A/N: sorry i broke my update-per-day streak - i just finished my exams yesterday and so was out all night all friends to celebrate!lol but, i have returned, and have brought with me a new chappy - i hope you like it:)

Chapter 10 – Wake Up

One by one, each of the police officers and CSI's emerged from behind their cars where they had taken cover, their ears still ringing and eyes stinging from the magnitude of the explosion and the dust and dirt that it left in the air. Still partially in shock, they stared blankly at where the house had once stood, where a mangled mess now resided, anything one foot higher than the ground having been launched outwards in a circle around it.

It was because of their disorientation that it was a moment before they noticed that neither Greg nor Nick were among the standing. Whipping her head in every direction, Sara at last looked to the ground and found that Greg lay unconscious by their feet, another nasty cut and bruise on the side of his face, the block of wood the must have caused it sitting on the ground beside his head. She dropped to her knees beside him, and was relieved to see that though the rising and falling of his chest was shaky, the obvious reason being his ribs, they were constant and unfailing, allowing her at least that little bit of comfort.

Nick however was nowhere in sight. Catherine was looking desperately around the cars' immediate surroundings, calling out to him.

"Nick! Nick!" She riffled through a pile of debris before a strangled sob slipped out and she nearly fell over again, Warrick catching her, having learned to stay close at hand.

"Whoa! Easy Cath, easy, it's going to be okay. Okay?" he whispered soothingly, hugging her tightly. "We'll find him, don't you worry. Right Griss?" He looked around for Grissom, hoping for him to back up his statement, only to find him leaning heavily on the hood of a car, staring hopelessly at the disaster zone in front of him.

Nick was in there… was buried in there… he'd been right there, almost home free… buried… buried again…

"Griss!" He yelled his name this time, causing Grissom to jerk, blink, and stare up at him as his head slowly started to clear up a little, starting to focus on his impeccable problem solving skills that his high-school teachers had always credited to him. He nodded his acknowledgment to Warrick and walked quickly over to where Sara still sat beside Greg.

"How is he?" he asked tentatively, staring cautiously down at his unmoving form. She looked up at him, meekly attempting a smile.

"Well, he's still breathing, and from what I can tell, it was a flying block that took him down," she said, holding up the piece of wood she had noticed before. Taking it, Grissom muttered something incoherently and tossed it aside. Before she could ask what he had said, he was straightening up and offering his hand down to her, which she just stared at.

"We need all the help we can to find Nick," he explained quietly. Her eyes widened.

"He's buried isn't he?" she whispered, staring up at him. He winced at the choice of words and pushed aside his thoughts from before with a jerking nod, giving a brief pull as she took hold of his arm and stood on shaking legs. About to follow Grissom to the centre of the patrolmen, she stopped, looking uncertainly back down at Greg – she really would feel better if he weren't left alone, but there was no way that she would say no to helping in the search for Nick…

"Officer!" Sara called to the nearest patrolman who hurried over. "Put something under this man's head and wait with him until the ambulance arrives," she said quickly, indicating Greg. The man nodded, immediately unlocking the trunk of his car and pulling out a blanket, and Sara returned the nod, satisfied, as she hurried off after Grissom.

"Listen up!" he called to the others, waiting until they had gathered around him to speak. "The other CSI involved, Nick Stokes, is buried somewhere in the wreckage and is gravely injured." He felt the bile rise in his throat but forced it down, forcing himself to come off as calm, cool, and in control. "I want everyone to spread out along the perimeter of debris and start searching through the piles moving towards the centre. Be careful where you step and call if you find him." He cast one last glance at Greg who was still unconscious, before turning his tired eyes on the rubble, trying not to picture the state they might find Nick in. "Let's go!"

In his mind's eye, Nick was replaying the events of the day, once more being dragged out of the van, trying to defend Greg time and again, only this time round his every attempt failed, and the damage inflicted on them both worsened until he felt he was going to be sick. He wanted to do something, tried over and over to make it stop, but he found he couldn't move; it was as though he was pinned under an incredible, yet invisible weight, having no choice but to just sit there and watch it all happen.

I'm sorry Greg

Suddenly, he was lying on the wooden floor of the attic again, Greg lying beside him, dying… dying because he had been to weak to prevent it. He slowly extended his arm, reaching his hand forward to try and take hold of his friend's in an effort to comfort but also to ask for forgiveness, forgiveness for not keeping his promise, for not being strong when it was needed the most, forgiveness for letting him down… but a large black boot came down painfully on his hand and he cried out, but made not a sound, as he watched Greg slip away.

I'm so sorry…

"Officer! Lift you foot! Now!" yelled Catherine frantically, her breaths hitching in her throat as she stared at what was under his black boot. "You're stepping on a hand!" The startled young man jumped to the side and those that had run over to them saw that sure enough, there was a hand and arm sticking out from under a large pile of debris – an arm wearing a shirt fabric bandage.

