View Outside My Window by KrazyKid197
Rating-12A (or a 12)
Summary- Theres nothing I can do, but pray.
Archiving- I'm not an unreasonable person, I just want to be asked first. Fair?
Disclaimer- I own everything to *gun clicks*, I mean all the nice people at CBS own this, I own nothing. *gunshot*
A/N- This is a challenge chapter. Write an ending, using which ever character you like, and e-mail it to me.
A/N 2. Thanks to Sparky, for, well being Sparky and thanks to Wintertime for being a tester for reactions to it.


He looked outside at the strip, watching it come to life. Later it would be a thrum of people. All completely oblivious to other peoples suffering. Like himself, he thought grimly. He had seen so much death recently, especially since he had been allowed into the field with the rest of the CSIs. He only had a small window to see out of, not big enough to escape from.

A single tear slipped down his cheek. Would they find him in time? Before he was broken and gone forever. He allowed his thoughts to drift. It was little early for his life to start flashing before his eyes, but it was happening anyway.

This is the view outside my window.
Rolling hills roll away
The sun gets hotter every day
The concrete creeps under grass
Animals bleed on shards of glass
And in the breeze
The whispers of trees
Become desperate pleas

When they had taken him he had been forced, at gunpoint, into a car, and driven to here. The fear had threatened to engulf him. Why him? What did they want? It wasn’t until much later that he realised. It didn’t matter what they wanted. All that mattered is what they were going to get. Him.

This is the view outside my window.
Sunsets merge in shades of grey
Stars no longer light the way
Litter strewn paths are black and polluted
Songs of birds are disturbingly muted
And in the rain
She cries in vain
Against the pain

He thought about his co-workers. He had a lot of time to think now. As he didn’t know when this was going to end. The small room was dark and empty. He hadn’t a clue where he was. Turning back to the window he watched. The sun had set and people were moving below the grey sky.


He screamed in his mind. But they wouldn’t. Even if they had known. This was a city of people who were in it for themselves. It didn’t even matter if innocent people died. Is that was he was? Innocent? He doubted it, his life wasn’t perfect, but there was nothing he could think of that warranted him this.

Another tear. He leaned against the wall, eyes looking down. Somewhere, there was a crime scene and the CSI team would be processing it. Without him there. Shaking the thought from his mind, a third tear slipped out, as he silently prayed that they would find him in time.

This is the view outside my window.
I can but watch as choking fumes
Kill the meadow flower blooms
And darkness fills the sunny day
My favourite colour is green, not grey
. There is nothing I can do

Footsteps. A click. And a voice.


But pray.


He quickly stumbled to his feet, fearful of what was going to happen.

‘Oh God, they’re going to kill me.’

Summoning up the last of his courage, he looked up, trying not to cry, straight into the face of his captors. The gun was pointed at his chest, but was now moved, pressing into the soft flesh of his throat, barrel angled up towards his head.

A small yelp escaped, and at any other time he would have worried about appearing cowardly and weak, but thinking that, and putting it into practise when the cool metal of the firearm was making it’s presence known, was a completely different idea altogether. The man wielding said firearm, cocked his head to the side, regarding him.

“You work at the crime lab right?”

He didn’t answer, he couldn’t. His head was frozen in place.


He managed a small nod to confirm it.


The man used his free hand, the one the scientist decided he liked better, to signal to one of the men behind him. The captive could see 4 men from his vantage point. One with a gun, one moving behind him, and two others.

“Hands behind your back.”

Not having much choice in the matter, he complied, moving the arms, which had been hanging limply at his sides, and holding his wrists together behind his back, knowing what was coming. He even managed to be slightly relieved, only slightly, at that.

If they were tying him up then they couldn’t be planning on killing him. Yet, at least. And that was something.

Sure enough, as soon as his wrists touched each other, he felt the rough rope hit them, tightly binding them together, almost cutting off the circulation. When the man finished, he didn’t bother pulling on them, it would have been fruitless anyway, with the gun still there, so he stayed perfectly still as a dark blindfold was slipped over his eyes and tied so he could no longer tell what was going on around him.

“I’m presuming you won’t be stupid enough to try and call for help, so a gag won’t be necessary. Am I right?”

Another nod. Co-operation was definitely high on his list of things to do. The gun was finally removed and replaced with a tight grip on his shoulder.

“Good. Now walk.”

He was pulled forwards by the shoulder. He had to move quickly to keep up with their pace. He was pushed through the door to the small room, and then down some stairs. Several times he tripped. Each time, he was given a moment to regain his footing before being pushed forward again.

Finally they reached the bottom, he heard a click and the fresh air on his face told him that they were outside. But he wasn’t given a chance to get his bearings, another hand was placed on his head, pulling the blindfold up so he could see. They were standing at the back of a car, boot opened. A gruff voice whispered in his ear.

“Get in.”

Suddenly the gun was brought back into the equation again, and any thoughts of escape were pushed out. After trying, and failing, to stop the sharp intake of breath, he sat inside, then swung his legs in and lay down, shifting to try and make it a more comfortable fit. He continued to lie still as a hand moved the blindfold back into position, blocking his vision again. He heard the boot slam shut, his kidnappers getting into the car, it starting up and driving away.

It was several hours before the car drew to a halt, and by the way it moved, at least one of the occupants got out.

In the boot, he was lying slightly curved, trembling at the thought that they were coming back. And at what they were going to do. He could hear pacing outside, and the muffled sound of someone talking, on a phone maybe? The boot was pulled open, and he stayed completely still, not wanting a confrontation or to do anything to make them angry. He must have been convincing because two fingers were placed on his neck, feeling the pulse there. He could actually feel his heart-rate increase.


