Author's Note: Ugh, I FINALLY finished... It took forever for me to figure out how and I almost groaned when I realized that this story still isn't exactly finished. But I ended it anyways, with the potential for a short and final sequel. When I started this thing, I hadn't intended on it turning into such an epoch. But whatever. On the bright side, this chapter marks the half-way point for the story. Yeah, I know, lots more to go. My estimate is... nine or ten more chapters. This beast spiraled out of control. I'll leave it to you readers to decide whether or not my trigger-happy typing fingers are a blessing or a curse. Cheers, and thanks to all of you who are reviewing, you are my sunshine (but not my only sunshine ;o) ).

Greg wasn't very aware of the voice that answered. He couldn't even discern who it was. His breathing was shallow, his voice raspy as he gasped for air. He didn't have much time left.

"Catherine…" he breathed, then coughed and swallowed. "You have to… Catherine's…"

"Greg, it's Nick," came the voice, sounding confused.

Greg forgot that he had a phone laying next to his ear and thought the voice was coming from somewhere in the house. He looked around, his eyes wide. "Who said that?" he asked, almost playfully. "Come on, come out now…" He coughed again, the room spinning around him. "No…"

The voice seemed to get further and further away. "Greg? Where are you, Greg, come on, talk to me, bro…"

"Brother…" Greg chuckled at the thought. "I don't have any brothers… You're in the house somewhere, aren't you…"

"House? What house, Greg?"

"I, uh…" Greg shook his head to clear it. It was imperative that he was thinking clearly. Images of vampires and grinning clocks flashed before his eyes. "Catherine's… Catherine's house… across the street… hurry…"

Greg couldn't think anymore. He'd said it. He told them where he was. They were coming. Or maybe, they weren't coming. He wasn't sure if he had made sense or not. He wasn't even sure if he'd actually called anyone, or if it was all just in his head. With a groan, his head tossed around on the floor as he lay in his own blood, pouring out of his wounds.

"Greg?" The voice was warped and sounded like a chipmunk. It almost made Greg laugh. "Greg, stay on the phone with me now, we're on our way. Are you OK?"

Greg started laughing, his chest heaving up and down, his wounds screaming at him. "You sound funny…"

There was a pause. "OK, Greg," said the voice, now echoing in his head in booming tones that Greg didn't like. "You have to trust me, alright? Paramedics are on their way and you bet your ass I'm riding shotgun with Catherine right now, we'll be there for you, alright?"

"Stop talking…" Greg begged, the booming in his head too much to bear. "Sara…" He became very cold and started shivering. He didn't know what he was going to do. He had forgotten that he'd told them where he was, and that they were on their way. He had already made peace with the fact that he was going to die. He just wanted his friends to know where he was, so they could find him, and catch the woman who had done this to him. Maybe the disembodied voice could help him. "Hello?" he said to no one in particular. His voice kept cracking. It was hard to speak. "Voice in my head! Where are you?"

"I'm here, Greg, I'm still here. You wanted to stop talking but I never left you, Greggo."

Greg smiled as the tears kept coming. "Ha… You know, you kind of sound like Nick now… Funny."

"It is Nick, Greg, I'm on your phone, remember? You called me. We're coming to get you, alright?"

"Nick?" Greg gasped in disbelief. "Nick, I… I think I'm dying, Nick."

"Don't you talk like that now, y'hear? I won't listen to you talk like that. Just hold on, you'll get through this Greg. Just like last time."

Last time… Sara… "Nick… Nick, is Sara with you?" Greg's voice was unusually high. He wondered if that was just in his head, or if that were true.

"Yeah, Greg," Nick replied, his voice warping again. It sounded slow, like someone had played it on a voice recorder on half the speed. "She's here. We're all here."

"Grissom?" Greg breathed.

There was a pause. "Not Grissom."

Greg let out a sob. "Oh God…"

"Calm down, Greg, he wants you back as much as the rest of us, so you best hang in there for him, alright?"

