It was late – or early, whatever your interpretation of time. Gil Grissom walked the silent, semi-dark corridors of the crime labs, soaking in the quiet that reigned Between Shifts. It was like a magical moment when labs were empty, people were few, and the constant buzz and bustle was reduced to a minimum. The graveyard people were already home, with some stragglers just going, and the  early shift hadn't signed in yet.
Grissom had come off his own shift an hour ago, but he had a court appearance to make in another two. There was evidence to pick up in the evidence vault and he wanted to review his notes once more.
Nick would be home by the time he walked out of the court building and headed home, Grissom mused, smiling to himself. His lover had been on a week-long seminar and was due to fly back from Boston this morning. Arrival time was around noon, so chances were good that they could hook up for a welcome-home-get-together later on. He was already looking forward to it. As much as he was used to being alone, he had still missed Nick. Regular evening phone calls just before work hadn't really cut it.
Rounding a corner, Grissom noticed that someone from his team was still there. Sara Sidle was busy with the computer in the A/V lab and although he really didn't want to know what she was still doing here, the supervisor in him didn't approve. So he stuck his head into the lab.
"Working late or starting an early shift?"
Sara looked up. "Oh, hi Grissom!" He just raised an eyebrow and she sighed. "I thought I'd do some more work on the Riker case. You know, the stacks of surveillance tapes. Archie and I made a dent in them already, but we'll still be at it by the end of next week if I don't…"
Grissom shook his head and she broke off. "Sara, go home," was all he said.
"Look who's talking."
"I have a court date. What's your excuse? Go home!"
She scowled, but he didn't give her a chance to reply with words. He simply walked away.
It was a weekend coming up. Warrick was on call, with Sara as back-up. Warrick had volunteered to switch places with Grissom with an unconvincing excuse that he needed the next weekend off and not this one. Grissom suspected that his CSI was simply willing to give him a chance to have private time with Nick. He silently appreciated it.
Catherine had left yesterday for a brief vacation with her daughter Lindsey. They had gone to San Diego, since Lindsey wanted to visit Sea World and play at the beach. She would be back Monday morning.
The evidence vault was empty and silent when Grissom entered. He used his key card to open it. The blue light kept everything in a kind of twilight, but the countless white boxes stood out against the gray shelves. Walking down the aisle that led to the place where his evidence box was, Grissom suddenly heard a noise. Frowning, he walked over to the second aisle and stopped.
He wasn't alone.
Dressed in a lab coat, a tall, slender man was looking around inside an evidence box that, from the placement on the shelves that went by date, contained recently collected items.
"Excuse me?" Grissom called and the man looked up.
The face was sharp-angled, almost haggard, the gray hair close cropped; military-style. Hard eyes pinned him with a look that could melt flesh off bones and for a fleeting moment, Grissom had the feeling of being x-rayed by that stare.
He didn't know the man.
He didn't recognize him as a lab technician or a criminalist.
"Who are you?" he asked sharply.
Alarm bells went off in his head and something screamed at him to get out.
But then he was already looking at the business end of a gun barrel and he knew it was too late.

* * *

Warrick had just entered his home when the cell phone rang. He gave a groan of disgust and grabbed the cursed device.
"Brown," he answered it, making no effort to sound either awake or happy about the call.
The very next moment he was rather awake and very attentive.
"What?!" he exclaimed. "Is this a joke?"
It wasn't.
Phone still glued to his ear, he walked over to the TV and switched it on, zapping to the news channel. His jaw threatened to hit the floor when he read the scroll bar and saw the first pictures.
"I don't believe it," he whispered.
Snapping the cell shut after thanking the caller for the news, he continued to stare at the screen, then pulled himself together. He dialed Brass's number.
"Yeah, Brass, it's Warrick…. I heard… yeah… listen, I… what?!"
Now he had to sit down.
"Grissom? And Sara and Greg? Shit!"
He closed his eyes, letting his head drop against the couch back.
"Damn," he murmured. "You're there?.... 'kay… I'll just grab a shower and something to eat… I know I can't do anything, Brass! I just wanna be there, okay? Okay….. good… see ya."
He hung up once more, then rubbed his eyes.
When it rains, it really does pour…
And no one had been able to reach Nick most likely, since their colleague wasn't expected until noon. Warrick sat up and put the cell onto the couch table.
Shower. Food. Then he'd try Nick's place until the other man picked up.
He wasn't looking forward to that call.

* * *

The conference/seminar had been a blast. Nick had met lots of new faces, as well as old friends, had had interesting talks with criminalists from all over the country, and he had had fun at the staged crime scenes. It had been a real success and he knew he was taking a lot of new things home with him, including CDs and folders full of programs and articles and files. He had exchanged email addresses with some of the other men and women in Boston, and he just knew that Grissom would cross-examine him about the seminar in detail later.
He wasn't expecting his lover just yet. He knew Grissom's schedule and the court date would probably take a while. So he had unpacked, got the washing machine going – ever since Nigel Crane he was reluctant to use the dry cleaners -- shopped to stack up the fridge, and finally allowed himself to unwind from the flight and the excitement in front of the TV.
Nick was in the middle of an ornithology program, watching the Discovery Channel 2-hour special, when his cell rang. He sighed deeply and grabbed the offending device. It meant only one thing: work. Back for half a day… they had to have smelled it, he decided with a grin.
"Yeah," he answered the third ring. "Hey, Warrick. What's up, man?"
Suddenly he stiffened, punching the mute button on the remote.
"What?!"
Nick paled dramatically as Warrick explained the situation at the precinct, managed an 'I'll be over in a few', then snapped the cell phone shut. For a whole minute, he just sat there, eyes on the TV screen without seeing anything. Then he exploded into action. He switched off the TV, grabbed his jacket and his car keys, and was out of the door like a flash.

* * *

"This morning, a man whose name and intentions aren’t yet known, broke into the criminalistics lab here in Las Vegas, taking three people hostage. As of now, the situation remains unclear as police have evacuated the building and are keeping everyone away from the scene. We can only speculate at this moment. The police haven't released the names of the hostages yet, but from reliable sources we know all three work for the criminalistics bureau. We'll keep you updated as things develop."
Greg Sanders tore his eyes away from the television screen and automatically looked over to the tall man holding them at gun point. Sharp, green eyes locked with his and he automatically avoided the gaze, shivering.
"What do you hope to gain from this?"
Grissom's calm voice did wonders to Greg's nerves,  even if the older man was just another hostage and as powerless as he and Sara.
No answer was forthcoming. The green eyes just changed targets, assessing the supervisor, before resuming their watchful surveillance of the room and the three people inside.
"You won't get past the police."
That was Sara. Still spunky, but there was a noticeable nervous edge to her whole demeanor. She kept her arms wrapped around her middle and herself as far away from the man with the gun as possible.
"To answer your question, I hope to gain my life," the stranger finally said, his voice cold and each word precisely clipped. "As for the police, they won't bother me while I have you."
Greg bit his lower lip, trying to suppress a shiver. He had been through a lot, but he had never been held at gun point. And if he hadn't decided to catch up on some backlog, he wouldn't be here. Well, if he hadn't caught sight of Grissom and wanted to impress him with how quickly he had come upon results on one of Grissom's cases, he wouldn't be here, that was.
As for Sara, she had had the bad luck of actually taking Grissom's advice, wanting to go home, and dropping something off in Grissom's office when the man with the gun had shoved Grissom and Greg into it.
And then there were three.
He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Of all the three of them, Grissom was the only one who shouldn't be afraid to die. He was a Phoenix. Death became him, Greg thought darkly. As an ally, he knew all about the paranormal and especially about the two very unique paranormals working for the CSI. One a Phoenix, the other a Mimic, and both in a relationship with each other.
That's it, Greggo. Think about something other than the crazy guy with the gun. How about the chemical composition of sweat? Or the latest surfer babe he had been checking out in Surfs Up? And then there was the vacation he was saving all his money for. He had planned to go to Maui. With a surf board.
"What were you looking for in the evidence vault?" Grissom asked, pulling Greg out of his safe haven of non-gun-related thoughts. "You were in the aisle that contained recently obtained evidence. Recent cases."
Oh please, Greg thought as he looked at the man's face, rigid, hard, uncompromising. Don't ask questions, Griss. Just… shut up and let the SWAT team handle him, okay?
"Who are you?" the man asked coldly.
"Gil Grissom. I work here." Grissom met the hard gaze unflinchingly.
"Well, Gil Grissom, it's none of your business."
"From the looks of it, you didn't find it. But you took great pains in getting inside a room that has restricted access," Grissom went on, his voice as calm as if he was discussing bugs in a case. "You had a key card, an authorized card. You even brought a gun in here. Why?"
"You ask too many questions."
"I have an inquiring mind."
Greg swallowed hard as the man approached Grissom, each step measured. There was a limp in his gait, but it didn't lessen the threat. He looked, sounded and moved like military, Sanders thought faintly. In a uniform, this man could be a general and everybody would salute.
"I don't tolerate the nosey and inquisitive, Mr. Grissom."
The two men were standing eye-to-eye and the gun hung at the hostage taker's side.
"It's in my nature to be inquisitive," Grissom answered, not backing down.
"Well, then you should change your nature, Mr. Grissom. It can get you killed."
The shot echoed through the small room like a thunder crash.

