A/N: okay, here's chapter three, longer than the previous two as promised - read, enjoy, and review:):)

Disclaimer: i could not remember the name of the older doctor that always does their autopsies so i had to settle for dr. grey - i hope the die hard csi fans can forgive me just this once:)

Chapter 3 – Not As It Seems

Having gone an ashen colour and barely managed to catch his phone when it slipped from suddenly slack fingers, Grissom had had no choice but to explain the news to the other three: that it was possible that Greg had been killed and Nick taken. But now, as he watched them sullenly and worriedly process the smouldering vehicle and the other abandoned one, he wished that he could've withheld it somehow until they were finished here and didn't need to stay focussed and professional. They had long since examined and extracted the body thought to be Greg from his car, unable to be sure if it was in fact him because of the damage done by the flames. It had taken all of Sara's willpower to keep herself from throwing up at the thought that that might be Greg, or even Nick.

"Hey, I think I got something over here!" called Warrick from the passenger's side as he extracted a mostly black evidence back from the practically melted glove compartment. Sara and Catherine, who had been working on Nick's car, quickly jogged over, followed closely by Grissom who had been talking to one of the cops who had been first on the scene. With gloved hands, Warrick held up a slightly blackened bullet casing.

"A bullet casing at an arson scene?" Grissom asked no one in particular, looking over at the house. What happened here? What did you two get yourselves into? He shook his head, forcing himself to stay focussed and in charge. "Okay, Sara, Cath, go into the house and see if there are any more of these in there, and if you find any or not, get this one and them back to the lab and into trace. Warrick, finish processing the cars and have them towed back to our garage to see if you can find anything with Nick's car, and see if you can find what caused the fire in Greg's car and where it originated from. I'm going with the body to the coroner's to get an I.D. on him. We meet back in the break room in four hours, so lets get cracking."

It was 11:00 a.m. by the time Grissom followed the stretcher that was carrying one of his people into the autopsy room where the good doctor was waiting. When he addressed Grissom, his voice was filled with regret and due solemnity.

"I'm very sorry to hear about your guys, Gil," he said as the stretcher was stopped beside him.

"Thanks, I appreciate it. What I need to know though is which of my guys this is, Nick or Greg, because we've only got one body and the other is missing, hopefully alive," he said quietly, trying to focus everywhere except the charred remains on the table in front of him. His friend nodded his head.

"I understand. We'll get started right away." When dental impressions had been taken and sent away to be processed, the doctor began the atypical autopsy, though the cause of death was obvious enough – or so it seemed.

"Um, Gil?"

"What is it?"

"Your guy didn't die because of the fire," he said, reaching behind him for his tweezers but keeping his eyes focussed on a spot on the D.B.'s chest.

"What?" Grissom watched as he carefully extracted three pieces of metal, placing them each in a metal tray that he handed over to him for inspection. "There was a bullet almost rightthrough his heart and one in each lung; wounds like these would've killed him in less than a minute." He was about to continued when David brought back the results for the dental impressions. Scanning his eyes down the page, his eyebrows raised as he looked back up at Grissom, his expression both surprised and relieved. "Not only was this man shot before that fire even started, but his imprints aren't a match for Nick or Greg's; it's some guy, Sean Denmark – place of residence: 42 Gilmore Drive – currently unemployed."

"So both of my guys have been kidnapped," Grissom stated, still in shock.

"Hey, it beats being dead." At this he looked up at Grey.

"Excellent point doctor. Thank you for your help." And with that he raced out of the morgue, headed for trace with three bullets prime for testing.

The van stopped, sending both men tumbling from where they sat. They could hear the doors up front open and slam shut again, then several voices outside the walls before the back doors were suddenly open and two captors reached in and dragged them out so that they fell to the ground, winded, still blinded by the sudden light and stiff from the long ride. Tape was immediately replaced on their eyes as one man spoke beside them.

"Hey, why are there two of 'em? They can't both be Greg Sanders." The voice that answered was higher, a woman's.

"Well, that other guy got in our guy's car with him, so we didn't really have a choice," she said indignantly.

"Yeah you had a choice! You could've put a bullet in his head and left him in the damn car!" A third voice chimed in at this point.

