A/N: I'm going out of town for a week, so this'll be it for a bit. Thank you to everyone who reviewed! You guys rock! Once again, all medical terms and suchforth are not made up. Usual disclaimer applies; don't own and never will. Read on!

Chapter 2

"It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not"

Grissom headed straight to the morgue, looking for Greg. He found him in the hall outside, sitting on a bench. Greg stood as he approached, looking nervous. "So, what's the verdict?" he asked apprehensively.

Grissom didn't answer, instead noticing Greg's hands, which were clenched loosely at his sides. "I thought you said the shaking stopped," said Grissom. When Greg looked at him, confused, he elaborated, "After the explosion…you said the shaking stopped."

Greg held his hands out in front of him and looked down at them with something close to horror. "It did," he whispered, watching them shake. "It did." He looked at Grissom, dark eyes made even darker by the fear glinting in them. "Grissom, what the hell is happening to me?"

Grissom sighed and said quietly, "You're experiencing the early stages of Parkinson's. It's an effect of the white powder."

"Ok, so, Parkinson's," said Greg slowly. "That means the shaking will stop, right? Like, it'll be a tremor that goes on and off, right?"

"No, Greg," whispered Grissom, closing his eyes and turning away. "The shaking will only get worse."

"Grissom, what's going on?" asked Greg, panic beginning to edge into his voice. "What the hell is going on?"

"As we speak, the powder you inhaled is destroying your substantia nigra, a part of your brain in charge of transmitting messages to the rest of your body. As the destruction progresses, the shaking will not only increase, but will reach a point where you most likely will be unable to walk, and as it progresses even further, you will experience muscle death and heart failure. When this happens, you will die." Grissom delivered this horrifying oratory with a look of perfect calm on his face, but his voice cracked slightly as he told Greg that he would die, showing the emotion he felt.

Greg blinked slowly at him, then grinned. "You're joking, right? You're pulling my leg, aren't you? Trying to scare me so I won't ingest any more unknown substances, right?"

Grissom closed his eyes and shook his head. "I wish I was joking, Greg," he whispered. "I wish to God I was."

Sinking onto the bench, Greg buried his head in his hands. "Oh my God," he whispered, dark eyes filling with tears. "Oh my God, I'm going to die. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God—"

Grissom grabbed Greg's arm as the younger man started to shake even harder. "Greg, calm down," he said, trying to keep himself calm at the same time. "You're hyperventilating."

"Calm down?" exclaimed Greg. "How the hell am I supposed to calm down?" He paled visibly as a realization struck him. "Oh my God, I gotta talk to Nick…I gotta talk to Nick…" He stood shakily and Grissom rushed to help him, but he brushed Grissom away. "No, I can do this. I gotta do this, I gotta…" He was shaking so badly by this time that he fell, hitting his head with a sickening THUMP on the ground.

Grissom knelt next to him, checking his pulse with one hand and his pupils with the other. Greg had been knocked unconscious by his fall, so Grissom picked the young CSI up, surprised by how little he weighed. He carried Greg into the morgue, setting him down on one of the autopsy tables.

He went to go find Doc Robbins, poking his head into the Coroner's office. Doc Robbins was sitting at his desk, flipping through a file. "Hey, Doc," said Grissom quietly, "can I come in?"

"Sure," said Doc Robbins, setting the file down on his desk. "So, what's going on with Greg?"

Sighing deeply, Grissom leaned forward and told Doc everything. As he listened, Doc Robbins' brow furrowed more and more, and once the story was over, he looked gravely at Grissom. "How'd he take the news?" he asked quietly.

Grissom shrugged sadly. "I guess as well as can be expected. He fell over, hit his head and passed out, so I put him on one of your tables until he wakes up. In the meantime, I guess I'd better go tell everyone."

Doc Robbins nodded. "How far are you guys on tracking down an antidote?"

Grissom shrugged again. "We have the name of the biological warfare company that produced the chemical, so we'll be going out there." He looked at the coroner. "What are the chances of survival after the antidote is administered?"

Doc Robbins shrugged as well. "It depends on the destruction done to the substantia nigra. All the antidote will do is cease the destruction, but only time can rebuild it. If it's administered too late…well, you'll just have to find that antidote soon."

"I hope we do," whispered Grissom, standing to leave. "I really hope we do."

Nick poked his head into the lab where Sara was. "Hey, did you get Grissom's page? We're supposed to all meet him in the break room."

"Yeah, I was just on my way," said Sara, pulling her gloves off and tossing them on the table. "What do you think he wants to talk about?"

Nick shrugged. "With Grissom, who knows? Maybe Greg's mystery powder made a breakthrough in the case." They both walked to the break room, going in together. Nick made a beeline for the coffee and poured himself a cup. He took a sip and made a face. "Who makes this stuff?" he complained, tossing the cup in the garbage can and taking a seat.

Warrick grinned at him as he and Catherine entered. "So it's not Greg's stuff, huh? Thanks for the warning, man."

"Yeah, no problem," said Nick dryly, giving him a dirty look. He glanced impatiently at his watch. "Hey, has anyone seen Greg?"

"I thought he was supposed to report to you after he talked to Grissom…" said Sara, raising an eyebrow. "He never came to see you?"

