A/N: Sorry for the long delay in the updates, I was moving to another city and it took me a while to get an internet connection up and running. Now that I am back, the story should come to an end very soon. Thanks to all who reviewed and who are still reading this.

Special thanks goes to my beta TangledPencils, who despite her busy life finds the time and helps with making this story better. Thanks, mate:-)

Fire and Water

Chapter 28

by Nicol Leoraine

Grissom knew he wouldn't find Nick waiting patiently in the car even before he saw the empty vehicle parked on the street. He knew because there was no way that Nick would've waited so long. Not with a civilian in danger, and surely not with his stubborn Texan nature, that combined with Nick's emphatic feelings toward the victims just made him prone to get into trouble. Gritting his teeth, Grissom stopped his own car and got out of it, heading straight for the squad car that was a little further ahead, passing Nick's rented car with only a brief glance, leaving the closer inspection to Warrick, who was already looking inside through the window, gloved hand opening the door.

"No sign of a fight, Gris," the tall CSI called after his supervisor, his tone a mix of frustration tinged with relief and maybe fear. Warrick wasn't stupid. He knew that Nick left the car on his own, though somehow he was hoping that Nick was smarter than to follow two armed killers into an insecure building.

"Have you sent someone inside?" Grissom asked as soon as he reached the officer that was in charge.

"No, sir. We arrived just a minute ago. The guy who called it in was one of yours?"

"Yeah. I think he's inside that building, along with two armed suspects and the vic. How do you plan on proceeding?"

The officer looked unsure and that made Grissom more uneasy. They didn't have time for hesitation – Nick didn't have the time.

"Is this a kidnapping? Will they ask for ransom?" the officer asked, hoping for a positive reply. That would make his decisions much easier. He could wait for the SWAT team, or the negotiator.

"They won't be asking for anything," Warrick said, coming up from behind Grissom and looking angry. "They only want to burn a man alive, then get the hell away. There's no time for waiting!"

The officer held Warrick's look for a moment, then pulled out his radio and started giving out instructions. Grissom and Warrick exchanged a relieved look, then turned and headed back for their car, silently taking out the bullet proof vests and checking on their guns, before returning to the squad car.

"I've called for more back up but their ETA is ten minutes at best. With you two, there's six of us. Anything we should be aware of before we enter that building?" the sergeant asked, trying to not sound as nervous as he was.

"Just don't shoot our guy," Warrick said with a grin that was more of a warning and took position by the door along with two other cops who were preparing to enter.

"Well, that helps," the sergeant muttered as he took his position and then gave the signal.

The doorknob was hot and the officer that touched it pulled off his hand with a gasp, looking confused. That was when Grissom, who was standing a little further back, noticed the smoke coming from under the door and he exchanged an anguished look with Warrick. Tightening his lips into a thin line at the thought that they were too late, Warrick hissed a warning to the others before stepping quickly forward and bringing his foot up, landing a kick on the door that had it slamming back against the wall with explosive force.

They were welcomed by the choking smoke that surged out through the open door, the stifling heat rolling out right behind it and Warrick gave a choked curse when despite all of it, his momentum carried him inside past the crouching police officers. He staggered to a halt to see the red flames consuming the staircase, several greedy fingers of flame starting to lick at the first floor landing as the aged timber began to smoke and blacken. He didn't hear the other cops coming after him over the ominous crackle of the flames, didn't see them scoping the place for anyone that was alive, only to retreat to the exit once they realized that there was no one there, dead or alive. All Warrick heard was his own voice as he shouted for Nick, trying to find a way to get through the fire and up the stairs, because that was the only place his friend could've gone if he wasn't here. He didn't listen when a voice called at him, and when a hand landed on his shoulder, trying to pull him out, he pushed it away and went further inside. Sweat ran down his face and mixed with tears as the smoke irritated his eyes, and he squinted in response as he tried to see through the smoky interior of the house.

"Nick!" Warrick yelled again, then doubled over in a cough. He was still gasping for breath when someone turned him and forcibly started to move him out of the house.

"No, gotta – find Nick," he gasped out and started struggling, when the man that was holding him turned and Warrick realized it was Grissom.

