Disclaimer: I wished upon a star once; I asked it to give me two billion dollars so I could buy CSI from Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS. Stupid star didn't do anything.

And many thanks to the world's best beta, Stormchilde. I don't think I have met anyone else who could give me as many compliments on my writing as she could.

Hour Zero - Captured

" … How did we all come to this?" Greg Sanders sang loudly, accompanying the deafening music that blasted from the CD player in the lab that was once again his.

"This greed that we just can't resist!" Deirdre Hayes, the newest lab tech and somewhat secretly, Greg's girlfriend, yelled out while analyzing a sample of blood from Catherine's and Nick's crime scene, a robbery turned murder near Lake Mead. Deirdre was the reason that Greg didn't mind being back in the lab, though he had to admit, it was probably best for the team anyway. The two DNA techs could do about three shifts worth of work in one, too, so both did get their own fair share of field work.

"And we're all to blame. We've gone too far, from pride to shame. We're trying so hard, we're dying in vain. We're hopelessly blissful and blind, to all we are. We want it all…" Both sang terribly off-key just as Warrick came in, smirking slightly as he turned down the CD player so he could talk to them.

"If you two aren't too busy making fools of yourselves, I was hoping for my results," he said.

Deirdre grinned in a manner that made Warrick positive Greg was giving her lessons on ways to be just like him. "Which ones?" she asked.

"All of them if you have them," he said, resting his elbows on the counter.

"Gotcha." Greg pushed his chair across the room and grabbed a tidy stack of papers with the words 'Warrick's case' printed carefully in Deirdre's hand-writing across the top of the first page. "Okay, the first sample of blood is your vic's."

"So is the second," Deirdre added.

"And the third," Greg mentioned.

"So is the first blond hair sample you found."

"And all the others."

"Is there anything that doesn't belong to the vic?" Warrick asked the two techs.

Deirdre gave him a look, but Greg answered. "We were getting to that; the brown hair is a half match -"

"- So you'll be looking for a brother or sister, 'cause we checked the files. Her parents are dead and no children -"

"- And the DNA under the vic's nails matches the semen found on the bed sheets. I ran it through CODIS but got nothing."

Warrick sighed. "Typical." He muttered to himself, grabbing the results to show Sara, who was working on the case with him.

"You're welcome," Deirdre said in a slightly annoyed sigh-song voice. The only reply she got was that of the glass door closing. She growled and turned the music back up. "Talk about a lack of gratitude."

Greg chuckled. He had long ago gotten used to the few words exchanged by the CSIs and lab techs and was no longer annoyed when no one seemed to care how hard he worked. He knew it wasn't that way, that everyone was just extremely busy. "Relax, he appreciates it." Greg assured her.

"He could show it once in a while." Deirdre grumbled, getting back to work again.

He smiled to himself; Deirdre had a surprising temper though she managed to keep it in check fairly well. He grabbed a swab from Catherine's case and began to analyze it, following the brunette's example. Within minutes, the two were yelling out song lyrics again.

"So…" Greg began, with a sly edge to his voice as he slipped around Deirdre and changed CDs. As much as he liked Sum 41, he had to admit that listening to the same songs for three and a half hours straight was getting rather boring. "Who do you think Sara's and Warrick's murderer is; the boyfriend without a good alibi, the jealous ex, or the mystery fingerprint back at trace?"

"It's obviously the fingerprint guy," Deirdre replied, as if it was the clearest thing in the world. "The boyfriend does have an alibi, even if it's not good, and why would he even want to kill her in the first place? You can tell he adores her, and the ex seems too… sensible and careful, to kill anyone; too much of a neat-freak. I doubt that he would do anything that would cause him to get dirty at all and slitting someone's throat assures you a 99.9 chance of doing just that."

"Unless you're wearing something to protect your clothing," Greg reminded her, starting up the new CD and grabbing a swab of some unknown substance from Grissom's case. "And there were traces of plastic caught in a pocket zipper on the suspect's coat."

Deirdre 'hmph'ed as way of reply. Greg knew she was more stubborn than she was tall - and she was nearly 5'9 - about 5 inches taller than the average female height, and hated to be pulled into an argument that she would most likely lose.

"It was Ziploc bag plastic though." she said suddenly, triumphantly. "Do you realize how many Ziploc bags you would have to melt together to make a suit? And then there's the fact that the sample was never in contact with direct heat…"

"Dee, you're hopeless."

"I'm right, then! You can't argue it, so it must be the fingerprint man!" Deirdre crowed, doing her own version of a victory dance before placing her sample in the mixer.

Seconds later, Grissom walked in, a folder in one hand, grabbing the CD player remote control and pausing their music with the other. Both techs knew that he had been doing paper work of the last few days and decided neither was envious of him.