* * *

Outside the precinct, a small army was covering the building. It was taped off from the nosey and curious, and a lot of the uniforms were busy keeping reporters at bay. A whole police precinct under siege was the best story today so far, so whoever had a camera was present, trying to get interviews or comments.
Jim Brass had been called since he hadn't been on duty, and he was currently talking to the dayshift captain, Henry Taylor, who had next to no information.
The evacuation had gone smoothly and without problems. The moment it had become clear what was going on, Taylor hadn't hesitated. Of course, it meant a whole lot of hold-ups and complications, but right now, that was the least on their minds. Suspects had been transferred to other holding cells, the lab technicians who had been about to come in for work had been sent home, and every available officer had been called in; they couldn't do more.
"Everyone's out," Brass told Warrick, who had come right over after he had heard it from one of the dayshift lab guys. "Except Grissom, Sanders and Sidle. Looks like overtime doesn't pay."
Warrick grimaced.
"Taylor says Grissom told them to get out. Just that. Looks like Taylor followed his instinct on that one and called the evacuation. No heroics."
Warrick's attention was briefly drawn to the sidelines where Nick was just making way past the barrier, holding up his ID.
"What happened?" Stokes demanded, trying not to look too frantic.
Warrick couldn't fault him for what he felt. If it was his lover trapped in there, he'd be showing nerves too.
"One guy, with a gun, got into the precinct. Took three hostages," Brass told him dispassionately. "We evacuated the building, called in SWAT and a hostage negotiator."
"Who is that maniac?" Warrick wanted to know. "Do we know yet?"
"Well, we received one call shortly after it all started. He identified himself as Colonel Robert Bruckner, US Army. We're currently running a background check."
"Army?" Warrick stared at him in disbelief. "What's he? One-man attack force? What's he want?"
"He wants a disc."
"A disc? What disc?" Nick echoed.
"Says it was collected from a body we've got down in the morgue. Has to be in evidence, but he didn't find it. He wants it."
"He breaks into CSI and takes three people hostage because of a fucking disc?!"
Brass shrugged. "Yeah, looks like it."
One of his officers suddenly stepped up to him and handed him a file. "We just got that from the database. The Army files are mostly restricted, but what we have is interesting, sir."
Brass took the folder and scanned it. His mouth drew into a thin line.
"Well?" Warrick demanded.
"Colonel Robert Bruckner, Special Forces. Not much about what he did, just that he was highly decorated. Went AWOL two months ago over some matter that's under wraps, but the Army's been looking for him ever since."
"He pops up in Vegas, breaks into our labs and holds three of our people at gun point?"
"Looks like it."
"For a disc. And we've got no idea why," Nick muttered, clouded eyes on the hermetically sealed building.
Brass nodded.
A man dressed completely in the black outfit of the SWAT officers approached. "Captain James Callahan," he introduced himself. "My men are in position. I heard the hostage negotiator is trying to get another line into the building."
"Yeah. She's been trying for an hour now, but no luck… Guy won't pick up again."
The hollow sound of a shot being fired interrupted them and controlled chaos ensued. Warrick was pushed aside as Brass rushed to the barricade of police vehicles while shouts of 'shots fired!' went up all around.
"Shit!" Brown whispered. "Shit, shit, shit!"
Officers ran around him, talking into their headsets, while SWAT members changed position and sought out the best shot in case someone made a break for it. The hostage negotiator was still trying to get a line into the lab complex, but no one was picking up the phone.
Suddenly she straightened. "Hello?"
Warrick came closer and saw Brass holding a listening device to his ear. His features were grim, just like Captain Callahan's, who was holding another.
"This is Belinda again," the negotiator began. "We heard shots… Sir?... Hello? Sir?!"
Frustrated, she put down the receiver.
"He hung up again."
"What did he say?" Warrick asked, dreading the answer.
"Said he'd get back to us with his demands," Brass answered.
"That's all?"
"Yep, that's all."

* * *

There had been a moment of disbelieving shock.
Blue eyes widened as the reality of the situation crashed in, then his leg had buckled, unable to hold his weight any longer. For a minute in time, there had been no feeling at all. Then it had hit with the speed and mass of a freight train.
The pain was indescribable. Grissom felt like someone was trying to push a barbed, red-hot spear through his thigh, and he had to grit his teeth not to cry out as Sara and Greg tried to make him more comfortable and stop the bleeding. He knew he was squashing someone's hand and he hoped it wouldn't leave lasting damage, but that was soon erased by the renewed agony. A cry escaped his lips and was followed by harsh pants.
"Shhh, it's okay, we've got you," Greg whispered, owner of the semi-squashed hand.
Sara, splattered in blood just like Greg, fiercely concentrated on binding the leg, stopping the vital blood from rushing out of the hole.
"Why did you do this?" she suddenly screamed as she sat back, glaring at the shooter.
"To shut him up," was the dispassionate answer.
"You lunatic!" she exploded.
The man smiled, mildly amused. "Yes, maybe. I've been called a lot of things in my life. I learned to live with it. And you better shut up before I decide the next bullet goes, say, into your head."
Sara's temper flared, but Greg caught her wrist with his free, blood-covered hand. "No," he said firmly.
"Greg…!" she hissed.
"No," Greg repeated, refusing to back down. The expression in his eyes was steely. "We've got someone who needs us right now."
With that he let go of Sara's wrist and tended to Grissom again, who was semi-coherent and obviously in a lot of pain. They had the meager supplies of the first aid kit and while there was a lot more and better bandaging material throughout the building, they weren't allowed to fetch anything. They made do with what they had.
"Grissom?" Sara murmured, sinking into herself all of a sudden.
"Still here," he gasped harshly.
Greg smiled bravely. "Don't you dare go out now. It's more fun with three."
"Elevate his legs," their shooter ordered. "Slows the bleeding."
"What do you care?" Greg muttered, but they followed the order, even if it meant more pain for Grissom.
He folded his lab coat underneath the curly head, hoping to make the man more comfortable. Sara finished binding the leg wound, then sat back, her expression strangely vacant. Greg was still holding Grissom's hand, or was held by the barely conscious man, it was open for interpretation. He squeezed it reassuringly.
"Sara?" Greg asked.
She didn't react.
"Sara!"
Sidle looked up, eyes glassy.
"He needs us," Greg reiterated. "Don't go out on me now!"
So strange, he mused as he watched Sara pull herself together. Two years ago he had nearly lost it because a dying man had spit blood and then collapsed on him. He had been a greener than green rookie, out in the field despite having no field training, and he had made a complete fool out of himself. He had had something to prove back then. Today, it was different. Today he was sitting with his boss, held at gunpoint, treating a severely bleeding shot wound. All he felt was the need to keep Grissom alive. He didn't think about the blood sticking to his hands and clothes, or the deep wound in Grissom's thigh. He was only thinking about staying calm, keeping his head, and surviving.
Really strange.
And Sara Sidle, tough criminalist, was losing it.
Greg looked up and noticed that he was being watched by the maniac who had shot Grissom.
"He needs medical help," the lab technician heard himself say calmly.
"He'll live a little while."
"You want to let him die?"
"Not if they cooperate."
Greg remembered the phone call, the brief exchange of words, with no comment about who had been shot or what had really occurred. No one outside knew that Grissom was bleeding in here.
The man pushed away from the wall he had been leaning against and walked over to Sara.
"What's your name?"
She looked up, defiance in her eyes. "Sara Sidle."
"Well, Sara Sidle. I guess you work here, right?"
She nodded.
"Then you'll help me find something."
Stubbornness edged her features.
"If not, I'll give your friend over there another hole to worry about, understood?" the shooter asked.
She swallowed and Greg prayed she would cooperate. Finally Sara nodded.
"Good. Now listen to me. You have a body here, Ethan Baker. When he was brought in, his belongings were filed into the evidence vault. I want something he was carrying, a disc. It's no longer in the vault. Find it for me."
Sara swallowed. "I've… to use a computer. Maybe someone checked it out."
The gun gestured over to the desk. "Do it."
Greg watched Sara get up and stumble over to Grissom's computer, then log herself in. The man with the gun was right behind her. Sanders turned his attention back to Grissom, who had his eyes closed and was breathing as shallow as possible. As if he was feeling Greg's eyes on him, Grissom cracked his own open. Blurry blue eyes met brown.
Greg tried to smile reassuringly, squeezing his boss's hand again, then watched as Grissom twitched a brief smile and let his eyes slide shut once more.
"Found it," Sara announced.
"Where?" came the immediate demand.
"Uh, it was checked out by one of the dayshift guys. I think it's in the A/V lab."
The cold, green eyes narrowed, a calculating look in them. Greg shivered slightly. Something about the man felt off. He was a lunatic, sure. He had come in here with a gun, taken them hostage and shot Grissom. But there was something else. Something very cold, something very professional, and something very much predatory. This was a man used to being in control and knowing exactly what he wanted. Nothing was coincidence, nothing was by chance.
"Get it," the man ordered.
Sara stared at him. "What?"
"You heard me, Sara Sidle. Get the discs. Bring them here. You have five minutes. For every minute you're overdue, your friend here features a new hole in his body, starting with his lover leg and working upward. Now get them!"
Sara jumped out of the chair, face white, shaking. She edged toward the door.
"Don't even try calling the outside," the man added, voice still cold. "Get the discs and come back. You know what happens if you don't."
Sara met Greg's eyes, who nodded encouragingly. She stumbled out of the door, leaving Greg and Grissom alone.