"We figured we could get double this way. I mean, he's obviously his friend, so we could get a little something for him too," he said matter-of-factly. A sharp slap and a cry were heard and the one against the extra baggage spoke again.

"You idiot! Now there's only going to be one body at the scene and one of their buddies missing, which means we'll have less time before they come looking for this one!" he yelled, and kicked Greg angrily in his ribs. Greg screamed in pain as snaps were heard, and without thinking, Nick threw himself with a cry at what he hoped was the guy that had just kicked his friend. His guess was proved right when he hit a set of legs and the voice of the one he had been aiming for cried out in alarm as he hit the ground, Nick coming close enough to punch him in the stomach a few times with his bound hands.

His attack was short-lived however, and he was quickly pulled away as the man he had hit kicked him hard in his stomach, pulling him up by his shirt as he automatically doubled-up to hit him hard across the face before the cocking of a gun was heard and its cold barrel was pressed up against Nick's forehead.

"If you kill him, you won't get a dime," gasped Greg, his breaths short and painful as he spoke. "I'll make sure that they don't meet whatever demands you have, but only make a deal for you to release me and avoid going to prison for the rest of your lives." He said the last part with a wheezing chuckle and a smirk. "I promise you that." Nick, though confused, said not a word as the gun was pulled away from his head and the man spoke again while the tape on their wrists were replaced with handcuffs.

"Alright, the gun's away, but make sure your friend understands that if he pulls another stunt like that, I won't kill him at first, but I'll personally see to it that he never walks again." And with that the two C.S.I's were dragged across the ground, up a small set of stairs and into the living room of what was probably a small house where a trapdoor in the ceiling was opened and they were made to climb the ladder into the attic. Once they heard the door close, they wasted no time in removing the tape from their eyes once more. This done, Nick crawled over beside Greg where he lay on the floor, unable to take in a deep breath, his eyes shinning with tears of pain.

"How're you holding up?" he asked worriedly. In his mind, he wished vehemently that he could've gotten in a few more good hits on the guy responsible for all this.

"I – I think he broke some… ribs," he finally managed to say, cringing in pain as he sat up on his elbows and carefully lifted the hem of his T-shirt. It was Nick's turn to cringe at the sight of the already purple and black splotch's that showed the breaks. "How's it look?" asked Greg, not wanting to see it for himself. Nick swallowed before answering.

"Not too bad, Greg, not too bad at all," he whispered.

"That ugly, huh?" Greg laughed quietly, lowering his shirt and laying back down. He looked up at Nick now, concern showing through his pained expression. "What abut you? Are you okay?" he asked, indicating his bleeding nose and the boot print on his shirt. Nick shrugged it off.

"I'm fine. It's nothing," he said easily with a small smile. Greg looked more than a little doubtful, but Nick didn't give him the chance to point out otherwise. Looking around the large attic, he spotted a small but comfortable looking pillow sticking out of a box and as quietly as possible, he reached over and pulled it out.

"Here we go. Lift your head buddy," he said, and placed it under Greg's head before sitting down beside him. Greg smiled gratefully.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"No problem." In the silence that followed, they could clearly hear a T-V bellow them, the loud voice of an irritating game show host ringing out and filling their ears with promises of thousands of dollars, a car, and a dream vacation.

'Right now, I'd settle for a set of handcuff keys, a gun, and a cell phone,' Nick thought wistfully to himself. Greg interrupted his thoughts, his tone causing Nick's worry to grow a little more, leaving him wishing he could somehow ease the pain, though he knew there was nothing he could do - he hated feeling this useless when one of his closest friends was like this.

"Shouldn't we be looking for a way out of here or at least some sort of weapon?" he wheezed, readjusting his head on the pillow with a grimace. Nick nodded with a slight smile; nothing could keep Greg Sanders from thinking objectively.

"Yeah, you're right, but I think it should be just me," he said as he gently pushed Greg back down. "After all, I can move a lot faster and easier with a bloody nose and a bit of a bruise than you can with a few broken ribs. Agreed?" Though he seemed about to object, a fresh stab of pain set his mind straight and he nodded carefully.

