Unsure
By: Emmithar
Rating: M
Summary: Sometimes uncertainty can be your greatest fear. Slight Sandle mentioning, Greg angst, Nick angst. Narrative.
Disclaimer: Last time I checked I didn't own them, they do not belong to me, sadly enough.
A/N: check the rating, this is a bit heavier than I normally do. Lots of angst, some torture. Thanks goes out to Kegel, Jenny and Becca for all their help with this.
Unsure
His breath is rancid, so warm and close, brushing against his face. He tries to turn away, but there is nowhere to go, and so he stays, he puts up with it. He doesn't know how he got here, just remembers the pain, the explosion of sound, so minute compared to the agony that had coursed through his veins. When the phone went of, he remembered that. Remembered pleading, screaming out for help at the top of his lungs, begging for the help that had yet to come.
Fingers grasp his chin, bruising his flesh as his face is yanked upward, the rancid breath drawing closer now, almost choking him. The man is angry, yelling coarsely, spouting off a charade of insults, of demands. He can't hear any of them, he hasn't been listening, the pounding in his head is like drums of war, drowning out any attempt of comprehension.
With a sudden thrust his head is thrown back into the cement, the impact sending waves of shooting pain through his scalp, his head throbbing relentlessly. Part of him prays for the dark abyss of unconsciousness, but he fights to stay awake, afraid to know of the fate that would await him when he woke up, or worse, if he never did.
"Grissom."
The older man does not stop, his walk nearly a jog through the bustling hallways. Everything for the night had been all but forgotten, everyone's attention turned onto the here and now, to what was happening at the present time. The scientist barks out a few orders, before turning into the AV Lab where Archie is hard at work.
Nick is going to speak again, but falters as he hears his voice, the same voice that had haunted him for months after the incident. If you could even call it that. In his mind flashes an array of images, of nightmarish hells he had gone through, and he holds his breath in attempt to banish them, but it is when a new voice breaks through the static that the Texan is brought back to the harsh reality.
The stress in Greg's voice in real, he's close to crying, his voice hoarse as it comes through with pitiful pleas. It isn't long before they are silenced by even more gruesome sounds before the call in all is cut off. It's all they have, a few snide remarks, a whimpering cry, and a demand.
Nick closes his eyes, the tension in the room unbearable, no one is speaking, no one is moving, and it seems as though no one is even breathing. Finally Nick raises his head, finding that he is alone now, everyone has moved on, discussing plans of action. Archie continues to work on the voice clip, headphones on now, with faint hopes of finding something useful. With a small shake of his head the Texan leaves, catching up with Grissom in just a short while.
He had already heard the call, already knew the demands, and he was ready to live up to them. One life for another. Nigel Crane wanted him, not Greg, and he wasn't going to leave the young CSI to such a monster on his own. He knew Greg was hurt, knew that he was scared, and though the fear of ever facing the cold-blooded killer again was real, Nick knew he had to push it aside.
There were plans yet to be made, yet to be declared. Nigel had sneered on the phone while Greg had pleaded underneath him, the man stating that they had unfinished business between them. Nick can only imagine the fear that is coursing through Greg's veins, what the younger man must be thinking.
He finally catches Grissom in a corner, nodding to him as he draws in some breath. This was going to be hard to say, but the man knows that there is no other real option, and they are running out of time. "I'm ready."
"For what?" Grissom's asks, barely looking at him as he pours through the files. He stops then, as if catching for the first time what the other man is truly saying. The supervisor shakes his head.
"You know there is no other way," Nick tells him. Still Grissom refuses.
"We'll find another way."
"When?" Nick pours forth his concern. "Before or after he kills him?"
Grissom just gives him a stern eye, already moving in the other direction. "Did you know that Nigel was following you again?" He avoids saying stalking, knowing that it still bothers the Texan, but he needs to know, they could be vital clues in finding their missing CSI.
"Maybe," Nick breathes, then adds "I don't know. I thought that something was up, but then I thought it was just me…" he stops here, deciding that he already sounds crazy enough, but Grissom is nodding, understanding his plight.