*

On some level, Grissom was still aware of what was happening around him.
It was cold.
There was a sound.
It was a voice, he decided. He couldn't make out the words, but he was sure someone was talking. The voice was harsh, cold, commanding.
There was touch.
Someone was holding his hand. No, he was clinging to someone, with all his strength born out of pain.
The pain.
Too bad he remembered that, too.
It pulsed through his body, centered in his left thigh where it burned with white-hot intensity whenever a muscle twitched. He knew he was bleeding, had lost blood, and he felt the light-headedness associated with blood loss.
"Grissom?"
The voice was soft, unlike the other, and he managed to crack his eyes open with an effort.
It was still cold.
Greg Sanders sat by his side, looking pale and scared, but also very much together. The younger man was holding on to him just like Grissom clung to Greg for support.
"What's happening?" Gil asked roughly.
"Sara's looking for some kind of disc."
"Sara?"
"Yeah. The guy with the gun sent her out to get it. No idea what he wants with it." Greg tried a smile and it was a weak one at best.
Grissom tried to wrap his mind around the mystery, the riddle, but the pain was agony. It was everywhere, leeching his strength, making him fuzzy.
He was cold. So cold. He was shaking and couldn't stop and each shiver sent slivers of more pain up his leg.
So cold.
Greg had draped a jacket over him and he dimly realized it was his own lab coat, the one he had hung up in the office.
He started to drift again and tried to anchor his thoughts somewhere, but they slipped away, into murky waters.
Nick.
Think of Nick.
His lover. Someone who had worn down all his defenses against close human contact, who put up with all his moods and quirks, who loved him with all his faults and strange manners. Someone who had been at his side a long time before they had even realized that there could be more. Someone…
Someone he had found without looking for; someone he had needed without realizing it.
Grissom swallowed against the pain and bit back a little moan. He wanted to see Nick again. Not as a Phoenix reborn but as the same old Grissom he was now. He had to fight to stay alive.
But it was hard.
And it was getting colder.

* * *

"Hey, man."
Nick looked up and discovered Warrick standing in front of him. He was holding two cups of coffee and wordlessly offered Nick one. Stokes took it thankfully.
"They got some sandwiches over there, in case you want one."
"Not hungry."
Warrick sat down beside him on the low wall of the parking lot that had now become SWAT central. There were a lot of uniforms here, more than normally walked around the precinct, and here and there, black-clad special unit members were among them. Brass and Callahan were conferring with Taylor somewhere to the side.
"How you doing?" Warrick asked quietly.
"Like shit."
A brief snort of humorless laughter. "Ain't that the truth. S'not easy. For any of us."
"Yeah." Nick sipped at the coffee, contemplating the ground. "Figures, hm?"
"What?"
"Grissom. Right in the middle of where the action is once more. He's got a talent."
"Right. For finding trouble in the most harmless places," Warrick chuckled.
Nick smiled. How often had something like this occurred in the past? Not exactly this, but Grissom finding more than he could deal with? Too often, he decided. Back then they hadn't been together. He had worried about his boss just the same, but now a personal edge had been added. This was the person he loved and he was currently held hostage by a man with a gun.
"Nick, we'll get him out of this. We'll get all of them out of this. He's got Sara in there. And Greg."
"And a man with a gun."
"That, too."
Nick massaged his forehead, then looked at Warrick. "I hate this inactivity. Just sitting here, waiting. It's driving me nuts!"
"All of us, Nick. All of us. But it's all we can do right now."

* * *

"Captain Brass?"
Jim turned and his eyes traveled up the uniformed chest of the tall man towering over him. The guy was easily six-four and a few, with short, brown hair and a sunburned face. He was dressed up in an Army uniform and had a visitor ID around his neck.
"And you are?"
"Lieutenant Paul Duncan, US Army."
"Well, Lieutenant Paul Duncan, US Army, what can I do for you?"
"I was told you're handling the situation."
Brass sighed. He hated Army upshots. They never got straight to the point.
"Yeah, that's me. So what are you doing here?"
"My superiors were told that Colonel Robert Bruckner is the hostage taker. I was sent here to assist you in bringing him down."
"Brought a tank with you, lieutenant?"
Duncan didn't twitch so much as a muscle. Brass mentally shook his head.
"Listen, Lieutenant Duncan. The police are handling the matter at the moment, so thank you for the offer. Unless you can tell me something about this man I don't already know from his file, which is brimming with 'top secret' and 'eyes only' comments, I've no use for another uniform, okay?"
Duncan's eyes narrowed briefly, then he twitched a smile. "Colonel Bruckner is a highly decorated military officer. All his past missions fall under high security."
"Of course," Brass muttered.
"What I can tell you, Captain Brass, is that this man is dangerous. Very dangerous. I heard that shots were fired, but believe me, if he was aiming at something, he hit it. He might be mentally unstable, but he is a weapon's specialist and a sharp shooter."
Brass frowned. "I bet you can't tell me why you guys lost him and then couldn't find him for two months until he waltzed into our precinct and took people against their will, right?"
"You're correct, captain."
Brass grumbled to himself. "So he's a dangerous man with a gun and mentally unstable. Anything else?"
"Colonel Bruckner won't stop until he completes a mission. He is like a dog with a bone, Captain Brass. It's what made him such a good officer."
And such a tough nut to find by you guys, Brass thought. And now this tough guy was locked up with three people, had fired a shot, and didn't want to talk to them.
Perfect. Just perfect.

* * *

Sara riffled through the evidence box with shaky fingers. There was still blood clinging to her palms and her shirt was covered as well. Swallowing convulsively she tried to get control of her raging emotions, but it didn't work. She was falling apart; she, the CSI who could work like an automaton. She, who was always in control.
Her hands closed on the plastic bag containing a bunch of CDs and she quickly tore it open. All of them were blank and she had no idea just which one the maniac wanted. She simply took them all.
Sara knew she had every chance of leaving now, of running, but their captor had made it quite clear what would happen if she didn't return when the time was up. Grissom was already badly injured and she didn't want to make things worse.
Shaking, she closed the evidence box and left the lab, walking down the eerily quiet and empty corridor to Grissom's office. She knocked, calling out her name.
The door was opened a crack by Sanders and she could see the gun behind him.
"I'm alone," she said.
"Hand him the disc," the shooter ordered, not letting her in.
Sara held out the plastic bag and Greg took it. There was a brief moment in which the bag was quickly examined by the stranger, then she could see him nod.
"Well done. Now I want you to make a last run. Get out there, tell them that I want someone from the press in here. They've got one hour to pick out a volunteer."
"The press?"
"Yes. A reporter, a camera, and the guarantee that I'll be on the air immediately."
Sara hesitated, not believing he would just let her go.
"When you're done, you're free," the shooter added as if reading her thoughts. "Those two stay with me."
"But he needs help! Grissom's bleeding!" she argued.
"All the more reason for the police to comply, don't you think? Now go!"
With a last, desperate look, Sara finally went.

  * * *

The doors to the precinct opened and a figure stepped out, hands up in the air, stumbling slightly. Callahan shouted at his men to cover the entrance as two more ran over to the young woman and pulled her to the sidelines, behind the tape.
Sara's eyes were wide with shock, she was shaking, and flinched as a blanket was draped over her. A paramedic was on her at almost the same time Callahan and Brass converged, with Warrick and Nick in tow.
"He shot him," Sara whispered, bloodied hands shaking.
"Sara!" Brass snapped sharply, drawing her attention to him. "What's happening in there?"
"The guy… he shot Grissom. He wants a camera team in there. We have one hour."
Her voice was flat with a minute tremor. Wide eyes found Nick in the crowd of people around her as the paramedics checked her out. She saw him grow pale as a sheet, eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions, then she tore her gaze away.
Brass cursed vividly and Warrick joined him. Callahan just got on the com unit to his men. Sara was hustled over to the ambulance for further examination and she went without a fight.
 