Something rushed through the air and hit him in the face, probably breaking the bone in his cheek. He writhed in pain at that, a small cry escaping. The boot was closed again, and the car started up. From the feel of things, because he couldn’t touch it, there was no/very little blood, but it was going to be bruised in the morning. Unless it was morning, he had a very poor guess at the passage of time, but it had to have been at least 4 hours since they had left, and so around 12 hours? Making it mid-morning.

He sighed again in relief as the vehicle was once again put into motion. By the time they reached their destination it was late afternoon. This time when the boot was opened, he remained silent and still. The click of the gun was unmistakable, though in his opinion unnecessary, but wasn’t in a position to argue. They’d been driving for hours and could be out of Nevada by now. The longer before they discovered he was missing, the larger possible search area that they would have to look for him in. By his calculations they could be up to 200 miles away, as they had moved slowly over rough roads slowly for a long while.

He listened carefully, trying to decipher footsteps, voices that were muffled and there was something else, a soft click that he knew he knew, but was out of context in his mind. The next order was quiet, which could mean that they were near people.

“Sit up.”

He body yelled in protest at the movement, he hadn’t moved in a while and his shoulder ached from the position they’d been in.

Following the orders he got to his feet and was allowed a moment to stretch his aching legs before a hand gripped his shoulder, hard enough to leave a bruise, and pulled him away from the vehicle. He could hear voices behind him, hushed, but he could still decipher.

“What happens if it doesn’t work? What do we do with him?”

“It will work. But if not, kill him.”

At that he stopped, but as he was still being pulled forward, he fell, crying out as his legs curled underneath him, landing on his bound wrists. The hand that had been holding him let go when he fell, but now roughly pulled him to his feet. The sharp pain in his right angle caused him to cry out again. And then fight to control himself as the gun pressed into the side of his neck again.

“Keep quiet and keep moving.”

He grit his teeth and tried not to yell as the pain flared up with every limped step he took.

After what seemed like a lot longer than he knew it had been, there was the sound of a deadbolt turning and a door opening. He was pushed towards the sound and brought to a halt inside the room.


Slowly he complied, and made contact with a hard plastic chair, relaxing into it slightly, his arms over the back, taking the weight off his ankle which was still sending messages of pain to his brain.

A small cry escaped when the ankle was picked up and prodded in several places by hard fingers.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Look at it. What could possibly be wrong? Maybe the fact the bone is sticking through the skin?"

That didn't sound good, in any way shape or form, if the bone had pierced a whole in his flesh then it meant that he would be bleeding, and if it wasn't stopped… He tried not to think about it. One of the assailants swore and in a fit of rage, hit the captive around the head again, knocking him out of his seat, catching his shoulder on the corner of the chair.

He was promptly pulled up again and he could hear shouting, followed by someone, the "peacekeeper" saying calmly.

"OK, we can use this to our advantage, it's not over yet. Let me see the wound."

His ankle was grasped and lifted up again and this time he managed to stop the yelp from escaping as he knew it was coming. But his breaths became shorter as the area was examined again.

"Pass me my bag."

More movement and then something was wrapped tightly round the injured area holding the bones together.

"Look on the bright side, at least he's not going anywhere."

"The bleeding's heavy, it needs a Doctor."

"If everything goes according to plan, he'll get one soon enough. For now he'll just need to suck it up and deal with it."

That was interesting, so they didn't want to kill him, but the curious side of him now wondered what the plan was, especially since he was obviously a major part of it.

Finally the men left, the sound of the deadbolt telling him that the door was locked behind them, though like they said he wasn't going anywhere. If by some sheer luck he managed to break out of his bonds and walk out, which was unlikely, he had nowhere to go. All he could do now, was wait, and hope that people would realise that he was missing soon.

It was the beginning of shift at LVCL and Grissom was signing in. It was not long before the rest of the nightshift signed in, but he always got there early.

'Maybe I do need to get a life.'

He thought wryly to himself. He headed to his office, but a rush of footsteps and the call of,

"Mr Grissom."

Stopped him in his tracks and the new young secretary caught up with him, an envelope in hand.

"This came for you Mr Grissom, it's marked urgent."

"Thank you...Sophie"

He paused to check her name tag, taking the envelope and entering his office, sitting down and reaching for his glasses, carefully peeling open the envelope. It was quite thick with a small item, about the size and shape of a test tube in the bottom. The first thing he removed was a piece of paper.

Missing someone?

We will be in touch, don't try and contact us if you wish to see him alive again.

The writing on it was neat, carefully inked blocked capitals, nothing to give the graphologists anything to work with. It could have been a prank, but something in his gut told him that it wasn't so he tipped up the envelope, the contents falling out. What caught his attention first was the plastic contain with a swab in it, the swab covered with blood. Worried he searched the rest of the contents, which consisted of a handful of photos, evidence of what they had. During most pictures he was blindfolded but there was one where you could see the dark brown eyes, wide and full of fear, though trying to hide it, with a gun pressed into the soft flesh of his neck.

"Oh God."

Sweeping the photos and blood samples into a pile, he picked them up and hurried out of his office.

Krazy- Hmm…what?
Sparky- Never mind. :turns to walk away:
Krazy- :grabs her arm: Don’t “never mind” me, you know how annoying it is? So what?
Sparky- Nothing. Sheesh.
Krazy- :glares at Sparky: R&R guys, I want to know what you think.

So now that you have read one of my sorry attempts at fanfic, where would you like to go now? Back to the Fanfics to read more about Greg? Or back to the Homepage to find another fandom?