"Grissom, he wants me," Nick points out quietly, the unknown fear already eating at him. He feels guilty, feels guilty for feeling so…relieved. Nigel was waiting for him, Nigel knew that was his scene. Nick had convinced Greg to cover it at the last moment, wanting instead to go home in order to make up for the hours of sleep he had missed. Still Nigel was determined to get at him one way or another, and at the expense of a friend.
"I'm not sacrificing another life," Grissom states, cringing almost immediately. Sacrifice wasn't the right word, and he can see the effect in Nick's eyes.
"So you've already given up on him?" He's hurt, and he has reason to be. "Did you give up on me too?"
Grissom drops his head, wishing he could take back the words. It's the second kidnapping within two years. With Nick it had been easier. There had been clues left behind, a tormenting game. It was through skill, and a little bit of luck they had gotten to him in time.
"No," Grissom answers, knowing that he is telling the truth. He means it differently, but he is not sure if the Texan will even listen. "Nigel will most certainly kill you, and as far as we know he may have already killed Greg."
"You don't know for certain," he points out. "Let me call him, I can bargain with him maybe…"
"No," his answer is just as firm. "We do things our way, not his."
He's upset with the answer, but he knows that Grissom is right. He trusts the team, but at the same time fears the possibility of losing one of their own. Especially when it is he who should be the captive. He tries one last time, using the only tactic he knows.
"What would it hurt to try?"
It's been quiet for some time, and he doesn't know if that's good or bad. He's been left alone to his pounding head, his aching body. From here he could see the door, he can feel the warm breeze drifting in. It's a gap of perhaps ten feet in all, it's so close, he could possibly make it if he tries. Instead he closes his eyes, turns away. He can't move, he can't think.
But he knows he has to, he has to try. His freedom, his life is just on the other side of that door. If he could just get out…just try something…
It burns, his entire body is wracked with pain as he moves from his back to his stomach. Here he rests for a minute, head heavy on top of his arms. The world is spinning around him, and he realizes the stench he's smelling is his own blood. It is only then he wonders how badly he is injured.
He doesn't think about it long, instead he climbs to his feet, biting his lip to keep from screaming out. It hurts, it hurts worse than the lab explosion, worse than the time he busted his arm climbing the tree, worse than…
He collapses, crying out as the ground came up at him hard. It takes his breath away, and he lays stunned, trying to breathe, trying to move, and accomplishing neither. He blacks out, only momentarily, and knows of the short time span only because the blood under him is wet and fresh.
Still he is determined, and he climbs to his hands and knees first, crawling with small, painful motions. The doorway is coming closer now, and he's nearly there. Filled with relief a new surge of unknown energy pushes him to his feet, and he staggers towards the light.
Until something grabs him from behind. Someone is more like it. Greg lets out a pained breath as he lands on his back, already moving to try and get away but he's not fast enough, the strong hands are already on him, one pressing against his chest as the other draws back in a tight fist. He can't even get away as the onslaught of blows continue, tearing at his face.
Greg hears something pop, and a searing pain runs through his jaw as he leans his head back against the cold cement. He can feel the blood run anew, covering his face and suddenly he can't breathe. He's choking on his own blood, and he tries to move, tries to get away, but his captor seems to enjoy this new form of torment and instead holds him still, watching him struggle weakly.
His struggles increase, he should be giving up, his body is screaming for the air he needs, and instead all he's achieved is mouthfuls of blood, his blood. The fear nearly overrides his system, and he tries in vain one last time but it's no use. He's fading, and strangely he's finally relieved to know that the end is near.
The sharp smack catches him off guard, and before he can even react it happens again, fast and stinging along his back, and he coughs sharply, dragging in the prolonged breath. He feels his stomach heave, as it protests, emptying the few contents that were left from before. Already covered in blood he now reeks of more than one bodily fluid as he lies in the growing crimson pool beneath him. He's lost too much blood, far too much, more than anyone should have.
The onslaught has stopped, at least for now, and Greg finds himself suddenly alone. It scares him, not knowing where Nigel has gone, knowing the man was angry, and that crossing anger with psychopath was a dangerous thing. He raises his head up as much as he dares, his eyes finally catching sight of his towering form.
He's on the phone, that much Greg can see, and he watches as Nigel paces incessantly, first talking, before yelling. Was it them? Were they coming to save him? Was he going to be rescued? The joyous thoughts raced through his head, nearly blinding his mind, but in a momentary glance all the hopes are dashed.
