A/N: I bet you're all REALLY mad at me, for not updating this story for yonks, so I'm going to post a whole load for you today, just to make up.

I'm really sorry if I've been neglecting my fanfiction account at the moment, but my writing has gone down a different road lately. It's been lots of slash, that is a bit TOO explicit to be posted here, sorry. I've also been busy working on my site, and I know I've neglected my writing.

So, I hope this helps, and I hope it's enough to tie you over to the next time I update.



"Can you tell me where it hurts, Greg?" Carly asked softly.

"Everywhere," whispered Greg.

Carly smiled. "Can you be a bit more specific? Let's deal with one thing at a time."

Greg swallowed. "My stomach hurts the most."

Carly lifted Greg's shirt, and saw the bullet hole in his stomach, still bleeding quite profusely. Instinctively, she put pressure on it, to try and slow the bleeding, but Greg's whole body convulsed from the sudden pain, and she let go. "Greg, I've got to do this."

"Sorry," said Greg, through gritted teeth.

Carly pressed her hand back against Greg's stomach, and a small scream escaped his lips. "I'm sorry."

"I'm okay," lied Greg.

Carly looked around the van, the driver and passenger had both disappeared, Carly didn't know where they were. She turned back to Greg, who was losing consciousness constantly. "Stay with me Greg!"

"I'm here," said Greg, opening his eyes. "So, are you a doctor?"

"Uh huh. Chief resident at desert palm ER."

"You're good?"

"The best," smiled Carly. "What about you? What do you do?"

"I work at the crime lab," explained Greg. "If you ever get out of here, will you go and tell them that? Will you go and find Gil Grissom? He's my boss. Go and find him, and tell him I'm okay, he'll know what to do."

"Greg, I'm not leaving here without you."

"But, i-if you d-do, will you go and find Grissom? Please?"

"Of course."

"Thank y-" Greg's eyes closed.

"Greg?" said Carly, putting two fingers on Greg's neck. "Greg, wake up! Dammit Greg!"


"Go on, get out!" said Carson, hauling Carly to her feet. He threw her out of the van while it was still moving, and then closed the door and sped off. Carly picked herself to her feet, and wandered back into the hospital.

"Carly! Where the hell have you been!"

Carly turned around, and came face to face with the head of the ER. He didn't look pleased. "You're covered in blood!"

"I, uh-" began Carly. "Wait, I can't do this right now. There's something more important I need to do."

"Don't you dare walk out of here again!" boomed the attending. "Carly!"

Carly started the 6-block walk to the crime lab. She went up to the front desk, trembling slightly. "Hey. Can I see a Gil Grissom?"

"One moment, I'll page him for you," replied the receptionist. She picked up the phone, and dialled the number of Grissom's pager. "So, what happened to you?"

"Long story," replied Carly.

"Okay," said the receptionist, picking up on the fact that Carly didn't want to speak about her ordeal. "If you'd like to take a seat over there, Mr Grissom will be out shortly."

Carly went over to the row of chairs, and collapsed onto the second one in from the end. A few seconds later, she saw a man come out into reception. Tall, grey hair, glasses, bandy legs. The man spoke to the receptionist, and then headed over to Carly's direction.

"Gil Grissom?" she asked.

"Yes," he nodded, sitting down next to her. "And you would be-?"

"Carly Watts," she replied, holding her hand out for Grissom to shake, but then quickly pulling it back when she realised that it was covered in blood. "Sorry."

"Ms. Watts," began Grissom. "When a person calmly walks into my lab, and they're covered in blood-"

"No!" smiled Carly. "I haven't killed anyone, well, not out of work, but, anyways. Do you know a guy called Greg? He says he works here."

"Greg? Yes, I know Greg."

"Well, to cut a long story short, he's been kidnapped."

"And you know this because-?"

"-Because they kidnapped me too. To help him, see, he has a GSW, a gunsh-"

"I know what a GSW is."

"Okay. Huh, he has a GSW to the abdomen, and a suspected fractured leg. He's got cracked ribs, probably a broken nose- he's a mess."

"Where is he now?" asked Grissom.

"In the back of a van somewhere," replied Carly. "I don't know. I just know that if he doesn't get to a hospital soon, he's gonna die."

"I see," said Grissom. "And so, you're covered in his blood?"

Carly nodded. "I am."

