#csi x reader

“It’s been a while since you’ve dug these out,” you said, grabbing one of the crossword books and flipping through the pages to see your husband's chicken scratch across the boxes. 

“With having a lighter week for cases, I thought we could work on these,” he said with a smile. 

You smiled. “Why not?” 

Finding a pencil in the side table drawer, you turned to an unstarted puzzle. He did the same next to you, except he grabbed an expert-level Sudoku book. 

You worked your way through the easier answers like ‘Casino Card Game ', with nine letters. Blackjack. And ‘Desk go-with’, five letters. Chair. 

As you scribbled away on the crossword, Grissom worked peacefully next to you. Glasses perched on the middle of his nose, pencil end placed against his lips, eyebrows scrunched together. It was one of his thinking faces. 

Now, you were smart, you weren’t Gil Grissom smart. The average crossword you could complete by yourself without having to look at the answer guide, use Google, or ask him for help. His crossword books were a little more advanced than the ones you would grab. 

“Pacific Ocean discoverer…six letters…” You mumbled to yourself, secretly hoping for him to help you. 

“I believe that’s Balboa.” He said, not looking up from his book. 

“Oh?” You said, filling in the name he told you. 

“Yes, his full name is Vasco Núñez de Balboa. He first saw what we now call the Pacific Ocean in 1513 after he crossed the Isthmus of Panama,” he said, filling in a number on the page, “The Isthmus being the narrow strip of land that connects North and South America.” 

“How do you have all this knowledge stored in your brain? And for your brain to not be like five times its normal size?” You laughed, putting your pencil in the book before shutting it. 

“Because that’s physically impossible for it to happen,” he said while taking his glasses off and looking over at you. 

You shook your head, standing up and walking towards the kitchen. “You must have a second brain hidden in your abdomen somewhere.”

“Again, physically impossible, honey,” he called after you, his eyes following you. 

You looked back at him from the doorway. “Do you want some tea, my giga-brained husband?”

“Only if you make it for me.”

One and a half months to go

Upon entering the third trimester, the world had narrowed to the confines of ‘your’ bedroom. The door, once a portal to the shared life you were forced into, was now a steel barrier, a constant reminder of the control that had tightened around your neck like an ever-present noose. It had become the norm that you would often spend two days a week staring at those four empty walls, the silence broken only by the frantic rhythm of your own heartbeat. He would claim that it was in your best interest, his voice a soothing balm masking the chilling reality.

"Honey, I'm a Doctor, I know what I'm talking about. Rest and let me take care of you," he’d say, the words a cage around your spirit. Never once would he mention the baby steadily growing within you, a silent testament to the life he was slowly isolating.

By this point, you had missed so many necessary appointments. The accumulating stress was a palpable thing, a lead weight tightening in your chest, making each breath a conscious effort. More stolen time that you’d never get back, critical moments on a journey without your true co-pilot and partner. The joy that should have filled these months had been replaced by a gnawing fear, a constant ache of loss. Nick, the father of your child, was missing out on feeling every kick, on experiencing the shared excitement of cravings, and on seeing his unborn child on the ultrasound screen as the tech moved the probe to document the growth. The intimacy of the journey, the shared anticipation, had been stolen. His life too was slowly being erased from the picture.

There had been no assigned midwife to guide you through the prior months, no friendly face in a doctor's office. You had not seen the inside of a medical practice in the entirety of your pregnancy.

You were HIS patient, a possession, not an individual with any agency over your own body and health. The bare minimum that he had actually done was to prescribe you the prenatal vitamins and to have a dietitian tailor the ideal meal plan at stage of each trimester. Even these were tinged with suspicion. The dietitian was a close friend of his, who had taken you on off the books as a personal favour. Just another way to reduce any paper trail that could lead to your discovery. The sense of isolation was absolute, a suffocating blanket woven from lies, manipulation, and the chilling certainty that you were utterly alone.

It made you wonder how many others had been where you were sitting, but failed to meet his impossibly high standards. You were just the latest in a string of women kidnapped to be moulded into the object of his desire. He saw himself as a sculptor, meticulously crafting his perfect woman, and you, the raw material, were at his mercy.