"Proof," Nigel sneers, snapping the phone closed. "I'll give them proof."
Greg feels his heart sink into the pit of his stomach as he storms over, pulling free a knife. He shakes his head in silent protest, raising a bloody hand as Nigel grabs him roughly, shoving him onto his back before bringing the knife down in one swift motion.
He's afraid. He doesn't know if he can do this or not, but he has to try. Grissom hadn't wanted him to, he had wanted to keep him away, wanted to keep him from reliving that night once more.
But Nick reminds himself that he's doing it for Greg. Grissom gives him the nod, and he reaches for the phone, watching as Sara moments before slips on her own headphones. Everyone is ready.
He dials the number, hands shaking visibly as he presses the phone to his ear, heart pounding fast in his chest. He prays that Nigel will answer, and at the same time hopes that he will not. Nick doesn't know if he's ready just yet.
It goes through, but all he hears is silence. At least at first. Then heavy breathing comes through, as though someone had just run a marathon, or finished burying a corpse maybe. Nick winces, banishing the thought from his mind. "Nigel?"
"Nicholas," Nigel sounds pleasantly surprised, and at first Nick is unable to answer, but a quick nod from Sara he tries.
"I'm listening."
"It's nice to hear from you," he talks calmly, as though they were old relatives who had not spoken in months. "Of course, we would have seen each other so much sooner if you just did your work. You know, it's irresponsible to make someone else do your work, don't you agree?"
"Where is Greg?" Nick asks instead, both wanting and fearing the answer. He can hear Nigel laugh, it's sadistic, but almost amusing.
"He's here," the man reports, his voice strangely calm. "He's just lying around."
"Let me talk to him." Nick needs to talk to him, needs to give the young man comfort, to tell him everything will be okay, even if that isn't the truth.
But Nigel only laughs, "No, I don't think so…but we need to talk."
"Not until I talk with Greg," he pauses here, "I need proof that he's still alive."
"He's alive as he can be," Nigel sneers his voice rising.
"I still want to talk with him." Nick is worried now, he can't hear anything in the background, can't tell if that's a good thing or bad. He wants to hear him, wants to confirm that he is still alive. But Nigel won't let him, and that alone is starting to worry him.
"Two hours," Nigel moves on, as if not even caring. "I want to see you at the community park in two hours, or I'll kill him."
"I still need proof," Nick starts, but falls silent as the call is already ended. He looks up quickly, watching Archie hard at work, and he is afraid to even ask, but he knows that he must. "Was it enough?"
"General location only," Archie replies with a bitter voice. "Narrowed it within a few miles thanks to you. Give me some more time, I should be able to come up with something."
"We have two hours," Nick replies sadly, the man avoiding the gazes of all the others. He knows all too well that time is running out, and while two hours was hardly a reasonable amount, it would very well seem like ages at this point.
The knife tears through the material, skimming along his skin just barely, leaving faint scars as Nigel works it through with a grunt of effort. Greg can't hear him, can't hear anything over the pounding in his head, the fierce beating of his heart. He is relieved, but terrified still. For a moment's breath he thought that it was the end. Somehow though there was bitter disappointment there, as the agony only works its way through his body at an even fiercer tempo than before.
Nigel finishes his task, or so it seems, and Greg has little reaction time before he is pushed roughly to his stomach, his head once again making contact with the ground. It seems as though he can't even keep it up anymore, too tired and weary to do anything but give into the impeding sleep.
It is not soon in coming, as Greg lets out a mangled cry, the remains of his jacket being torn from his arms none too lightly. He rests his head on the cool ground, whispering silent prayers that at least one thing is going well for him. It gives him the smallest of comfort, and he indulges in it, unsure of how long it will last.
It is here that he realizes he is missing some teeth, his tongue probing in the empty spaces filled with blood. And to think he went through five years of orthodontic procedures only to end up like this. He laughs at the irony of it, as if he doesn't have any greater concerns at this point in time.
His time of rest is over, as Nigel is already forcing him to his feet, dragging his body once seeing that he cannot even get his feet under him. He tries, but fails time after time, letting out a gasp as he is thrown into the wall. The entire journey has cost Greg his breath, and he is wheezing painfully, eyes half closed as Nigel leaves the room.
