Chapter Nine: Coming to an End

Grissom watched causally as the young man before brought the straw to his lips, sipping the clear liquid. It had been a week since Greg was last in, the CSI taking some personal time off. Though Grissom had disagreed with it, he had taken Catherine's advice, and backed off. He was surprised to find out she had been right, that when giving him some space, Greg continued on as normal.

Greg had shown up a few minutes ago, making himself comfortable in the chair across from him. Nothing had been said yet, and it seemed a little awkward that Greg was so comfortable with just sitting there, and saying nothing.

"You've been drinking a lot," Grissom pointed out as he leaned back in his chairs. His back ached at the moment, and it seemed as of late he hadn't been getting out into the field as much as he would have liked. Evaluations were the downfall of this job.

"I've been thirsty," Greg told him calmly, resting the cup on his leg. At this point he wouldn't look his supervisor in the eye. He wasn't sure why he was here; it was the only thing that had been on his mind since waking up that day. Greg took another sip of his water, letting out a sigh.

"Have you been urinating often?"

"That's kind of a personal question," Greg replied blankly, somewhat curious to why the question was even being asked.

Grissom nodded thoughtfully, "It could mean something's wrong."

Greg laughed wryly, a sad smile crossing his face. "Well, both you and I know what's wrong."

"I meant something else Greg," Grissom replied sternly, removing his glasses. "Maybe you should go get checked out?"

If there was ever a hint it was there, but Greg only shook his head. "That's okay; I don't need an update on how quickly I'm dying."

"That's not exactly what they're for. It's to make sure everything's going as well as it can, and in case something else comes up, they can treat it."

"More tests, more medication, possibility of being held up in a hospital…I think I'll pass," Greg murmured, taking another sip.

"You won't even consider it?"

Greg was quiet this time, but soon enough he shook his head. "I don't want to spend my last days in a hospital, and if I go anywhere near there, they'll probably force me too. I'm not naive; I know how well things are going…"

"Is that why you still have the gun?" Grissom let out a sigh seeing his amused reaction. "Catherine and I have a hard time believing you just got rid of it."

"I didn't do anything illegal," Greg pointed out, "You should know that, seeing you went out of your way to dive into my personal life. I followed all the procedures, paperwork…the gun is legally mine."

"Most people dealing with such issues take it upon themselves to ensure that they still have a choice," Grissom started talking, his voice low and quiet. "You are exercising your freedom, reassuring yourself…" he shrugged, "its not uncommon."

"Then you don't need to worry," Greg answered.

It was nearly impossible to get under his skin, something Grissom found irritating. Greg seemed perfectly okay with how everything was turning out, and nothing was going to convince him otherwise. It was Grissom's turn to listen as Greg steered the conversation.

"You know I'm afraid to fall asleep? Even though I'm tired nearly all the time, I lay awake, and listen to the clock tick, count the seconds as the go by. Seconds stretch into minutes, minutes into hours…tick, tick tick," he imitated the sound, clicking his tongue in his mouth. "It's a cheap model, my old alarm clock doesn't keep time very well…I figured I didn't need anything special. It's so small, but it's very accurate…it keeps on going, but after a while it will start to slow down, the seconds will become longer, and time will eventually stop…until someone puts new batteries in it, fixes the time…"

"You think it works the same for people?" Grissom wondered.

"I know it doesn't," Greg shook his head. "That's the hard part…I can't get what I need…not only is there not enough time, I don't have the money. Theses days you have to be rich in order to live…"

"It's expensive," Grissom agreed, "But things can be worked out…if you talked with the others, and your family I'm sure we'd be able to figure something out."

"And it takes years to even get on a list Grissom," Greg interrupted him. "I'll be dead before I'm even approved, let alone try to think of a way to get all the money. And besides that, even if I live that long, and if I get on a list, can I find a match, will my body accept it…I'm outnumbered…"

"Sometimes I get so confused…I think I'm doing the right thing…then everyone turns around and says I'm not…I feel like I'm letting everyone down, but I'm too tired to try and play favorites anymore."