It had taken time to earn his trust, to be left alone in the property without the constant presence of a chosen companion; the cleaner, the cook, or even the gardener, all were utterly loyal to the Good Doctor. Knowing that every external door and window was latched, and that the keys were always on him, offered little comfort. There was no way to escape, not that you hadn’t tried opening each door and window during your daily explorations, a ritual of hope that quickly turned to despair. After a few weeks of repeated visits from one room to the next, searching for any sign, any clue, any opportunity, it was then that you first found more than a single faded stain on a single piece of clothing that hung in the very back of the wardrobe.

The discovery sent a chill through your veins, a grim confirmation of the unspoken horrors you had come to suspect. Concealed beneath a few loose floorboards in the master bedroom and tucked away in the dusty recesses of the attic, you unearthed a horrifying collection of evidence, each item a testament to the Good Doctor’s depraved deeds.

The inventory of evidence included dozens of Polaroid pictures, faded and warped with age, depicting a series of terrified faces, each one a mirror image of your own growing dread. The locations varied, from the meticulously manicured gardens of the estate to the cold, bare-bones confines of the basement. A chilling assortment of hair, neatly bound with ribbons of silk, a grotesque collection ranging from the vibrant crimson of a fiery redhead to the pale, ethereal strands of a young woman with eyes that haunt your memory.

The diary, bound in leather and worn with use, held secrets more terrifying than anything you could have imagined. Its pages, filled with elegant yet frantic handwriting, told the story of another victim, another life stolen by this pillar of the community. The name “Eliza” was mentioned with a reverence that felt both perverse and deeply unsettling, a name you had only ever heard uttered in hushed tones, a forbidden whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

The evidence was carefully put back in its hiding spots, and as a result, the case began to unfold in your mind. While you were attempting to understand the reason for your abduction, there was a lingering fear that he would realise you were getting closer to the truth. His library, with its imposing bookcases lining the walls, had been a welcomed find as you wandered through the halls.

You had spent countless hours escaping into the worlds contained within the pages, losing yourself in tales of adventure, romance, and intrigue. Yet, despite the comfort the library offered, and despite the captivating stories that held you enthralled, you always read with one eye fixed upon the door. Having been a police officer for a few years, your guard was something that you had honed and therefore could never be lowered even for the briefest moment in this house. The silence, broken only by the rustle of turning pages and the occasional creak of the aged wooden floor, was both a blessing and a curse, a constant reminder of the danger that lurked just beyond the sanctuary of books.

Yet, you often found yourself staring up at a particular oil painting, a portrait of a smiling young woman dressed to the nines, tucked away in a nook of the library. Her gown, a vibrant emerald green, shimmered in the faint light filtering through the high, arched windows, the fabric seemingly alive with movement. Her dark hair, piled high in intricate curls, was adorned with glittering jewels that caught the light, and a subtle smile played on her lips, hinting at a secret known only to her. You had questioned him, curious about both the artist and the subject, hoping to learn the story behind the woman's captivating gaze. You envisioned a tale of love, loss, or perhaps a clandestine affair, something to break the monotony of your captivity.

But when you had turned, expecting to find answers, you were met with a wall of silence and a look in his eyes that you’d never seen before. It was a sorrow, a deep, aching sadness that seemed to emanate from him, a vulnerability you had never believed your kidnapper could possess. The cold, calculating man who had held you prisoner for so long was gone, replaced by something broken, something that had clearly suffered a profound loss.

“Ask again and I won’t hesitate to snap your neck;” This had been the first time that you had glimpsed beneath the mask and seen the true nature of the real man. Void and unfeeling, ready at the drop of a hat to end your life and find a replacement, he was a danger not only to your body but to your soul. The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, a stark reminder of the precariousness of your reality.

Heavily pregnant and a sitting duck in the serial killer’s lair, you were petrified. The air hung thick with the metallic tang of fear. The single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling cast long, dancing shadows, playing tricks on your eyes. You could hear the incessant creak of floorboards somewhere beyond the locked door, a constant, unnerving rhythm.

Striving to be accommodating, you played the role of the compliant, dutiful wife. You forced a smile when he entered the room, your heart hammering against your ribs. You endured his scrutinising gaze, his endless purposeless touches. The constant violation of your privacy. The familiar warmth of your growing belly calmed you as you rubbed your hand across it, feeling your child’s lively response to your touch. A tiny kick, a gentle nudge – it was a lifeline in this abyss of despair.

