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The water was a cold, crushing blackness surrounding him on all sides. His chest was on fire from holding his breath. He tried to swim to the surface, but his arms and legs just wouldn't move. His head pounded thickly as the last of his air was spent.

He was drowning.

Dying.

A loud gong-like sound startled Ryan out of restless sleep. The full force of his illness hit him like an iron punch to the stomach. He groaned and curled into a tighter ball on the couch.

His doorbell rang a second time, followed by several sharp knocks on the door.

"Go away," Ryan muttered to himself, closing his eyes to try to go back to sleep.

All was silent for a few moments, then his cell phone began ringing. Ryan sighed and picked it up without opening his eyes.

"Hello?" he said groggily.

"Hey, it's Natalia. Open up!"

"Oh, so you're the one who's knocking down my door. You woke me up, you know," he said drily.

"I'm hardly knocking it down," she shot back. "Now come let me in!"

"Only if you brought a cure for the flu," he grumbled.

"Wish granted!" she replied playfully.

Despite himself, Ryan chuckled slightly as he hung up the phone and painstakingly dragged himself off the couch. He limped to the front door, his legs shaky and weak. He unlocked it and opened it to find Natalia grinning broadly on his doorstep.

Her smile vanished as her jaw dropped and her eyes widened when she saw him. "Whoa."

Ryan made a face at her. "I look worse than I feel," he said defensively.

"Liar."

He snorted. "So what miracle cure did you bring me?"

She held up a styrofoam container with a flourish. "I made you chicken noodle soup!"

Ryan took the container from her and looked back at her doubtfully. "You made me soup?"

"Uh-huh."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay, I bought it. I got it from Cleary's on my way here."

"Who's the liar now?" he said wickedly.

She ignored him, brushing past him to enter the house. He closed the door behind her as she set her purse on the table by the door, looking around.

"Wow," she remarked. "Only you would be this sick and still keep your apartment this clean. When I'm sick, there's used tissues everywhere, a couple bottles of cold medicine, cough drop wrappers scattered all around and... are you watching 'All My Children'?"

Ryan glanced at the TV and shrugged. "There's not much on during the day," he muttered. "It was either soap operas or infomercials."

She laughed.

"I saw your press conference," he said, walking back over toward the couch. Standing up this much was starting to wear on him.

Natalia made a face.

"Was that about my case?" he asked, sitting down. "Where'd you get the picture?"

She looked sad as she sat down next to him on the couch. "Yeah, your guy killed another prostitute last night. We caught his reflection in one of the security tapes from when he dumped her body this morning."

Ryan rubbed his eyes in exasperation. "I should've had this guy a week ago," he mumbled.

She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's not your fault, Ryan," she told him seriously.

He just sighed and didn't say anything in reply.

Natalia looked her friend over closely. He looked a hundred times more terrible than he had yesterday in the locker room. He was sweating bullets even though his home was cool. His eyes were red, as was the sensitive skin around them. His skin was pale and tinged slightly blue. She could tell he was trying to hide the shivering from her, but she could see it even through his sweatshirt.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" she asked quietly.

He gave her a half-smile. "Is that a trick question?"

"Have you taken your temperature lately?"

"It's just the flu, Natalia," he insisted. "I'll be fine."

"Do you have a thermometer?"

He looked as if he wanted to protest, but the steely look in her eye told him he was not going to win this one. "Upstairs bathroom, behind the mirror on the right."

She left him to walk upstairs. She couldn't help but smile when she saw the state of his bathroom: pristine. It was oddly comforting to see that his OCD was at least alive and well. She figured she would know something was horribly wrong once that went out the window.

Natalia found the thermometer exactly where he said it was and brought it back downstairs. Ryan had laid back down on the couch and was resting there with his eyes closed. He looked thoroughly exhausted.

She sat on the edge of the couch and held the thermometer up in front of him. "Open up," she ordered.

He sighed in annoyance, but nevertheless took it from her and slipped it under his tongue.

