Author's Note - Thanks for the reviews! They were very much loved! :D Keep reviewing though! Pleeeeeease!

On the topic of Silent Witness, so passes another freakin' series and no Harry/Nikki! I can't believe it! Sometimes I just want to SCREAM at the television! Argh!

Harry dashed from the room and Leo could only trail after him, deeply confused by his friend's inexplicable behaviour. He couldn't recall the boy that his friend was referring too and so was left wondering what on earth he was on about. Striding into the office, he caught sight of Harry throwing himself eagerly into his chair before immediately grabbing the mouse of his computer. His finger clicked repeatedly as he opened a file and several search engines.

"What are you…?" Leo began, his eyebrows knitting together in bewilderment. He was rewarded a brief glance for his half-question. "Harry?"

"I'm looking into the student database….shit!" Harry cursed but didn't look up again. Suddenly he thrust out a hand, gesturing for Leo to come closer. Tentatively, the man complied. "I need your password! Leo, give me your password."

"A please would be nice," Leo commented, sharply, but complied.

"I don't have time!" Harry brushed him off like an inconsequential fly. "She doesn't have time."

"What do you know, Harry?"

"There was that boy who came a few days ago, to check out our network…" As he spoke, the younger pathologist typed rapidly, his grey-blue eyes focussed intently on the glowing screen. "He was acting very suspiciously and we'd never seen him before."

"That doesn't mean anything, Harry," Leo replied, realising that the speedily firing neurones in his friend's very able but very emotional brain were jumping to conclusions. He couldn't merely draw links between visitors and the killer. "He had an ID pass. He was allowed to be here."

"Exactly! Hence the fact I believe him to be a student at this university!" Harry missed his point completely. "How else would he have got in?"

Leo paced slowly around the desk - considering Harry's idea - the soft thud of his shoes echoing in his ears, accompanied by the jarring tap of the keyboard. He knew he had to be the method in Harry's spates of madness. The steady one. The sensible one. The protector. This was not always the case but – as boss, mentor and surrogate father – it was his job to stay in control and look after his friends. With Nikki missing he was certainly going to do his very best to keep Harry out of danger and, hopefully, sane.

Quickly, he pointed out: "It could have been anybody, Harry! Why him? You know it's just because you want it to be him. I understand that but it won't help matters if you just go around pointing the fingers will it? You have to wait for DCI Tarrant to run some enquiries into who has access to those cameras. Just calm down. Okay?"

Suddenly, Harry looked up, his eyes wide with horror. Leo felt his heart thud a little faster.

"Oh god, Leo, I just realised something," he breathed. There was a momentary, shocked lapse in his frantic typing. "There was a man….in my apartment…."

"What man?" Leo looked perplexed. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Harry rubbed a shaking hand over the shadowy stubble on his chin before abruptly spitting out, "Fuck!"

Leo jumped, taken aback.

"Fuck!" Harry repeated, as he stared straight at his boss, "There was a man. He pretended to be an electrician. I thought he was a thief but he didn't…he didn't steal anything, Leo. And there was this deliberately cut wire…"

"Wait, when did this happen?" Leo interrupted, his face a mixture of concern and incredulity. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell the bloody police, Harry?"

"I didn't think it was important! But he could have planted a camera right there in my apartment…." His eyes widened even further until they were like dinner plates. "In my bedroom! The bastard!"

Looking severely shocked, Leo turned away to leave, pausing briefly to declare: "Right, I'm telling Tarrant about this. Just like you should have when it happened." He then marched into his office to phone the detective. He couldn't believe his colleague had been so stupid as to ignore what could have been a vital clue in the investigation.

Five minutes later he returned and Harry was gone.

Internally, he cursed, especially when he caught sight of the screen which Harry had left on. A portrait photograph of a greasy-haired youth with a ferocious outbreak of acne across his nose and black glasses stared out at him with nervous eyes. Beside the face was a list of details: name, address, D.O.B, course he was studying – computing. A flash of recognition passed through Leo and he found he did vaguely recall the boy that Harry was talking about. They had left him alone in the conference room, free to do whatever he wanted…

His heart pounding, Leo realised that Harry was heading out on a man-hunt – alone. Quick as a fleet-footed deer, he performed a complete round turn and hurried back to his office where he immediately called DCI Tarrant. He swiftly supplied the detective with the details of the student and urged them to get to the boy before Harry did because there was no knowing what he might do. Leo remembered the red curtain of rage that seemed to blinker Harry's vision whenever he became violent and shuddered worriedly.