“I’ll always keep you safe, baby, I promise;” you vowed with an air of conviction. The words were a shield against the encroaching darkness, a defiant stand against the monster who held you captive. You closed your eyes, picturing your child’s face, its future, a future you were determined to secure. You would see it though, your child would survive even if it was the cost of your own life. The thought, though painful, filled you with a fierce resolve. You would use every ounce of strength, every flicker of intelligence, every opportunity to protect your unborn child. This was your purpose now, your only reason to fight.

You bit your lip, a nervous tremor in your hands, trying to quell the growing excitement as the butterflies in your stomach fluttered like mad, their wings beating a frantic rhythm against your ribs. How could not be looking forward to tonight; hopefully the first of many dates to come. You had never thought that he might have seen you as anything other than a friend and a colleague. Yet he had been the one to ask you out to dinner after having kissed for the very first time.

That was just over forty-eight hours prior. As soon as he had gotten home, a text message had come through with a time, date of when he could pick up, with no obvious indication of where he would be taking you. It had been a welcomed surprise that kept sleep at bay for a few hours as your mind had relived that evening’s events. Sleep came eventually, sweeping you away into a wonderful dream that you never wanted to end.

The next morning, you had discovered a sweet good morning message; you had briefly struggled to reply, but soon enough the perfect reply came and was sent shooting off into the invisible superhighway connecting all electronic devices. You felt as if you were floating on cloud nine; this is what it must feel like to have died and gone straight to heaven.

The next few hours blurred together as you messaged back and forth, laughing at his terribly pun-filled jokes before firing back with one of your own. Whilst a giddy smile remained in place as you went about your day. It had always been easy to talk with Nick, but this felt fresh and on a completely different level. Nick had been called in on his day off after one of the team had called in sick. However, he had stated outright that he couldn’t cover the day after, as he had immovable plans. You, not that his team, knew that.

A very visible blush exploded across your face as you reread the last message for the third time. You were that important; he wanted to see as much as you did where this went. To explore the very notion of being romantically entangled, to see if it worked just as smoothly. You dared to believe that you and Nick were compatible, but you were willing to risk it all for this chance.

As you pulled more clothes out of your wardrobe, you failed to notice the figure lingering outside the window. Watching your joy as you bounced about the ground floor room, trying on each item with a skip in your step. As you hold the next potential first date outfit in front of you before looking critically in the mirror. You could not see the contempt in their gaze, knowing that this little show was not for them but for another who was completely unworthy of you. The thought of you, happy, perhaps even in love with another, was a sickness they couldn’t stomach. Fear rose up as thoughts that you might be slipping out further out of their reach, that their control, their carefully laid plans, were slowly unravelling.

The cogs turned, springing into life; a familiar icy dread settled in. Time was slipping away as the figure, hidden amongst the overgrown greenery creeping up the walls, as they moved from one of its favoured perches. It was time to set the events in motion. The carefully crafted web of deceit, the subtle manipulations, all had to accelerate. There was so much still left to do before the last sands of the hourglass slipped away. This plan would not happen overnight; it was a symphony of carefully orchestrated events, a long game of chess where you were the queen. But soon, very soon, you would be theirs, and this pathetic display of happiness would be but a distant, forgotten memory. The thought of that moment, the sweet taste of victory, steeled their resolve, and they faded back into the shadows, the hunt now fully engaged. The first move had been made.

Three weeks later

Agent Montgomery arrived at the crime lab later than she had anticipated; traffic on the Strip had been a nightmare. It had extended for over a mile, a solid, creeping line of red taillights that had tested her patience to its limit. This was her breaking point, compounding the never-ending headache this case had created. The late hour, deadlines, and pressure from the higher-ups, as well as the LVPD's internal stress, mounted, especially with the victim being one of them.; it was the unsettling nature of the crime itself.

A grim expression crossed her face, revealing her current mood: a mix of frustration, exhaustion, and a gnawing unease. She ran a hand through her already dishevelled hair, the weight of solving the case pressing down on her. She had hoped to share the news with Nick Stokes, the partner of the victim, a criminalist. But given the tension that had arisen within the Department since the FBI had taken over the case, she understood the looming decision that she might have to keep him in the dark a little longer, for now. Unexpressed worries and frustrations filled the lab, creating a stifling atmosphere.