"He knows…" Greg muttered in his delirium. Grissom's face materialized before Greg. His eyes were a hazy blue, hurt and angry, and all because of Greg. He imagined Grissom was talking to him. He imagined he was saying he was disappointed. "Nick. Nick-Nick-Nick-Nick-Nick!"

"What is it, Greggo, I'm here."

"You have to…" He groaned as his shoulder decided to send another wave of pain out through his body. As the drugs wore off, the pain became more intense. But he had to say it. "Tell him that I'm sorry. Tell him I… it wasn't… I mean… ugh!" He let out a cry of frustration.

"We don't have to talk about that right now, Greggo. It doesn't matter."

"What are we talking about?" Greg mumbled, closing his eyes. "Nick? Nick?!"

"Still here, Greg."

"Are you for real?" Greg breathed.

He heard laughing in warped tones. It frightened him. "As real as you are, man."

Greg began to cough. The colors returned. Maurice Sendak's wild things were coming to tear him apart. He began to freak out. "Get away… Get away from me!"

Nick's voice was fading fast and somehow turned into Grissom's, then Vera's, then, eventually, Woodward's. "Greg, we're coming for you, do you hear me? Do you hear me Greg? Greg, baby, did I scare you? Answer me! Answer me, or I'll rape her again."

"What?" Greg breathed, desperately.

"I'll do it again," Woodward's voiced hissed in his ear as he writhed on the floor.

Greg cried now. "No… leave her alone, just leave her alone… I can't… I can't save you, Sara, I'm sorry I can't save you… Why can't I save you?"

His throat constricted and he imagined Woodward's fingers wound tightly around it. "I'm going to kill you. But first, I want you to see the pain in her eyes. You let her down, Greg. You always let her down."

Greg thrashed his head backward trying to get away from his grip and ended up getting whiplash. He cried out. "Bastard!"

Woodward turned into Vera, who clawed her red nails into Greg's chest, pulling down like a cat. "You see why you were taken? I did them a favor, Greg! You were causing them all so much pain. I did them a favor by taking you out of the picture. Now Sara and Grissom can keep their happy little romance without having to worry about you. Well you won't bother anyone anymore now, will you?" She threw back her head and cackled like a witch.

Greg shivered violently as waves of hot and cold alternated in washing over him. Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard sirens, but he didn't know what was real anymore. The sirens turned into screaming, and the screaming brought the nightmares with them. Sara against the wall, Woodward violating her, destroying her. He writhed on the floor in a feverish delirium. He tried to scream but his voice was too hoarse and dry. He couldn't breathe as his trachea tied itself in a knot. Somewhere, as if from very far away, he heard voices, but he could no longer be sure. Nothing seemed real anymore. His head was a swirl of rocking horse people and marmalade skies. Everything was melting. Everything was laughing at him. Somewhere, a vampire drank Sara's blood, bleeding her dry as a bone. He imagined himself as a skeleton with no blood at all, with nothing left but his own ivory bones rotting in the merciless Nevada sun. Buzzards had already picked away at his carcass, devouring everything that he used to be... This was his last thought as he drifted off into the open arms of unconsciousness.

Nick jumped out of the car as soon as Catherine pulled up behind Greg's Denali. Warrick and Sara were swiftly behind. Nick still had the phone to his ear.

"Greg? Greg! Can you hear me? We're outside!" He tried the door but it was locked. He ran into it with his shoulder once, twice, until Warrick joined him for a third time and it swung open.

Greg was laying half in the hallway and half in the living room in a pool of blood. His feet were tied to a chair and he was completely naked. He wasn't moving. Nick and Warrick kneeled down on either side of him as Sara and Catherine stood at the door. Nick pushed Greg's hair back from his head.

"Oh God, he's burning up!" he called to his friends. "Greg… Greg, can you hear me?"

"Greg…" Sara whispered.

The paramedics pushed Sara and Catherine out of the way of the door. Warrick stood up and backed away. One of them put a hand on Nick's shoulder and Nick looked up. "Sir?"