Pain was assaulting her from all directions. Before now, she had believed that one could – with an iron will – ignore pain and keep it at bay. She had even naively believed that a person could only focus on one agony at a time without being overwhelmed but, she found now, she was completely and utterly wrong. Every pore of her body ached. Her cells in her ankle screamed bloody murder at her. The tender wounds on her chest seared with excruciating white-hot pain every time she moved. Even the burning agony of the radiator had come back, coupled with her pounding headache borne from dehydration and the voraciously rumbling stomach. She wanted to escape. In fact, death didn't seem like such an unappealing option now.

Frustratingly, there was nothing she could do about her leg. She was positive that Isaac had snapped the bone but she couldn't ascertain how badly and she certainly couldn't go about resetting it with her hands constrained by her harsh metal handcuffs. If she left it long enough it would fuse itself back together in the wrong place and she would probably never get full mobility back. Well, she thought bleakly, there wasn't much point in thinking about the future when she didn't even know if she would survive today. Isaac's black mood was persisting and she was petrified of the possibility of him losing interest and patience in her and killing her.

Her tears – the few that she could shed despite her severe dehydration - had long since dried up; cruelly evaporated by the incessant heat from the radiator. All she had to show for them were the salty snail trails crusted on her russet cheeks. Her whole body was shrivelling with lack of water. Perhaps, she thought darkly, she would even fulfil her belief that she would become a raisin, withered and shrivelled and alone in her death.

The only thing that kept her going - that was the light in her otherwise very miserable existence - was the video tapes. The device that Isaac was using as a method of torture was actually what she strived to live for – those little glimpses of Harry and Leo. They reminded her that people loved her and cared for her. She even selfishly thought about how devastated they would be when they found her body. Morbidly, it made her happy to believe at least someone would care that she was gone from the world and that she wouldn't just disperse into the air like a plume of smoke, spreading so far away that she was no more than an echo of someone who used to exist, not even kept alive in memories. Occasionally, in her blackest, loneliest moments she would imagine their faces at her post-mortem, at her funeral: distraught, angry, grieving… Well, that's how she imagined them though she knew her friends and knew that they would probably not react like that. Leo would be passive and solemn on the outside but experiencing an inner pain that he would keep to himself. And Harry…Nikki wasn't exactly sure how her best friend would react upon news of her death but she liked to believe he would be angry, upset. Knowing Harry he would probably want revenge but she hoped he wouldn't seek it – she hoped Leo would have the strength to curtail any stupid crimes Harry might commit in her honour – and she really, desperately, hoped that he would move on with his life. She liked to imagine him with a family. Happy. He definitely deserved it.

But don't you deserve it too? A little voice would call from the back of her mind. She hadn't had a chance to live her life. Not really. She'd never settled. Well, not until she came to the Lyell Centre. And all she had to show for her life was an endless trail of ill-considered, utterly disastrous relationships and a few thousand signatures on post-mortem reports. How could she have allowed her life to go to waste? To float by without her realising until it was too late? A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach formed whenever she thought about how empty her life story was – well, empty of happy memories at least. She had always been planning to form some joyous memories but she'd….she'd just never had the time. She'd been saving up and focusing on her career. Of course, like most women, she'd wanted a gorgeous, loving husband; kids; but she'd waited. Waited too bloody long.

If she had a second chance, if she could do things all over again, she would lead a different life…

No. That was a lie. She couldn't even consider a life without Harry and Leo in it. She could never sacrifice them, even to have a family. They were her family. She just wished she could have coupled both her dreams together, knitted them until they were securely entwined. Perhaps she could have, one day, but now she would never know.

"Tell me! You bastard!"

Spittle flew from Harry's lips as he violently jammed the smaller man up against the brick wall, rubbing his spine against the rough stone. His captive hissed in pain, his eyes wide and watery behind his glasses as he stared into the fiery rage that consumed Harry's glare. He was quaking beneath his assailant's vice-like grip. Occasionally, his terrified gaze would flicker hopefully to the far end of the alley, searching desperately for someone to intervene and save him.

