A/N: okay, for those reviewers that have been hoping for a conclusion to come soon to find out how it ends, don't hate me for this chapter, pretty please? anywho, yeah, this chapter is dedicated to my ever-faithful reviewers who make posting each new chapter the best part of my day! r&r and enjoy:):)

Chapter 8 – Any Last Words?

That last shot sounded with an air of such finality that Grissom felt as though it had been him who had been on the receiving end of the bullet as he scrabbled for the radio, barely managing to press down the talk button.

"Hello? Hello! This is Grissom, is anyone in there injured? I repeat, has anyone been shot? Come back!" The static on the other end seemed to drag on forever before it was finally silenced by a voice: it was Forman.

"Hey Grissom, long time no talk. How've you been?"

"Forman, has anyone in there been shot?" His question was all but answered when he heard Greg's voice in the background.

"Nick! Oh my God, Nick, can you hear me? Nick!" Catherine's legs nearly buckled but Warrick caught her and held her steady, though she hardly noticed.

"No…" she breathed, staring pleadingly at the radio as though willing something to come out of it that disproved the implication of Greg's words. "Nick…"

Forman returned with a wry chuckle.

"I think that just about sums it up. Don't you?" He sighed mockingly. "Don't get me wrong, taking a bullet for a friend is probably a good way to go, but I have to say that I wouldn't have gotten in the way if my friend was going to die so that I could live. It is a small disappointment that I didn't get to kill the Texan's little pet, but I suppose that one CSI is as good as the next for this type of situation." Grissom couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't bring himself to believe that Nick had been killed, just like that – but what Greg said, the shear panic and raw fear in which he said it…

He swallowed hard and forced the question out of himself.

"Is he still alive?"

"For now – yes, for how long? I really don't know.Let's just say I wouldn't worry about scraping up his next pay check."

Not letting on the fear that threatened to overwhelm him, Grissom spoke in what he hopped was a firm, demanding tone.

"Let me talk to them."

"Do you have my money?" Grissom sighed, frustrated.

"No."

"In that case, you won't just be talking to them – I suggest you say your goodbyes as well." Before Grissom could try and reason with Forman, there was scuffling sounds, a period of static, and then the line clicked on again.

Nick found it rather difficult to get a solid grip on the radio with one hand and so was forced to hold it between both, fumbling to be able to push the talk button down and to hold it up in front of his face.

"Grissom?" The team could barely tell that the faint voice belonged Nick. Grissom's fear skyrocketed.

"Hey Nicki. How're you holding up?" he asked, trying to sound calm. Nick would have laughed if he had had the energy.

"I'm not holding up as well as I was the last time we spoke, if that's what you mean," came the weak response, followed by a chuckle to match. "I have to say Griss, when I clocked into work this morning, I didn't see my day turning out like this." They could almost hear the difficulty with which he was forming his words. Grissom could almost hear the thoughts of his team and knew the question that they wanted to ask as much as he did.

"Nick, can you do something for me? Could you tell me exactly where the bullet hit you?" Catherine closed her eyes and started pleading to the air for it not to be entirely life threatening, and would have crossed the fingers on both hands had she not been gripping Warrick's arms to keep herself from falling over.

Although the last thing he wanted to do was look at the hole in his stomach, he was glad for the need to concentrate on the specifics of something and so willed his eyes to look down, taking guess measurements. Greg could only sit and watch, staring desperately down at him, all the while straining weakly at the ropes that kept him from being of some use.

"It looks to be about… an inch bellow my ribcage, and about two inches from the middle of my stomach. One second here…" There was a pause before they heard a small cry of pain making all of them cringe, including Greg who had just watched him accidentally jab the exit wound in his search for it. He wiped his fingers gingerly on his jeans as he attempted to update Grissom. "It…it looks like it's a…through-and-through," he said, suddenly short of breath. He gave a chuckle that sounded much weaker than the last. "This use to be my favourite shirt too." He coughed and didn't manage to muffle a grunt of pain, and when he returned, his voice was sombre and quieter than before, though this time not from the bullet wound. "I hear tell that we're supposed to say our goodbyes, so I guess that I might as well; I just wish this could've been face-to-face, not like this, not like this…" Grissom interrupted him, not wanting for him to finish that thought.

