Sorry about the delay. I took the rating down because there's really nothing in this story that's explicit. Of course I always have trouble writing near the end of stories. It's like a chore trying to pull it out of myself. Maybe I should get that checked out.

She was creeping through the halls again, footsteps sending tiny vibrations through the floor that only Greg could feel. He gasped in fear and pain, knowing what was coming. There, at the door, now inside. It was her, but which her? Features were deliberately smudged. She came closer; Greg screamed in terror, but no sound came out. She grinned viciously, reading his mind. There it was, the knife again! She clutched it, readying herself; Greg screamed, pleading, but the movement had started. Her face exploded into flames and the knife finished its sickeningly bright arc into Nick's back. Nick! Oh God, Nick! Blood, grotesque rivers of it erupted in Greg's face and he screamed, thrashing against the suffocating heat, but it was only his blankets, and he could hear his voice as if from far away, pleading for Nick's life. And then he was there, shouting through the haze — Nick, reassuring. A dream. It was only a dream. Greg stopped fighting the tight knots, he opened his eyes a crack and found the room cooly dark, Nick's worried face swimming into sight. No blood, no knife, no her. Greg groaned.

You're safe, it's okay, she's not here, mouthed the figure wavering beside him.

Greg nodded shakily, gulping air. He lay back against the pillows, heart slowing its staccato pounding. Nick shifted back into his chair, still alert. He stared at Greg, half worried and half relieved. At least in his nightmares Greg knew who he should be afraid of. Nick checked his watch. He'd been sleeping for two hours, only to be woken by Greg's frantic shouts. The poor guy was fighting his own bedsheets. Nick almost wanted to ask what had been in the dream, but wisely chose not to. What had Greg been shouting, though? "Not Nick, please don't hurt him." Evidently whatever it was had involved him in some way.

When Greg finally looked back at Nick, he wore an expression of supreme embarrassment. Nick smiled, glad to see the real Greg, if only for a moment.

"Hey, man. Bad dream?" he asked lightly.

"Yeah," muttered Greg uncomfortably.

"I've been there," grinned Nick, leaning back in his chair.

Greg looked up uncertainly. "You have?"

"Sure. After Crane I couldn't sleep a full night," shrugged Nick, serious now. "Kept thinkin' there was someone in the ceiling, 'cause, well, I found out there was."

He chuckled grimly. Greg seemed to be processing this information, so Nick stayed silent, rubbing his eyes free of sleep.

"Did you get any sleep?" asked Greg.

"Some," smiled Nick. Greg returned his smile tentatively.

A knock on the door made Greg tense warily. It opened to reveal a smiling man in a lab coat. His eyes were deep-set under a pair of scraggly eyebrows. Prominent cheekbones and a jutting chin gave him the look of a weathered stump, but his smile warmed his face. He nodded to Nick and Greg, stooping slightly to get into the room.

"I keep telling them to get higher doorways," he rumbled in a deep voice. "Good morning."

Greg smiled slightly.

"Hello," said Nick carefully, standing up.

"My name is Doctor Olofsson. I came to talk to Mr. Sanders and see how he's doing," said the man, coming to stand in front of Greg's bed.

At that Greg suddenly chuckled, breaking into the first genuine grin Nick had seen in days.

"What is it?" he asked, somewhat alarmed.

Greg glanced at him, still smiling. "His name is Olofsson. Son of Olof....He could be my father."

Nick stared at Greg, unsure whether it was a joke or a byproduct of his painkillers, but he laughed with the doctor, who, for his part, seemed genuinely amused by it.

"So you're the shrink?" asked Greg, the smile slipping from his face.

"If you want. I really just came to talk, no head shrinking required," the man smiled.

Greg shrugged. The vacant look was creeping back into his eyes.

"I believe you'll find some acquaintances of yours that will be very happy to see you, out there," said Dr. Olofsson, smiling pleasantly at Nick. Getting the message, Nick tried to sound reassuring.

"I'll be right outside, ok buddy?" Greg nodded.

When Nick stepped out into the hallway, he was greeted by the most wonderful smell in the world — roast coffee, and an enthusiastic Catherine, who hugged him fiercely. He patted her on the back gratefully, eyes still on the dangling bag in Warrick's hand.

"For me?" he grinned. Warrick laughed and handed it over.

"We figured you might need some fuel after babysitting," he joked.

Nick shot him a dark glare between bites.

"Not funny," he mumbled. "Greg's in deep..." Not wanting to talk about what he'd witnessed, he turned instead to the case.

"So what'd you find out? Anything new?" he asked hopefully, starting on his coffee.

"We have nothing new," said Sara apologetically.

"Nothing? How is that possible?" exclaimed Nick.

"Well we have something," sighed Catherine. "We can definitely prove she did it."

"We just don't know where she is," finished Warrick. "Sorry, man."

"Tell Greg that," muttered Sara.

"So that's it?" cried Nick, jumping up. His shaking hand clutched the coffee cup.

"There's nothing more we can do, Nick," said Catherine, laying a calming hand on his arm. "We have officers checking homeless shelters, motels, you name it, but we can't do much more. Until she makes her next move. If she does."