Nick nodded and stood up, backing away so the medics could get to work on his friend. He listened as they called to each other, shouting stats and orders as they tried to stop the bleeding and stabilize him. Nick looked across the way at Sara, who was grasping onto the door frame to keep from falling to her knees. Her hand was over her mouth. She looked like she was going to be sick.

Nick found that he had little pity for her. When he had first heard that Volkov had spoken to her, he had been outraged. The man had held her at gunpoint, how dare he try and talk to her. Sara had been through enough as it was, she didn't need a criminal like Volkov obsessing over her. But when he had found out that she had let him talk to her, that she had told him personal things that she hadn't even told them… He was offended, but that wasn't the main thing. She had endangered Greg and broke Grissom's heart.

But Sara was his friend, just like Grissom and Greg were his friends, and she was in pain too. Nick could see it scrawled all over her face. And as much as he wanted to be angry at her, it pained him to see her so miserable. He rolled his eyes, too frustrated with the whole situation to even try dealing with her. He walked towards the door, trying to get outside as fast as possible in order to avoid hitting something. Catherine caught his arm.

"We should process…" she began, but Nick pulled his arm away from her.

"What's the difference?" Nick asked, shaking his head. "He's in her house, Catherine. We know who did this."

"We don't know this is even her house," Catherine replied quietly.

"Photos on the mantle say it is," Nick replied. Catherine looked impressed. "Yeah, Cath, I took in the scene, I saw everything in five seconds. There's nothing here, we got her, so don't even bother."

"We have her," Catherine agreed. "But what about him? Sasha?"

"Vera confessed," Nick said. "There's nothing—"

"Sasha denied it," Catherine interrupted.

"The Russian," Nick reminded her. "We have him on tape, he knew his wife had Greg and he didn't say anything to us. Besides, he lives here Catherine. Unless Greg has any evidence of Sasha on him, we can't link him to anything here."

Catherine nodded slowly as she rubbed her arms. "I know. I know all of that, Nick, but I… I'd just feel better doing something, you know? If I process the scene, if I just… just keep my hands busy, even though we don't need it, then I won't…" She trailed off as she watched the medics work.

Nick looked down, then up again at Catherine. "I'll be outside if you need me," he told her before leaving. On his way out, he had to pass Sara in the doorway. She looked up at him with frightened eyes and for a moment their gaze met before Nick tore his eyes away from her and continued out into the early dawn.

Nick raked his hands through his hair and looked up at the fading stars, blinking to keep his eyes dry. "Man…" he whispered. "What the hell do you have against that kid, eh?" he asked the sky. "I mean… really, there's Jobe, and then there's just fucking with people and I…" Nick had run out of things to say so he just sighed and shook his head. He looked up at the sky again. "I'm going to hell for saying 'fuck' to God, aren't I?" he muttered, then sighed again, feeling too defeated to even smile at his own weak joke.

He heard the door close and looked over his shoulder to see Sara walking out onto the porch, her arms folded as she stared at the ground. She slowly approached Nick, who was standing in the middle of the lawn and looked back up at the stars. She stood next to him, silently staring down as he looked up. While he appealed to some higher power, she silently asked something far lower and darker to possibly take her soul in exchange for Greg's life.

"I'm sorry, Nick," Sara whispered after a moment.

Nick closed his eyes. He still didn't feel ready to talk to Sara about this. "You don't have to apologize to me," he told her.

"No, I really feel like I do," Sara replied. Her voice sounded absolutely dead. It almost made Nick think he was talking to a zombie. She had no emotions left in her.

Nick sighed, guilt beginning to clench his heart. He let an ounce of warmth enter his voice. "You never did anything to me."

"I did," Sara said, her eyes never leaving the ground. "I hurt you because I told a stranger things I should have talked to my friends about. I hurt you because my mistake cost Greg a lot of blood, and cost Grissom his trust in me."

"That hurts you as much as it hurts me," Nick pointed out.

"They're your friends," Sara sighed. "And I…"

"You're my friend too," Nick reminded her.