"Greg, Deirdre, could I ask you two a favor?" He asked.

Greg already knew what the graveyard shift supervisor wanted. "Work another double-shift? Sure, just one thing, though."

The brief flash of surprise that flickered across Grissom's face disappeared. "What's that Greg?"

Greg hadn't noticed Deirdre fiddling with the CD player as he spoke with the CSI but just as he was about to reply, she found the CD she was looking for, popped it in the machine and skipped to the song she wanted.

"Catch me as I fall, say you're here and it's all over now..." She sang horribly and over-dramatically.

Greg rolled his eyes and pulled off a glove before covering her mouth with his hand. The squawking she called singing immediately stopped and she began to make gagging noises into Greg's hand, pulling it off.

"Latex stinks, Greg," she told him, glaring. It was obvious though that she was teasing him. "Never do that again."

Neither realized that Grissom had left, shaking his head at their playfulness and that someone else had replaced him in watching the two. With the music still turned up loud, neither noticed that the halls were unusually quiet either.

Finally, the stranger paused their music and spoke up as two of his friends came in beside him, both with guns in their hands and just as burly as the first man. "Listen to me very carefully and do exactly what I say. You might get hurt less that way."

…

Catherine Willows put the black Tahoe into park and shut it off just as Nick Stokes jumped out of the passenger seat and opened the back, pulling out a tote full of evidence bags.

"I'm so glad we've finally found something," he said in reply to the look on Catherine's face as she grabbed their field kits and closed the back hatch.

"It actually took us three days to see it though." Catherine replied as she walked through the front door, only to find the lab silent. Not even Greg's or Deirdre's music was playing which immediately sent off warning bells in her head.

"What the…?" Nick muttered, seeing that the receptionist wasn't at her place. Caroline had never left her desk during shift in the last five years he had known her.

Carefully Catherine began to walk forward, being as quiet as she could with heels. Something was very wrong here, she knew that much, but didn't know what.

She found out very quickly though when she heard a loud bang behind her signaling that Nick had dropped their evidence. "Nick -" she hissed, turning around. The rest of her sentence got lost in her throat, though when she saw a .45 caliber gun resting against Nick's left temple.

"You like your friend, right?" The gunman asked as one of his friends approached Catherine.

Mutely, the blond nodded.

"And you don't want me to scatter his brains across your lovely crime lab?" The man, short, strong, and dressed all in black, continued.

She nodded again.

"Alright," the other man spoke up. "Give me your gun, please," he told Catherine as the gunman grabbed Nick's. She pursed her lips and obeyed. "Good. There's a room down the hallway before you with closed blinds; I believe it's your break room. Keep your head down and go inside. If anyone sees you peeking through the binds, you'll wish you'd died as a child. Got it? Both of you?"

The two CSIs nodded their heads.

Wordlessly, seeing only the ground and their feet, they walked into the break room finding Grissom, Sara and Warrick already there. Grissom seemed to be the only one calm; Warrick was pacing, while Sara sat on the black couch resting against the glass wall closest to the door. All three though, looked even worse when they saw Nick and Catherine come in.

"An explanation, please?" Catherine demanded, trying not to snap at anyone.

"What is there to explain?" Grissom asked her mildly. "We've been taken hostage."

…

"Well, you're a pretty one, aren't you?" The stranger said, looking Deirdre up and down. His two friends chuckled, nodding in agreement. He turned to Greg, "Don't you think so too?"

"Leave her alone," Greg told them instead of answering, wondering if he could get some chemicals out of the nearest cupboard. He knew his gun, which lay in his locker, was useless to him but if one of the men got Isopropanol in the eye chances were that they would go blind even with medical attention.

They all laughed at Greg's near threat. The tallest, who topped Greg by six inches at least, walked up to him with a somewhat demonic grin and asked, "And if we don't, do you think you can stop us?"

He didn't answer but instead subconsciously stood up a bit straighter.

The first man laughed as he watched this and called out, "I know that look Wayne, he's gonna try anyway! Aren't you Lab Rat?"

The man called Wayne sneered at Greg then grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head against the counter making him see stars. Greg could vaguely remember hearing Deirdre scream out his name as he was roughly shoved to the floor and his wrists were tied to the work station, an edge now stained with his blood. The blow hadn't been hard enough to knock him out and their captors laughed again as Deirdre rushed over to check if he was okay.

"Greg? Greg, talk to me," she told him urgently. With a hand on either side of his face she tilted his head so she could look him in the eyes. She hissed when she saw the gash on his forehead and was trying to blot it with the inside of the sleeve of her lab coat when Wayne grabbed her by the arms and forced her to the far end of the lab. Deirdre screamed and kicked and thrashed the whole way as they ripped her lab coat then her burgundy t-shirt from her body.

