A/N: So we've had about all the happiness I can handle at a time in this fic, so we revert to full-on angst. Just the way I like it. Usual disclaimer, as always. Thanks to everyone for all the reviews I've gotten...Love to you all! And now, on with the show!

Chapter 35- Fall to Pieces

"You're the only one
I'll be with til the end
When I come undone
You bring me back again
Back under the stars
Back into your arms

And I don't wanna fall to pieces
I just wanna sit and stare at you
I don't wanna talk about it
And I don't want a conversation
I just wanna cry in front of you
I don't wanna talk about it
Cuz I'm in love with you"

Fall to Pieces by Avril Lavigne

It was a sweltering June day when Greg's troubles intensified. Over the past few months, between learning to be a father to a seven-year-old, caring for his pregnant wife and still working enough hours to earn enough money for treatments, he had been stretched a little thin. But he was fine, or at least that's what he told himself.

Hence, here it was, a Saturday morning, and he was kneeling outside in weather that was already in the high nineties, taking pictures of a young girl lying dead on her driveway. Even though he was only wearing a thin t-shirt and jeans, he felt as if he was roasting. Of course, he should just be happy for this rare chance to go out into the field, but honestly. "God, Griss, it's hot out," he complained to his boss, who was examining the body nearby.

"Well, Greg, it is summer," returned the older man, pausing to look at the girl's arm. "We've got defensive wounds."

"Maybe she scraped up her assailant," suggested Greg as he snapped a picture of a bloody shoeprint. "And even though it's summer, it should not be this hot."

Grissom looked at the younger man's gaunt face. His forehead was beaded with sweat and he looked pale. "Greg, maybe you should take a break," he suggested, trying not to sound concerned.

Greg rolled his eyes. "I'm fine—"

Sudden shouts from the police officer nearby cut him off. They both looked up to see a man running from the house, toward them. "Suspect is fleeing on foot," reported the cop into his radio.

Greg leapt to his feet, not even realizing that he didn't have a weapon. Seeing him jump up, the man turned, running away. Greg took off after him, catching up fairly quickly and tackling the man to the ground. He sat on the ground, breathing hard, as the cop cuffed the man.

Grissom jogged up. "What do you think you were doing?" he asked angrily. "The cops are here for a reason, so we don't have to do that!"

"Sorry, Griss," gasped Greg, clutching his chest.

"Greg, are you—" started Griss. Suddenly, Greg fell over in a faint. "Help!" called Grissom, kneeling down next to the young CSI and checking his pulse. "We have an officer down, repeat, officer down! Radio for an ambulance."

Another officer kneeled next to him. "Is he ok?" he asked.

"No," said Grissom. "He fainted. Could just be from the heat, but with his condition…I wanted to be sure."

While waiting for the paramedics to arrive, Grissom flipped open his cell phone and dialed Sara's number. "Hey Sara, it's Griss. Greg collapsed at the scene. No, I think he's ok, but the paramedics are on their way. Do you want me to go to the hospital with him? Ok. Alright, I'll see you later."

He hung up the phone and checked Greg's pulse again. It was still there, but seemed fainter. "Where are those paramedics?" he shouted at the police officer.

"En route," the police officer answered. "And you might want to calm down, sir. There's nothing more you can do for him."

Suddenly, the sound of sirens split the air and red and blue lights flashed through the sky. The ambulance squealed to a stop beside the crime scene and two paramedics jumped out.

"Mr. Grissom, I need you to step aside," called the first paramedic as he knelt by Greg's prone form. Feeling for a pulse, he called to his companion, "We need oxygen over here!"

The second paramedic put an oxygen mask over Greg's mouth. Grissom was relieved to see Greg's breath clouding the clear plastic.

The first paramedic called to another still in the ambulance, "We need the stretcher out here. His BP's 70 over 60. We gotta get him to the hospital, stat!"

A third and fourth paramedic rushed out, almost bowling Grissom over in the process. The third guy went to help the first two, while the fourth pulled Grissom aside. "Mr. Grissom, does he have any medical conditions that you are aware of?"

"He…he has AIDS," said Grissom shakily, watching as the three other paramedics lifted Greg onto the stretcher and wheeled him to the ambulance.

"Are you riding with him to the hospital?" asked the paramedic.

Grissom shook his head as if in a daze. "No…no, his wife will meet him there. She's on her way now."

The paramedic nodded. "Ok, thanks." He turned toward the ambulance, then turned back and told Grissom, "Don't worry. We'll take care of him."

Grissom nodded slowly, watching as the ruby and sapphire lights faded into the distance, siren still wailing. Staring after the ambulance, Grissom flipped his cell open and dialed Catherine's number. "Hey, Cath, it's Griss. I'm gonna need your help down at this crime scene…"

Sara paced up and down the waiting room, one hand resting on her bulging stomach. She was seven months pregnant now, and learning that her husband had collapsed at a crime scene was not what she needed to hear. It had been almost two months since Grissom had refused to let her out of the lab and into the field, and as boring as the lab was, she had been glad to be nearer to Greg. But today he had gone out to the scene, and then this had happened, and she couldn't help but blame herself for not being there with him.

At that moment, the doctor came out of ICU. "Sara Sanders?" she asked, looking grave.

Sara nodded wordlessly, hands clenched so tightly that here knuckles were turning white. "How's Greg?" she asked anxiously.

Dr. Martinez sighed. "Greg's stable, for the moment. He's temporarily in the ICU, but we'll be moving him shortly."

Sara looked at her, alarmed by her tone. "Moving him? Why? And to where? And can I go see him?"

Dr. Martinez sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mrs. Sanders, perhaps we should go to my office."

Sara shook her head slowly. "No, I don't want to go to your office, I want to go see my husband!"

"Mrs. Sanders, I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that," said the doctor softly.

Sara froze, fear flickering on her features. "Why?" she whispered. "What's wrong with him?"

"Mrs. Sanders, I really think we should go to my office to…"

"No," said Sara, quietly yet firmly. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on with Greg."

The doctor sighed, then said gently, "Greg's t-cell count is down to 14. We have to move him to a sterile environment to try and get his t-cell count back up."

Sara sank into a chair, staring blankly at Dr. Martinez. "But…he'll be ok, right? You'll get his t-cell count back up, right?"

The doctor sighed again. "Mrs. Sanders, at this point, your husband could die from someone sneezing on him. If he doesn't improve, and fast, he will die."

Sara closed her eyes, tears beginning to ooze from the corners of her eyes. She nodded slowly in understanding and stood.

"Where are you going?" asked Dr. Martinez.

"To see my husband," said Sara quietly.

Dr. Martinez frowned. "Mrs. Sanders, I don't think you understand the direness of your husband's situation. Contact with someone who hasn't been sanitized could send him over the edge."

"I'm going to go say good-bye to him," said Sara softly, "and not even you will deny me that."

Sara sat next to Greg, gently holding his hand in hers. He looked so small, lying there in a hospital bed with a tube protruding form every orifice. Silent tears traced soft streams down her face, dripping off her chin and on to his still form.

A nurse knocked on the door. "Mrs. Sanders? We're going to need to take him now."

Sara nodded wordlessly, standing and allowing a few attendants to come ready Greg to be transported. She squeezed Greg's hand. "I love you," she whispered, tears falling more freely now. "And this is not good-bye."

Yet as she stood back and watched as Greg was wheeled from the room, she felt a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, a feeling that told her she was never going to be able to speak to him again.