Nick remained kneeling as the men came sprinting across the sand towards him. He couldn't move a muscle, couldn't believe this was actually happening. He thought he was sleeping and that it was all a dream, but the beating of his heart and the lump in his throat told him that this was real. The first man that reached him was young, younger than he was by a long shot. The man, kid really, came to a sudden stop in front of Nick while the other two older men were struggling to catch up. They were both older than Nick; he could tell that even though they were still fifty feet away. The younger man leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees so he was eye level with Nick. He took only a few seconds to catch his breath before he spoke.

"Are you okay man?" He asked. Nick just stared back at him, still unable to move or do anything. "What are you doing here? Are you hurt? Can you even hear me?"

"Yeah," Nick finally replied with a nod. "I can hear you."

"Are you hurt?"

Nick shook his head. "No. I'm fine. But my friend is dying."

The other man was shocked at how calm Nick was. The other two men eventually caught up, but were so confused as to why this man was on a deserted island that they didn't say anything, they just stood behind the younger man and let him talk to Nick.

"Where is your friend?" the young man asked. He wasn't sure if Nick was delusional from the heat or in shock from an injury, or if he was fully aware of what was going on.

"He's in our cave," Nick said as he stood up suddenly.

The realization of the situation finally sunk all the way into Nick's system, and he was now fully alert and running on pure adrenaline. He quickly got to his feet and took off towards the cave with the three other men hot on his heels. They reached it in no time, and when they were all standing there at the entrance, looking at Greg laying motionless in the raft, Nick realized that the cave really wasn't as big as they thought now that it was filled with people.

"What happened to him?" one of the older men asked, finding his voice.

"He fell off the cliff," Nick explained. "He got cut up pretty bad and it got infected and I couldn't do anything, I couldn't help him. He's dying. He'll be dead in a few hours if we don't get him out of here. Can you get him out of here? To a hospital? How far are we from a hospital?"

"We're about a hundred miles off the coast of San Diego. We do a scuba charter out of there to the islands out here, but haven't been out in a while," the younger man answered. "We can get you to our plane at another island a half hour on the boat from here, and then it's about a two hour plane ride to San Diego."

"Okay, let's get him in the boat," Nick said.

The four of them carefully maneuvered around the raft and each took a limb of Greg's and lifted him up. It was much easier than they thought to get him to the speed boat because of how skinny he was now due to all of the weight he had lost since getting stuck on the island. They quickly got Greg into the boat and were speeding across the water before Nick realized. He was sitting on end of the seat that ran across the back of the boat with Greg laying across it, his head rested on Nick's lap and pointed straight up towards the sky, his eyes still closed.

"What's his name?" the younger man asked.

Nick barely heard him over the roar of the engine and the rush of the waves. "Greg," he replied weakly. "I'm Nick."

"My name's Ryan," the youngest offered. "The guy driving is my uncle Mac, and the other guy is his business partner Steve." He went quiet for a minute or so before he asked, "how long have you been on that island?"

Nick shook his head slowly. "I don't know exactly."

"How did you get there?"

It actually took a second for Nick to remember. "We were on a plane coming back from Hawaii."

A look of realization came across Ryan's face. "That was almost seven months ago."

"Sounds about right," Nick mumbled.

"Are you hurt at all?" Ryan asked, handing Nick a bottle of water that he drank in two gulps.

"No," Nick replied. "I'm fine."

Ryan nodded slightly. "We don't have any food on the boat, we were just going out for a quick scout when we saw you on the beach. But we have stuff at the cottage on the other island. We'll be there soon, and we'll get you guys help." He put his hand on Nick's knee and squeezed his reassuringly. "You're going to be fine."

"I know," Nick responded. "It's Greg I'm worried about."

The two men then allowed the sounds of the boat and the ocean to drown them out and rode out the rest of the trip in silence. Fifteen minutes or so later, they were docking at another small island where Nick could immediately see a small house a few feet from the shoreline. There was a seaplane docked to the left of where they pulled up in the boat. Without so much as a word to one another, the four conscious men migrated to the back of the boat where Greg was laying on the seat. Mac and Steve carefully picked him up and swiftly carried him over to the plane. Nick slowly stood and got off of the boat and stood on the dock, watching. All of the energy he had felt before from the adrenaline rush was now gone and he felt as if he were about it collapse. He somehow managed to make it over to the plane, where Greg had been safely loaded on.