"Hey, leave her alone!" Greg shouted at them when he had regained his senses and had realized what was going on. He tried to get up but the ropes around his wrists kept him still. "Don't - don't - just leave her alone!"

"Brent?" Wayne looked at the shortest of the three, the one who wasn't taking part in toying with Deirdre. "He's more your type. Would you mind shutting him up?"

Brent's face split into a grin that had something in it that Greg just couldn't place. "Sure thing," he said joyously, grabbing a 9mm gun and a knife. He cut Greg free and led him to the shop then retied him to the hydraulic lift that they used to check under suspects and victim's cars.

"Tell me," Brent began, grinning as he paced back and forth surveying the other man. "What's your name? I can't just keep calling you 'lab rat,' after all. I'm Brent, by the way, and I'm thinking, why can't we be on first name terms?"

Greg gave him a look that could peel paint. "Because you're keeping my friends and I captive." He told him, as if pointing out the obvious truth - which, to him, it was.

"So you won't tell me something as simple as your name?" Brent seemed somewhat disappointed.

"You know, if we meet on the street or whatever and you asked me that, I would probably tell you without a second thought, now… not so much."

Brent shrugged, doubling his fists. "So, you won't answer simple questions, and you don't know when to shut up -"

"Have you ever wondered why my mother has a few too many grey hairs?"

"And you like to interrupt people. You need to be taught a few lessons on manners, my dear Lab Rat… Lesson One starts right now, by the way…"

Though he had prepared himself for the first blow, Greg hadn't been prepared for the power and ferocity behind it. His tormentor was shorter than all of the others and he was built on stocky, not strong, lines. He hadn't expected Brent to be half as powerful as he had proven himself to be.

The second hit, to his stomach, would have made him cry out in pain if he could but it had knocked the wind out of his lungs and nearly made his dinner leave his stomach too. Before he had the chance to refill his lungs, Brent had landed two more blows on him. Once his lungs were filled and he was able to cry out, he did.

Finally, after delivering a heavy rain of blows to his face and upper body, Brent stopped. He had turned away from Greg a little less then a minute ago massaging his knuckles, something that sent a slight surge of satisfaction through the tech; at least Brent had been caused pain too even if it wasn't nearly as bad as his.

Greg closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain and to think of some way to get away. As he heard the grating sound of metal against metal though, his concentration was lost and he opened his eyes dreading what was going to happen next.

Brent still had the knife he had used to cut Greg free back in the DNA lab and he was now holding it in his hand. There was a cruel, merciless and somewhat excited look on his face as he stalked towards Greg. He waved the knife in Greg's face, turning the blade so that the lights flashed off the steel and into the tech's eyes. Leisurely, Brent stroked the cool flat of the blade lightly over his captive's face, arms and upper body and seemed almost frustrated when Greg didn't flinch away from it.

Suddenly Brent drew the knife across Greg's chest, leaving a bloody trail behind. Greg gasped in pain and did try to escape from the touch of the knife this time but this only amused the older man more. With a slight chuckle at the lab tech's antics, he slashed at his chest, drawing more blood and yells of agony.

…

Deirdre sat on the couch in the break room nervously, Catherine's forensics jacket wrapped around her shoulders and clothed only in her under garments. She had been unable to grab her ruined clothes before Wayne and two of his friends seized her and literally threw her in here, thankfully they had done nothing that she would have too many nightmares about. Now she was more worried about Greg than she was herself, especially after hearing the screams through the closed shop doors and after learning that none of the CSIs knew where he was.

Sniffing slightly, incredibly thirsty, she gingerly got up and went to get herself some water. She winced as she slowly reached up into the mug cupboard, something that Grissom, though he wasn't truly paying attention to her, noticed. He stood up and took down a mug for her, filled it with water, and handed it to her gently, making sure that she could hold it before letting go completely.

"Thanks," she muttered, looking down into the mug. She liked being independent, and it was embarrassing that she couldn't even get herself something to drink without help - from her boss, nonetheless.

"If you need help, just ask, okay?" He told her, his voice as quiet as his own.

She nodded, still not looking him in the eye and sat back down at her spot beside Catherine on the couch. Grissom sat back down at his place on the coffee table looking at her for a second before fixing an unwavering gaze on the closed, locked and guarded door.

Finally, not being able to stand the silence that they had been shrouded in for nearly an hour any longer, Deirdre said what she knew everyone was thinking aloud, though somewhat pitifully. "I really hope he's okay."

Catherine put an arm around her in comfort, nodding.

