Author's Note: Nick's little adventure in this chapter was on the verge of being removed (as it kind of sidetracks from the main plot), but I figured an opportunity for more angst is one I should take! Also, I feel bad as Warrick has no speaking role in this entire story. Rather than fix that, let me just apologize for that now. Enjoy.

Also, FFN has a thing about incorporating web addresses in stories. So the dot coms are written as ". com" (with a space). This is not a typo. Please don't visit these websites (not that I expect you to) because I think I made them up, but I'm worried it might direct you somewhere unsavory so... Anyways, read and enjoy.

He had been scouring security tape from a crime scene in the AV lab when he felt her presence looming over him. He turned and beamed at her, but his smile was chased away when he saw the tears streaming down her otherwise stoic cheeks.

"Nick…" she said, but couldn't continue and she started to sob.

Instantly, he was on his feet as he went over to her, his brow furrowed in concern. He gently put a hand on her forearm, but she tensed at his touch and he withdrew. "Sara? What's the matter?"

She didn't speak but simply pushed past him and went to one of the computers where she opened up Firefox. Nick walked over to her and looked over her shoulder curiously as she typed in an address that he didn't recognize but filled him with a grave sense of foreboding. www.dominatingsluts. com.

"Sara…" Nick said slowly, confused as the site loaded. "What are you doing?"

Sara's face was set as the tears on her cheeks began to dry, but she said no more. She was trembling, and Nick wondered what it was about this particular site that had upset her so.

He saw horrific pornographic images of women in bondage, with men normally the aggressors. Nick had never been a fan of S&M, but this site seemed particularly violent. Sara scrolled down the page until she found a link which Nick read quickly before the page changed.

Cheating brunette bitch gets what's coming to her.

All of a sudden, Nick's blood ran so cold he felt like it would freeze solid in his veins. He didn't even need the video to load to know what he was going to see, but load it did. It didn't start at the beginning of the tape, but Nick recognized it right away as it began in the middle.

The screams he had finally been able to get out of his head were now shattering his ear drums again as he heard Sara's frantic and pained voice trying desperately to deter Sasha Volkov. He saw the tears streaking down her face, the blood trickling down her legs, his harsh and brutal groping making her contort herself into twisted positions to try and keep him away. The clip was only a thirty seconds long, but it was enough. By the end of it, Nick's fists and jaw were clenched as his eyes were narrowed, focused on the screen. There was an option to pay $5.99 to see the video in its entirety. It made Nick want to vomit. He felt Sara's eyes on him and looked at her to see that they were dry, but she looked like she was trying hard to keep them that way.

"I want it off," she demanded, her voice trembling with her unexpressed furies. "Just get it off. Please. I can't… I can't find a way of contacting this asshole on the site at all, so I need you to track his IP and find out who the fuck put this site up. And just get it off."

"We can pull him in," Nick said. "Take him to court, he'll—"

"No," Sara interrupted. "No, please, I don't care about that, I just want you to find this guy and take this thing down, please. I don't care who he is, I don't want a lawsuit or anything, I just want it to go away. And I don't want anyone to know, OK, especially not Greg or Grissom, do you understand? Just… Just do this for me, Nick. As a favor. I would do it, but I just…" She finally began to cry and Nick wrapped his arms around her as she wept into his chest. "I'm so sorry that you guys had to see that."

Nick rested his chin on the top of her head as he tried to console her. "Sara…" he whispered. "Watching it was hard enough. I can't even imagine what you went through. You can bet your ass that I'm going to find this guy and makes sure he takes down his whole sick site. You hear me, girl? Everything will be OK. I promise."

Grissom had entered the AV lab with Archie talking about something that Nick hadn't been too interested in as Nick waited impatiently for the printout of the information he needed. Grissom looked startled by Nick's presence.

"I thought you would have finished with that security footage by now," he said.

"Yeah," Nick said, remembering what he had promised Sara. "Well, I'm just helping Sara out on her case right now." He waved the paper at him. "Listen, I'll be right back, I have to go talk to a, er, witness."

Grissom frowned at him curiously as Nick made for the door. Archie snatched the papers out of Nick's hand.

"Hey!" Nick exclaimed, glaring at Archie.

