A/N: heyhey! sorry that this chapter is a day later than promised, but my computer completely freaked out on me yesterday, so it kinda took me a while to reboot it, fix it, find my story, then manage to get it on. "but hey, better late than never right?"lol(see nickgreg convo in chapter 6 if you don't get it:) anyways, without further ado, here it is: chapter 7!
Chapter 7 – What Are Friends For?
"So what you're trying to tell me is that you were right there with them but you turned around and left! Is that what you're telling me!"
Grissom shied away from the phone and Paul Sanders' yells for a second before bringing it back to his ear, trying to keep the apprehensiveness out of his voice as he responded.
"We didn't have any other choice Mr. Sanders. They had a gun to your son's head and Nick's. We had no clear shot without risking his and Greg's lives, so we thought it best to temporarily stand down." He could hear Paul sigh on the other end, trying to keep his fear for his son in check as he spoke again.
"Is it too late to wire the money and just let these bastards take it and leave?" Grissom shook his head at no one.
"It wouldn't do any good. We can't allow them to leave the scene and go free – you know that as well as I do."
"I – I just want my son back." He could tell the man was fighting back tears and spoke sympathetically, his heart truly going out to him.
"We all do Mr. Sanders, but there's nothing more you can do at this point. We've made the first move – all we can do now is wait until an opportunity presents itself." He could hear him take in a breath as though he were about to speak, but in the end he seemed to rethink what he had been about to say, settling merely for asking to be kept posted as things went before hanging up without another word.
He wasn't aware of just how much his emotions were showing through until a voice spoke beside him.
"They're going to be okay Gil," Catherine said softly, her gaze not leaving his face. It was then that he looked over at her, and for the first time in all the years she had known him, she saw uncertainty and doubt etched into his features, the result being more unnerving and frightening than the eerie stillness that had settled over the area. Grissom was never afraid, he was never shaken-up, tossed off balance – and yet that look…
She found herself wrapping her arms tightly around his middle, burying her face in his jacket. Without hesitation, he returned the hug ten-fold, muttering words of comfort into her hair as they stood there. She hated feeling this scared, hated feeling this helpless when people that she loved were getting hurt not twenty feet away…so close, yet completely out of her reach, out of her control…
"The front door is opening, repeat, the front door is opening – everyone, at the ready; hold your positions." The voice over the car radio tore them from their brief retreat from chaos as they rejoined the others at the cars, looking towards the door, watching with racing hearts as it slowly edged open.
"You know, I think I'm staring to miss the attic," Greg commented in a whisper as the two captives watched the three criminals tape cardboard and blankets over the windows. They had each been tied to chairs, side by side, in the middle of the room, Nick already straining against the ropes that held his arms to those of the chair.
"I'm starting to miss the handcuffs," he gritted, the ties digging painfully into his skin as he tried to pull his hands out from under them. The skin on his wrists was already raw from his efforts, making it all the more difficult to try any harder. "Hey Greg, are your ropes any looser?"
"I dunno, I'll try to see if I can get one of my hands free."
"I wouldn't suggest you try anything Greg." Startled, both looked up to find that the woman of the group had silently walked over to them and was currently standing there, a gun loosely held in her left hand at her side. "Learn from your friend's mistakes and take my word for it: just ride this out, don't try to escape; don't give Forman an excuse to kill you and you'll make it out of here. He may have a short fuse, but he always keeps his word." And with that she walked away to continue her work on the large number of windows.
"I'll bet he does," Nick muttered under his breath, and Greg looked over at him.
"You think we should listen to her?" Though he looked a little sceptical, Nick nodded stiffly.
"At this point, she may be right; that might be our only way to walk out of here," he said, giving up his struggling and slumping as far as the ropes would allow. He had grown to hate the moments like these when there was nothing for him to do, nothing for him to focus all of his attention on so that his muscles and body in general would have a job to work on to keep distracted from the fact that every part of him ached incredibly and his energy reserves had virtually emptied since that morning. He was starting to feel tired again, even more than before, and he struggled with his drooping eyelids, a loosing battle…
"Hey, Nick – Nick!" His eyes reopened. "Don't go passing out on me okay?"Greg whispered, a little desperate. "We're gonna get out of here soon and you can sleep then, alright?"
