A/N: This chappie has a bit more swearing than usual, just to warn you. See note at the bottom for a more in-depth note from moi. Usual disclaimer, and here we go...

Chapter 36- Let Go

"So, let go
Jump in
Oh well, what you waiting for?
It's all right
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown
So, let go
Just get in
Oh, it's so amazing here
It's all right
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown"

Let Go by Frou Frou

Greg woke to the sound of mechanic beeping and whirring. Slowly, he tried to sit up, but only managed to cause himself to go into a coughing fit. His whole body shook as he coughed, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that the oxygen mask still on his face was flecked with blood.

Slightly panicked, he reached for the call button, only succeeding in bringing on another fit. After this one ended, he lay back against his pillow, exhausted.

Suddenly, the door to his room slid open and Dr. Martinez came in, looking like something out of the Anthrax scare. She wore a haz-mat suit, complete with hood covering her face. "Greg?" she asked, voice muffled by the suit.

"Dr. Martinez, what's going on?" asked Greg, fear lacing the edge of his voice. "Where am I? What happened?"

"Greg, you collapsed at a crime scene," said Dr. Martinez cautiously. "Do you remember that?" Greg nodded slowly. "Well, you were taken here, and we ran some tests, and we found that your t-cell count has dropped to fourteen."

Greg swallowed, hard. "Is that bad?" he asked, trying not to sound as scared as he was.

She sighed sadly. "Greg, I'm not going to lie to you. At this point, any foreign bacteria could infect you with something as small as a cold, and your immune system wouldn't be able to handle it."

Greg blanched. "What're…what're my chances? I mean, I'll get better, right? I can't…I can't die. Not yet. I'm not ready yet."

Dr. Martinez sighed again. "Greg, I don't know for sure, but at this point, your immune system is shutting down. Also, additional tests came back positive for M. Avium Intracellulare, which is a kind of cousin to T.B."

He smiled wryly. "That would explain the blood I'm coughing up," he whispered hoarsely.

Now it was Dr. Martinez's turn to look alarmed. "You're coughing up blood?" she asked.

Greg blinked at her. "Did you not notice the red all over the oxygen mask?"

Somehow, his sarcasm failed to amuse her. "Greg, your lungs are failing. You're beginning to cough up the lining of your lungs."

The seriousness of the situation began to sink in. "How much time do I have?" he asked quietly, fingers playing with a fold in the blanket.

"At this rate, I'd say a few days at most," replied the doctor, just as quietly.

Greg closed his eyes and nodded slowly in understanding. "Where's Sara?" he asked. "I need to talk to her."

"Greg…" started Dr. Martinez, her calm composure slipping for a second. "Sara can't come in here, not even in a haz-mat suit. Her doctors have forbidden it, because of the baby."

"But I need to see her," insisted Greg, panic beginning to creep into his voice. "I have to see her. I have to say good-bye!"

"Greg you need to calm down," said Dr. Martinez watchfully, eyeing the monitor beside his bed as his blood pressure spiked.

"Calm down?" shouted Greg, voice rising as he went on. "Calm down? How the hell am I supposed to calm down? You tell me I have only a couple of day left but you won't let me see my wife to tell her good-bye and that I love her?"

Dr. Martinez sighed, pulling out a syringe and giving him an injection. Greg lay back against the pillow as the sedative kicked in, completely drained. "Sara…" he whispered as his eyes closed.

Sara was angry. Sara was beyond angry; she was furious. Nick knew this as soon as he saw her in the hospital waiting room. Hands clenched at her sides, face and voice deadly calm and eyes burning with an intensity that would make a grown man quake in fear, she looked ready to take the head off of the hospital orderly who was currently trying to talk to her.

"What do you mean, I can't see him?" she asked quietly, but with poison oozing over her words. "I really don't see how you can stop me."

"Mrs. Sanders, your doctor has given us explicit orders that you are not to, under any circumstance, enter that room."

"Fuck my doctor!" said Sara angrily, face beginning to flush. "What the fuck does my doctor know? I need to be in there, goddamnit!"

"What seems to be the problem?" asked Nick mildly as he came up to them. He turned to Sara. "Sara, what's wrong?"

"They won't let me in, Nick," she said, starting to cry. "He's dying, goddamnit, they tell me he has only a few days left, and they won't let me in!"

Nick turned to the orderly, confusion wrinkling his brow. "Surely that can't be right," he said. "Why wouldn't she be able to go in?"

"I have specific orders from her doctor that she can't go in there because of the baby," said the orderly with a sigh. "I'm very sorry, hospital policy states that we cannot put a patient's health at risk due to liability."