"He isn't there!" Grissom shouted, compensating for the momentary loss of hearing. He wasn't sure if it was caused by his illness or by the fact that the only sound that could be heard was the scary crackling of the fire as it consumed the wood and everything else around them.

Forestalling any further argument, Grissom grasped Warrick's arm with a force that would leave bruises and harshly turned Warrick so he could see the burning stairs.

"Look, no way up! We have to go!" Without waiting, Grissom headed for the exit and this time Warrick followed him, simply because he had no breath left for arguing.

-xXxXx-

He knew things went from bad to worse the moment he heard the crackle of the radio and saw the driver react to it. Jim was sitting in the back of the ambulance, hunched over and leaning against the wall as he tried to keep his seat against the swaying and rocking of the vehicle. There was no way he could possibly fall asleep during this crazy ride, and he made a mental note to never ride in the back of an ambulance ever again, unless he was at least unconscious…it was worse than one of those carnival rides where the kids either screamed in delighted hysteria or tossed their cookies. He'd asked the paramedic for some Tylenol to try and silence his headache enough so he could hear the world around himself. The paramedic was sitting opposite him, pouting. Looking at him, Brass had a sudden recollection of his daughter when she was four year old and wanted the doll she saw in a shop display window. Jim had tried to tell her that the shop was closed and that they wouldn't be open until the next day, but she didn't believe him. Even when he'd bought her an ice cream, she had had the same pout for the rest of the day. Giving his head a slight shake, Brass realized his eyes had closed and as he opened them, he saw the kid was watching him, the pout gone, replaced by something else.

Frowning, Brass instinctively straightened up.

"What's wrong?"

"We just got a call," the paramedic started, hesitating.

"We're not turning this car," Brass growled in warning and the kid shook his head.

"No, dispatch already knows we are heading down town. They're sending out two more ambulances that way."

"Why?"

"Someone reported a building on fire. With this weather and in the down town area, the chance that the fire will spread is too big. They'll have to evacuate the surrounding buildings-" the medic continued, but Brass stopped listening. All he could think of was that there was a fire, and that they were already too late.

-xXxXx-

When the ambulance arrived, it was to find two men stumbling out of the building. One officer was talking into his radio by the squad car, while another two were trying to keep some curious onlookers back. Brass shook his head in disgust…human nature at its finest. It didn't seem to matter when, where, how or why, there was always the rubberneck element who turned up to stare in horrified fascination at any sign of death or destruction. Jim briefly wondered if there was some kind of built in element in humans which alerted them to such happenings so that they knew when to turn up, before jerking his attention forcibly back to the scene of the action. He began cursing under his breath as he recognized the men, and turning to the rear doors, he thumped on them angrily as he yelled at the driver to hurry up and stop. The ambulance had barely slid to a halt before Brass was out and somehow drunkenly running toward the two men that had just come out of the building.

"Are you two insane, going into a burning house?!" he shouted angrily when he saw both Warrick and Grissom gasping for breath, their faces dark with soot they didn't even know was there, because there was no way Grissom would rub at his face trying to brush off the sweat if he knew he was just smearing the stuff all over his normally clean visage.

Before anyone of them could reply though, Brass looked around with hope that quickly vanished.

"Nick?"

"Probably – still inside," Grissom gasped out once he caught his breath.

"Crap" was all Brass said and Warrick could only nod.

"Maybe he's not here, maybe he's somewhere else? Maybe the Master already left and Nicky followed him," Brass asked hopefully but Grissom shook his head.

"His car is...still here. As well as the car the Master was driving."

The detective let out another curse, while the paramedic from the rear of the ambulance who had followed him, put down his bag and tried to attend to Warrick, unsuccessfully. The irate CSI pushed away the help and stood, swaying, looking at the building as if he was thinking about returning. Grissom shoot him a warning look but Warrick only glared at him.

"I could've found a way up," the younger man spoke, his voice hoarse but strong.

"You would've died," Grissom answered firmly, knowing it was the truth.

"Isn't there any other way inside? I doubt the Master would set the fire without an escape plan," Brass mused and practically saw the two light bulbs go up above the heads of the two CSI's.