Archie was frowning at the papers. "It's my lab, I want to know what you were doing in here," he explained simply as he scanned it. He shrugged and handed the papers back to Nick. "IP address. You got this guy on a computer?"

"Yeah," Nick said, taking the papers back.

"What did he do, e-mail someone to death?" Archie asked.

Nick cracked an irked smile. "It's an ongoing investigation, I can't discuss it with you." Grissom opened his mouth to ask when Nick launched a preemptive strike. "And I'll file my full report with you at the end of shift. Now, I have to go." And with that, Nick successfully escaped. He jumped in the car and looked at floored it all the way to Henderson where he pulled up outside of this guy's house.

He knocked on the door, and a scrawny kid in his twenties answered. His skin was pasty, like he hadn't seen the sun in months, and his hair was tangled and mousy. Of course, he was a shut-in technophile. What else did he have to do all day but concoct elaborate violent fantasies about women and then post it all on the Net?

"Can I help you?" he asked.

In answer, Nick found himself punching the kid in the stomach, who doubled over in pain and looked at him in a mixture of terror and rage.

"What the hell was that for?!" he exclaimed.

"You're the webmaster of DominatingSluts-Dot-Com?" Nick hissed, the rage a low guttural growl burning in the back of his throat.

The sick kid gave him a twisted simpering smirk. "If you're an unsatisfied customer, I'm sorry but I don't do refunds."

"How old are you?" Nick demanded, fighting to contain his temper. "Twenty-one? Twenty-two? I bet this is your parents' house, isn't it?"

"I'm twenty-three," the kid said, obviously offended at being thought a year, or heaven forbid, two years younger than he actually was. "And this is my Grandmother's house."

Nick rolled his eyes. "So a twenty-three-year-old kid living in his Nana's house has nothing better to do than exploit good and innocent women on the Internet?"

"Hey, all the girls pictured on my site consented, they signed a form and—"

"Oh shut it," Nick interrupted. "Where the fuck did you get the Sara Sidle tape? That was classified evidence in a rape case."

The kid wrinkled his face as if he had no clue what Nick was talking about. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave now, sir." He tried to close the door, but Nick forced it open.

"Like hell you are!" he screamed. "Take it off." His voice was low and menacing.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" the kid shouted at him.

Nick clenched his teeth. He had to speak the kid's language, and it sickened him to use his words. "'Cheating brunette gets what's coming to her?' Fuck no. Take it down."

The kid looked genuinely shocked, then confused as he frowned at the guy and shook his head. "No, man, I got that tape off of eBay, the director said he shot it himself, said it was all legal, just acting, said the girl was a wannabe actress. It's not… It's not a…" He paled as the truth sank in and a tinge of green highlighted his face.

"Yeah," Nick said, satisfied by his disgust. "Not so hot when you realize it was an actual crime. The woman in that video is brave and strong and smart and decent and the man in it is anything but, do you hear me? She is a victim, and he is a raping murderer who died before I could get my hands on him."

If possible, the kid went even paler. "You mean that… I just thought… Shit, I've been selling a real snuff film? That guy actually died?"

Nick closed his eyes. The kid repulsed him too much, he couldn't look at him. He spoke through gritted teeth. "Take down the video," he whispered. "Take down the whole site and go out and get a life, do you hear me?"

Slowly and with a mouth partially open, the kid nodded. "Listen, I just buy the tapes and sell them, I don't make 'em, alright? So I know I don't have like a license or anything—"

"Tell me who sold you the tape in the first place and I won't charge you," Nick said.

"Jeff Danvers," the kid said quickly. "That was the return address."

Nick nodded. He recognized the name. Jeff Danvers worked at the Channel Seven News station. He still didn't like the kid. "You know that blow I dealt to your stomach?" he said. "If that site's not down in twelve hours, all just be back here to deal you one worse. I will take away the only thing that entertains you when you're all alone in your dark Grandmother's house and it's that tiny little thing that hangs between your legs. Are we clear?"

The kid gulped and nodded. Nick flexed his fists, but didn't hit him. The kid wasn't worth it.

Nick didn't have time to swing by the station and deliver the bastard a personal beating, but he could threaten him over the phone on his way home, which he did, vehemently. Danvers assured him that the tape he had sold the crazy kid was the only copy he had made of the tape, and Nick warned him that if he ever found out the man was lying, he would never see anything outside the walls of a prison cell.