"No Nick, don't do this," he said, practically begging him. "You're getting out of there…" But Nick continued as though he hadn't said anything, his words becoming choked and strained.

"You guys are the best people and friends that I've ever had the honour to know, and I love all of you like family, so remember that and take care of yourselves, okay?" Not even Warrick could hold her up now and she sat down hard on the ground, up against the side of the car, her face in her hands, with him kneeling in front of her, his hands on her knees in an effort to reassure. It wasn't long before Sara sat beside her, placing her hands on her shoulders. There was a long pause before he could bring himself to finish. "So I guess, one way or another, see you around guys." At that moment static reappeared for another few seconds before another voice was heard.

"Grissom? Hello?" Though exhaustion and pain were dripping from his words as well, Greg sounded as though he were doing a great deal better than Nick, injury and strength wise.

"I'm here Greg. How're you doing?"

"I'm all right I guess. But Griss, Nick's not doing too good; he's lost a ton of blood and he's loosing more still." Grissom's eyes closed and he pulled in a shaky breath, those on the ground beside him looking up at him in despair.

"Put as much pressure on the entry and exit wounds as possible, with your bare hands if necessary." Greg looked over sadly at Nick, his answer quiet.

"I can't."

"Why not?" Grissom demanded, a little too harshly. Nick's life could very well depend on it; this was not the time for Greg to get squeamish at the sight of a lot of blood. The tone of Greg's response however was defensive and exasperated.

"Because I'm tied to a chair and Nick is on the ground in front of me!" They could hear him sigh. "He only got one of my hands free before he got shot." Forman's voice sounded in the background.

"You've got thirty seconds to finish up." Greg sighed again.

"Nick had it right: you guys are the best friends that I ever could've asked for, and if this really is it, I'm going to miss all of you so much." He paused for a moment. "Sara? Sara, are you out there too?" She quickly pushed herself up from the ground, Grissom handing her the radio as she stood beside him. She took it with trembling hands, trying to compose herself enough to hear what Greg had to say, trying in vain not to think of the words already spoken.

"I'm here Greg." Hearing her voice again was almost enough to do him in right then and there, and he found himself pouring out all of his thoughts, not knowing if or when he'd get another chance.

"I just want you to know how much I care about you, how much you mean to me. I – I wish that I could've had enough guts to be with you when I had the chance," he whispered, his voice cracking in his effort to keep it steady. Greg could not see the tears that were sliding down Sara's face as well, but her whispered answer was in his same tone.

"So do I." This actually made Greg smile the smallest of smiles.

"Sara, I – " Before he could finish, Forman snatched the radio away from him.

"Greg! Greg, are you still there?" she asked anxiously.

"His thirty seconds are over," came Forman's hissing voice. "You'll be hearing from me soon."

"Wait – " The static returned. For a long moment, Sara could only stand there holding the radio while her tears continued to fall before Grissom finally reached forward, taking it from her and placing it on the roof of the car before sweeping her into a warm and comforting hug. She sobbed mirthlessly into his forensics jacket, feeling as though Greg had already died. Four hours. That's all that it had taken for her world to fall apart.

Having gotten her emotions under control, Catherine allowed Warrick to help her stand, resuming staring at the house and barely hearing Brass's voice as he discussed forcing entry a few feet away from them, knowing that he wanted to go in as soon as possible so that there'd be some sort of chance to get at least one of them out of there alive. She wasn't sure what she thought of the idea, wasn't sure what option would have a less devastating result than the last, if there was such an option.

Barely five minutes had passed before the four CSIs were torn from their thoughts as the radio came to life once more.

The second Forman took the radio away from him, Greg looked anxiously back at Nick whose breaths had grown steadily shallower, his gaze focussed on the wall across from him through constantly drooping eyelids while his feet and legs fidgeted occasionally from the pain. Seeing Forman exit into another room, Greg finally spoke.