"Tell me!" Harry roared, thudding the man's back on the hard surface again.

"I've already told you!" he squeaked, distressed, "I don't have her! I'm not the murderer or the kidnapper."

"Well, you certainly put the camera in our offices, didn't you?" Harry growled, right up in the youngster's face, "Didn't you, you little rat?"

"I…I don't know what you're talking about…."

"Don't lie!" Harry whacked him again. "You're treading on very thin ice here! I'll give you one last chance but if you blow it then I can't say I'm responsible for my actions." The last sentence he spoke slowly and with the utmost sincerity. The Adam's apple in his victim's throat bounced precariously. There was no doubting Harry's barely veiled threat.

"Okay….okay!" the boy caved, "I did put a camera in your building! I'm sorry, okay?"

Harry leapt on the admittance like a dog on a bone – determined to tear every last shred of detail from him now he had his jaws sunken in. "And who told you to do it, Marty?"

Marty's lip quivered. "I can't…I can't tell you. He'd kill me. He knows people."

"Marty…" Harry began quietly, drawing him closer. They were so close that the stubble on his chin scratched the boy's clean-shaven cheek. "Listen very, very carefully." His voice was so low now that Marty had to strain to hear. However, he was speaking very slowly, enunciating every word to make sure the message had full impact. "If you don't tell me who he is then I'll kill you myself. Right here. Right now." The anger and desperation in his stormy eyes backed up his claim. "Whereas if you tell me his name then I'll go and kill him before he even has the chance to kill you. Do you understand?"

There was a nervous nod on Marty's part.

"Good. Now tell me who has Nikki."

There was a flurry of activity in the research department of the CID as DS Rita Crawley came across a piece of information that would change her career for ever. She had been demoted to research duty on the case of London's Lost Girls even when there were a million other more interesting jobs she could be doing. For example, her colleague DS Lee Lundy was currently out on an estate somewhere following a lead on a completely different much more exciting case involving stolen firearms. Initially, the Guv had informed her that she needed to search through over five hundred names of people who had access to these high-tech cameras and then he'd rushed in about twenty minutes ago demanding she ran the details of a young man by the name of Martin Hunter through the database. Both searches had seemed very boring but, clutching the piece of paper in her hand, she realised what a very important discovery she had made.

"Guv, we've found him!" she crowed, excitedly. The dark-haired man looked up, appraising her momentarily. She faltered for a second but soon regained momentum.

"Found who?"

"The kidnapper, murderer or whatever the hell you want to call him!"

The DCI looked unconvinced. "You have? How?"

"I ran the kid through our criminal database. He has previous for drug dealing etc. but it seemed we used him as an informer at some point."

"Okay, get to the point Crawley!" Tarrant ordered, impatiently.

"Oh, yes, right!" Rita continued, blushing crimson and looking flustered. She was ruining her big moment! "He was an informer to DI Webster, sir!"

"DI Isaac Webster? The one who quit because his girlfriend made a fool of him?"

"Yes!" Rita said, her eyes shining with triumph. "And he's on the list! The list of people with access to the cameras. And he has the experience and knowledge of the police force and forensics to carry out these murders! It has to be him!"

"Have you got his address?"

"Yes, Guv."

"Well, what the hell are you waiting for? We need to get to his house as quickly as possible. By some miracle, Dr. Alexander might still be alive."

The house was unassuming, standing in a uniform line of old Victorian terraced houses. It was a ruddy red in colour and seemed well maintained. Not that you could judge whether a house contained a murder just by looking at it. Even so, you wouldn't walk by such a place and ever even consider the possibility of anyone more than ordinary living there. The gables were painted a crisp white and there was well pruned rose bush peppered in snow standing near the doorstep. A black bike leant against the wall of the porch. It was a typical London house.

However, these ordinary features barely registered in Harry's mind as he skidded to a semi-halt outside the front door and considered, briefly, the pros and cons of knocking. Eventually, he decided against the civil approach – this was a killer after all – and elected to try the handle. Astonishingly, it was unlocked. Hardly able to believe his luck, Harry shoved open the door and hurried inside. His boots thumped softly on the well-placed mat in the doorway. If possible, he really didn't want the murderer to hear him coming. Then he could catch him unawares.