When he returned to the lab, Sara was waiting for him at reception. She stood upon his entrance, looking at him with wide eyes. He smiled at her reassuringly and nodded, letting her know the job had been done. She threw her arms around him.

"Thank you," she whispered in her ear.

Nick was only too glad to help. "Hey, I'm just glad I could finally do something to help you out. How are you going, Sara?"

She smiled up at him, her face beaming. "Honestly? Now that that abomination is no longer on the web, I feel a whole lot better."

Nick returned the grin. "I'm glad."

Sara looked down at her watch. "I have to go meet Warrick at a scene. I just wanted to thank you for doing this for me."

"Unnecessary," Nick replied, holding up his hands. "I would have done it even if you hadn't asked. One question, though— how in the world did you find that?"

Sara bite her lip and rubbed her arms. "I was on an online shopping site when I saw the ad… The image looked so familiar, it was eerie… I couldn't believe it."

Nick gave her a strong smile, hoping she could gain courage from it. He rubbed her arm to reassure her that everything was better now. Big brother looking after his kid sister. "Well it's gone now, I can promise you that."

She returned his smile. "I said it before and I'll say it again— you're a great friend, Nick."

"You know it," he joked, hitting her lightly.

She laughed and nodded before waving goodbye and skipping out the door, leaving Nick feeling incredibly self-satisfied.

Until he heard a crash coming from the layout room, accompanied by screaming…

His face was pale and his eyes were blood shot and highlighted by gray and heavy bags, but he worked diligently like a slave of the system as he scanned and rescanned the blood splatter patterns sprawled out in the photos before him. There was a gap here, which suggested that's where the victim had stood, but if that had been the case then the trajectory was all wrong. So something else must have been there, something that was then removed from the scene. The killer had taken something with him, something large… but what?

There was a knock at the door. Assuming it was a colleague, Greg only looked up briefly to recognize them and then looked down again. He did a double take when he realized it was no one he recognized.

"Excuse me," said the person at the door. "I don't mean to bother you, but I'm looking for Catherine Willows, I have something urgent to discuss with her."

"Oh…" Greg said. "Um, I'm sorry, you just missed her. She left yesterday on vacation. She took her daughter skiing for the holidays."

"Ah…" said the man, understanding. He turned to leave when another idea struck him. He turned around and looked at Greg. "You wouldn't be able to tell me where I might find Greg Sanders, would you?"

Greg was surprised at the request and it was evident in his expression. "He's really busy right now. Why are you looking for him?"

"It's a private matter," the man replied.

"Tell me who you are and I'll let him know you dropped by," Greg said.

The man narrowed his eyes at Greg. "You look sick," he said. "May I ask where you got that scar on your cheek?"

Greg's fingers flew to his face and he turned away from the man, focusing instead on his work. He heard the blood rushing through his ears and tapped his foot in order to dispel his extra energy.

"It's a private matter," he mimicked.

He heard the door click shut and assumed the man had left as he immersed himself in the crime scene photos again, trying to make a shape out of the negative space the blood splatter left behind. It moved out triangularly, like a pyramid, but then narrowed again further down. A lamp? Why would the killer take a lamp?

Greg felt a chillingly skeletal hand on his shoulder which caught him off guard. Immediately, the young CSI reacted, grabbing the man's arm and jumping to his feet as he twisted it behind his back, forcing the man's torso into the table behind them. The man cried out as he doubled over in pain and Greg forced his head down onto the table.

Realizing what he'd done, the baffled CSI immediately relinquished his grip on the older, stronger looking man and took a few paces back. "I—I'm so sorry…" he began. "I'm not sure what came over—"

He was interrupted by a quick blow to the stomach and he let out an 'oof' of surprise as he clutched at his throbbing abdomen, trying hard to repress the gag reflex. As his organs felt like they were reorganized, the drugs began to kick in and all of Greg's unused energy shot through him like fire. He retaliated with a vengeance, dealing his assailant a quick uppercut and hitting him in the jaw. The man's head went up and his nose began to bleed and Greg took advantage of his exposed throat, pushing the man up against the wall, his forearm pressed firmly against the man's jugular, threatening to press down.