He is not sure if he blacked out, or if his weary body had finally drifted off into a dreamless sleep when a rough shove brings him back to reality. Nigel is hardly paying attention to him, and shows no concern at the soft cries that escape the young CSI's lips as he pulls the ropes taunt. In fact a smile crosses the man's face as he gives it an extra yank to ensure its stability, before tying the other end around the metal leg of the table that is embedded into the wall and floor.
"Can't have you going anywhere," Nigel grins at him, surveying his handwork before pulling free a piece of cloth from his pocket. "Can't have you making noise either."
Greg can't even prepare himself, letting out a scream at the pain as Nigel forces the makeshift gag into his mouth. It forces his swollen jaw open, still sore and bruised from the earlier assault. Nigel ties another loop of fabric around the back of his head, ensuring that the gag will remain in place.
It is even harder to breathe now, Greg desperately sucking in air through his broken nose. It doesn't feel like enough, but it must be, because he's still awake, and though the world is growing fuzzy around him he's managing. He can feel the threat of tears within his eyes, and so he closes them, hoping to banish them away.
He last remembers seeing Nigel walking away, a plastic bag in his hand. For a brief moment there is sunlight, but then the door shuts, leaving him to his dreary dungeon. With a silent cry he rests his head back against the wall, praying that something will claim him, and remove him from this hellish hole he's found himself in.
He's been waiting too long. They won't let him help, aside from the call he made earlier. He's too much involved, and that would do well with no one. Maybe it is for the best, he's too preoccupied with worry and guilt to concentrate. Still he wants something to do, because otherwise he just thinks.
Nick paces the hallways, looking for odds and ends. He's cleaned, and filed, but they are not enough to accomplish the task. Twice he's been in on Archie, hoping, and praying that he had found something by now.
He stops outside Grissom's office, looking in as his supervisor looks through pictures and files. Sara is with him, and watches as she takes a seat, wondering how she can be so calm. She alone is closer to Greg, but somehow she is able to hold it all together. Nick wonders what she is thinking, knowing that her fiancé is being held at the whim of a madman.
He shivers involuntarily, turning away. He can't help thinking of what would happen if it was him. Would his supervisor be right in the fact that Nigel would have killed him outright? He grows sick at this thought, closing his eyes as he hangs his head. And what of Greg, he wonders, was Greg also dead as Grissom thought?
He wrings his hands, but his thoughts are stopped short as the commotion breaks free in the lobby. Even running he isn't the first one there, and the scene is one he won't soon forget. A package the receptionist has retrieved is leaking blood, and the young woman is covered in fresh evidence. Nick swallows hard as he can only imagine what lies inside.
He's not supposed to work the case, but he can't help himself as he slips on a pair of gloves he pulls free from his back pocket. A pool of blood that has collected in the bottom of the fading envelope pours out as he pulls the tattered clothing free. Within moments he feels sick, but is able to push it aside before anything else happens. Inside, drenched with blood reads a note, scribbled in haste.
Here's your proof.
He wants to cry, to scream, to tear the mockery into a million pieces. This is no proof, instead it is a sickening game. Nick doesn't even hesitate as the material is pulled from his hands, and he hardly listens as Grissom lectures him in a soft voice.
It is all soon forgotten, as the attention is drawn back to the AV lab, where Archie has finally made some progress. There is not much more he can do, but he's traced the location of the call to a mile radius. Nick dares to hold his breath as he leans over the desk, leaving behind bloody prints as he stares at the screen.
Something is familiar, but he doesn't know what, and it is killing him inside that his own mind is holding vital information back. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, then once again concentrates on the screen. "The old cable warehouse," he straightens up. "Nigel worked for Luna cable…"
He doesn't have to finish, Grissom already on his phone, heading out the door. Nick is quick to follow, pulling off his gloves and leaving them on the desk for later. He knows that Greg is their first concern, and informs Grissom that he is on his way. Grissom's answer surprises him.
"No."
Nick can only stop, wondering if he had even heard his boss right. A man's life was in danger, and all he can say is no? Confusion sweeps through the Texan as he is overcome with hopelessness. He doesn't understand, but Grissom is determined.