Nick felt as if the world had been pulled out from under his feet.
Grissom had been shot.
Gil was injured.
His lover was in there, alone, bleeding, trapped with a maniac.
He still has Greg, a small voice whispered.
But he was shot. Hurting. In pain.
Nick gave a strangled cry and his fist collided with the SWAT van's side. Pain shot up his arm, but he ignored it.
Helplessness coursed through him, making him rage and rant silently. He wanted to be there with Grissom, he wanted to take out the guy who had dared to shoot his lover.
"Nick," a calm voice reached him.
Nick whirled around, vision swimming with tears of frustration. "What?" he snapped.
"We'll get him out," Warrick said calmly.
"He was shot, Warrick!"
"Yeah, I heard Sara, too. But at the moment we can't do anything about it."
"Fuck!" Nick snarled and turned on his heels, walking away.
He couldn't deal with Warrick right now. All Brown was trying to do was to be a friend, but he couldn't handle it. His mind whirled around the gruesome images of Grissom lying on the floor, shot, bleeding, in pain.
And he couldn't do a thing to help.

* * *

Greg huddled in his corner next to Grissom, still holding his boss's hand as if nothing in the world could pry him away from the weakening man. The bandage around Grissom's thigh was dark red and still glistening. The wound was bleeding; still or again, he wasn't sure.
Grissom himself was fading in and out. Sometimes he would make a soft noise of pain or suck in air sharply. He was sweating and from the speed of his pulse, Greg didn't like the odds at all. This was bad and getting worse by the moment.
"He's dying," he said softly into the silence.
Their captor, whose name he still didn't know, looked dispassionately at him. "He won't if I get what I want."
"Don't you care?"
"I stopped caring a long time ago."
Greg angrily stared at the older man, fury rising inside him, but he bit it down. No sense in getting himself shot up, too. Grissom needed him.
"Greg?"
The hoarse whisper tore him away from his anger against the man and back to Grissom.
"Hey." He tried one of his usual carefree smiles, but it failed miserable.
"Cold. Blood loss… affecting me."
"Yeah, I know," Greg murmured. "He won't let you leave. Sent Sara out with instructions. Looks like he wants to give an interview."
Grissom's eyebrows twitched and Greg shrugged.
"Beats me. He's got the disc, but he didn't want a helicopter or a lot of money. Just camera time."
"Then is must be... important... what's.. on the disc," Gil murmured.
"Important enough to possibly let you die?"
A weak smile. "From what… little I've seen… of the man, yes. He'll accept… whatever… comes."
Greg inhaled deeply, fighting down his fear.
"You're doing well, Greg," Grissom went on, rallying to stay strong.
"Yeah, right."
"You are. You kept a cool head. That's… important."
Greg met the clouded blue eyes of his boss and shrugged. "Maybe. Scared shitless, though."
"I'd be… worried if you… weren't." There was a moment of silence. "Greg?"
"Yeah?"
"If I… die… take care of things, will you?"
Greg swallowed hard. "I will," he whispered. As an Ally, he knew what to do.
The ringing of the phone made him jump and Grissom turned his head slightly. Their captor picked up and listened to the other side, then nodded.
"Affirmative. No tricks. You know what will happen if you try something. Send the camera team to the A/V lab."
He hung up and gestured at Greg.
"Get up."
"What?"
"I said get up. We're leaving."
Greg stumbled to his feet. "What about him?"
Dispassionate green eyes looked at the badly injured man, then the shooter shrugged. "He just has to hold it together on his own. Now move!"
Greg shot a last look at Grissom, who gave him an encouraging look, then was pushed out of the office at gun point.
"Where to?" he asked shakily.
"A/V lab. I hope you know how to operate a CD player," was the level answer.
"Uh, sure."
Another push. "Then walk."

* * *

Sara sat with the paramedics, wrapped in a blanket, a hot tea in her hands. She just couldn't stop shaking. Her whole body seemed to tremble and the tea was almost splashing over the rim of the cup. Brass was with her, asking questions, and there was a man dressed up like someone from the Army. She didn't care. Her mind replayed the events inside the lab, fixing on Grissom bleeding freely, looking deathly pale and covered in sweat.
"Sara?" Brass prodded.
She looked up. She had gone off into space again. "Yeah?"
"Do you know what's on the disc Bruckner wanted?" Brass repeated his last question.
"No. No, I don't. I didn't have to take a look. He never said anything. He just wants the camera crew in there. That's all."
"We can't give in to his demands," the Army man interrupted, sounding angry.
Brass turned to him, sizing him up. "Lieutenant Duncan, what we do or don't in this situation is solely up to the police. Captain Callahan has already decided to go with the demands of Colonel Bruckner."
"That's ludicrous! You're playing right into his hands!"
"No, we're getting one of our guys in there," Callahan could be heard. The rough-hewn SWAT leader joined them, nodding a greeting at Sara. "One of my men will join the reporter as the camera man. And we're keeping the hostages alive. You heard what Bruckner did, right? He shot one of them in the thigh just because he talks too much. We won't risk another situation!"
Duncan glared at him but he didn't argue further.
"You're ready?" Brass wanted to know.
Callahan nodded. "The lady reporter says she'll risk it. Signed the waiver. It's all up to her now. My man knows his way around cameras, so there won't be mistakes on that front."
"Okay." Brass looked at Sara. "Sara…"
She nodded, huddling into the blanket. The men left and she was alone again, but not for long. Not surprisingly it was Nick who joined her. He looked bad and she could only imagine what he must be feeling.
What a time to confront what she had pushed away for the last months. What a moment to realize that this man in front of her, looking pale but composed, loved Gil Grissom, who was currently lying shot and bleeding inside the lab. What a time for reality to barge into her dreams again.
"Hey," he said tentatively.
"Hey," she replied.
Nick had been there when she had come out, had heard her side of the events inside, and she had seen him lose all color when she had told them all about the shot wound. Part of her remembered Ecklie somewhere near-by, but she couldn't recall much after that. There had been too many questions and she felt so tired; exhausted.
Now Nick just sat down wordlessly next to her.
He was a silent reminder of what she had seen weeks ago, the close connection between Gil and him. The very close relationship; the love. She had refused to handle what she had seen, refused reality, but now and then it reared its ugly head. Sara still had to deal with it, and now wasn't the best of times. One day she would have to confront all of this, that Grissom loved someone else, Nick Stokes, but not now.
"The disc," Sara suddenly said, voice a bit distant.
"Hm?"
"It's from one of Ecklie's guys cases."
Nick looked at her, quizzical.
"The filing number on the box," Sara went on, still not looking at him, eyes on the ground, "it was from dayshift."
"So?"
"Maybe if we know what the case was about… we know what's on the disc. They found a whole stash of CDs wrapped in plastic with a body."
Nick frowned, then nodded. "Yeah, well, who's gonna ask Ecklie? You or me?"
It drew a forced smile out of her, but neither CSI moved. Their thoughts were somewhere completely else.
Maybe for the same reasons, but one had started to give up hope of there ever being anything. The other was praying that what had been wouldn't be over.

* * *

"You know the risks?" Brass asked the tall red-head in the business suit.
Lauren McMurty gave him a tight smile. "I've been in hostage situations before, Captain Brass. I know what I'm going to get myself into."
Brass studied the woman, then nodded. "Good. You signed the waivers, so I guess you're ready."
He looked past the reporter as Callahan approached with a man dressed up in jeans and a shirt. He was carrying a camera.
"Say hello to your temporary camera man," the SWAT leader addressed the reporter. "Michael Peters. He's one of my men. Knows his way around a camera, too."
Lauren shook hands with Peters. "Well, I'm sure we'll work well together. Where's Carl?"
"Having a coffee and a chat with my guys," Callahan answered with a brief smile. "We'll take care of him."
She chuckled. "I'm sure you will. Well, Mike, off we go. I've an interview to run."
Peters nodded, shouldered the camera, and the two approached the building.
Shouts went up to let them through and cover for eventual shots from inside.
The tension had gone up another notch.