By now, they had gathered an audience, people who had heard the noise, or seen it through the windows as they walked by. But Greg was only barely aware of their presence as he felt the man's breath enter and exist his lungs, rushing by his wrist as it swirled inside the man's trachea. He pressed down and the man began to splutter.

All of a sudden, he felt strong hands gripping into his shoulder but he shrugged them off angrily, pressing his arm firmer into the man's jugular. The sweat was rolling down his temples and he clenched his teeth.

The hands returned, this time clenching his upper arm, and through the rush of blood in his ears he heard someone calling his name, sounding angry and panicked all at once. Greg dropped the first man and took a swing at the second pulling at his arm but missed by a mile and staggered forward. The second attacker came up from behind him and tried to pin his arms down. Greg struggled against his grip but his attacker was stronger than him and he couldn't escape it. Being overpowered like this brought back too many painful memories that Greg tried like crazy to block out but they just came pouring out.

He screamed loudly, threatened to kill whoever had a hold of him. He said they would pay, he screamed he would kill them if he had the chance, kill them both.

Eventually the mist in his head began to clear as he wondered what had set him off in the first place. He became aware of the strong arms that still held him, and the familiar but anxious voice that was screaming at him.

"Greg! Calm the fuck down!"

His breathing was ragged and sharp as the air cut into his lungs like knives. All of a sudden, his muscles felt like spaghetti and they collapsed in on him all at once and he was Jello in this person's arms, whoever he was.

The man, instead of catching him, just followed him to the ground as Greg fell to his knees, his arms still tightly pinning Greg's limbs down in case he lashed out again.

"I'm OK…" Greg breathed, though hearing his voice he knew no one would believe him. He didn't even believe himself. His head was spinning, and he was exhausted. He hadn't been able to sleep in a month and no suddenly it was all catching up to him, his body protesting, the adrenaline gone, and all that was left was this collapsed bag of skin and bones.

"What the fuck has gotten into you, man?" the voice demanded. Greg detected the signature southern drawl, which was always more distinct when its owner was angry.

"I'm so tired, Nick..." he mumbled. He wasn't even sure if it was intelligible. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against Nick's chest. "Can't I just… for a little while…"

"Greg, you're shaking something fierce," Nick was saying as he slapped his cheeks lightly to keep Greg awake. "Are you sick? What's wrong, man, you can tell me."

"I… so tired…" was all Greg could manage to say.

Nick's hand had flown to Greg's forehead. "He has a fever," he said. "Call an ambulance."

"No…" Greg muttered, with whatever strength he had left. "No ambulance, I'm fine…"

But Nick was laying Greg down on the floor and his head rested on something soft. He couldn't control his shivering as he tossed on the floor. He was so cold. He needed heat. He needed something. But Nick was bringing more cold, putting something damp and wet on his head. He shivered and felt it burn him like a hot poker and seared his flesh. He felt like he was being branded, a cow being prepared for the slaughterhouse. The heat. The freezing heat. It sent shivering spasms through his body. His skin tingled with the conflicting temperatures. He felt as though he had just recovered feeling in his whole body, like it had been asleep like one's foot might fall asleep, and upon waking up it was stinging madly as the blood flowed back to it. Nonetheless, he didn't want Nick's help. "I'm fine!" Greg kept insisting, fighting to stay conscious. "I just need some sleep and I'll be fine!"

But it was obvious that he was far from fine. He refused to go in an ambulance. He'd fight it if he could help it. What was happening to him? His supplier had never told him about this. This wasn't supposed to happen.

He thrived on the floor for what seemed like an eternity, Nick's voice floating in and out of focus as the wet cold heat dripped into his hair from his forehead.

"What's going on?" asked a new, strange voice.

"He's got a fever, I think he's going into convulsions."

Something was happening, but everything was moving too fast for Greg to follow. He tried to make sense of the voices and the words that were passing over his head.

"Vitals… one hundred and three… don't have the right tools to… known pyrogens… don't know… disease… can't… syringe… now would be good."

Greg's mind wove in and out of understanding as the sweat began to drip into his eyes, which started stinging in protest. Something was stabbed into his arm and he cried out half-heartedly before passing out.