"You do what you feel is right. If they or I, for example, was in your position, maybe we would all understand a little better. At the moment we are all healthy, we live each day, never really concerned about ourselves…then we see you, and from our state of mind, we think everything's okay. It's like trying to say how you would react, let's say if someone broke into your place. Everyone comes up with different answers, protecting themselves, their family…whatever it takes. The truth is you don't know how you will react, until you're placed in that situation. You wait until your adrenaline is flowing; when your senses narrow…you can't really think."

"Except I have more than few seconds to think about everything…" Greg counted him with a nod. "I don't think it really helps though…as many times as I've thought it over, you'd figure I would have an answer by now…on what I want to do."

"What do you want to do?"

He looked up at him, a sadden gaze as he answered. "Live…but that's not an option."

Greg shifted in his chair, talking once again before Grissom had the chance. "Actually, I want to work, there's nothing to do at home…"

"And you stopped by here because?"

"Well…I was out of line with you, and Sara…I figured you would want to talk with me. Give me one of those good for the lab speeches, how I need to learn to work with the others, and respect them. That I need be more on top of things, and that there isn't an excuse to get mad at the others…"

Grissom smiled, resisting the urge to laugh. "I think you just gave it to yourself."

"So that's it?" Greg wondered, hopeful. "No apologies, no nothing?"

"I don't need an apology Greg, but Sara might want one."

He nodded, "I figured as much."

"She also deserves to know…it's only going to hurt more if you don't say something."

"Can't keep it hidden forever, huh?"

Grissom raised his eyebrows, even as the younger man stood. It wasn't necessarily fair to press him so hard, but Grissom wanted to make the importance of the issue known. He wouldn't tell Sara himself, but could only imagine her despair when she found out, after his death. Greg merely shrugged his shoulders, keeping silent as he left the room.

"You have a minute?"

Sara looked up from where she sat on the couch, however brief it was, before turning her attention back down to the book in her lap. "I'm busy," she responded bleakly, turning a page.

Greg nodded, giving her half a smile. He expected as much, the two hadn't talked since Greg had gone off on her. "I wanted to say that I was sorry," he began to apologize.

"Grissom made you come," she cut him off, barely paying any attention to her book, but doing her best to make it look as though she was. If Greg knew she was focusing her attention on him he would only use that to his advantage.

"Yes, and no," he explained, coming in to sit next to her. Sara swung her legs off the cushion in order to make extra room. "I am sorry…I just don't want to admit it."

She couldn't help but smile, amazed at his honesty. It was the first real fight they had, and in the past her old boyfriends would always come up, make everything sound as though it was their fault, and plead for forgiveness. Sara wouldn't judge, she knew it took two people to tango, she couldn't blame everything on Greg, but she wouldn't blame it all on herself either.

"Typical male," she laughed shortly, but made no attempt at any further small talk. It would be enjoyable to let him mope over it all a little while longer. It surprised her when Greg shifted, swinging his legs onto the couch as he leaned against her.

Instinctively she wrapped an arm around his chest as his head came to rest on her shoulder, before reaching up to run a hand through his wild hair. "You feel warm," she commented quietly, her eyes drifting between the pages of her book and his face.

"I've been a little under," Greg answered, shrugging the small detail off.

"Why are you in then?" she queried, flipping to another page.

"I wanted to work…but most of all I wanted to see you."

She laughed, "So you can get me sick as well?"

The grin was on his face as he closed his eyes, letting out a low chuckle. "If I really wanted to get you sick," he started, picking up her hand in his and kissing in tenderly, "I'd get a little busy."

"We're on the clock Greg," she told him, laughing. She hated giving in so easily, but Greg just seemed to have that natural ability.

"I'm not," he stated quickly, "and you're on break. So technically is wouldn't be breaking any rules. Let's go find a closet or something."

He made the last statement with a grin, and for his efforts gained a laugh from her. "You're so bad Greg," she chided, feeling her face blush in embarrassment when she found they were no longer alone.

Nick let out a low whistle as he came into the room, a witty comment about how the room seemed to be steaming up coming past his lips. Sara let out a dry laugh, her hand resting on Greg's chest where he had clasped it with his own hands. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," he replied, pulling his lunch from the small refrigerator. "I thought you two were fighting."

"Word travels fast, doesn't it?" Greg asked innocently, rubbing Sara's arm. The Texan only grinned, taking a seat at the small table.

"Yeah, while two's company, three's a crowd…" Sara pointed out, "I need to get back to work anyways. I have a trash run out near the Freemont, if you're interested."