* * *

Nick had sat with Sara as long as he could, but after the camera team had walked into the precinct, something inside of him had reached the limit of what he could endure. He had tried pacing, but it hadn't helped. He had brushed off Warrick's help, and he had gone to the sidelines, watching the building, the nervous energy increasing by the minute.
Five minutes had passed since the entry of the reporter already and the tension was mounting. The Army consultant, Duncan, was always close to Brass and Callahan, and from the looks of it, neither Captain was very happy about the man's presence.
Five more minutes ticked by.
Still nothing.
Nick closed his eyes, trying to let the tension drain, but the image of Grissom, hurting, in pain, bleeding, was superimposed over everything. He might be a Phoenix and cheat death, but injuries were injuries. At the moment he was bleeding to death, suffering from pain, and some crazy guy was watching.
His lover was kept in pain because of some freaking disc.
Something snapped under the pressure inside Nick and he started to walk toward the barrier.
A strong hand suddenly grabbed his upper arm and hauled him back, shoving him against a large van before he could voice his protest. Nick stared into the tense features of Conrad Ecklie.
Intense, dark eyes bore into him, the narrow face set in a mixture of anger and compassion. Lines were etched deeply into the pale skin.
"What do you think you're doing?" Ecklie demanded, sounding calm, but there was an underlying tension audible.
"Something! Anything! We can't just sit and wait!"
"Yes, we can! You're getting yourself killed. Or arrested. Whatever happens first. It won't help either you or Grissom if you lose it now."
"So what the fuck do you care?" Nick snapped.
"Grissom never told you, right?" Ecklie looked quizzically at him, then shook his head. A sad smile grazed his lips. "No, he didn't."
"Grissom never told me what?"
Ecklie met the angry gaze calmly. "It doesn't matter now. All it matters is that you keep your calm and don't do something foolish. You've got no idea what could happen."
"Grissom has been shot is what has happened already, Ecklie!" Nick blurted, almost screaming. "He's in there with a damn bullet in his leg! And all we do is stand around, talking! Someone has to do something!"
"And that someone isn't you, Nick. You're his lover, his friend and his partner. You're not SWAT or a hostage negotiator. What you do is make it worse instead of better."
Nick opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again as the words sank in. Ecklie openly talking about their relationship seemed to set everything into focus again. Reality snuck back and then whacked him over the head. Nick sank back against the van's side, his head falling back with a thud, and he closed his eyes. A tremor ran through his body and he clenched his fists.
"Gil was shot," he whispered. "He's hurt…"
"And you feel helpless."
"Yeah."
"Well, get used to it because there's nothing you can do. Nothing at all."
Nick opened his eyes and looked at the dayshift supervisor. He took in the harsh expression, the intense eyes, and he tried to find an answer to a question that had been burning through his mind ever since Grissom had told him of his confrontation with the other man over his relationship with Nick.
"What's it to you?"
The face hardened, if that was at all possible. "I told you, Stokes. You should listen to your superiors."
Nick's hackles rose. Theoretically yes, Ecklie was his superior, but only by rank.
"If it helps, think of me as the ranking CSI at the moment, no matter what shift, and it's an order." Ecklie's mouth curved into a cynical smile as he positively read Nick's thoughts.
The words hit a nerve and Nick felt anger rise inside of him.
Ecklie's smile grew nasty and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a hiss. "I know what you think, but I don't give a shit. You stay here, understood? Do yourself and Grissom a favor and play it cool! "
Why did he care? Nick thought, mystified despite his fury at the words. What was it to Ecklie? They weren't friends; barely tolerated each other. Sure, Grissom had reassured his lover that Conrad Ecklie would never use his knowledge of their relationship against them, but why? Why wouldn’t a career horse like Ecklie use the extra ammunition to shoot down his enemy and gain more brownie points with the sheriff?
"You got me?" Ecklie demanded, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"Yeah, gotcha." He glared at him once more, just for good measure.
Ecklie looked at him, then the strange little smile was back; briefly. Nick stepped away from the van and looked over to the police precinct, which was still surrounded by SWAT and the press. Ecklie remained at his side, silent, but strangely supportive.
Nick tried to reroute his thoughts away from Grissom, away from the situation that was giving him daymares. Instead, he focused on what Sara had told him.
"Uh, Ecklie?"
Ecklie looked up as Nick broke the silence. "Yes?"
"Sara… she told me she found the disc Bruckner wanted in an evidence box from one of your recent cases."
Ecklie's eyebrows rose and the cynical, hard look made way for the professional, the criminalist. "Which one?"
"She didn't tell me the case number, only that it had been in the last twenty-four hours and one of your guys logged in a stash of CDs with the rest of the stuff. Sound familiar?"
Ecklie frowned. "Harris was on a store robbery. Cash gone, store owner scared shitless, one of the customers dead. Shot wound to the abdomen and chest. Wrong place, wrong time. The guy had a bunch of CDs on him."
"You remember who that man was?"
"I'd have to get into my files to find out his name. Harris was still working on it. I only remember because Harris mentioned the stack of unmarked CDs in a plastic bag."
"Maybe he can tell us?" Nick prodded.
The dayshift supervisor shot him a frown. "What are you up to?"
Nick shrugged. "Keeping my mind off things. Chasing clues."
"You want to know what's so special about the disc?"
"Yeah."
Ecklie gave him a long look, face unreadable, then nodded. "Okay, I'll call Harris. Maybe he knows off the top of his head who the dead guy was."
"Thanks."
Nick walked back where Warrick was talking to one of the uniforms. As he approached, the other man looked up.
"Hey, Nick. Ecklie giving you a hard time?"
So Warrick had probably seen their interaction. From a distance it must have looked like the usual confrontation. Especially with Ecklie going at him like that.
"No. The usual."
"So…?"
"After the initial shoot-out, I asked him about one of his cases. Sara thinks the discs belong to a body currently being examined and processed by one of Ecklie's guys. He's calling Harris, the guy in question, to ask him about it."
Warrick's eyebrows rose. "He's cooperating?"
"Yeah."
The other CSI shrugged. "Miracles happen."
"It's not a matter of competition here, Warrick. It's about Grissom's life."
Warrick's expression changed, softening. "Hey, sorry, man. I didn't mean it like that. Ecklie's a prick, but I know he wouldn't use this for himself. We're all in this together."
Nick nodded. "Don't I know it," he whispered. "Don't I know it."

* * *

It was cold.
He was alone.
Grissom's hands clenched into the thin jacket covering him, his feverish mind drifting. From cases to personal moments to his current situation, to little tidbits of unrelated stuff he still had to take care of, even his shopping list.
And Nick.
His lover was out there, probably worried sick about him.
Grissom felt himself smile. Knowing Nick, he was running a groove into the tarmac.
So cold.
He couldn't stop shivering and the pain had long since become a background nuisance. He knew he had lost a lot blood. He was cold, shaking, delirious, and in his more coherent moments, the scientist inside him told him all the little details about his condition.
Grissom's eyes slid shut and he clenched his teeth against the shivers.
It was cold.
He was alone.

* * *

"Corporal Ethan Baker," Nick read from what Ecklie had scribbled onto a piece of paper while talking to his CSI. "Army?"
"Looks like it." Ecklie frowned. "Well, guess what – he was AWOL, too. MP has been looking all over the country for him. Now he ends up dead in a supermarket."
"So we've got a corporal and colonel who are wanted by the MP. One's dead in our morgue, the other is threatening hostages at gun point." Nick's eyes darkened. "Bruckner wants what Baker had on him before he got shot. Coincidence?"
Ecklie gave him a tight smile. "In this job, coincidence is the last you believe in after a while."
"Yeah. Still, it doesn't tell us what's on the disc or why Bruckner broke into the precinct to get it. He could just have claimed it. I mean, posed as an Army official or something like it."
"He's a wanted man. He can't risk exposing himself by playing games."
"So he snuck in but was discovered," Nick followed the line of thought. "He's got nothing to lose and apparently everything to gain because of the disc."
It left him with a cold feeling. This man would go over dead bodies; Greg and Grissom's. And his lover was already suffering because of it.
"Hey, Nick!" Warrick shouted. "We're on!"
Nick's head jerked up and saw Warrick waving at him. They were on. The camera feed from inside the building.
"Finally!" he breathed.
He exchanged a quick look with Ecklie, who only returned it neutrally. Gone was what had been there before and while the worry lines were still there, the moment they had shared had evaporated. Nick wanted to say something, but nothing would come out.
He just turned and strode over to his friends.
 

It was a live feed. Just like Bruckner had ordered. Lauren McMurty was framed by the camera with the A/V lab as a back setting.
"Lauren McMurty, live from the LVPD crime labs where for the past three hours, a hostage situation has developed. We were fortunate to have been allowed to enter the building and bring you this interview with the man responsible."
The camera panned on Bruckner, who stood proud and erect, radiating 'military' even without a uniform. It was the first time the men and women outside caught a look of the hostage taker and Nick was surprised how normal the man appeared. No mad gleam, no foaming around the mouth, no gun waving, and he was dressed up in clean street clothes.
There was no sign of Greg. And none of Grissom, either. Warrick squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and he gave his friend a tight smile.
"Colonel Bruckner," McMurty went on, "you wanted to explain yourself, exclusively and live. This is your chance to tell your story."
Nick, Warrick and Brass clustered around a TV, watching, listening to the story, and holding their breaths.