"I should have told you," Sara continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "I should have told you when you asked what I'd said about Greg and Grissom, but I… I was so sick with myself, and I was embarrassed, and I didn't want anyone else thinking those things about me. My own conscience had turned into my worst enemy. I couldn't… I mean…" She sighed, giving up trying to explain it.

Nick was quiet for a very long time. Sara wondered if he'd ever speak to her again. Finally, her question was answered. "It's OK, Sara."

Sara tore her eyes away from the ground and looked up at him. He was still looking at the sky. "I… I really needed to hear that right now, Nick," she said to him, her stutter barely noticeable. "Thank you."

Nick looked down and favored her with a lopsided grin as he slid an arm around her shoulders and rubbed her arm like an older brother might do to a kid sister. "Aw, Sara," he said, shaking his head. "I can't stay mad at you." She leaned her head on his shoulder. After a moment, he felt Sara shivering against him and looked down at her, his brow furrowed in concern. "You alright, darling?"

She nodded, a little too quickly, and it made her head spin.

"You gonna tell me what happened to those pretty little arms of yours?"

She began to shake her head, then stopped and looked up at him with sad eyes. "I… I was upset, and I kinda lost it a moment, started… started scratching at myself to get the dirt out from under my skin. I still feel it there, even now. I always feel filthy these days. It seems everything I do just digs me into a deeper, muddier hole."

Nick squeezed her shoulder and smiled reassuringly at her. "Aw, Sara," he said with a small laugh. "That's all you ever had to tell us." He took her by the shoulders making her face him so he could look her dead in the eye. "You went through a lot those sixth months ago and you thought you were going to die. But when you didn't, and you came out of it alive, you'd forgotten how to live again. It'll take a while to get that back, to be completely yourself again. But it'll happen. I can promise you, girl, it'll happen."

Sara gave him a wan smile. "I should have known better than to think I couldn't talk to you, Nick," she said. "After all… You've kinda been in my place yourself, haven't you?"

"Yeah," Nick agreed. "And I got over it. Which is why I feel confident in saying that you will too. Because you're strong, Sara. I don't know anyone who can bounce back better than you. So these things you do in the meantime, trying to find yourself again, some of them may just screw you over, but you gotta keep trying, girl."

"I've hurt a lot of people…" Sara whispered. "In the midst of all this me-finding."

Nick chuckled. "Yeah, it'll happen. But Grissom… Sara, he cares about you a lot. And so does Greg. And so do all of us."

"What if that isn't enough, though?" Sara asked him, desperate for an answer. "What if neither one of them can… can forgive me."

"One of Greg's fatal flaws," Nick told her, "is that he's a very forgiving person."

"And one of Grissom's is that he isn't," Sara pointed out.

Nick looked down at the ground, then met Sara's eyes again. "Look, Sara, I don't have all the answers. All I can give you is my support."

"And it's very much appreciated," Sara told him.

Nick looked over his shoulder back at the door to the house, then back at Sara. "When Greg gets better, he'll give you his support too, whatever happens."

She smiled at him again. "I like that we're talking about Greg as if he'll survive this."

"Short of the apocalypse, I wouldn't talk about him any other way," Nick said. "That kid's a fighter if I ever saw one, all the things that have happened to him. He's been through the mill a few times over and he's always landed on his feet. Just like you."

"No," Sara shook her head. "Not just like me. He's stronger than me. You should have seen him with Woodward, Nick, I just… When I was losing it, he was focused and determined to get us out of there. He fought so hard to protect me, Nick. When Woodward was going to… Was going to shoot me, and Greg was tied down, completely unable to move, he actually spit in Woodward's hair to distract him while he yelled at me to run. He saved my life back there, Nick. I just want to return the favor."

"If you want to return the favor," Nick told her seriously, "then tell him how brave you thought he was."