"We're not taking any chances."
Nick shakes his head, as if getting ready to argue, but Grissom doesn't give him the opportunity.
"You're a liability, not only to everyone else there, but to Greg as well."
He hates to admit when he's wrong, but this time he knows that it is the truth. Nigel will seek him out one way or another, and honestly not care who he takes down to get his prize. Disgusted still he turns away, almost jogging down the hall. He's not sure where he is going, but he knows that he has to do something.
Missed by him was Sara, who was following behind shortly before he had gone. Grissom tells her to watch him, and she wants to argue, but doesn't have the heart for it. She is worried as well, thankful that they have finally found a solid lead, but afraid to what they might find. With a scowl she sets off to find the departed Texan. He is in the parking lot, and she nearly misses him.
Nick is ready to argue, ready to tell her he needs no babysitter. Disobeying direct orders can cost him his job, but he no longer cares. Surprisingly she is not there to stop him, and instead climbs into the passenger seat, urging him on.
They stay on the back roads, avoiding the congestion of heavy touring traffic, and speed along a swift pace. Nick knows that they can get there much faster by flipping on the sirens and lights, but does not dare to draw any attention. He knows the address, knows it all too well because it has haunted him, even though the company played no part in the deed that happened years ago.
The building was long ago abandoned, but not yet condemned for demolition. Away from the school, the houses, and any main roads it is a perfect place to carry out any devious plan, and Nick is angry with himself for not thinking of it sooner.
They are one of the last to arrive, Brass giving them a questioning look as they hopped from the car, moving quietly up to the others. The detective has not the time to pay too much attention to outlandish behavior, knowing that they will do well to hang back and let the officers do their job.
Paramedics also stand by, ready for action, for hope that there is life beyond the fading door. With a signal from Brass the team moves, and within seconds the seemingly peaceful structure is under attack. The door is kicked open, and they move swiftly inside, guns raised in case of any impending danger.
Brass follows, his own gun drawn, and though they should wait, Nick and Sara are not too far behind. They have waited long enough for the team to get inside, and they know that if anything was to happen it should have already.
What they didn't expect was the blood, the smell nearly catching them off guard. It isn't hard to find him, all they have to do is follow the crimson trail to the wall, where the battered CSI is cowering under the SWAT officer's gentle administrations.
He isn't lucid enough to understand what is happening, fear evident in his eyes as he tries to pull away from the wandering hands. They can hear him wheezing, struggling to breathe and it is then that Nick understands, cursing silently as he drops to his knees, reaching around to untie the gag. Greg lets out a stark cry as the cloth is removed, and Nick winces visibly, taking in the young man's appearance for the first time. His jaw hangs at an odd angle, as does his arm that's uniquely tied to the nearby table. The bruises that shine through his drenched and tattered shirt suggest that more broken bones lie hidden elsewhere.
He's shaking, trembling violently as his hands are untied, and without warning he lashes out, fingers locking around Nick's arm in a vice grip. Even as he weak as he is it is still harsh enough to make the Texan wince, but he waves off any attempt for the others to interfere.
He knows how scared Greg must be, and if it gives him the smallest comfort then he will tolerate the pain. Somehow they are able to coax him down onto his back, but it takes only a minute before they realize the flaw in their plan. He is already gagging, head raised in feeble attempt to clear his airway.
With a simple nod the roll him onto his side, and he coughs harshly a few times but at least now he can breathe. The paramedics are there, and they don't waste much time before starting their work. It's hard for Nick to watch, because even though they are saving his life, each movement tears a new cry from the man's lips. He is still gripping the Texan's arm tightly, letting out a slight yell as the paramedics force them apart.
Sara is watching from a distance, visibly shaken at the entire ordeal, and even Brass is too stunned to start lecturing them there. With a heavy heart the trio watches as they load him up, and wheel him away, shouting orders and commands. They know they still have a job to do, a scene to process, a suspect to catch. But all they want now is to be at the hospital, all they want now is to know that he will be okay.
He hates waiting, hates it with a passion. It's something he's never been good at. Each second that passes by is like a minute, and each minute seems like an hour. It's hard to believe that only hours have gone by, when it feels like an eternity. Of course he's never had much practice.