Nick looked up at her for the first time since she had been thrown to the ground before him and gave her a weak smile. "Greg'll be fine," he said reassuringly. "He's strong -"

"-And stubborn," Warrick interrupted. He had stopped pacing about 15 minutes after Deirdre came in, and was now sitting across from Sara, who seemed to have zoned out completely.

"That, too," the Texan agreed. "He'll make it."

"And if he doesn't," Catherine added. "I'll have something to say about it, because I was hoping for my results today."

Deirdre chuckled a little, and then drained her cup. "We were almost finished with those too."

"What do you think happened?" Nick asked her. He and Catherine were pretty sure what had happened but he wanted to know what she thought.

"From what I've been hearing -"

"Or from what Greg's been hearing and telling you -" Sara interrupted, brought back to reality by the sound of their voices.

"Or that and from the evidence I've seen and analyzed, I'm thinking that the robbery was that of opportunity and the murder was accidental." said Deirdre. "Most store robbers who threaten to kill people and actually mean it use guns since it's faster and easier, but this one had a knife, so that makes me think that it was out of desperation that someone wasn't complying."

"They may not have had access to a gun or they might not have been a part of that 'most' category," Sara pointed out, turning on her counter space seat to face the lab tech.

"Crimes escalate," Grissom told the younger CSI, "so, if this wasn't a crime of opportunity, the suspect would have robbed people before he hit that store, meaning they would have probably -" He stopped talking as he heard the chains that kept the door locked rattle, turning his gaze away from Sara.

They all stayed stock-still as the chains stopped rattling and the man Deirdre recognized as Brent opened it. Wayne and his friend, Marcus threw Greg's bruised and bloody body to the floor before the graveyard shift like they had done to her.

Catherine held Deirdre back as the Brent spat on Greg's blood-covered face before leaving. Deirdre shook the blond off of her before they had even fully closed the door, wincing as her bruised body protested the quick movements. She fell to her knees beside Greg, immediately trying to find out how responsive he was.

"Greg?" She said louder than necessary, one hand resting on his forehead. "Greg, can you hear me?"

Greg's eyelids cracked open a bit. " …Dee?" He whispered weakly as everyone came to see with their own eyes if he was alright. "What happened?"

"They took you, don't you remember?" Deirdre asked him, running her other hand down one of his arms, then the other, checking for broken bones.

Greg shook his head slightly and closed his eyes again. "I mean to you."

"It could have been worse," she said quietly, realizing just how bloody his shirt was and the numerous holes in it. Without hesitating and knowing that she had to see how bad the wounds on his chest and torso were, she curled her fingers into one of the holes and ripped the blood soaked cloth apart.

"I liked that shirt," Greg informed her, only half-conscious.

"Well, now I know what to get you for your birthday.''

"It's not as bad as it looks, you know," he said.

"Man, do you know how bad it does look?" Nick asked, his voice almost as weak as Greg's. He was shocked by the brutal attack on someone he thought of as his little brother.

"They're really not that deep," Greg continued, apparently not hearing what Nick had said.

"I don't care," Deirdre said, knowing that it wasn't the number; it was the number and pain from them that was making her secret love the way he was, "I want to check them anyway."

She turned to ask Sara to get the first-aid kit she knew was stored in the break room, unless Wayne and his friends and taken it, but stopped in mid-sentence when she saw Grissom by an open cupboard.

"It's not here," he told her, closing the cupboard door.

Deirdre frowned, but gently slid Greg's shirt from under him and ripped off a sleeve to clean some of the blood of his chest and see where the worst cuts were. She quickly folded the torn shirt up into a makeshift bandage, placing the thickest folds over the deepest cuts and tying it tight enough to help stop the bleeding but not enough to hurt the other tech too much. When Greg didn't say anything as she worked, everyone realized that he had slipped into unconsciousness.

"We should get him on the couch," Catherine said, feeling his forehead like Deirdre had about a minute before and like she did when her daughter was sick. "He's running a bit of a fever."

Warrick stepped forward, gently picked Greg up in his arms and lay him down on the now unoccupied couch, the look on his face almost pitying. Deirdre hadn't even told any of them that she had heard Greg's cries of pain as they dragged her back here either. She shuddered to think what other horrors they had in store for them as Nick pulled off his own forensics jacket and covered Greg.

…

What do you think, people? That I should have gotten Deirdre to do less and the others, more? Yeah, I agree. I'm still trying to find that little, fine line that tells me I'm getting one character to do too much, but it's being very elusive. Anyway, now you at least know who the main-main characters are (I hope).

Other than the fine line problem, what do you think? Should I keep going? Don't forget to feed the muse on your way out!

xCxBxBx

Oh, and by the way, the lyrics I borrowed were from the songs All to Blame by Sum 41 and Whisper by Evanescence, both very good songs.