"We can only take him back right now," Ryan said from behind Nick. "The plane is a single engine and is really only made for one person, but it will be fine with Mac flying it back with Greg. He'll get him back to San Diego and right to the hospital, then send a medical helicopter out here to get you."

Nick nodded slightly. "I don't care about me, I'm fine. As long as Greg gets to a hospital."

"That's exactly where he's headed," Mac assured him.

"His name is Greg Sanders," Nick informed him. "He's from Santa Monica, California. Tell the hospital that, they'll find his parents. Then I need you to call the Las Vegas police department. Get a hold of captain Jim Brass and tell him you found us. If you can't reach him, call the crime lab and ask for DB Russell."

Mac nodded once. "And what's your name?"

"Nick," he replied. "Nick Stokes."

Without any more conversation, Mac got into the cockpit and expertly turned the plane toward the open ocean. Without what seemed like any effort at all, the small plane raced across the water, and took off into the sky. Nick stood on the dock, watching. Watching the sky.

When Nick opened his eyes, he was staring up at a pale white ceiling. He was confused for a few moments, because he forgot where he was. It took a minute to remember that they had gotten off the island. Greg was on his way to the hospital, and Nick was laying on the couch in the cabin. His stomach hurt from the sandwich he had eaten before he had fallen asleep. His system wasn't used to that much food yet. He sat up slowly, and upon doing so, was handed a cup of cold water.

"Thank you," he said to Ryan before gulping down the entire cup in one swift motion.

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

Nick shook his head. "No, I'm fine. How long as I asleep for?"

Ryan looked down at his watch before replying. "Only about forty-five minutes. Mac is going to radio us when they land in San Diego at the hospital," he said, handing Nick the radio to hang on to.

The Texan nodded weakly. "Thank you for your help. You saved our lives. When I get back to Vegas, I don't know if I can even access my bank account anymore, but I'll give you guys every last cent that I have. I don't-"

Ryan held up a hand to silence the rambling man. "You're not giving us anything. We did what we knew was right. Helping you out is reward enough."

Nick smiled and sat back against the couch, trying to relax. He gripped the radio in his hand as tight as he could, as if the harder he held it the sooner Mac would radio in to them saying that Greg was fine and everything was going to be okay. For the first time in a long time, Nick began thinking about what things were going to be like when he got back to Vegas. There's no way his job was still there waiting for them; they couldn't have held out hope for almost seven months that him and Greg would return. What about his house? His car? He was sure his neighbors would have adopted his dog, Copper, seeing as how they spent more time with Copper than Nick did himself. His parents probably took care of everything that they could, but how long could they have been expected to hold on to his stuff for? Had they given up hope?

Ryan could see the wheels turning in Nick's head, and thought he could use a distraction. Something to help the time pass faster. "How did you guys survive on that island for so long?" he asked.

Nick shrugged, and for a moment Ryan thought the conversation was over before it even began. But then Nick answered by saying "We got lucky. There was a fresh water pond, running water from a waterfall. We ate all the fruit we could find and even caught fish and cooked it on the fire we made. We had that cave for shelter. A suitcase from the crash washed up on shore, so we had extra clothes and everything."

He was quiet for a few seconds, and then continued to talk. It was having a therapeutic affect on him. "It's all kind of fuzzy, everything that happened. I don't even really remember the crash anymore. It feels like we were there a lot longer than seven months, but it all kind of feels like one long day to me now. I guess what I think of as being a day or two was really weeks, or even a whole month. I lost my sense of time I suppose."

Ryan nodded slowly. "Did you know Greg before the island?" he asked.

"Yeah. I've known him for about fifteen years now. We work together in Vegas, at the crime lab. We're CSIs. Were CSIs, I guess. We were coming back from his cousin's wedding. It feels like a lifetime ago," he replied with a heavy sigh. Then it was Nick's turn to be inquisitive. "Do you think Greg's going to die?"

Ryan looked at him with a blank stare, unsure of how to respond. "I'm biased," Nick continued. "I want him to live more than anything. I can't think about it objectively. You saw him, the shape he was in. What do you think? Is he going to die?"

"I don't know," the younger man stammered. "I'm not a doctor, far from it. He didn't look that bad, and I bet once he gets the medical attention he needs, he'll be fine."

"Do you really believe that?" Nick asked, his voice soft and weak.

For some reason, Ryan felt compelled to tell the truth. He couldn't lie to this man who had gone through so much. "No," he all but whispered in response.

Nick let his eyes close slowly, pushing the tears from his eyes to roll down his cheeks. "Neither do I."