The last time he was here he was on the other side of the doors. Nick clasps his hands worriedly, shifting in his chair. Everyone else is here, even those he thought that wouldn't bother to drop by. The Texan can only wonder if they all waited for him too. Nightmares of being in the coffin, of having Nigel stalk him melt into one, creating a whole new terror for his bustling mind.
He watches Sara pace relentlessly, she had been doing so since arriving. Brass has already lectured them, as had Grissom. Neither were up to par, but they held the same simple message. They had been stupid, reckless even. But Nick feels as though it was worth it. He watches Sara fiddle with the ring on her finger, before collapsing into a chair.
Sadly he moves over to comfort her, but once there is unable to find any words. He doesn't know what to say to make things better, and he isn't willing to make promises he cannot keep. But he is saved from a fumbling attempt as the doctor finally emerges. His face is grim, and so the news cannot be good. But it is better than they fear. He is alive.
"He's lost a lot of blood," the man tells the small group. Nick can only nod, this is something he already knew, so it doesn't come as a surprise.
"We've done all we can, now it's up to him."
"He's a fighter," Sara speaks up. She refuses to believe the ultimate outcome. The doctor doesn't argue, and instead nods. He would have to be, to have hung on this long.
He leaves the group with the only peace he has. "We'll know more if he makes it through to morning."
The words are just as haunting however. To have him here for now, and the fears of having him gone upon waking were too real. There would be no sleeping tonight, and Nick is surprised to feel Sara's hand slip into his. She can feel his fear, she knows it haunts him because it haunts her as well. And so they do the only thing that they can do. They wait.
It's been two weeks; two weeks and the doctors are just starting to talk of letting him go. The first night had been long, with no visits allowed it seemed almost unbearable. But once he was stable friends and family trickled in, both surprised and grateful to see that he was doing well. As well as one could in his position, that was.
The list of injuries were staggering, many of which would take more than a few weeks to completely heal. Still he will always carry a hidden scar, and Nick is relieved. He feels horrible for wanting someone else to know his fear, he never has wanted to wish it upon anyone, least of all a friend. But now someone understands, understands why he can't sleep sometimes, why he sometimes can't work a case.
Sara has been with him this entire time; she hardly refuses to leave his side. But when Nick stops by, when he knocks on the door, she quietly excuses herself. She knows they need to talk, and though she doesn't want to be away she grants them the privacy.
Nick is impressed to see the young CSI sitting upright, leaning back against several fluffed pillows. No doubt Sara has been catering to his every need, and would continue to do so when he moved back home.
His arm and one of his legs are in casts, still healing from the breaks, and his midsection is bandaged to help with his ribs. There are still the faint outlines of the bruises on his face, and his nose though still swollen looks much better than it had the week before.
Greg forces a smile, a sort of peace offering as Nick sits down. There is a silence in the room, and he isn't sure on how to start, but then the words come to his mind, and he blurts them out without really thinking.
"They got him."
There's no need to need to declare who he means, and Greg nods, his face turning visibly pale. "They want me to testify."
It was a statement, not a question, and Nick can't lie so instead he just nods. "They want me to do so as well."
"Nigel said he was going to kill you," Greg continues, holding in a breath for a moment longer. "I'm glad he got me instead of you.'
To this the Texan nearly laughs, a smile spread across his face. "And here I was wishing it was me instead."
"I made it," Greg says, serious now. "I pulled through. He wanted to kill me, but wouldn't, because I was his only insurance. He wouldn't have hesitated if it had been you."
"You still didn't deserve this," Nick tells him. He knows Greg is trying to justify what has happened, but he also knows that it isn't possible. There is no real way to reason with a madman.
"You didn't deserve what happened to you," Greg points out just as coldly. He is awestruck by those words, because although it has been years since the issue had come to light, he had never really thought of it that way.
"Do you ever have nightmares?" Nick asks, a slight change in the current conversation.
"Do you ever not have nightmares?"
The Texan smiles, sort of encouraging him. He knows now that everything will be okay. Greg is strong, and resilient. It would take more than this to knock him down. With a nod he sighs, feeling as though a great weight has been lifted off his shoulders.
"Yes…yes I do."
The End