"It's Nick! We gotta get this stuff off of him!" Warrick yelled, though he hardly needed to say it for everyone was already tossing aside bricks and planks of all sizes while calling out to Nick, hoping against hope that he was alive to hear them.

He was back in the van now, only this time he was alone and it was quiet, no sound of its engine roaring or of the wheels running through pot-holes and over rocks. He was struggling to free himself from his bonds but it seemed that the harder he struggled, the tighter they became. Fortunately, the invisible weight holding him down seemed to be lessening gradually as time progressed, but nevertheless, that didn't do anything to help his current situation; he was still stuck there, still trapped in that hated van, and his hands were still tied in front of him, the bonds seemingly unable to be worn down or shredded in any way, shape, or form.

He stopped struggling abruptly – had someone just called his name? He kept as silent as he could, straining to hear it again, if it was indeed there…

There it was again! He was sure of it this time: someone was close to the van and was calling to him! He held his breath and continued to listen, suddenly realizing that there were now several voice calling his name, each in turn, and now that he thought about it, he was sure he could identify at least four of them: Grissom, Catherine, Sara, and Warrick. He couldn't imagine how they had managed to track him down, but at this point he didn't care. He was about to be rescued! This nightmare would finally be over, and he could go home and sleep for three days in his own bed and forget that this ever happened.

Then, just as suddenly as they had started, they stopped, his heart almost following suit: they must not know exactly where he was and moved on to somewhere else to look.

He started to panic, wanted to cry in exasperation but was too tired; they were leaving him again. Again he would be so completely and hopelessly alone in this dark space, with nothing to do but make a weak attempt to break unbreakable ties. He tried to call out to them, to let them know where he was and that he was still alive, but no sound came out. It was as though a rag had been shoved down his throat.

His numb fingers struggled blindly to pull back the tape that wasn't over his mouth, to untie the gag that wasn't there, anything so that he could break the shroud of darkness and silence and get back to his friends, his job, his life.

"There he is! We've got him!" Catherine called excitedly upon uncovering the rest of his upper body. As could only be expected, he was unconscious and had received a fresh batch of small cuts and bruises all over his arms and face, and probably everywhere else. However, seeing for the first time up front the seriousness of the gunshot wound to his stomach made them all cringe as they fought down panic in order to unbury the rest of his legs and transport him back behind the cars, at the opposite end of the line where Greg still lay. Grissom checked his neck for a pulse.

"He's alive," he reported. "But his pulse is pretty weak. How long until the ambulances get here?" Warrick checked his watch.

"About five minutes, give or take." Nodding, Grissom grabbed Brass' keys from him and unlocked the trunk of his car, pulling out a blanket and getting help in wrapping it around Nick at the same time that Catherine surrendered her jack to cushion his head and Sara and Warrick used theirs to try and stop the bleeding on both the entry and exit wounds.

Sitting back and looking at him, Catherine was amazed that he was still alive after everything that had happened. It was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn't bled to death in that house, or had been completely crushed in the aftermath of the explosion. Now all he had to do was hold on long enough for help to arrive – that should be the easiest part of his day… shouldn't it?

At that moment they heard shouts and looked up to see Greg stumbling towards them, tripping and almost falling every few feet or so while the officer that had been waiting with him followed close behind, trying in vain to replace the blanket around his shoulders and to get him to sit back down.

His head was swimming and the side of his face throbbed in unison with his ribs, but he didn't really care – it was over. The bomb had gone off, Forman was dead… but what happened to Nick? Where was he? He remembered trying to run forward to help him, he was clearly having a hard time with the stairs, but he couldn't remember what had happened to Nick when suddenly a piece of wood had come flying at him and everything went black… hence the throb that now made keeping his eyes open against such bright sunlight an entirely unpleasant experience.

"Where's Nick?" he called to them, not seeming to notice the man following him as he hurried as fast as his still unsteady legs would carry him towards their group. However, when he reached them and saw who lay at the centre of their circle, he stopped dead and fell once more to his knees, eventually grasping Nick's hand in his own shaking one. He stared down, unable or perhaps unwilling to believe that Nick was going to die here on the ground, after having held out through everything else that had been thrown at them, after promising that both of them were going to make it out of there, after promising that he would be coming outside right after him, that he'd be fine on his own. He had wanted to believe him and knew now that he shouldn't have, that he should've known that he was needed by his friend who had already done more for him than he'd ever want to ask.

"Nick… I shouldn't have left," he whispered. He wanted to speak words of comfort, something to let him know that everything was fine, but his thoughts were so muddled together he found he could only stare at Nick's still face. "Wake up Nick, please," he begged, gripping his hand with both of his now. "We're safe now. We're safe. Don't leave – wake up."