"Escape...that's it!" Warrick shouted and turned away from the building, no longer interested. Instead he headed towards the neighboring house, giving a heavy knock on the door before kicking out with his leg. The door gave a cracking sound but didn't budge so Warrick lifted his leg and gave it another hard blow, this time stumbling inside when the door gave under the pressure.

"What the hell are you doing?" Brass asked once he caught up with Warrick.

"There must be a fire escape on the other side of the building. Maybe Nick is there... or we can try and get into the building that way."

"What part about the fact that there's a fire didn't you understand, Warrick?" the detective asked heatedly, but followed the CSI just like Grissom, who found it was the right time to make a comment.

"The fire hasn't reached the top floors yet. If Nick's still alive, he will be on the first or second floor. We can get to him by using the fire escape."

"Yeah, well…what if it's the Master who's there?"

"That's why you're coming with us, Jim," Grissom said grimly.

-xXxXx-

It wasn't hard to die. It hurt, but the pain quickly faded, leaving behind a deep, never ending numbness. But it was a surprise. He hadn't thought death would come for him this day. Sure, there was always that chance, but he was an optimist…do everything you can and you'll survive. He'd done what he could. He knew where his opponents were, knew what weapons they possessed and what were they capable of. So what, if he caught an unexpected left hook to his jaw? So what, if something hit him in the stomach with a strength he didn't know his attacker still had, and sent him flying through the hall? This shouldn't have happened. He knew the enemy, knew to keep facing him. But he didn't consider that this time the danger came from the back. One minute he was in charge, his fist connecting with flesh, the next he was falling, his back pierced with a flash of white hot pain.

He didn't know if he was alive anymore...as the blood ran freely down his back, his body started losing warmth, but he didn't shiver...he couldn't. There was no gasping for breath, no choked sobs, there was no sound leaving his throat ever again. Still, there was the light and the face looking down at him with such surprise he thought it almost funny. His synapses sent a last signal through his brain before it finally shut down.

'Why, Jonah?'

-xXxXx-

All he could feel was surprise. He was alive and the Master was dead. Nick couldn't tell if he felt any relief. Maybe once they got out of the building, out of the fire's way. Maybe when there wasn't anyone trying to kill them he could feel the relief. But right now, all he felt was surprise and pain. The fight took a lot out of him and he wasn't sure he'd be up to doing very much if the kid decided to go another round with him. He closed his eyes briefly as the room tilted crazily, then forced them open again.

"N-Nick?" came the pained question from the right and Nick half turned his head, not daring to make any fast movements. He knew it wouldn't take much to upset the delicate balance he was maintaining on his equilibrium, and falling down was not a good idea right now. There was no way he would be able to regain his feet if that happened, regardless of whether there was a fire in the building, or another crazy armed killer trying to attack him.

"I'm okay," Nick answered. It came out only as a croak, but still, it was a signal he was alive.

"Is...it's over?" Kyle asked and Nick had to look back at the boy that was on the floor, half cradling the dead form of his Master. As if feeling his look, Jonah's head turned toward the light and he blinked.

Was it over?

Nick didn't know. Jonah's face was utterly blank, the only emotions written deep in his eyes but those Nick couldn't interpret. Taking a shallow breath, eyes burning from the smoke, Nick swallowed.

"Is it over, Jonah?"

-xXxXx-

He had killed the Master. He had wanted to prove himself, to help, and instead, he had killed the man with his own knife. It was almost funny but he couldn't laugh. It was sad, but he couldn't cry either, because he knew that sooner or later, the Master would've killed him.

'I should feel something,' Jonah thought, but he didn't. Everything became empty and unimportant. It was almost as if he'd taken a dose of crystal meth. Reality didn't exist anymore…this was all just some crazy dream. The answer to the question didn't matter.

He wanted to tell that to the man who was still shining the damn light onto his Master's corpse. He wanted to tell him, to shake his head or nod, whatever was needed, when he saw something mere feet from him.

He was still in that dreamlike haze when he reached out and grabbed it, when he cocked the gun and aimed it at the light. But he didn't shoot.

"Leave."

TBC