"Oh she definitely will," sighed Nick, slumping onto a bench again.

"So she was definitely there?" asked Sara, lips tightening. "We heard what Archie said."

"Yeah, I got her prints in there," said Nick heavily. He didn't mention where he'd found them; no sense getting everyone upset.

"Well she can't do anything if we're watching him, right?" smiled Catherine hopefully.

"We'll see," said Grissom. "They told me he's set to be released today, if he checks out fine."

"What? No!" Nick jumped up again, sending hot coffee flying. "Greg can't be trusted alone!"

"They can't keep him, Nick. Neither can we. Not if he doesn't want to stay," said Grissom.

Nick looked around, appealing to each of them in turn, but they stared back mutely, unable to give him what he wanted.

"Maybe the shrink will help us," he said bitterly, turning away.

Grissom glanced over doubtfully. "Maybe. I think Greg might have to get out of this one by himself."

Nick shook his head stubbornly. "I'll be right there to help him. That's what friends are for."

Grissom looked sympathetic, but there was a worried crease in his forehead. Just then, the door to Greg's room opened and the doctor stepped out, closing it behind him softly.

"Well? Is he okay?" demanded Nick.

The doctor regarded him appraisingly.

"Mr. Sanders will be fine, I think. With a little time and luck, and of course help from his friends, he will get over this. It's a reaction to the stress of the event."

The team breathed a sigh of relief, except for Nick.

"What about...her?" he asked intently.

"He will get over that, too."

"So he's repressing the event?" asked Sara.

"No, repression is different, and anyways I am not a Freudian," smiled the doctor.

"So you're releasing him," said Nick, a sick feeling of dismay rising.

"He is lucid enough and no danger to himself or others. I'm afraid we have to," said Dr. Olofsson, somewhat apologetically.

"How do we talk to him?" asked Catherine.

"Talk to him normally. Do not try to fabricate answers. You should refer to events as they really happened, but if at any time he becomes agitated, change the subject and drop it."

They nodded seriously.

"Can we see him?" asked Sara.

"Yes, for a little while," he said, moving away from the door so they could go inside. Nick stepped forward but the doctor stopped him, motioning him to step away.

"I was wondering if I may have a word with you. Nick, right?" he smiled crookedly.

Nick nodded warily.

"It's all right, nothing to be worried about. I just wanted to tell you that you should stay close to your friend. He seems to trust you the most."

Nick nodded, a sad smile tugging at his mouth. What irony, that he was trusted so much when his guilt told him he should be avoided at all costs.

"You were the one who found him?" asked Dr. Olofsson, a sharp eye on Nick's face.

"Yeah..."

"You are the closest to his world, to the situation: he will trust your version much more. I think you will be the one to break through to him. It is important for him to know that nothing will change as a result of his perceived weakness."

"Weakness? He wasn't weak..." said Nick in surprise.

"Mr. Sanders feels he was weak for trusting her. Let him know that you still see him the same. That you are still his friend. He will come out of it when he is ready."

Nick stared at the floor, wondering how in the world he was going to get Greg to see the truth.

"He will be fine, don't worry," smiled the doctor reassuringly. Nick grunted, hoping he was right.

______

Nick stuck around for the rest of the day, despite Grissom's hints that he might get back to work. He still had a few vacation days stored up, and although they were now severely understaffed with Greg's absence, he'd be damned if he left now. A nagging feeling told him that it wasn't over. She would try something else — something much crazier. Who knew what Greg had unwittingly agreed to? Nick would stay right by his side for as long as he could. But if he thought that Greg's behaviour would get better after the vulnerability his nightmare caused, he was most definitely wrong. Greg was just as reticent and distant as ever, refusing to talk about what happened and barely acknowledging Nick's attempts at conversation. Finally Nick gave up in frustration and they sat stiffly in each other's company, each trying hardest not to look at the other.

Despite his best efforts, after not having slept soundly for a few days and feeling incredibly uncomfortable being awake during the day, Nick dropped off, chin bumping into his chest. Greg looked over when he was asleep and lazily reached for the telephone. Something had triggered in his mind and he dialed a number known only to himself. He stared at his hands dreamily, then spoke when someone evidently picked up.

"I'm ready to leave."

He smiled happily at whatever was said in reply.

"Thirty minutes, sure," he said.

Greg placed the phone back carefully on its receiver, looking thoughtfully at Nick's sleeping form. A flicker of regret crossed Greg's face, but he seemed unable to harness the thought behind it. Shrugging it off, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing slightly as unused muscles flexed his bandages. He rose slowly, holding onto the railing until he found his equilibrium. He couldn't believe how weak and light-headed the drugs had made him. Sighing, he made his way to where Catherine had kindly left him some clothes. Dressing was slow work, but he managed it without too much trouble.