"Alright, thank you," said Nick. The orderly nodded and left. Nick turned back to Sara. "Sara, what happened? Grissom called and told me that Greg collapsed at a crime scene, but he's dying? How can that be?"

"His t-cell count is down to fourteen," whispered Sara, tears flowing down her face. "His entire body is shutting down, and because of what some stupid doctor says, I can't be in there. He needs me, and I can't even be outside his room." She sobbed brokenly onto Nick's chest as he hugged her.

"Sara, there has to be more," said Nick gently. "Even a t-cell count as low as fourteen wouldn't kill him. Not this quickly."

"Um, he has some kind of infection," said Sara, wiping her eyes. "A cousin of tuberculosis." She paused and looked at Nick, fear, anguish and pain glinting in her eyes. "He's coughing up blood, Nick. They told me he's coughing up blood."

"Jesus Christ," whispered Nick, dark eyes widening in fear. "Isn't there something they can do? Isn't there anything they can do?"

"I don't know," said Sara, beginning to cry again. "I don't know. They're giving him medicine for the infection, but he may not live long enough for it to work." She looked up at Nick. "He can't die, not yet. I want him to see his baby. I want him to hold our child in his arms and tell our child how much he loves him. I want…Oh God, I'm not ready. I'm not ready and I can't even go in there to say good-bye."

"Jesus," muttered Nick again, but he wasn't sure if it was a prayer or a swear. He held Sara gently as she cried, his own tears beginning to slip down his face.

Suddenly, Sara leaned back. "You go," she told him.

"What?" said Nick, confused.

"Go to him," said Sara, eyes shining with tears. "You can go; they'll let you go. Go to him and make him realize that he can't die. Tell him I love him and he can't leave me." Seeing Nick hesitate, she whispered, "Please. Tell him, because I can't."

"Ok," said Nick. "I'll go. I'm not promising anything. I don't even know if he's awake, but I will tell him how much you love him." He turned to leave, then turned back to Sara. "In the meantime, call Griss and tell him what's going on. He'll want to know."

Nick took a deep breath and went to find the orderly.

Fifteen minutes alter, Nick was suited up in his own haz-may suit, ready to enter Greg's room. Dr, Martinez came up to hm. "Mr. Stokes?" she asked. "I just wanted to tell you a few things before you go in. I had to give Greg a fairly strong sedative a little while ago. He should be awake by now, but I can't guarantee he'll be coherent. Either way, he's very weak, and I must caution you to please not upset him."

Nick nodded slowly before carefully entering the room. Greg lay in his bed, oxygen mask over his mouth and eyes closed, his ragged breathing sounding impossibly harsh to Nick's ears. The incessant beep of the heart monitor was little comfort as Nick watched Greg's chest struggle to rise and fall. Walking over to the bed, Nick took Greg's hand in his covered ones. "Hey, Greggo," he said.

Greg blinked once, twice, then croaked, "Nick? What're you doing—" but then he erupted into a fit of coughing.

"Shh, don't try to talk," said Nick gently. "You need to save your strength so you can get better."

Greg shook his head slowly, face completely calm. "Nicky, I'm not going to get better."

"Yes you are, Greg," said Nick firmly.

"No, Nick, I'm not," whispered Greg. "I'm so tired…so tired of fighting. I can't even see Sara…can't even tell her I love her one last time."

"You're going to get better. You just need to rest, build your immune system back up," said Nick, still not believing that Greg could die.

"Nick, listen to me," wheezed Greg, a thin sheen of sweat visible on his forehead. "I'm dying. And I have no ability left to fight this. Just…just promise me one thing, ok?"

Nick gripped Greg's hand tighter. "Anything, buddy," he whispered, oblivious to the tears beginning to drip down his face.

"Tell Sara…tell her I love her. And tell her I'm sorry that I'm not strong enough to stay with her. Tell her I will always be with her. Tell her…tell her good-bye."

"Just hold on, Greggo," urged Nick, barely able to speak through his tears. "Hold on and you can tell her yourself."

Greg turned his head toward Nick and looked at him sadly. "I don't think that's an option now," he whispered, energy running out. "Good-bye, Nick."

Nick held Greg's hand as Greg fell asleep, tears clogging his vision and fogging the plastic of his haz-mat suit hood. "Hold on, Greggo," he whispered again. "You have to hold on."

A/N: M. Avium Intracellulare is a real disease. I didn't make it up. The "M." stands for microbacterium.

So I'm going on vacation until Saturday the 17th, and I don't think I'll be able to get to a computer during that time, so, unfortuantely, and partially because I'm evil, you'll be stuck with this for almost an entire week. Good news, though: you can spend that time thinking of what could happen! Anywho...