Even with the possibility of unlocking additional resources from the Federal Task Force, her presence was deemed a hindrance in the search for their friend, colleague, and loved one, as she was viewed as an outsider. Walking into a police department with a sense of discomfort was not an unfamiliar experience for Aveline.

She entered the trace lab. Nick was at the microscope, hunched over his work. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes narrowed as he peered through the lens. He was completely absorbed, oblivious to everything around him. The usual lab technician, Hodges, was absent, his frustratingly dry wit missing.

Aveline, hesitant, lingered just inside the doorway, unsure of how to interrupt. She had spent the morning piecing together a crucial piece of information – a breakthrough, really – that she needed to share with Nick immediately. A phone call would have worked, a quick and easy way to convey the data she had painstakingly uncovered. But something held her back. The news was too significant, too delicate, to be delivered in such a casual manner. She needed to see his face, to gauge his reaction, to ensure he understood the gravity of the situation. She needed to be in the same space, to feel the shared tension and excitement.

Finally, Nick looked up, his gaze shifting from the microscope to the world beyond. He saw her standing there, framed by the door, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face. He realised he wasn’t alone. He found her lingering in the doorway, her expression unreadable. She held a manila folder in her hand, its contents undoubtedly related to the research they were both immersed in.

Her mere presence was enough for him to know its significance. A phone call would have worked to share what she recently learnt, but Aveline didn’t feel at ease using that way to communicate this to him. The information felt too important to be relayed in any other manner than an in-person discussion.

“You found something, didn’t you?” His manner of speaking subtly conveyed a glimmer of quiet hope, which was evident in his words. His words direct and straight to the point, there was no beating about the bush.

The set of his jaw wasn’t rigid, but relaxed, almost inviting. His eyes, though reflecting the weariness of the long months without his girlfriend, held a spark, a faint but persistent flicker of optimism that, like a small fire in the hearth, offered warmth and the promise of light. The subtle tilt of his head, the almost imperceptible lift of his eyebrows at certain points, all worked together to weave a tapestry of understated hope, a silent assurance that, despite the challenges ahead, this was something worth striving for, something to be optimistic about. This wasn’t a boisterous proclamation, but a quiet undercurrent of belief, a gentle persuasion that resonated long after the particular conversation ended.

Agent Aveline took a deep breath, maintaining her composure. “Over the last week, we received a tip through the hot-line. A potential sighting of a woman matching your partner’s description at a hospital in California. The local authorities are reviewing the CCTV footage and have shared it with the Vegas lab here for their own analysis.”

“California?” Nick’s surprise was evident as she delivered the update. The room buzzed with a frantic energy that amplified the raw emotion churning inside Nick. He hadn’t even been able to fully process the information before the words erupted from him, a mixture of disbelief and searing panic. His voice cracked, betraying the tremor that ran through him. “A week; you’ve known about this for an entire week!”

He ran a hand through his hair; the gesture failed to soothe the whirlwind of worry that consumed him. Each second felt like an eternity, a slow torture of unanswered questions and agonizing possibilities. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat mirroring the chaos within. The vibrant image of her, the warmth of her smile, the sound of her laughter, all flashed through his mind, each memory a fresh stab of fear. All he knew was that she was still out there in the clutches of a serial killer, in the unforgiving place, and he was utterly and completely in the dark. He turned towards the stoic figure standing beside him, the federal agent who had delivered the news.

After hearing the loud voices coming from the hallway, DB Russell stepped into the trace lab. He recognised the escalating tension and the potential for the situation to spiral out of control. Stepping into the lit space, he saw the two figures, that of Nick and Federal Agent Aveline Montgomery. He could see that Nick’s face flushed with anger; the lack of any recent evidence, the silence and ever-present worry were eating away at him.

The air crackled with unspoken accusations and simmering resentment. Without hesitation, DB moved between them, his presence immediately commanding attention. He raised his hands in a gesture of peace, his voice calm and measured as he began to try to de-escalate the situation, attempting to diffuse the conflict before it could erupt into something more. He started by addressing each individual, acknowledging their frustrations and encouraging them to express their feelings constructively. “Aveline, I’ll take it from here”

"Nick, calm down." DB placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture meant to soothe the frantic energy radiating from the Texan. "We're doing everything we can. I know this is hard, but we need to follow procedure."