"Agreed." Nick gently squeezed his friend's shoulder for reassurance and, with great difficulty due to the cuffs and a fruitless attempt at silence, he stood up and walked around, searching through the few boxes but finding nothing of real use. It was then that he made his way over to the window, which, to Nick's disappointment, was much too small for either of them to fit through. However, he was amazed to find that not only was the window unlocked, but the building they were in was surrounded by a maze of warehouses and other shacks, meaning that if he could maybe find something to write on and write with, maybe he could throw a message down that might be picked up by a shipyard worker that might just walk by and –

His planning was interrupted when a sudden sharp and searing pain erupted in a straight line up the front of his left arm before tearing through all along the edge of his ear. With a cry of pain, he fell to the floor, right hand clasped around only a part of his injured arm, unpleasantly aware of the blood flowing from it and his ear. From his place on the floor, he could see now the small bullet hole right beside where he had been standing and looked up to see the bullet lodged into the ceiling.

"You still alive Tex?" asked a voice just bellow the hole. Nick didn't answer at first and another bullet burst through the floor, narrowly missing him before joining its compadre in the ceiling. "I asked, are you still alive?" Not wanting to be shot at again, he finally choked out an answer.

"Yes!" he gasped. He heard the other two laughing and then a chuckle beneath him.

"That's good, 'cause there's still about another half-an-hour before we send in a ransom notice, so don't go dying on us just yet." And with that, footsteps were heard traveling back over to the couch, followed closely by the loud creaking of its old springs. Having focused all of his attention on trying to ignore the growing pain, Nick didn't even notice that Greg had crawled over to him until he felt hands on his shoulders turning him over onto his back, and he heard Greg's whispering voice, his anxiousness obvious.

"Nick! Nick!" Nick opened his eyes and saw his friend's worried face leaning over him. "How bad are you hurt?" Greg's eyes only grew wider as he looked the injuries up and down, forcing down his fear as his gaze moved to his friend's face, that was contorted in a painful grimace.

"The bullet grazed my arm and my ear," he answered, trying to keep his breathing calm and steady.

"We need to see how bad it is," Greg said, reaching towards Nick's heavily bleeding arm. As the bullet had torn a ragged gash through his shirt's sleeve as well, virtually from wrist to shoulder, he had not trouble tearing it open the rest of the way, paleing when he did: the gash, which was on the front of his arm, did in fact run almost its entire length and though it was slightly overcast in their cell, he could still see its nastiness and grimaced lightly, this time not because of his own injuries. He tried not to think about the amount of blood that was being and would be lost, forcing himself to look optimistic, unworried. "It could be worse," he said reassuringly, glancing over at his ear as he spoke. "And your ear's seen better days but it'll live." He gaze a small laugh, a weak back up to his obvious fibs. At the moment he was becoming less and less optimistic, wondering just how much would be thrown at them before it became too much.

"I guess this means that after we get out of here, we have a visit to the hospital for bad food and cute nurses to look forward to," said Nick through gritted teeth, smirking slightly. This made Greg smile; in all this, he was still the same old Nick, trying to make light of a bad situation with well placed light-heartedness. Greg couldn't help but marvel at it.

With a deep breath he returned his attention back to the problem at hand.

"Okay, well for the ear," he said, reaching for Nick's torn sleeve, "we can use a piece of this fine material, and for the arm, we'll use the rest." Tearing off a piece of fabric, Greg was about to press it up against his friend's ear when the trapdoor burst open and their three captors, wearing black ski masks, ascended the ladder and strode across the attic to where their captives sat staring fearfully up at them.

Nick immediately, if not a little slowly, positioned himself in front of Greg, knowing full well he was in reality virtually helpless to protect him, though that wouldn't stop him from trying. Greg stared anxiously from the gun-wielding kidnappers in front of them to Nick whose shaking hands clashed with his determined and set expression; he only hoped that his friend knew as well as he did that any resitance would be pointless and more than likely painful, mainly for Nick.With a snap of his fingers, the leader, and presumably the one who had shot Nick, set the woman and the other man to dragging the two of them to their feet. Nick struggled weakly but to no avail, while Greg could only cry out in agony at the grinding together of his broken bones.

