Disclaimer: All the characters related to CSI: NY belong to Anthony Zuiker and CBS.

Summary: Our heroes find themselves in the clutches of the freezing cold, ensnaring with its sickening icy grip, disturbing case and flaming vengeance.

Author's note: I'm a newly founded admirer of fan fiction presenting you with my very first attempt of a multichapter story of questionable artistic merits for the great CSI: NY. Please forgive me for any mistakes I made and will probably make as English is not my native language. Comments always appreciated.

Virgin Cold

Chapter 1

This is CKNY and I'm Rebecca Simmons with Monday weather report. Unfortunately, our meteorologists suggest that the freezing cold will hold the New York City captive for another week. Right now, two hours till midnight, the temperature is minus 6 and is expected to drop by minus 10 by morning. Heavy snow...

It's damn cold, but it doesn't really bother me. I'm watching the snowflakes dancing in the air with admiration. It's been long, too long, when I could watch them dance or feel their tender touch on my skin. I even accept the biting cold as a somewhat new, fresh sensation among the sea of long-missed sensations welcoming me back.

The girl hipswinging around the New York map disappeared from the TV screen. Neatly combed dark hair, tight blue suit perfectly fitting her curves, her ripe breasts… Surely, she is pretty, but she doesn't allure me. Too old for my taste. Too impure.

I take some of the cake the waitress brought me. A very tiny bit, enjoying its rich chocolate taste. Hungry, god, I'm so hungry, but I'll have to wait for my favourite dessert nonetheless. I've lived 15 years in my tormented lustful yearnings and pain, guess I'll manage to wait a couple more hours. Now it's not the time to rush succumbing to temptations. Those 15 years taught me how to plan well, and rashness would only spoil the purpose I'm here, sitting by the window of this café, across the building I loathe, waiting to see the man I loathe. The dim-witted man who took everything from me: my career, my family, my good name, even the ground I walked and the air I breathed. You think you've outsmarted me, you bastard, don't you? Well too bad, you've no idea what awaits you. You'll pay for every minute I let out a cry of pain, humiliation or misery in those 15 years, I can promise you that.

Unnerved, I clench my fist as tightly as I can, until it hurts. I take a sip of cappuccino and close my eyes in sudden delight invading my palate and relaxing me in an instant. Only briefly though, I cannot miss him. I finish my cappuccino, latte, then mocaccino. In those 4 hours I'm lurking for that bastard, a mass of people have left the building propping their collars, tightening their scarfs, embracing themselves for the harsh weather. But not him! Damn it, are you even there? I've already wasted too much time. My frustration reminds me how irritably hungry I am it fucking numbs my mind. No, I need my mind sharp, need to control my temper, need to focus.

And here I finally notice him. That son-of-a-bitch wearily stepping out of the building followed by a woman with curly hair. Oh, why so weary, Taylor, huh? Tiresome day? I'll make sure you'll see how much tiresome they can be, I laugh to myself.

I see Taylor and his female companion stop for a while, she says him something, timidly smiles while touching his cheek and looking him in the eye. Well how cute. He then simply nods, takes her gently by her arm, walks her to the cab and waves her goodbye. Stares at the cab pulling off for a normally too long, in my opinion, moment, then wraps his coat tighter around him, turns around and heads down the street. Not afraid of the cold, aren't you, detective? Doesn't matter, you'll learn what fear is, once a brilliant teacher, I still know my job.

I quickly pay for my order and politely thank the waitress, as every well-educated and mannered customer is supposed to, and hasten my pace through the door. The wind blows me all through, to the very bone, while I'm following Taylor's footsteps, but I don't care. I'm in a festive mood today. Head of the Crime Lab beheaded, ha, the irony that lies in the play of words amuses me. Yeah, you'll get what you deserve, Taylor, and I'll get my dessert. The sweetie chosen from the menu is already waiting for me and the most sweat vengeance is also drawing near. Can you feel it, Taylor? 'Cause I can. I feel it in my aging bones already getting pierced with icy coldness. Soon, Taylor, soon.

Mac Taylor slowly paces down the street in a desperate attempt to ease the splitting headache and clear his mind. From everything – his own continuous misery, quarrel with Sinclair this afternoon, and then the torrent of cases, starting from Friday's strained drug raid, some punk shooting his class-mates and teachers at school for their failure to show him respect, meaningless bloodshed for 14 pitiful dollars, and then this weekend's another outbreak of a serial killer slaughtering his victims like pigs. And they still haven't found that butcher, with so much evidence, yet leading to nowhere. They're in a dead-end, while he perhaps is already putting edge on his knife. Perhaps he shouldn't have left the lab, he sighs. If he looked through the evidence once more, perhaps he would find something they might have missed. That little something could turn out to be crucial for finding out the location of the slaughterhouse, well, if not the location, then at least something that would enable them to get closer. Something… Anything..! Or at least he could finish with the enormous pile of papers waiting for his signature, the same papers he should have dealt with today, but instead left them aside when a worried Stella came to escort him out.

"Mac, it's almost midnight, what are you still doing here?" It wasn't even a question really. It's not the first time Mac's neglecting himself, but she still isn't exactly sure whether she's more angry or concerned.

"Well, I can ask you the same question, Stella," Mac retorts already having a good idea where this conversation leads.

"My shift's just ended and, if I remember well, yours ended in the yesterday's afternoon. Am I right?" Seeing how he uncomfortably shifts in his chair, Stella shakes her head in disbelief, of course she's right. "So you haven't slept in how many, more than 48 hours? Mac, you can't carry on like this."

Mac tiredly rubs his eyes. "Stella, I don't need another lecture. I'm not a child, I can take care of myself."

"Well then do it!" Stella snaps, but her tone quickly softens. "For God's sake, Mac, you're dead on your feet."

"It's a good thing that at the present moment I don't actually need to be on my feet, I can do my job well enough behind this desk, while sitting steadily on this chair. Don't worry, I'm not going to fall over. Besides, these are not going to fill themselves, you know", Mac huffs while referring to the stack of papers mounted on his desk.

"Not funny. C'mon, Mac. These are not the top priority and I'm sure can wait until tomorrow. Your health, however, is a top priority. Please, Mac, let's go home," Stella looks at him pleadingly. And he resigns, takes his coat and they both head out of the lab.

She looks intently in the ocean of his tired eyes, tenderly caresses his cheek which, she notices, already needs a shave and asks, "Promise me you'll get some sleep."

And he did promise her. He promised her just because she asked. How can he break it now? He can't, and here he is, going home, instead of making himself useful.

He could still feel Stella's gentle, warm touch on his rough cheek. Stella. Worried about him. He'd like to linger on the soft sensation of her fingers on his skin, but when he starts shivering with cold, he begins to wonder whether wandering the streets in the freezing cold was such a good idea after all, and curses himself for his… wisdom, so to say. He therefore decides to act wise and hails a cab home before he could freeze over. Still deep in his thoughts, he does not notice the subtle dance of the snowflakes in the air, nor does he notice the face watching the cab moving away with cold, hateful eyes.

Soon, Taylor, oh so soon. But now, let the feast begin – I notice my sweetie scurrying in the playground near the house as if frantically searching for something. Yeah, today it's a great day.

"Hey, little girl, what are you doing so late outside? It's not safe. Who knows who could be hiding behind the corner in the dark? Here, let me walk you home."