Aveline continued, her voice gentle yet firm, her brow creased with concern. "The tipster provided a partial license plate number, and our tech team is running it through the database. We're also cross-referencing it with the hospital's parking lot footage. We have security footage of the area from the last few weeks, and we're meticulously reviewing it, frame by frame, in hopes of glimpsing the vehicle and, hopefully, the detective."

Nick pushed DB's hand away, his frustration evident in the sharp movement. His dark hair was dishevelled, and his usually sharp eyes were bloodshot, betraying sleepless nights and mounting anxiety. "I've been going out of my mind with worry," he practically snarled, pacing the small workspace. "Every day feels like an eternity. And now, you're telling me she might have been in California?"

"We don't know yet, Nick," Aveline said, her tone soothing, as if speaking to a frightened animal. "That's what we're trying to piece together. The tip we received detailing the supposed sightings mentioned the Golden State, but the information is still unconfirmed. But we need to remain objective and not jump to conclusions. Premature leaps in judgment can lead us down the wrong path and waste valuable time."

DB's voice was firm, authoritative. "Nick, I know this is difficult, but you need to trust the process. We'll find her, I promise. We've handled similar cases before, and we have an additional team of dedicated professionals working alongside us. For now, I need you to focus on your work here. Let us handle the investigation. We will keep you informed every step of the way."

Nick's eyes darted between Aveline and DB, his emotions a chaotic mix of desperation, anger, and a flicker of hope. "How can I focus on work when my girlfriend is missing? I should be out there searching, doing something. This waiting is killing me. Every second feels like an agonizing stab. Why aren't we doing more? Why aren't we looking everywhere?"

"I understand," Aveline said, her gaze softening, her professional facade cracking slightly to reveal a genuine empathy. "My team is dedicated to this case, and we're making progress, albeit at a pace that is often frustrating. The process takes time; you know this. We'll keep you updated, I promise. You'll be the first to know if any new developments surface."

As Nick's shoulders slumped, the fight draining from him, DB spoke up. "Why don't you take a break, Nick? Clear your head. We can manage things here for a while. Why don't you go get some air? Maybe grab some coffee. You're no good to anyone in this state." He gestured towards the door, hoping to offer some small solace in the suffocating atmosphere.

Nick nodded, his anger deflating. "Fine. I'll... I'll go for a walk. But keep me informed, please. I need to know if there's any news." Aveline watched him leave, her heart heavy with the weight of the situation. The man's retreating figure seemed to shrink with each step, a stark contrast to the imposing figure he usually projected. His shoulders were slumped, his head bowed, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides, a testament to the internal battle he was waging. The weight of their shared responsibility pressed down on them, a silent understanding passing between them.

"Thank you for stepping in," Aveline said, a sense of camaraderie forming between them. "I'll keep you updated on the lab analysis. Hopefully, we'll have more answers soon." The sterile environment of the lab, usually a place of focused activity, felt unusually quiet.

Meanwhile, the simmering fury that he had kept contained for so long was now unleashed, erupting and dominating his every thought and action as it surged to the forefront. Every memory, every imagined scenario, fuelled the inferno within him. As he continued to walk down the silent hallway, the weight of his anger became more apparent with each step, which seemed heavier than the previous one and echoed with each footfall as he headed out. The linoleum floor reflected the flickering overhead lights, casting elongated shadows that danced and twisted, mirroring the chaos in his mind. The familiar surroundings of the building, usually a source of comfort, now felt alien, a constant reminder of the life he was desperately trying to salvage.

Looking across the room to Warrick you knew he had a pile of work to get through. “I’ll go.” you quickly picked up your mug and took the last drink.

“He’s currently at work. You can either take it from him there or his home. Take an officer with you. He seems compliant enough” “Why can’t you bring the man in? Why hasn’t the sample already been taken?” Warrick enquired as he washed his own mug.

“He wasn’t a suspect until now and whoever passed this case over clearly didn’t do their job properly.” “Typical.” Warrick grumbled under his breath. “I don’t mind going Y/N-” 

“No, no. It’s ok.” you stood up and dragged the pack that Grissom placed on the table “I’ll head off now. Quicker to get it done.”

