A/N: And happiness ends...now! Well, not really...the forecast is most tragic with a chance of showers of happiness intermingled. Most of the happiness, however, will be bittersweet. Just to warn you. Not in this chapter, but the rest. Whatever, I digress. Usual disclaimer as always...Longer chapter this time...and here goes...

Chapter 21- You Sound Like You Are Sick

"You sound like you're sick you look like you're
Sick too you sound like you're sick
But if you must act up But if you must act up
You sound like you're sick You sound like you're sick
Well I can't understand anything about you"

You Sound Like You Are Sick by the Ramones

It was the fourth night in a row that Greg had worked overtime. Yesterday, well, today as well, he hadn't even bothered going home. DNA was swamped. There had been a triple homicide paired with an apparent double suicide, all by having their throats slit. On the same day that that rolled in, three other cases had come in, too, and one had brought with it thirty-five separate condoms. It was a lab tech's worst nightmare.

Grissom watched the young man through the glass walls. Greg was reviewing yet another blood sample test. Grissom sighed. While he knew the cases needed to be done, Greg was certainly in no condition to do them. In fact, thought Grissom, his brow furrowing in concern, Greg doesn't look well enough to work under normal circumstances.

Indeed, he didn't, instead looking drawn and ill, heavy shadows highlighting his eyes in his too-pale face. "Hey, Cath," called Grissom aloud, his eyes not leaving their spot. "Does Greg look ill to you?"

Catherine joined him, sipping a cup of coffee. "Wow, yeah, he does. Maybe he should go see a doctor."

"Maybe he's just overworked," suggested Grissom.

Catherine gave him a look. "You and I have both seen our fair share of overworked, and Greg does not look simply overworked. He looks sick, possibly really sick. Griss, you should send him home."

Grissom nodded, already opening the door to the lab. "Hey, Greg," he said, coming and standing next to the tech.

Greg's eyes never left the computer screen, and he mumbled mechanically, "I don't have your results yet. Come back in half an hour."

Grissom cleared his throat gently and pointed out, "I don't have any evidence that you're supposed to be running."

Greg looked up, exhaustion evident in his gaunt face. "Oh, hey, Griss. Sorry, it's been a rough…" He checked his watch. "Twenty-six hours."

"Greg, you need to go home and sleep."

"I can't. I still have tons of evidence to run."

"Greg, that wasn't a request. Go home, get some rest, take next shift off, and catch up on your sleep."

Greg sighed. "Alright, I guess…" he said, slowly stretching and yawning. As he stretched, the shirt he was wearing rose a few inches over his stomach, and Grissom was shocked to see that, if even possible, Greg had gotten even thinner.

"When was the last time you ate?" demanded Grissom.

Greg rolled his eyes yet blushed, looking slightly embarrassed. "Er…I had dinner with Sara…two nights ago, maybe? I don't really remember."

"Greg, that means you haven't eaten in almost thirty-six hours!" exclaimed Grissom.

Sighing, Greg ran a hand through his hair and then rubbed the stubble on his chin. "I know, I know, I keep meaning to, but…"

"Greg, go home, eat, then go to bed. That's an order!" barked Grissom, emulating an army sergeant.

Greg sighed, then stood and saluted with a touch of his old humor, before leaving.

Grissom shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the nagging voice that kept trying to convince him that something was seriously wrong with Greg.

Thirty minutes later, Grissom was interrupted from his paperwork by his cell phone. "Grissom," he answered, holding the phone up to his ear with his shoulder as shuffled the papers he was holding.

"Gil, it's Brass. We've got an issue with one of your people."

Instantly, Grissom was all ears. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

"It's Sanders. He was pulled over for suspected DUI. He passed the breathalyzer, but the officer believes that Greg may be on some type of drugs."

"He WHAT?" roared Grissom, all the frustration of the past few days coming out in those two words.

"Look, Gil, it wasn't my call to make, ok? I'm just the messenger."

Grissom sighed and said, much calmer, "Sorry, Jim. It's been one of those weeks, you know? Anyway, I'll be over shortly to get a blood sample. Then I'm sending Greg home to sleep."

"Alright, see you in a few."

Grissom shut his cell phone and stood, walking briskly to go get his case. Maybe he could use this as an opportunity to see what was really wrong with Greg…

When Grissom arrived at the scene, Greg was sitting dejectedly on the curb, head resting in his hands. Grissom strode over to him, pulling on gloves as he went. When he reached him, Greg looked up and tried to smile. He failed miserably. Grissom sighed. "Ok, Greg, you know I hate to do this." He pulled out his flashlight and had Greg turn to look at him so that he could test the reaction time of his pupils. Greg's pupils reacted very slowly…too slowly. "Alright, I'm going to need a sample of your blood." Greg complied, looking away as the blood was taken. "Oh, and Greg?" continued Grissom as he finished up. "I made an appointment with your doctor for tomorrow at five pm. Go see what's wrong with you, ok?" Greg nodded and Grissom reached down to help him up. "Here, I'll give you a ride home."

They drove to Greg's place in silence, neither feeling up for conversation. When they arrived, all Greg said was, "Don't tell Sara, alright? I'll tell her myself when I see her next."

Grissom nodded and Greg got out, trudging toward his apartment. Grissom waited until he saw him go into the house, then he left himself, heading back to the lab. He gave the blood to the dayshift lab tech, and told him that it was priority. He also told him to not only check for drugs, but for any abnormalities in his blood as well.

When his results got in an hour later, Grissom practically jogged to the lab. He picked up the results and looked at them. Greg had tested negative for any drugs, which was a relief. Grissom looked at the next set of results, the one for abnormalities, and stared in shock at the page. It couldn't be…

A/N: :Gasp: A cliffie! Oh my goodness gracious! Teehee. Sorry, I got nothing. ...Please don't hate me...