"Grissom said I'm yours for the night," he chirped, sitting up as Sara pushed him off of her. "I suppose he didn't mean that you could take me home or anything, huh?"

"I don't know," she shrugged her shoulders as she stood. "We'll have to see."

There was hardly a night Greg could remember such as that. The case had been a quick open and close deal, something they rarely ever saw. That alone left plenty of time for the pair. Greg spent the day at her place, one of the firsts, before heading to his own apartment as the evening drew to a close.

It would be something he would never forget, holding her close, his face buried in her hair, the gentle aroma lingering in the back of his mind. If only he could hold her like that forever…

Greg wasn't sure what had changed her mind…he didn't know where her sudden interest came from, what she saw in him. They had always been close friends, and though he had tried to cross those boundaries from time to time, somehow he believed nothing would ever come of it. After a while he simply gave up the chase, convinced that Sara was not interested in him.

Maybe that had been how it all started…after all, when he let up; she had come to him more often. Sometimes seeking him out after shift just to make small talk. Greg hadn't really noticed it then, or thought about it for that matter. But now, as he mulled over their growing relationship, he began to wonder that if backing off had been the key that started everything…if only it didn't have to end so soon.

Greg chewed on the end of the pencil, staring at the blank piece of paper in front of him. It had been nearly an hour since he first sat down, and the progress he had made was little to nothing. Pressing the fine tip against the white background he wrote simply, quickly…only to come to a stop.

How would he start? Dear lab? That seemed more than awkward. To whom it may concern? Of course not, he wasn't some salesperson. Rubbing his head Greg set the pencil down, racking his brain. He had to say something, but everything he had rehearsed before had now fled his mind. There was nothing but an empty shell.

Letting out a long sigh Greg reached for the pencil again, finally coming to a conclusion. 'Dear friends…'

Once he had started it was hard to stop, the words coming back quickly. Greg felt his chest heave unevenly as he continued to jot down his thoughts, well wishes and prayers. It was low of him, lower than he could imagine…what would they say, when they found him?

Greg felt sick to stomach, but pressed onward with his letter. At least he would be leaving them a goodbye. Everything was arranged, his will filled out, his funeral planned…the last week he had taken careful precautions to make certain he had everything covered. He wasn't the least bit nervous of anyone finding out.

'Remember me as I was,' Greg wrote down carefully. It would be better this way, who knew how much longer he would last before he could no longer hide it? If anyone found out, Greg knew what would happen, and the last thing he wanted to do was die in a hospital.

By now his hands were shaking, as he signed the letter at the bottom, with a warm as goodbye as he cold. Folding the paper in threes he taped in closed with a single strip, resting it against a chemistry book that sat on the table. Underneath it were his instructions, as well as a copy of his will.

For a long while he sat there, lost in trance, hands shaking even though they were firmly clasped. In his mind he pictured how everyone would react, the image of Sara becoming stuck in his mind. Grissom's warning came back to him, and he mulled over the possibility of how upset she would be.

He had written a separate letter for her, there was much to be said, more than he could ever explain, but he had to at least try. Greg only hoped everyone could understand…

Rubbing the back of his neck he pressed himself to his feet, grasping the gun in one free hand. He felt guilty, lying to Catherine about it, but what else was he supposed to do? Pop up and shout 'here it is'?

Greg found himself pacing back and forth, as he slid a single bullet inside. It took a few tries, with his hands shaking so badly it kept falling to the floor. Once he had succeeded he stopped to let out a low breath, before leaning against the wall.

How was he going to do it? It was a morbid thought, but one that was necessary. If there was only some easy way, to get it over quickly, but one that would leave him mostly…in tact. Greg chewed on his bottom lip, bringing the gun to his head. It rested there for a moment before he pulled it away quickly, letting out a breath that he wasn't aware of holding.

'Get a grip', he warned himself. If this failed…it wouldn't, couldn't fail. He could do this, he just needed some practice. Greg nodded at the thought. The team saw it often; those who committed suicide often had scars from previous attempts. Stutter cuts, scratches…though he had to admit that he really wouldn't get a second or third chance with this.

Taking one last breath in order to steady himself, Greg pressed the barrel of the gun into his mouth as he closed his eyes.

TBC