The voices outside had long since stopped calling to him and he had long since ceased his efforts to call out to them or to free himself. What was the point? Greg was dead because of him, and now the ones who had been supposed to rescue him, take him home away from this hell, had gone as well. Now he simply sat in that van not knowing what to do next except to simply give up, to finally fall asleep and block out the world, for a time at least.

When he heard a lone voice call his name again, he was too tired to get his hopes up once more. He just wanted to sleep. He was tired enough and the silence egged him on…

However, it was then that the van's door unlocked and swung open, the result being that he sat there stock still and blinded by the surprisingly bright light that poured in. Again, the same voice called to him, but this time followed by other words that he couldn't really make out. Hesitating for a second, he crawled over to the open door, still unable to see through the light as the voice sounded out again and his heart nearly stopped, his eyes widening in disbelief: the voice was Greg's – Greg was alive and calling to him. Without a second's more delay, he jumped out of the van, and was swallowed by the light.

"He's coming to!" Grissom said suddenly, and everyone re-emerged from their thoughts, looking down at Nick anxiously. At first all he did was moan quietly as his head lolled to one side, but then slowly, very gradually, his eyes eased open, settling first on Warrick who was sitting right in his line of sight and who smiled at him in relief.

"Hey Nick. Welcome back." For a moment Nick couldn't speak as he tired to collect his thoughts, to separate his nightmares from what had actually taken place a few minutes ago: he had been in the van… no, no he had been in the house… he had been on the main floor with Forman… Greg had left… the bomb… the bomb had gone off… The last thing he could remember clearly was his feet leaving the hard surface of the stairs.

"What happened after the bomb went off?" he asked quietly. It was Grissom who answered, Nick looking up at him as he spoke.

"You were blown forward and landed about ten feet in front of our cars," he responded, his voice just as quiet though by choice. "We had to dig you out of the debris." All Nick could do was stare at him blankly for a second before he remembered something else: Greg – Greg had been trying to go to him, had just managed to shake the restraining hands off and had started forwards when the bomb went off…

"Where's Greg?" he asked suddenly, his eyes wide. Unexpectedly he shot up into a sitting position but quickly doubled-up with a weak cry of pain, his hand moving to his stomach, and Greg, whose voice had thus-far evaded him, lunged forward, easing him back down while trying but failing to ignore his ribs' protests.

"I'm right here," he rasped with a grimace. "Thanks to you of course." Nick didn't miss the reactions and looked up at him. Greg was startled and shocked to see the guilt layering his eyes.

"I'm sorry Greg," he whispered. Greg stared back at him more confused than anything, and after a moment Nick's gaze lowered to the ground.

"Sorry for what?" He looked back up at him, his expression sad.

"I promised that I'd protect you, that I wouldn't let anything happen to you, no matter what. You don't need me to be the one to point out that I've completely broken that promise." Greg gave him an incredulous look.

"I can't believe you'd actually blame yourself for everything that happened in there." He took hold of one of Nick's hands in both of his once more. "You're not the reason I'm hurt; you're the reason I'm still around to complain about it," he joked, though his cracking voice dampened the attempted stab at humour. "If anything, get mad at yourself about not keeping your other promise." Now it was Nick's turn to look confused and Greg sighed, slightly frustrated. "You said you'd be right after me. Instead you almost got yourself killed – again." He gave a brief laugh, swiping away a few stray tears. "You've really had a knack for that sort of thing today, man." Sara put her hand lightly on Nick's uninjured arm.

"You got him out of there alive," she said, unable to find the right words for her personal gratitude. Greg was right: if it hadn't have been for Nick, she would be watching them unload a body bag back at the morgue this afternoon. Catherine took hold of his other hand.

"We're all very proud of you Nick," she said truthfully, mirroring Greg's swipe at her own eyes. He looked up at her and gave her a weak but charming smile that she couldn't help but return a little shakily, though the last thing she felt like doing right then was smiling.

Off in the distance, they could hear ambulance sirens rapidly growing closer to their location, of which all were infinitely relieved. Nick's skin was taking on a greyish tinge and his hands were cold. Greg broke the unbearable silence, his voice cracking once more.

"It's me that should be apologizing Nick. I should have been able to look after myself in there; I should never have given you the chance to end up like this." He gazed down at him, not caring that he was crying, even though he wasn't the only one. "I – I'm so sorry." The sirens were much closer now, weaving in between the buildings at full speed, though to the waiting group, they couldn't have been going fast enough.

They saw now that Nick's breaths had shortened to small faltering gasps that could just barely be heard above the sound of the approaching ambulances, but still he smiled up at Greg.

"What're friends for?"

Slowly, his eyes closed and his smile faded, the sirens being the only remaining sound.

A/N: please don't kill me for this and remember that the sooner i get reviews, the sooner the post the next ready chapter:)