After some more general chat with the men and Grissom giving you more details about the case you were soon driving to Troy’s place of work. Wandering into the shop, an officer behind you, you noticed the man packing his stuff ready to leave.

The man looked up from the counter and his sharp eyes met yours.

“I’m CSI Y/L/N and this is officer Stanley from the LVPD. You’re not in trouble but we need to take a quick DNA sample from you if that’s ok?”

The man looked down into his bag before his eyes were staring through you again. “Why?” he said in a cold manner.

“Just to rule you out.”

The man checked his watch and then the clock above the door. “I have to get to the bank before it closes. It’s just a street over. Can I run there first and then give the sample? I really must go to the bank.”

Unsure you looked towards the officer who simply nodded and gestured for the man to go. Slinging his bag onto his shoulder he shouted his goodbye to who you could only assume was the shop owner and you were soon following him towards the bank.

The man basically ran through the bank doors. His demeanor hadn’t changed but something felt off. You couldn’t entirely place it but the man was either really anxious to get whatever he needed done in time or was up to something. Whispering this to the officer you simply had a shrug in return.

Standing by a window the two of you watched the man as he spoke to a woman about an issue he was having. You kept an eye on the man but something caught your attention. You couldn’t quite register it quickly enough but a large van pulling up burst with people all in black. Turning towards the officer, you barely got your words out before the people had stormed the bank and had everyone splintering into all directions. You watched as Stanley ran towards Mr Mulligan but they were soon out of sight. Defenseless you met the raiders demands and dropped to the floor.

You watched as the men demanded money and started to point their guns at various hostages. Your heart absolutely dropped when one of the locked familiar eyes with you and grabbed you by your shirt, lurching you upwards he dragged you to the centre of the room and threw you to the floor, lying face down you turned your head for some air. 

“Don’t move.” you felt a coldness press into your hair and you knew exactly what it was. You didn’t realise that your heart and stomach could drop further but they did.

“She’s a cop” the man called. That’s when you realised the pack to take the sample had been dropped. Clear LVPD tape and markings across it.

“Not a cop.” you spoke sternly. 

“Why’d you have that?” he nuzzled the gun in your hair.

“CSI.”

“Ohhh looky here. A female CSI.” a new man chimed in

The original man quickly leant down and grabbed you by the hair. Pulling you upwards he pushed you towards the other man aggressively he turned you to him and held your arms behind your back. “Name” he the man with familiar eyes demanded.

“Y/L/N.” you complied.

“Hey, Ruddy! Call the cops and tell them we have CSI Y/L/N with us as a hostage. They’re already on their way but we can up the stakes a bit.” he called to someone else. Presumably using a code name.

“What do you want?” you looked into the man's sinister eyes.

“My five minutes of fame.”

Panic started to rise now. You glanced around the room and took in the number of people around you, at least fifteen to twenty. “Let some of them go.” “You can’t bargain with us.” With the butt of his gun he smacked your face and you were soon tumbling to the ground. You didn’t pass out, but it almost felt like your brain disconnected when it made contact with the gun. Although the pain was extreme you barely had time to process it before you were being kicked by the man. The other man joined him momentarily. Once they backed off the leader made sure the man who’d been holding your arms pinned his gun to you. Trying to hold back tears and noises of pain and discomfort you simply watched as the men went on a patch of destruction, hurting other people. Smashing furniture and glass. 

Grissom called the group together immediately when he got the news from Brass that they had you hostage.

“We need to go and be there.” Nick was the first to break the silence after the noises of shock from everyone.

“It’s too dangerous. We can’t do anything for her if we’re there.” Grissom replied.

“But we also can’t do anything here either. We don’t know if this is linked to any other cases. It's its own standalone.” Catherine bit back. “We need to go out there.”

After some back and forth and general panic across the team it was agreed that a small team would go out and collect any information they could with the police and be a general support for you when, or if, you got out.

Catherine, Nick and Warrick were the three to pull up at the scene. Passing easily through the tape they met Brass just behind the line of officers surrounding the building.

Nick scanned the building for any sign of movement but could see none at that moment. Tears of panic threatening to fall he turned to Catherine. “She’s going to be ok yeah?”