"Nick! Common man, hold on, hold on just a little longer and we'll get out of here," he said desperately. Nick's eyes met his and he could see for the first time since everything had started a hint of defeat creeping on through the growing weakness. He shook his head slowly before answering.

"I haven't got much longer Greg, not the way this thing is bleeding," he whispered, his voice barely audible. Greg shook his head disbelievingly.

"Don't give up Nick, please." Tears stung his eyes as he looked pleadingly down at his fading friend, wishing hopelessly that he could somehow free himself and help to put pressure on the gunshot wound Nick had received in protecting him. Nick's words from earlier that day resounded now in his head: I won't let anything happen to you, no matter what. He had definitely accomplished his self-appointed task – and was now going to pay for it with his life.

Making up his mind, Greg took as deep a breath as his broken ribs would allow before gritting his teeth and setting to work on pulling his bound wrist out from under the rope, twisting his arm this way and that while his free hand worked to try and help it along, all the while trying to ignore the pain coming from the unfairly tight rope tearing into his unprotected skin. The only things he was aware of now was the deafening pounding of his heart in his ears as he struggled and of Nick's worsening condition, and when he was finally free of the chair, his fingers raw from their work, he crouched immediately beside his friend, doing as Grissom had instructed him to try and slow the bleeding a little. Again Nick shook his head.

"No Greg," he rasped weakly, placing his hand on his wrist. "You've got to get out of here while you still can." Greg didn't look up from Nick's wound.

"If you stay, I stay." Nick tried to sound firm but the volume of his voice was barely even whisper worthy.

"No! I can't let you do that! I can't let you die because of me Greg. Go…now… Please go…" Tears of pain mixed with frustration and desperation stung his eyes, a few managing to fall as Greg finally looked up at him, his eyes brimming with tears as well but his voice steady, unwavering.

"It's my decision whether or not I stay or go, and I'm not abandoning you here, so I'm staying. Besides," he said with a grim half-smile, "I'd love to see you try to make me leave in the shape you're in." Nick couldn't help but grin slightly; he had a point.

"Did we not like the chair?" asked a cold voice behind Greg. He turned his head to look up at Forman, not trying to hide the contempt and hate in his voice as he answered.

"I'd like it just fine if my friend wasn't bleeding to death on the floor," he snapped.

"Well, I hope he's got enough energy to deliver a message for me," he said, tossing the radio into Nick's lap where his hand was able to reach for it. He slowly looked back up at Forman, dreading the answer to the question he was about to ask.

"What's the message?" he whispered. Forman smiled.

"Grissom? Sara? Is anybody there?" Nick's whispered question had barely finished before Grissom snatched up the radio from the car roof.

"Yeah Nick, we're all here. What is it? What's wrong?"

"Forman wants me to tell you something," he said, pausing. "He-he made a bomb Griss, and set the timer for seven minutes; he says if by that time the money hasn't been transferred, he'll let it go off." Grissom's blood went cold, as did that of the other three – a bomb. Warrick voiced the question that all four of them were afraid that they knew the answer to.

"Why would he have the stuff to make a bomb just hanging around? He couldn't have known that all this was going to happen." Grissom spoke the answer they'd all been thinking.

"They must've planned on using it to get rid of Nick and Greg once they'd gotten the money and didn't need them anymore."

They stood in dreading silence as Nick continued.

"Griss, you and I both know that I haven't got much time left, so you have to promise me now that no matter what happens, you'll get Greg out of here." Grissom's voice evaded him at such a request. How could he ask for something like that? What was he supposed to say? The way things were going, there was going to be a crater where the house used should be in less than seven minutes time. How was he supposed to get Greg out of there before that happened? "Promise me Grissom," he said when no answer came. "I made Greg that promise, and I don't care who keeps it, just as long as it's kept." It took a minute for the unspoken message to hit Grissom and the others full-force: Nick was dying – he did not expect to make it out of there alive. Tears threatened to fall as his constricted throat reduced his voice to a whisper as well.

"I promise Nick." The tears fell silently. "I promise." Static returned.

A/N: want to know what happens next? review and find out in the next chapter:):) lol moo-ha-ha!