Sara looked shocked. "I… I always thought it was apparent. I mean, I've thanked him thousands of times. I always said that I really…" But Sara stopped when she realized that as many times as she thanked him, she never told him how much she admired him. How much stronger than her he seemed. How he was her rock, her anchor to this world, and if he wasn't there, if something had happened to him, she wouldn't be able to keep herself from losing it. She gasped. "Oh God, I never told him…"

"When I was on the phone with him," Nick explained, "and he was going on in some delirious rant, he kept saying your name over and over again, asking why he couldn't protect you. You both came out of that alive, but because of the trauma, and..." Nick faltered, searching for words, "… and other things Greg saw happen to you, he still feels like he failed you."

Sara shivered in the cool morning. "My God, I never knew…" she whispered. "In all the time we spend together, we rarely talk about what happened that day. Neither one of us like it. He told me once that he had nightmares, that he dreamed of Woodward doing things to me, and I told him about mine. Every time I thanked him for just being there, and being Greg, he'd always look away, like he felt he didn't deserve it…" She looked up at Nick with wide eyes. "I really do destroy everything I touch, don't I?"

"Sara," Nick said sharply. "Please, just do me a favor and stop this circle of blame you and Greg are dancing around in. He blames himself for what happened to you, and you blame yourself for his misery, and for letting it happen in the first place."

"Constant rape victim behavior," Sara replied. "I know. I've stopped blaming myself for letting it happen, Nick. But you're right, I do blame myself for letting it bother him so much, and for not doing anything to reassure him."

"Well stop," Nick said. "Because none of it was your fault. It was Woodward's fault, alright? And the bastard's dead. I shot him with my own gun."

Sara smirked. "Justifiable homicide," she whispered. "He turned a gun on Greg, and you'd already tried talking him down. Greg saved my life, Nick. But you saved his. Don't think I've forgotten that, or Greg either."

"Just never doubt me again, Sara," Nick asked of her. "If you need someone to talk to, talk to me. I won't judge you."

"Please," Sara scoffed. "You're judging me right now."

"Well," Nick said with a laugh. "OK, fine. I guess we're always judging each other, Sara. But it wouldn't change what I know about you. What I say to you."

"You tell me what I need to hear," Sara observed, almost sadly. "Not what you want to say."

"Because what you need to hear is often truer than what I want to say," Nick explained. "Even now, if I was irked with you for not talking to us, or putting Greg in danger, or betraying Grissom—"

"Which you are," Sara pointed out.

Nick rolled his eyes. "I would still tell you it wasn't your fault. Because, Sara, no matter how angry we are at each other or ourselves, we have to remember that it was Vera who took Greg, and Sasha who told her to. It was Ryan Woodward who took the two of you, and who assaulted you. And we couldn't have predicted the future, Sara. None of us wanted any of this to happen. You hear me?"

Sara slowly nodded, almost beaming. "You're a good friend, Nick."

"And damn handsome to boot, imagine that," Nick boasted.

Sara couldn't help but roll her eyes. "You're a goofball."

At that moment, the front doors to the house flew open and Nick and Sara watched in silence as the medics carried Greg on a stretcher out of the house and into the ambulance. Neither said a word as the ambulance pulled out of the driveway and the sirens blared as it made its way down the street. A few tired and curious neighbors were looking out their windows or were on their doorsteps.

"Why didn't they hear anything?" Nick asked quietly, bitterly. "Greg had to have been screaming his lungs out. Why didn't they do anything?"

Sara looked at her watch. "He's been here for six hours," she said. "Since midnight, or at least, that's when he told Judy he was getting dinner… They were asleep."

"Yeah," said Nick, shaking his head. "But they can't all be heavy sleepers. They woke up for the ambulances."

Sara nodded. "And Vera and Sasha are bound to have done this before… You want to talk to the neighbors?"

"I'll ask Catherine to," Nick replied. "She was eager to keep doing something. She'll appreciate the task."

"And… what about the rest of us?" Sara asked.

Nick bit his lip and folded his arms. He hesitated before responding. "I guess we wait."

Sara nodded. "We wait," she repeated.

Nick turned on his heal suddenly and headed for the house. Sara followed him, more out of a lack of anything better to do than anything else.