Nick didn't have a chance to answer before Forman came over and started to untie him, the woman aiming her gun at him just in case, though Nick doubted he'd have been strong enough to try anything even if he'd wanted to. Finished, Forman stood up straight, pulling out his own weapon.
"Come on CSI Nick; I've got a little job for you," he said, pulling Nick roughly to his feet and dragging him, stumbling to the door where he took his place behind him, the barrel of his gun poised at the base of his neck. "One wrong move and I'll paralyse you. Got that Tex?" Nick nodded silently. "Good. Now open the door and start walking towards your buddies." He did as he was told, opening the door slowly and stepping out into the bright afternoon. After being in near total darkness for the entire morning, he virtually couldn't see and grimaced, shielding his eyes as Forman, who had put on sunglasses, forced him to continue stumbling until they were in the centre of the semi-circle of police cars no more than ten feet away from them.
It goes without saying that his very appearance sent chills through the very souls of his team mates, none wanting to believe that this was really the Nick that they knew and loved in front of them, this battered man that looked as though a strong wind could knock him clear off his feet as he was forced forward in front of his captor, the man that every officer present would be more than happy to see dead.
Holding onto Nick who was constantly swaying, Forman began his speech.
"Good afternoon ladies and gents! For those of you who don't know me, my name's Forman, and I'll be your host for the duration of this little show. However, the last thing I want to do is sit out here cooking in the sun while you guys work things out, so I've brought along this brave volunteer to deliver something for me." He gave Nick a solid shove that sent him stumbling to his hands and knees in the dirt, having a hard time pushing himself back up on limbs that just didn't seem to want anything to do with it.
"He can barely even stand Grissom," Catherine whispered, tears in her eyes, though their entire group heard it. She thought back to that look and knew that she bore the same one at this moment, the same look of sadness and doubt that she despised having to wear, only able to stand there with the others and watch him struggle shakily back to his feet, his eyes focussed on the ground in front of him.
Nick couldn't bring himself to look up at his friends; the last thing he wanted was for them to see the fear and pain he knew showed on his face, and so he stared determinedly at the ground, focussing his attention on holding his legs steady enough to stay standing.
"Now," Forman continued when Nick finished righting himself. "My volunteer is going to bring you this radio," he said, tossing it to Nick who somehow managed to catch it, "of which I have the twin. After placing it on the hood of your car, he will return into the house with me. If you make any attempt to take me down, then my assistant will be forced to shoot your guy. And she is an excellent marksman. And if you try to pull him behind your lines, his young friend will suffer for it." He re-aimed his gun at Nick's head. "Well Nick, give the man his radio." Not wanting to have to be told twice, Nick gradually stumbled forward, clutching the radio in both hands to keep them from shaking, across the longest ten feet he'd ever walked before finally falling against the hood of the car, exhausted, that served as cover for the rest of his team.
"Oh God, Nick! Are you okay? Nick!" Nick couldn't tell who had said what part of what he had just heard and it took him a moment to find it in him to raise his tired eyes to look at them, seeing the looks he knew he'd see and had been so set on avoiding; they looked to be horrified, though he pretended not to notice. He managed a weak smile, if only for their sake.
"Hey guys," he said quietly, holding out his bloodied left hand. "Here's your radio." Though all four had planned extensively in their heads what they would say to Nick or Greg by way of comfort or reassurance, they suddenly found themselves devoid of all ability to speak, able only to look from his face, to his arm, to the radio clutched in a trembling hand. Grissom looked physically pained as he stared for a moment at his arm before slowly reaching forward and taking what was offered. He looked down at it then up at Nick, his expression sad.
"Are you hanging in there?" Nick nodded, though he could barely confirm it as true. "How's Greg?" He looked down at the car's hood, knowing that Greg wouldn't want them to be as worried as they already seemed just by seeing him, and so he improvised.
