, pretending to have sympathy for him. Then, in such a change of action it would have surprised Greg if he could register what had happened, he slammed the wrench against the younger man's ribs.
The breath exploded from his lungs and his right side felt like a truck had run over it. He could hear Grissom yelling his name as he tried to refill his lungs and finally just succeeded, pain making it unbearably difficult. Before Greg could fully recover from the blow, Brent attacked him again, this time not relenting after just one hit.
Brent beat him mercilessly not appearing to notice as Greg's reactions to the pain became less and less. Wayne finally stopped him, letting Grissom check the young man over, seeming mildly amused and triumphant as he signaled for everyone to get out.
As Tyler freed him from the door Grissom immediately noticed that the hydraulics were the only thing keeping Greg on his feet. He hurried to the tech's side, calling his name and hearing him pant slightly as he neared.
Greg groaned in pain and looked up at the supervisor with slightly unfocused eyes. "Grissom…?" He managed to choke out, and groaned again.
"It's alright Greg." he said, trying to sound reassuring, but even to his own ears he could hear that he had failed miserably. He tried to help Greg to stand upright but stopped when Greg gasped in pain. Instead he tried to comfort him - something that was definitely not his forte - until the convicts returned.
They forced Grissom out of the room as Brent turned his attention back to Greg.
"There's a reason Wayne gave you to me." Brent said, circling Greg and grinning in a way that made the tech's skin crawl. "You're the youngest guy here, easy to manipulate, easy to break…" He smirked and turned Greg's head up to face his, now only inches away. "…And not too bad on the eyes."
Brent walked around him again, drawing a finger against him as he went, giving Greg goose pimples and making him whimper in pain as the anguish in his chest flared. He realized that Brent was just toying with him for now and that he couldn't do anything to stop the convict when he got bored with the games he was playing.
In the end, he did struggle but as he already knew, it was futile and only made things worse.
…
Don't you just love morbid plot bunnies? I mean, cripes! Even I thought I was being a bit mean! Oh, and by the way, the only way I did that to Sara is 'cause she was bugging me and I don't like Hodges, so I decided to kill him.
Anyhoo, read and review, got it? So press the little blue button and tell me what you think.
Lots o' love!
xCxBxBx