He looked around the room; at the closed curtains, which comforted him, and the bed, which made him uneasy. Something had happened there...something he didn't want to think about. A buried memory rose unbidden in his mind, but he squashed it mercilessly. When he finished looking over the room, his gaze lingered on Nick and he almost decided against leaving. His presence was comforting in a way Greg couldn't understand. They'd shared something immensely important, but what it was he couldn't pinpoint. Still...there was someone waiting for him.

______

Somewhere in the city, a woman sat in a stolen car. She stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror, blinking slowly as if unsure who this person really was. A hand reached up and caressed her cheek. He had touched her there. Kissed her there. A slow smile spread across her face. Eyes glazed, she moved the car into the street, still stroking her cheek absentmindedly.

______

He moved out into the hallway and towards the front desk. It was easy to leave; he was, after all, Greg Sanders, and had every right to release himself. Standing outside the hospital, he blinked in the blinding light and clutched the small bottle of painkillers he'd been given. Just as he was starting to rethink his ability to leave a bed, and contemplating taking the entire bottle right then, a car pulled up in front of him, a familiar head of hair visible behind the wheel. Greg shivered, though the day outside was sweltering. She reached over to the door and pushed it open, smiling her wicked grin. He lowered himself into the passenger seat apprehensively, closing the door. She caught his face in a fierce grip and pulled him in for a breathless kiss. Greg groaned as strange feelings surged inside him. A moment of pure disgust caught him and he almost wrenched the door open so he could run away, but it passed and Greg just stared in confusion at the woman who stirred such emotions in him. She smiled, not noticing, and started the engine.

______

Something was wrong. He could feel it. There was something missing. A presence. Nick thrashed in the darkness, searching for whatever he'd lost, but he couldn't find it — no! There it was, on the floor! Nick raced to the bundle discarded on the floor and realized in horror it was Greg. Greg, huddled in a lifeless heap, blood pooling around him and a knife — the knife! — protruding from his back. Nick cried out in anguish, falling to his knees. He'd failed! Failed again!

Nick's eyes sprang open, he yelled and jumped up, heart thumping painfully. The room stared back, silent and dark. The panic settled in Nick's heart, but a new fear replaced it. Where was Greg? He turned, scanning the room, but it was empty, save for a discarded hospital gown and — the clothes! The clothes Catherine had brought were gone! Nick clutched his head in disbelief — that psycho couldn't have come in while he was sleeping and kidnapped Greg, could she? No, it must have been with Greg's consent. That fool! He'd walked away with his would-be killer! And Nick had failed again; failed to protect him. He blinked away tears of frustration. But this was much worse. Somehow he knew that if Greg went with her, this would be his last. They would never see him again. He reacted with the instincts borne of desperation; tearing the door open he raced down the hall to reception.

"Where did Greg Sanders go?" he shouted into the frightened nurse's face. She stuttered in surprise.

"When did he leave?" asked Nick again, calming his voice.

"He checked himself out half an hour ago," she said, wide-eyed.

"And he was alone?" cried Nick in disbelief.

"Y-Yes," she squeaked. "But he met someone with a car out there," she gestured out the glass front doors.

Nick's anger rose again and he nodded curtly to the woman, not trusting himself to speak. Where was security, again? But mostly he berated himself. How could he have fallen asleep, again? He ran out into the parking lot, looking this way and that, but of course there was no sign of them. They were long gone. The time for investigation was long past — it was time for action. Nick quickened his pace and rushed to his car, pulling his phone out and dialing while he ran.

"Gris! Get Brass and go to Greg's apartment! She's got him! They're out of the hospital!" he shouted when someone picked up. Fumbling with his phone and keys, he finally jammed the keys into the lock and juggled the phone on his shoulder.

"I just know! I know that psycho will take him there, don't ask me how I just do! I can feel it!" he shouted in desperation.

Because he did know. He could feel it in his bones, along with the certainty that now Greg was in more danger than he'd ever been in before.

"Look, I don't care if you believe me or not. I'm going there. Greg needs me!" he shouted finally and snapped the phone shut, throwing it onto the passenger seat in disgust.

He gunned the car and tore out of his spot, still mentally berating himself for his gross incompetence. Greg didn't even have a gun. He looked down at his own weapon reassuringly buckled to his hip and prayed she wasn't hurting him.

When he pulled up to Greg's apartment, having broken any number of records getting there, he didn't even bother locking the car. Tearing across the parking lot he hoped Grissom had taken his warning seriously; Nick wasn't sure at all of what he'd find in Greg's apartment. Hell, maybe he was wrong and they hadn't come here — maybe they'd find Greg in some ditch along the highway with his throat slit open. Shuddering with urgency, Nick took the stairs two at a time and soon came to Greg's door. It was half-open, which instantly confirmed his suspicions. He slowed down and eased his gun out of its holster. He rushed into the apartment, sweeping the gun around in a circle. There was no one there, except...except for Greg's closed bedroom door. Nick walked purposefully towards it, anger rising as the muffled voices became clearer. She was there. That lunatic had the nerve to bring him back here...

Nick tightened his grip on the gun and turned his shoulder to the door. Taking a deep breath, he lunged at the door with all his strength, splintering the lock and barging through the opening into the room, gun raised at the ready.