With a tremulous heart, Harry passed through the tiled hallway and briefly inspected some of the rooms. Just like the outside of the house, the inside was extraordinarily boring. It could have belonged to anyone. There seemed to be no one around. Cautiously, he peered around the rustic-looking kitchen and his experienced eye zoomed in on the pile of newspaper clippings that rested on the side. Rifling through them, he saw they all contained stories of Nikki. Her beautiful face stared up at him from the black and white pages. This had to be the place.

Suddenly, he heard a faint noise.

Alert as a basset hound, Harry whipped around the spot and caught sight of a partially concealed wooden door, shrouded by a colourful curtain, that must lead to a cellar of some kind. The perfect, clichéd place. His blood quickened as he moved towards the door and gently opened it with a creak.

"No! Please! Don't! Argh…" The protests were cut off by a thud followed by a cry.

Without even thinking of the consequences, upon hearing that voice, Harry practically ripped the door off its hinges and pelted down the stairs into the dingy basement. A single light bulb cast an artificial glow on the whole room, highlighting the two forms in the corner, both on the floor. One of them, the man, was attacking the woman. She was protesting, screaming, crying…Harry's heart and mind couldn't take it.

The man turned to look at him upon his noisy, dramatic arrival. Harry had a second to revel in his stunned expression before he punched him in the face. Having studied the human body for many years, he knew exactly where to hit and the bastard went out like a light, rolling onto the floor like a sack of potatoes. The satisfaction he experienced from smashing several of the bones in the man's face and the utter joy of finding Nikki was short-lived however, as he caught sight of the trembling wreck that was once his best friend.

His heart wrenched painfully when he saw her cowering away still, her eyes closed, unaware that she had been saved. The buttons of her blouse were partially undone and Harry realised with a sickening jolt, that he may have just stopped Nikki from being sexually assaulted. Ugly red lines peeked out from beneath the folds of the material and he grimaced in anger as he realised what she must have been subject to.

She was murmuring softly to herself, lost in her own world, escaping from reality.

"Nikki," he whispered ever so softly, "Nikki, its Harry." She didn't seem to hear him.

His anger grew when he saw she was chained to the radiator. He could see the painful blistering of her skin beneath the metal cuffs and he wanted to punch and kick the man on the floor until he was dead. However, he knew he couldn't. Not with Nikki here, like this. Instead, he searched through the unconscious man's pockets and uncovered a key. Tentatively, he padded towards her.

"Nikki," he repeated, catching her chained hands. She flinched at his touch and he felt his gut twist in sympathy and distress. Carefully, he freed her. "Nikki. Can you hear me? You're safe."

Finally. Finally, she opened her eyes and he almost lost himself in their beautiful dark brown depths. He never thought he would see them again. He never thought he would see her again alive. It was almost too much for him to bear. He had to touch her. To hold her...

"Harry?" she breathed, perspiration peppering her brow. "How are you….what did you?" She caught sight of the unconscious Isaac and gasped. Tears sprung to her eyes and she began to weep.

Immediately, Harry gathered her into a hug, wrapping his strong arms around her, clutching at her tiny, fragile frame and enveloping her in the tightest embrace he had ever given her. He didn't even want to let go. He was aware she had injuries but he just couldn't bring himself to release her or let up the pressure. She was here and she was alive and he was never letting her go again. Damp spread from her tears across his shirt as she sobbed into his chest, clutching at him like a life line. Her fingernails raked at his back, digging in like a baby monkey clinging onto its mother, refusing to let go. He ignored the pain; it was nothing compared to what she had been through. He felt a sudden hot, wetness on his own face and realised that he too was crying. Just the feel of her heart pumping strongly beneath her ribs spread warmth through him, unadulterated joy and indescribable relief coursed through his veins.

"I've got you, Nikki, I've got you," he whispered into her hair, kissing the top of her head and pressing his cheek onto her crown.

Whey! :D Please, please review! I still have about three recovery chapters left in me :D You know you want the angst but also the fluff of recovery! Come on! Just press the button :)