"Ransom time," the leader said cheerfully as he accomplices brought them away from the window to the far wall where they were made to kneel. Looking from one to the other, the man's eyes settled on Nick's ear and exposed arm. The lips visible through the mouth hole in his mask formed an unpleasant smile. "I'd like to say I'm sorry about that, but I'd be lying. We can hear every step you make from down there."

"I thought you said there was another half-an-hour until the ransom," said Nick quietly but defiantly, as the jostling of Greg's broken ribs had rendered him incapable of anything more than a quiet whimper through his silent tears.

"I got a call and changed my mind," the leader said simply, stepping closer and reaching towards Nick.

Instinctively he jerked away and was rewarded with a smack upside the head.

"Take it easy Tex, I just want to make sure that it's a little more visible." He smirked and tore the sleeve a little more so that it remained open before backing up and allowing the woman to step in and, for the third time that day, smooth a piece of duck-tape over their mouths. At the same time, the other one was setting up a laptop on a box to their left before taking out and turning on a camcorder, running a cord from it to the computer, and returning to stand in front of them as he pressed the button labelled 'Record'.

By the time Grissom had gotten the bullets processed, gotten their results and arrived in the break room, the rest of the team had already assembled, all three visibly still shaken and distraught about the death of the man they all thought to be Greg.

'I really think I should clear that up first,' he thought as their strained gazes turned on him. He cleared his throat.

"Well, I have some good news, and some bad news," he began, taking a seat at the table. "The good news is that not only was the body we brought back shot before the fire with bullets we have now traced to its gun, but dental impressions indicate that the body is neither Greg nor Nick's, but the owner of the house that was burned down, a Sean Denmark." At this, the three CSI's looked first shocked, like he had been, but their shock quickly turned into sighs and smiles of tired relief. Grissom almost didn't want to continue. "The bad news, I'm afraid, is that this means that both Nick and Greg are possibly in the hands of Frank Muller, convicted murderer, and unknown number of accomplices, if any." At this point, they weren't sure if they should laugh or cry. Grissom decided distraction was best. "Okay, so, what did the rest of you come up with?" Shifting in her seat, Sara started, trying to hide the wavering in her voice that betrayed her emotions.

"Well, Catherine and I did find two more bullet casings at the scene and we brought them plus the one from Greg's car to trace and found they were from the gun of Frank Muller." She paused before speaking again. "We-We also found Greg's kit inside the house," she said, picking it up off the floor and placing it on the table. For a long moment they simply stared at it, remembering how excited and proud Greg, and each of them for that matter, had been when he had gotten it, taking it everywhere with him like a security blanket for the first week.

Grissom was relieved when his phone ran, partly breaking the tension and giving him an excuse to look away from the lonely-looking kit to the caller I-D: it was Brass. Eager to hear any developments in the case, he immediately answered it and the others, knowing the context of any call to Grissom, sat in silence to listen.

"Grissom here."

"Gil." Brass' voice was strained and anxious. That could only mean one thing: something had happened, and it wasn't good.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Grissom demanded, now extremely nervous. He could tell that the other three were holding their breath in fear and anticipation.

"Mr. and Mrs. Sanders just called me. They just opened an e-mail consisting a ransom video." Grissom's free hand rested over his eyes and he slumped forward in his chair. "I've copied it onto a disk and have collected the Sanders' computer tower. I'll be over there in a few minutes," he said hurriedly. Grissom could hear his siren blaring in the background to signal he was in his car and going as fast as he could.

"Okay, thanks. I'll see you when you get here," he responded quietly, sighing, and then hung up, finally looking up at the others who stared back, unsure if they wanted to hear this latest development by the look on his face. "Mr. and Mrs. Sanders have just received a ransom video through e-mail." All three reacted much the same as he had and he sighed again, deeper this time, and at that moment he looked every day his age, new lines having just appeared around his eyes over the course of a few hours. "Brass'll be here soon with their tower and a copy of the video. Let's go wait for him in the lab."

Silently all four stood and slowly filed out of the room, Sara returning a moment later, walking up to the table and carefully picking up Greg's kit before leaving once more for the lab, hugging it tightly to herself.

A/N: i hope you enjoyed it! stay tuned for the next chapter, and one of my personal favorites... the ransom:) please review