"Can I process you for evidence?" asked Grissom.

"What do you mean?"

"Take your clothes, and process you for trace evidence? Epithelials, that sort of thing?"

"Okay. If you think it will help."


"Um, he was caucasian, male, about 40, probably 180 lbs..."

Carly was talking to a forensic artist. Grissom was stood out in the corridor, watching.

"Gris!" said Sara, marching up to him. "I just came from DNA. Got a match for the blood, it's definitely Greg's. Also got a match for the epithelials we found under Carly's fingernails. You'll never guess who it is."

Grissom opened his mouth to speak, but Sara didn't give him a chance to get the words out. "John Carson."

"Carson?" asked Grissom. "That name rings a bell."

"Yeah!" said Sara. "The case we pulled the other day, Greg shot the suspect. This guy is his cousin, probably looking for payback."

"Oh my god!" said Grissom.

"Got an adress," said Sara, proudly waving a piece of paper in front of Grissom.

"You go there," he said. "Take Nick. Be careful."

"We will."


"No answer," said Nick, peering through the window.

"Dammit," muttered Sara. She turned to the police officer next to her. "Can you, uh, break the door down?"

"Of course," he beamed.


"Got blood," said Sara. She and Nick were in the basement at Carlson's house.

"Got a bullet casing," said Nick, picking up his camera.

"I can't believe this has happened to Greg," said Sara, biting her lip.

"We'll get him back," said Nick reassuringly. "I know we will."

"Carly said he was in a bad way, Nick. What if he dies?"

"He won't die. He'll be fine."

"I hope so."


The CSIs were all sat around the table in the conference room, discussing their respective cases, still with no idea where Greg was, though they now knew how much trouble he was in. Grissom looked around at his CSIs. Warrick looked calm, Nick looked stressed, Catherine looked like she was putting on a front, and it was all Sara could do to keep from bursting into tears.

Grissom's cell phone rang. He took it out, and put it to his ear. "Grissom."

"Gil Grissom?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"That's not important. Let's just say I have something you want."

"Excuse me?"

"Does the name Greg Sanders ring a bell?"

Grissom gasped. "Where is he?"

"He's right here. Would you like to speak to him?"


There was a short pause.

"Gris?" came a quiet voice, little more than a whisper, as though the owner of the voice was in great pain.

"Greg? Oh my god, are you okay?"


"Don't worry Greg. We're going to come and get you."

"I'm in the desert," mumbled Greg, his voice so slurred that the only word Grissom could make out was 'desert'.

"The desert?" he asked.

"Right then, Mister Grissom." Greg's captor had come back on the line. "I'm not going to hang up now, because you won't know how to find Greg if I do that, so I'm going to leave the line connected, and then you can have your wonderful people use whatever gadget it is you use to trace where this call is coming from, and then you can come get Greg. Okay?"

"Okay," said Grissom nervously.


Grissom heard a gun shot. He gasped. "Greg? GREG!"

No reply.

"What's going on?" asked Catherine.


"I've got the trace," said Archie, pulling up a map of the desert. "That's where the cell phone is."

"Good work Archie," smiled Grissom. He turned to Catherine. "Let's go!"

The two CSIs left the lab, and headed out into the desert with their SATNAV. Catherine was on the phone to Archie the whole time, and Grissom had his cell phone out on the dash. After what seemed like a lifetime, they found Greg.

"There he is!" cried Catherine.

Grissom parked the car, and left the engine running. The two CSIs jumped out, and ran to Greg's side.

"Greggie?" asked Catherine. "Oh my god. Greggie?"

Greg stirred slightly, and whimpered in pain. He opened his eyes a little bit, but screwed them shut again because the bright sunlight was blinding him.

Grissom took his radio from his belt, and called for an ambulance.

"It's going to be okay Greggie," said Catherine, putting her hand on Greg's face. "It's going to be okay."


"Is he okay?" asked Nick.

"I don't know," said Grissom. "He's in surgery."

"Why?" asked Sara concernedly.

"He had two GSWs," explained Grissom, "and he's been severely beaten. It doesn't look good."

"Oh my god!" said Nick. "Is he going to die?"

"I don't know, Nicky," said Grissom, shaking his head. "I really don't know."


A/N: I hope that was enough for you, for now. The next part I have written down on paper somewhere, all I have to do is find it...