"You really shouldn't be wearing such warm clothes," she told him concernedly. "The fever only makes you feel cold, but all you're doing is making it even harder for your body to cool down."

He looked at her dully and shrugged.

"At least take the socks off and don't put a blanket over yourself," she said crossly.

He saluted her half-heartedly, reluctantly kicking off his socks. She felt a deeper twinge of concern that someone as meticulously neat as Ryan would just leave his socks on the floor like that. He must really be feeling even more awful than he was letting on.

"All right, let's see," she said, leaning forward to take the thermometer out of his mouth. She held it up to the light so she could read it.

Her frown deepened as the spark of concern in her eyes intensified. She looked at him gravely. "Ryan, your fever's up to 103. That's high even for the flu."

"I'll take a Tylenol," he mumbled.

"You need to see a doctor."

"How am I supposed to go see a doctor if I can barely stand let alone drive?"

"Call a cab, then," she said sourly, glaring at him.

He grinned at the ferocious look on her face.

"This isn't funny, Ryan," she insisted. "High fevers can be very dangerous. You need to see a doctor. If you don't, I'll send Tom to your house for a home visit."

He blanched at the threat. "You wouldn't."

"Watch me," she said, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh God, anything but that," he pleaded sarcastically.

"Please go see a doctor?" she asked, more gently this time, all joking aside.

He looked at her, recognizing the genuine concern in her face and voice. He sighed. "All right, I'll make an appointment," he relented.

She seemed satisfied and got up to leave. "I have to get back to the lab now. Eat that soup, it always helps me when I'm sick. And I'll call you later, okay?"

"Thanks for stopping by," he said.

She smiled. "Someone's got to look after you."

-()-

Simon watched as the pretty woman from the television came out of the house, closed the door behind her and began walking to her car. He gnawed on his fingernails, sucking the blood that oozed out of the angry red sores that opened up beneath his teeth.

His hands shook violently and his breath hitched in his chest. He couldn't believe what he was thinking of doing.

He didn't even know this woman. He'd driven to the police station just to sit and wait for her to come out so he could follow her. She was just doing her job, but he was so desperate to stay out of jail, he knew he had to find a way to stop her from ever finding him. He needed something to persuade her to leave him alone.

The tears he'd been holding back fought their way out. He sat in the front seat of his car choking back sobs of fear and regret.

Regret for what he'd done. Regret for what he was about to do.

Either way, whichever he chose, he was scared. But he was also desperate. He'd originally planned to follow this woman, this CSI Boa Vista, until he could confront her in an out-of-the-way location, warn her to stay away from him.

But as he thought about it as he followed her from the lab to this house, he realized that his plan might not be good enough. He needed something more persuasive than just a warning.

That thing had presented itself when he'd watched her enter the house with that man, the one who must live there.

He watched as she got in her car and started the engine, his heart pounding painfully. He wondered who this man was that she'd come to visit. They seemed very close. The man looked very sick when he'd opened the door. It only made Simon wish harder that there was another way to save himself.

Who was this man? Her friend?

Brother?

Lover?

The woman was pulling away from the house. If he was going to go through with this, he had to act now. Simon shoved his fears deep into the pit of his stomach as he shifted his car from park to drive.

He looked at the house, knowing the man was still inside. Then he looked at the car slowly driving away from him down the street, most likely back toward the police station. His gaze darted back and forth between the house and the car, his mind racing.

Which one?

He lifted his foot off the brake, feeling his car begin to roll forward.

Which one should he choose?

The other car was steadily growing smaller as it continued down the street. Knowing he no longer had time to debate about this, that now was the time for action, Simon made a decision.

He chose which one to take.

Author's Note: I've been looking forward to writing this chapter ever since I first started planning this story out! :D Who did Simon decide to use? Will he go after Natalia in an attempt to stifle the investigation? Or will he go after Ryan to use as a hostage? FIND OUT NEXT TIME. ;)