"He's okay I guess." He looked Grissom in the eye and Grissom felt the breath leave his body as he stared at the most feared emotions in hostages: resignation and acceptance, two things that all of them had been afraid that their friends would resort to, but all the while hoping that it was somehow different with Nick, that he had somehow remained optimistic throughout everything that had happened. But now they knew for sure that it was impossible, and they were even more certain when Nick spoke again in a near whisper. "No matter what happens Griss, no matter how this thing turns out, don't blame yourself, any of you," he said, looking at Warrick, Sara, and Catherine each in turn. "We know you've done all that you can."
Warrick wanted to reach forward and shake him, to snap him out of this reverie he had sunken into, to get the old Nick back. Then again, he knew that had he been in his place, he would more than likely be saying the same things in that same tone. He shook his head, unable, or perhaps unwilling to accept what Nick was saying; of course he would blame himself if things went south and Nick didn't make it out of this, how could he not?
Nick hated the way Catherine was looking at him, in a way that said she was terrified that if she let him out of her sight, she'd never see him again. It was almost the mirror look he was getting from Grissom who like the other two had been left speechless at what he had said. He turned his face away and closed his eyes, not wanting to see those looks any longer. Sara broke the silence.
"Nick…" He looked up at her and was surprised yet relieved to see an inkling of hope in her eyes as she looked at him. "You take care of yourself in there, you hear me? And tell Greg to keep hanging on – you'll be out of there soon, okay?" Tears came unbidden to his eyes and he didn't try to keep them from falling as he looked at her warmly, overflowing with gratitude.
A shot fired into the air behind him made him flinch and slowly turn his head as Forman yelled at him.
"Enough chatter!" Taking one last look at them, and offering another slight smile, he set his jaw and turned, walking away from them back to Forman, who grabbed his injured arm, making him cry out weakly as he started pulling and pushing him back towards the house's stairs. Warrick found his hand reaching for his gun, the idea of pulling it out and emptying a clip in that bastard Forman's back suddenly seeming like the best thing to do.
He never had the chance.
Suddenly gunshots erupted from the house and return fire was thrown back at it, Forman pulling Nick off to the side for cover but making sure to keep him in front to act as his human shield. The battle raged for little more than a minute before Brass' yelling voice was finally able to project itself over the din.
"Cease fire!" he shouted through the megaphone. "Cease fire! All of you!" The second the patrolmen stopped firing, the lot was thrown into an unnatural silence and for a moment Nick was frozen in shock, before it finally registered that Greg had been inside the now bullet riddled house when the shooting started, tied to a chair, unable to go for cover…
He wrenched free of Forman's grip, stumbling up the stairs and towards the door.
"Nick, no!" He hardly heard Grissom's yell.
"Greg!" He threw it open and raced in, jumping over the bodies of the other two kidnappers, hearing Forman yell behind him and rush in, slamming the door but not pursuing him immediately. Nick heaved a sigh of relief when he rounded the corner and saw Greg alive and unhurt in his chair and rushed over to him.
"Nick!" he cried in relief. He'd been afraid of two things when the first shots were fired: that he wouldn't be able to dodge bullets tied to a chair, and that Nick, being outside, would get caught in the crossfire.
"What the hell happened?" Nick asked as his numb fingers started fumbling with Greg's ties.
"I don't know," he said tiredly. "One second they were standing on either side of the door and the next they said something about one of the CSI cops reaching for his piece and so they started firing and, and…" He didn't want to, nor did he need to continue as Nick nodded that he understood.
"It's okay," he whispered hurriedly. "I'll have you out of here in a minute."
"Just hur – look out!" he cried suddenly, and Nick whipped around just in time for the large butt of the machine gun Forman was wielding to come into solid and stunning contact with his jaw, sending him crashing to the ground a few feet from Greg's chair. Blood covered Forman's hands making it clear that he'd been delayed in his return by his failed attempts to resuscitate his team.
"And you!" Forman growled, turning to Greg. "I don't know exactly what happened here, but I can pretty much guess: your friends outside shot my friends when they saw the opening, just like they said they would, and so I'll just have to retaliate." He aimed the gun at Greg, releasing the safety. Greg lifted his one free hand in front of him, his eyes and voice desperate.
"No, wait! That's not what happened! Please!" He cocked the gun.
At that moment, Nick regained consciousness and his eyes widened as he saw the scene playing out before him.
"Greg!"
He threw himself in front of his friend just as Forman pulled the trigger.
TBC...