* * *

Camera lights pierced the night and flashes went off as reporters shot their photos. Colonel Bruckner, handcuffed, was led out of the precinct, not putting up any fight. He strode proudly between the arresting officers, despite his strong limp, looking into the cameras but not following the requests for a comment. He ignored the microphones shoved into his face, but there was an expression in his eyes that told those watching that this was a man who didn't regret what he had done.
The moment the all-clear had been given, the paramedics had rushed into the building and they weren't far behind the police now. A gurney was rolled out toward the waiting ambulance, one of the men holding up an IV bag, the other talking to the hospital on the biophone.
Nick was about to step forward, his instinct to be close to his injured lover overriding all other logic function, when a hand clamped onto his left bicep, just above the elbow. He looked around and met the steady, warning gaze of Conrad Ecklie.
"Let go," he hissed.
"No. Keep calm. You're a worried colleague, Nick, remember? You wait."
"But…"
"You wait," Ecklie reiterated in a voice like granite.
Nick thought about fighting the surprisingly strong grip, but then slumped. Ecklie was right. He would out them both if he did something as foolish as run to his lover and demand to ride with the ambulance.  They wouldn't let anyone go along anyway; regulations.
It hurt to see Grissom lying on the gurney, pale, a mask attached to his face, bloody clothes visible underneath the blanket that partially covered him.
"Damn," he whispered.
Ecklie kept his grip as tight as before and the two men watched the ambulance doors close. Then it drove away, lights flashing.
The grip loosened, then Nick was free. He turned to look at the one man he had never suspected he would get support for anything from. Ecklie didn't say a word, just jerked his head in a 'go already' gesture. There was a barely visible smile around his eyes and lips, then it was gone, as if it had never been there.
"Thanks," Nick murmured, then he was off, mind whirling.
Every time you think you've got that guy figured out, he throws you a Grissom.
"Yo, Nick, wait up!" Warrick ran after him, keys already out. "You can get in with me."
"Thanks, man."
He didn't really trust himself to drive in his current condition, but he would have gone to the hospital if Warrick hadn't shown up.
"No sweat. Hop in."
And then they were off.

* * *

They all sat in the waiting room together, the only ones in the cubicle right now. All chairs were taken and no one who opened the door interrupted the small group.
Warrick sat next to Nick, a silent support. Greg, Sara and Brass had taken up position as well. Brass had been in and out two times, asking for news about Grissom. Right now he was in surgery. Greg and Sara had been checked and had cleaned up. They were physically okay. Everything else was up for discussion. Surprisingly, Ecklie had joined the group. Tolerated but not accepted into the tight circle of friends. Nick had shot him a quick smile, but that was about all the eye contact they had had. Ecklie seemed satisfied with just waiting it all out with the others.
All of them had listened to Bruckner's story and Nick didn't know whether to believe the man or not. According to Lieutenant Duncan's twisted expression, there had to be some truth in there.
Colonel Robert Bruckner had been in charge of a secret mission in the Middle East that had gone totally wrong. As wrong as a mission could go: his team had been wiped out by the enemy; only he had survived. Bruckner claimed it had been a set-up to kill him because he had discovered corruption and treason on the highest levels of the Army. Someone, he had told the reporters, had sold government secrets to the enemy.
He had survived the mission, had fled from the hospital and gone into hiding. From then on, the hunt had started. He had hidden the proof of his accusations with a trusted corporal, the man who had been killed in the store robbery.
Bruckner had witnessed his death because they had planned to meet close to the supermarket. It was the reason why he had known where the disc had gone to: the evidence locker of the CSI.
Now the disc was in the hands of the press and copies had been made already, prior to giving one to McMurty. Greg had been forced to burn several copies, as he had told the others quietly, and Bruckner had used the email connection to send it out to selected newspapers, too.
Suddenly Brass's beeper went off and he scowled at it, then sighed. "Gotta go. They want me back at the precinct. I'll keep in touch."
The others nodded.
Another hour of silent waiting later, a doctor entered the room, her eyes sweeping over the men and woman, who looked hopefully and slightly fearfully at her.
"Mr. Grissom came through surgery just fine," she explained. "He's currently in Recovery and the moment he's in a regular room, he can be visited throughout visiting hours. He's receiving blood transfusions because of the blood loss, but the bullet didn't hit the artery or nick the bone. It's a flesh wound, but it'll take time to heal."
Relief spread through the room and Nick saw Ecklie briefly close his eyes and rub them tiredly. Then the dayshift supervisor straightened, his face impassive again.
"I've a lab to see to," he muttered and turned, leaving without waiting for a comment.
Warrick just scowled, but Nick couldn't fault the other man. Ecklie had been here because he had been worried about Grissom, without wanting to show it, and now he was beating a hasty retreat.
"When can we see him?" Warrick asked.
"Mr. Grissom will be asleep for about three more hours. Maybe longer," the doctor answered.
"Okay, thanks, doc." Warrick turned to the others. "We should get cleaned up and have a bite to eat, maybe sleep, too."
Nick briefly closed his eyes, then nodded. He knew it was the most sensible thing to do. Greg and Sara needed the rest, and Warrick should get some sleep, too.
But screw sensible for him.
He let the others walk ahead, then feigned a need to go to the bathroom. Nick caught Warrick's look, the understanding, the knowledge that Stokes would stay here.
The moment everyone had cleared out, Nick walked back into the waiting room and settled down.

* * *

The hospital room was quiet. No beeping machines, no noise rustling from oxygen tubes, no voices from outside. It was a private room and located at the end of the corridor, giving it more than the normally semi-private surrounding to be found in a hospital. Nick was glad for the silence as he sat next to Grissom's bed, holding his lover's hand, watching him sleep. If Gil improved as he was currently doing, he would be home by the end of tomorrow, with firm orders to take it easy and lots of bed rest. Nick had every intention of making him follow those orders.
Drawing a shaky breath, the younger man sank into the chair, closing his eyes. His neck muscles were a pain, as were his shoulders. His eyes felt gritty from little to no sleep, and he was so deeply exhausted, he didn't even know what day it was. The waiting, the sheer helplessness, had eaten away at him. Warrick had dropped by, bringing him a change of clothes. Nick had freshened up in the washroom, but it had brought no relief. He had barely eaten anything; his stomach felt like lead.
The fingers in his hand twitched and Nick blinked fuzzily, feeling detached from the world. As the pressure increased, he sat up, blinking more.
"Gil?" he murmured, trying to rouse himself.
"Nicky," came the breath of an answer.
"Hey. How are you?"
Grissom had been awake once in the recovery room, but he had been mostly asleep in the time Nick had been in the room.
"Fuzzy."
He chuckled. "I bet you are. You had surgery. Had a hole in your leg."
"I know."
“You know, there are quieter and more humane ways of giving me a heart attack,” Nick said, the expression in his eyes taking the sting out of his words.
“Sorry,” Grissom answered, fighting to stay awake. “My way of keeping things interesting.”
“How about you work on boring and quiet for a while?” Nick suggested, caressing his lover’s face. “For me? A personal favor? The guy who loves you?”
 “I’ll try,” came the groggy answer. “No promises.” Then,  "You look like shit."
"Look who's talking."
"Go home. Sleep, Nicky."
And with that he was out like a light again. Nick smiled fondly, then leaned forward and kissed him.
"Your drug-induced mumble is my command, boss. See ya tomorrow."
But he stayed for another hour, a silly smile on his face, his fingers caressing Gil's hand in a tender gesture. Pushing himself to his feet, he finally made his way slowly out of the hospital.
"Hey, Nick?"
He stopped and to his surprise, discovered Warrick. "Uh, what are you doing here?" Nick asked, scrubbing at his gritty eyes.
"Looking for you. I thought you'd still be here, so I wanted to see if you needed anything. Maybe a ride home, get some sleep…?"
He smiled. "Yeah, would be great."
Warrick gave him a frown. "Really?"
"Yeah, really."
"So… Grissom's okay?"
"Woke up briefly, told me to go home, then fell asleep again."
Warrick grinned. "Sounds like Grissom. You better take his advice seriously, man. You look dreadful."
"Thanks," he muttered, grimacing.
"Hey, only telling the truth."

* * *

"Gone for a few days and look what happens," Catherine huffed as she handed Grissom the crutches and accompanied him to the entrance of his home.
"It wasn't like we planned it, Catherine," Gil replied tiredly.
"Sure. With you, it's never intentional."
He shot her a frown, but his reply was cut off by Nick chuckling. Stokes was at his other side, neither of the two actually keeping a hold of him but both there to catch him if his strength gave out.
"You guys need me to go shopping or something?" she wanted to know as Nick closed the door and they walked into the main room of the townhouse.
"No, I got it, Cath. Thanks," Nick replied, smiling at her.
"Okay. If you need anything, call."
Grissom shot her an annoyed look, but all Catherine did was smile sweetly.
"See you tonight," Nick called as she left.
"Yeah. Try to leave him at home, Nick!" she replied, laughing.
Grissom's expression turned a notch more annoyed and he glared at the closed door. Nick grinned. He took a cold drink out of the fridge and plopped down on the couch beside his lover.
"You okay? Sleepy? Want to eat something?"
"I'm fine, Nicky." Grissom gratefully took the cold liquid and sipped at it.
He was tired, but not enough to require a bed, and for now, he felt content to just sit next to Nick and give him leg a moment to rest.
"Gil?"
The soft voice startled him and the hand on his arm squeezed lightly. Grissom blinked.
"I think you should get some rest," Nick said warmly.
He must have dozed off, Grissom realized.
He didn't even protest when Nick helped him up, but his leg did. It cramped and he grimaced, his weight suddenly fully on Nick, who adjusted immediately.
"Leg?" he inquired.
"Cramps," Grissom hissed.
They made it over to the bedroom and he was flat on his back in no time, still dressed in sweats, but he didn't care. Nick's hands moved carefully over the rigid muscles and Grissom bit back a moan. Finally, it stopped and left him weak and exhausted in the aftermath.
"Here, take your medication. Then sleep," Nick instructed and Grissom had just enough energy to swallow the painkillers with water.
Moments later, he was out like a light.