“We’ll get her out Nicky.” she meant what she said but couldn’t hide the pang in her chest at the thought of failing at that promise.

Nick’s eyes fell back to the building. The two of you had been dating for a couple of months and were even officially boyfriend and girlfriend. You hadn’t meant to keep it from the rest of the team but also weren’t going to jump right out and tell them until you were both ready. The two of you had recently toyed more with the idea of telling everyone but just hadn’t got around to it yet.

The next half an hour was painful. The three CSI’s on the outside were moving from officer to officer trying to get any slither of information from them but they had no luck.

Nick’s stomach nearly leapt out of his throat when a bunch of masked men ran out of the building guns raised but were quickly shot down. What had him basically plead out loud was seeing one of them emerge from the back dragging you by your hair with his gun at his side.

“HOLD FIRE.” Brass shouted out loud as Nick screeched the same.

“You want her?” The masked man called. Without waiting for a response he continued “I want you all to remember who I was.” Ripping the mask off he revealed his face. Nick knew that face. He couldn’t place it exactly but he knew he’d seen it before.

Raising his gun he placed it to your head. Closing your eyes you took a breath and heard open fire and an explosion. Tumbling forward down the steps outside of the bank you flopped to the floor into a pile of debris. You used what strength you had left to cover your head.

A deathly silence followed the explosion of sound.

The criminal lay flat, blood pooling around him at an extremely quick rate.

A loud voice shouting something had a group of armed officers running forward into the building.

Nick was quick on their heels, rushing towards you he screamed for help.

Arms clamped around yourself you were deafened by what had just happened, your ears still ringing. You were numb and could barely feel Nick trying to turn you over gently.

“Y/N. Y/N? It’s me Nick?” the man made sure not to jostle you too much, his eyes wildly searched your face.

You could see him but everything hurt and you felt like the world was swimming around you. 

“It’s me. Nicky. I got you. I got you” the man's hands hovered over you as he searched for help and called for it once more.

Everything went by like a blur, you felt like you were in and out of consciousness. Whether you actually were or you were dissociating hard you weren’t quite sure.

Nick sat by your side in the hospital while you slept. The doctor had been reluctant to let a colleague stay but after explaining your relationship he was allowed.

A broken rib, massive bruising, cuts, scrapes and a slight concussion. You were lucky it hadn’t been a bullet to the brain.

The man leaned forward and took your hand gently in his as you slept. Coming to lean his chin on the side of the bed next to your head he brought his other hand gently to your face and traced his fingers lightly over your cheek avoiding all of the injuries as he did.

Admiring your face he stayed there. Even as Catherine and Grissom came walking in.

“How’s she holding up?” Catherine's voice was soft and sincere.

“She’s still sleeping.”

“She’s been through a lot.” She moved across the room and placed a hand on Nick’s shoulder.

Grissom watched Nick realise what he was doing in front of them and quickly sat up and released your hand. Grissom gave Nick a simple nod. “It’s ok. You don’t have to hide it. We don’t have to talk about it right now either.”

Nick could feel tears threatening his eyes as they started to burn. He couldn’t bare not touching you in some way right now, frightened that if he didn’t he’d lose you. He simply slid his hand around yours again.

“She’ll need some proper time to recover.” He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d said it because it was obvious.

“We’ll be here for her no matter what.” Catherine gave his shoulder another squeeze.

The three of them sat quietly, Grissom offered to get Nick a coffee before they left but he refused.

It wasn’t for another hour after they left did you finally wake up.

Nick had been staring at you for ages with his chin planted on the side of the bed. He had taken in every single feature of your face when your eyes began to flutter open, clearly hating the blaring light of the room. Nick stayed quiet while you tried to acclimate yourself, not wanting to scare you but also desperate to hear your voice.

You could feel the pain radiating throughout your body, everything pulsing and aching alongside it. What bought you out of it momentarily was pressure on your hand and then a whisper of a squeeze. Letting your head turn gently you met Nick’s glittering eyes staring back at you, slightly red and tears collecting with an emotional smile on his lips.

“I love you.” the words were cracked as he spoke them and a tear ran down his cheek.

“I love you too.” you gave his hand a gentle squeeze in return.

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