* * *

It had been two days since Grissom had been released and for Nick, work continued as before. They had their cases, their evidence, their suspects and victims, and he had his injured lover at home. Catherine shooed him out of the building at the end of shift every time, refusing to accept overtime unless it was really needed. He was working a case with Warrick and his friend had told him in no uncertain terms to get his ass out of the labs and let him do the rest of the work.
Nick was thankful for his friends and vowed to make it up to them.
 

"Gil?"
Blue eyes looked at him over the rims of the glasses and Nick had to smile. Grissom looked too cute doing that and he didn't even know it. Not that Nick would ever tell him.
"I had a run-in with Ecklie," he said, sitting down on the arm of the couch chair.
"You did?"
"Yeah. Throughout the… situation."
"Ah."
"We had an argument. As usual. And… he said something along the lines of 'Grissom didn't tell you'. Seemed to surprised about it."
Nick began to rub the uninjured thigh in a gentle pattern. "What did he mean by that?"
Grissom looked at his younger lover, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. "I think that's a question you have to ask Conrad Ecklie himself."
"Yeah, right," Nick snorted. "And get some smart-ass prick answer."
"You'd be surprised."
The quiet words made him look up at Grissom, who wore a mildly challenging expression.
"Surprised, huh?"
"Very."
Nick leaned over him, balancing his weight on his left arm, placing a playful, teasing kiss on Grissom's lips. When Grissom answered, he plucked the glasses off his nose with his right hand. Kissing his lover, Nick brought one leg over Gil's without putting his weight on his lover's injury, his knees now lodged left and right of the seated man
He unbuttoned the blue shirt and pushed it off the upper body, then went for another long kiss that left both men wanting more. Nick's lips found new targets as he slid lower that made Grissom moan in appreciation.
Nick looked into the beloved blue eyes, smiling. "Love you," he whispered huskily.
Grissom reached out and stroked his cheek. "I love you, too."
Nick kissed him passionately again, then laid a blazing trail down south. Grissom closed his eyes, enjoying the attention to detail the younger man showed, and when his pants came undone, all he did was encourage him silently, urge him to continue.
Nick parted his legs, still mindful of any pain his lover might experience, then unwrapped the prize. Grissom's eyes were dilated with heated need and hunger, looking down at the younger man who now gave his sole attention to satisfying that need. He finally let his head fall back, eyes closed, mouth open, his breathing quickening.
"Nick," he croaked.
His lover didn't let up. His manipulations threw Grissom in a spin and he went with the wild ride, crying out his release, melting into the couch chair.
Nick looked up, licking his lips, smiling at the sight of the other man breathing hard and looking immensely pleased. He rose and leaned over, caressing the sweaty face, their mouths finding each other in a gentle continuation of the earlier kissing.
"Not sure the doctor's had that in mind for the healing process," he teased.
"I don't give a damn," Grissom replied.
His hand on Nick's neck prevented him from breaking the next passionate collision of lips.
"But maybe we should follow his orders about bed rest."
The twinkle in the blue eyes made Nick laugh. "Sounds like a plan, man. Sounds like a hell of a plan."

* * *

It took Grissom another week before he was ready to return to work – after having quite an argument with Nick about his decision to come back. It had climaxed in an all-out verbal fight where Nick had been close to locking Gil up and throwing away the key, but he had finally surrendered to the knowledge that nothing could keep the older man away from work any longer. It was frustrating and hair-raising, but in the last years he had had to come to terms with the man's stubbornness and disregard for his own safety and well-being.
Grissom could walk with a cane and he did so, drawing attention to himself as he entered the labs for the first time. People greeted him, smiling, nodding at him, and he absent-mindedly nodded back. He was already engrossed in the work he had to catch up on.
His team was currently in the field, working three different cases, and Grissom was signing reports or requests, reading up on what had happened, and keeping track of all the little bureaucratic things he hated so much.
It came as a surprise when the door to his office opened and Conrad Ecklie strode in, looking like he had just bit on a lemon.
"Conrad," Grissom greeted him. "You're up late."
Ecklie's lips were a thin line as he stopped in front of the desk, dark eyes boring into the seated man.
"What's your shift trying to pull, Grissom?"
Gil gave him a mildly confused look.
"Sanders," Ecklie continued, voice hard.
"What about Greg?"
The dayshift supervisor leaned forward, hands on the desk, almost right in Grissom's face. "He's been here around the clock ever since this happened."
Grissom didn't need an explanation as to what 'this' was.
"He's not only working his shift, he's doubling up or subbing for my guys. The DNA lab's never been more up to speed and if Sanders isn't bouncing around his lab like a rubber ball, completing three analysis at once, he's helping out somewhere else." Ecklie's voice was hard, but there was a tone to it that intrigued Grissom.
For now, he filed it away and attacked the problem at hand.
"He hasn't been home?"
"I wouldn't know. He's your responsibility."
With that Ecklie straightened, glaring down at his nightshift equal.
"Deal with it or I will."
Grissom felt himself bristle slightly at the words. "As you just stated, he's my responsibility, Conrad. I deal with it, not you."
Ecklie sneered, then turned and walked out of the office.
Grissom sat still for a second or two, then turned to his computer and called up the log-in times of Greg Sanders.

*

It was close to the end of this night's shift and Grissom had actually made a dent in the mountain of accumulated paperwork. Warrick and Sara were already in, Catherine had taken an early night off, and Nick was still at a scene. From the preliminary, Grissom suspected his lover would be busy a while longer. He was tempted to send out Sara to help, but Nick had been gunning for a solo assignment and so far, he hadn't requested assistance.
Limping down the corridor to the DNA lab, Grissom turned his attention to his current problem: Greg Sanders. As Ecklie had said, the lab tech hadn't so much as left the building for more than a few hours, sometimes not at all, and he was working like a maniac. Talking to some of his colleagues, Grissom had been appalled at their reports. Greg had become highly irritable and anti-social, when he wasn't hyper and bouncing. His mood swings were bad and had grown worse in the last two days. His colleagues had suffered them silently, attributing them to what he had gone through. No one actually knew much of what had occurred in those hours Greg had been a hostage because he didn't talk about it.
No heroic tales, no over-the-top recollections – no dealing with it, Grissom thought darkly.
In a way, Greg was dealing with it, but in the worst one. He should have gone to see Dr. Kane, but their resident psychiatrist had seen neither hide nor hair of the young man. Greg was locking it all up inside – and it was like a malicious tumor, spreading and eating him up.
Grissom looked through the glass wall of the DNA lab and saw Greg leaning over the microscope, one hand nervously tapping a pen against the table. He was fidgety and highly strung. Gil entered, closing the door behind him.
"Greg?"
The pale face with the pronounced dark rings under the eyes was a far cry from the Greg Sanders he knew. Greg looked almost gaunt and his hair was standing in every direction – as usual – but he looked unkempt anyway.
"Oh, hi Grissom!" he called, smiling.
"When was the last time you went home and slept?" Grissom asked, straight-forward, not beating around the bush.
Greg's brows furrowed. "I got work to do, okay? Everything's backlogged."
There was a slight aggression in his voice.
"According to everyone I talked to, you're  up to date and you maxed out your overtime."
"So what? Sara does it all the time. You don't get into her face, man!"
Now the aggression was more pronounced.
"Yes, I do. And she is sensible enough to work regular hours on a case until she can take time off."
There was a loud beeping sound from one of Greg's machines and the younger man whirled around. "Fuck!" he yelled, throwing a beaker at the machine. "Can't someone set these damned things right? That beeping drives me up the wall!"
The beaker splintered into a thousand pieces, the greenish liquid splattering everywhere.
Grissom looked at Sanders, seeing the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, the wild expression in his eyes, and knew the breaking point was close.
By now, some of the others had caught up to events. Archie was glancing over from the A/V lab, a worried look on his features.
"Greg?" Gil said gently.
"I can do it," Greg whispered hoarsely. "I can handle it, Grissom. I mean, I just need to get some work done, right?"
His hands were shaking and he turned pleading eyes at the supervisor.
"Greg, go home. You need to sleep. Unwind."
"I am unwinding, damnit!" Greg screamed.
"Have you talked to Philipp Kane?"
"I don't need a shrink! I'm fine! I'm…" he stuttered off, growing more and more pale by the minute. "I can deal with it. I'm okay. I mean, it was nothing… We got out of it, right?"
Grissom took a step forward, hearing and seeing the pain Greg was in, and he understood it. Greg had been through an immense emotional trauma. He had kept his head throughout the situation, he hadn't broken down, but he had yet to deal with it for real – or talk to someone about what had gone through his mind.
"Greg…"
Whatever he wanted to say was lost in the sudden and unceremonious collapse of the younger man. Greg fell to the floor in an unconscious heap, taking an empty vial rack with him.
And Grissom yelled for the paramedics.

* * *

"Ephedrine?" Nick asked, sitting next to his lover, holding him in a loose embrace.
Grissom's head was resting against one strong shoulder and he had his eyes closed. "Yes. Ephedrine alkaloids are amphetamine-like compounds with potentially powerful stimulant effects on the nervous system and heart. The side-effects are highly dangerous, in the worst case leading to a stroke."
Nick rubbed one arm, sighing. "Greg took them."
"Yes, to counter sleep. First it's coffee, but after a while, the stimulating effects turn into the opposite. So he switched to another drug. People using ephedrine shift from highly strung to moody, to irritable."
"Until they break down."
"Yes."
Greg had been administered to the hospital and was under close supervision. His friends were visiting, but he refused to talk to any of them, staring off into space.
"Not your fault, Gil," Nick murmured.
"I'm his boss. I should have taken care of it. I should have seen to it that he paid Philipp a visit. He needs the counseling."
"Yeah, but it's hard to make that step," Nick told him softly. "Remember Amy Hendler?"
"How can I ever forget?" Grissom's arm over Nick's stomach tightened. "She pointed a gun at you…"
"And I was scared shitless. No control over my emotions, everything off the chart in a flash, and afterwards, I couldn't stop shaking." Nick sighed softly at the memories. "It took me a while to get up the courage to see Dr. Kane. I know it was mandatory, but I wasn't happy about seeing a shrink."
"It's no stigma to need professional help. We all do sometimes. Cases can be intense; you need to talk to an outsider. Just talking helps immensely."
"I know, Gil, I know. Greg's never been in that situation before."
"Which is why I should have made him go," Grissom insisted.
"You were sick at home. Catherine was boss and she didn't see it either."
"That doesn't help."
Nick chuckled. "Maybe not, but it's water under the bridge, Gil. It happened and now we gotta deal with it, get Greg to listen. It's not his fault either."
Grissom sighed softly and buried his head in Nick's shoulder, seeking more comfort. "I'll go and talk to him again tomorrow."
"Whether he wants it or not," Nick added, grinning.
Grissom gave a grunt, not bothering with a verbal answer. He was comfortable with just staying where he was right now, ignoring the world around him as he drew its crazy ellipses. He wanted to feel his lover's touch, listen to his breathing and heartbeat, enjoy the warmth of the embrace. Grissom slipped one hand under the light gray, long-sleeved sweater, caressing that warmth.
Nick placed a finger under his chin, tilting it upward, kissing him gently, softly, searchingly. When they separated, Grissom went back to snuggling into his lover, right now feeling content.
"Nick?" he murmured after a while.
"Hm?"
"You never told me about the seminar."
Nick chuckled. "Well, I had a lot on my mind…"
"So, how about telling me now?"
Nick smiled and followed the request.

* * *

Greg looked like he had lost ten pounds and aged ten years. He hunched in the bed, haunted eyes looking at his visitor. Grissom had his leg outstretched, the cane resting against his own chair, calm blue eyes resting on the distraught young man.
"I'm sorry," Greg whispered. "I'm not sure what exactly happened, but… I'm sorry, Grissom."
"You suffered great trauma, Greg," Grissom answered calmly. "It had to come out somehow."
Greg averted his eyes. "It didn't seem to be such a great deal after everything was over."
"But it was. You were under immense stress. You dealt with the situation, but not with the aftereffects." Grissom leaned forward, voice dropping to a soothing caress. "Greg, I'm proud of you. You kept your head in a potentially lethal situation. Sara told me how she was close to a breakdown and you kept her from doing something foolish. You showed nerves of steel."
"I was scared shitless."
"A good feeling. You weren't cocky. You just wanted to survive. But after everything was over, when you had time to actually deal with all the input, when you no longer had to react but could think about it, you made a mistake, Greg."
Greg seemed to grow even smaller.
"You avoided the facts. You decided it was over, done with," Grissom went on. "It's not."
"I know."
"And burying yourself in work, avoiding reality, doesn't help. You need to face your fears and problems, talk to someone."
The haunted eyes sparked with shame and defiance. Grissom smiled.
"Dr. Kane can help you, Greg. He helped me, and he still does."
"You… went to a shrink?"
"I sought professional help. All CSIs do. We're confronted with the worst every day and sometimes, it gets to you. Badly. Psych evaluations are part and parcel of our work, and Dr. Kane is there for us when we need him." Grissom's eyes held the wavering gaze. "Greg, there's nothing to be ashamed of."
"It just feels… I don't know…."
"It doesn't make you any weaker. Actually, it makes you stronger."
Silence fell between the two men. Finally Greg sighed. "Okay."
Grissom smiled. "Thank you."
"Huh?" Confusion reigned the pale features.
"I don't want to lose you as a member of my team, Greg," Grissom said simply.
"Oh." Something came to life in the younger man and he smiled shyly. "Thanks."
"I'll see you in two weeks, Greg."
"I'll be there."
Grissom limped out of the room and left the hospital, feeling like a burden had been eased off his shoulders. Nick was already waiting for him in the car, smiling as he approached.
"How'd it go?"
"I think Dr. Kane has a new patient."
Nick's smile widened. "Good. So, we'll have our Greggo back in the lab?"
"Yes. Philipp has to clear him for duty, but he'll be back."
"Cool. Where to now?"
Grissom leaned back against the car seat. "Home."
The Tahoe pulled out of the parking lot and slid into the moving traffic.

* * *

Conrad Ecklie was in his office, quietly going through his latest case files when the knock interrupted his thoughts. He looked up and surprise crossed his narrow face when he discovered who his visitor was. Nick Stokes slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. His face was paler than usual, still showing the stress he had been under throughout the hostage situation, and while everyone attested it to having friends locked up and threatened at gun point, Ecklie knew better. A lot better.
"I think you have your schedules mixed up," he greeted the younger man.
"No, I don't. I came here to ask a question."
Ecklie put down the folder he had been holding, suspecting what would come.
"You said Grissom didn't tell me. What didn't he tell me?"
Straight-forward. Admirable.
"You might want to ask your boss."
"I did. He said it's up to you."
Ecklie raised his eyebrows. "And if I refuse to answer?"
Nick shrugged. "I'll be on my way."
Ecklie considered the younger man standing opposite his desk, dressed in black jeans and a dark red t-shirt, his hands stuffed in an equally black jean jacket. He was a far cry from the rookie CSI level 1 who had started here such a long time ago; he had grown. A lot. He was in a balanced, stable relationship with another man, a man Ecklie secretly respected but openly fought every step of the way.
"Take a seat, Nick," Ecklie only said quietly.

* * *

Grissom watched his lover as he walked through the door and hung up his jacket. The thoughtful, slightly faraway expression in Nick's eyes was the first indicator for the older man and he placed the book he had been reading on the table, taking off his glasses.
Nick walked over to him and gave him a light kiss.
"Hey. How are you?"
"Fine. I made dinner. I hope you're in the mood for rice."
"Sure."
Grissom continued to study the open face, then decided to prod a little.
"What's wrong?"
Nick shook his head. "Nothing." Silence. Then, "I talked to Ecklie today."
"Ah."
"He told me."
Grissom nodded. Nick sighed deeply and sat down on the couch.
"It's… I dunno. Surprising. Gives you an insight in the man I never would have believed possible…"
"Ecklie is more than what we see on the surface."
"Yeah. A lot more. Can't say I like him more, but… I'm more sympathetic, I guess."
You always are, Grissom thought. Nick was a very emotional man, very empathic, very sensitive, and this new knowledge would change him. Of that, Gil was sure.
"I feel sorry for him, y'know," Nick sighed as he leaned against Grissom. "Knowing he lost someone who actually touched him so deeply. Makes you wonder…"
"About?" Gil prodded gently.
"About what he might have been had Tom lived."
Grissom's hand caressed over Nick's thigh and hip. "We'll never know, Nick."
"Uh-huh."
Nick turned his head and Grissom leaned down, meeting the warm, pliable lips, and he smiled at his younger lover. Nick snuggled against him, looking very much content, and Grissom didn't protest the position. It was nice. More than nice. It was perfect.