Nick shook his head, frowning, as Grissom walked sedately into the room. "Alright, everyone, let's have a seat," he said quietly.

Warrick and Catherine sat down, and Sara shared a worried look with Nick before asking, "What's going on, Grissom?"

Suddenly, a knock on the door sounded, and Ecklie poked his head into the room. "You had better have a good reason for calling me down here, Gil," he said irritably. "I was in the middle of a briefing with the sheriff."

"Please sit down, Conrad," said Grissom quietly. "I was just about to get started." He turned back to everyone and sighed. "Alright, we have a situation. As most of you know, during Greg's survey of the vic's room, a white powder…"

As Grissom explained what was going on, a look of horror seemed to settle over everyone's face. Even Ecklie seemed grim at the thought of the ex-lab rat's death. When Grissom was finished, Ecklie stood slowly. "Not a word of this leaves this room, do you understand?" he said harshly. "If word were to get out…"

Nick, who had been staring in shock at Grissom, seemed to snap. He stood as well, drawing himself up to his full height and glaring at Ecklie with a look that radiated hate and loathing. "What, Ecklie? What would happen if word got out? Would you lose your precious job? Is that it?" He curled his lip and shook his head, eyes still burning with a fiery hatred. "Fuck you, man. Greg's life is at stake, and all you can think about is your goddamn cushy job? Un-fucking-believable."

Ecklie seemed temporarily taken aback, but he recovered quickly. "I'm going to disregard your comments due to the stress of the situation, but you had better watch yourself. As far as my job is concerned…well, it's not my job that I'm worried about. If the city were to hear about Greg's accident, he would lose his job." He paused and looked evenly at Nick. "Don't make the mistake in thinking that I care nothing for my employees, Mr. Stokes." He left as abruptly as he had come, sweeping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Warrick blinked at Grissom. "Wow," he remarked, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe Ecklie does have a heart."

Nick looked at Grissom as well. "You said the name of the bio warfare company was Bio-Tech?"

Grissom nodded, once. Nick nodded as well before striding to the door, a look of cold determination on his face. "Where are you going?" asked Grissom, frowning.

Nick turned and looked back at him with burning eyes. "I'm gonna go to that company and get that goddamn antidote," he growled. He yanked the door open and started to leave, then paused and looked back at Grissom, something akin to fear and anguish glinting in his eyes. "I can't lose him, Grissom," he whispered, turning back to the door. "I can't."

The receptionist at BioTech had not had a good morning. Hence, she was none too pleased to stop what she was doing on behalf of a policeman and his Texan sidekick. She had, however, been more than happy to hand them off to the CEO of BioTech's secretary.

"Wow," muttered Brass under his breath to Nick as the receptionist stalked away. "She's a pill."

Nick grunted noncommittally and craned his neck to see what the secretary was doing. She looked up at him and blinked. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stokes, but it will be a few minutes."

He tried his best to smile disarmingly. "Look, ma'am, I understand that your boss is very busy, but we're dealing with a homicide here."

"I understand that, Mr. Stokes," she said, shuffling some papers on her desk, "but there's really nothing I can do."

A muscle twitched in Nick's jaw. "And I understand that, ma'am," he said through clenched teeth, "but we really need to see him. The sooner, the better."

She sighed heavily. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Stokes," she began, but he cut her off.

"Look," he growled in a low, dangerous voice that bore no room for argument, "one of my best friend's life is at stake here, and I just want to get in and see if your boss can possibly save his life, alright?"

She nodded mutely, eyes wide, and stood. "I'll see what I can do," she said, and hurried off.

Brass raised an eyebrow at Nick. "I suppose you're not going to tell me what that was about," he remarked calmly, favoring Nick with a piercing stare. When Nick didn't answer, Brass said quietly, "Greg's our friend, too, Nick."

"I know," whispered Nick, still not looking at Brass. He finally looked up, eyes wet. "I just feel so helpless."

Brass nodded slowly. "At least you're doing all you can," he told him quietly. "You're doing everything in your power to help Greg, and he knows that."

"I hope so," said Nick, looking away. "I hope so."

At that moment, the secretary came out of the office. "You may go in now," she informed them, sitting back down at her desk.

"Great," said Nick shortly, and he and Brass went into the office.

The CEO, Thomas Wilson, came out from behind the desk, reaching out and shaking Nick's hand. "Mr. Stokes," he said before switching to shaking Brass' hand as well. "Captain Brass." He sighed and said, "I'm terribly sorry to hear about your friend, but I'm unsure what this has to do with BioTech Industries."

Nick pulled out Hodges; results for the white powder and gave it to the CEO. "That's what this has to do with your company."

"Oh dear," said Thomas meekly as he sank onto his chair behind his desk.

"'Oh dear' doesn't begin to cover it," said Brass grimly.

The CEO looked up, eyes wide. "We had a vial of Solution X stolen from our laboratory just under a month ago."

"Did you report it?" asked Nick, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," said Thomas, looking insulted. "Though not to LVPD," he added hastily. "As a government funded research laboratory, I reported to the FBI and the Department of Homeland Security. We're under their jurisdiction, so—"

"Right," said Nick, cutting him off. "Well, what can we do for an infected person? Is there an antidote, or—?"

"Yes," said the CEO. Nick looked relieved until the CEO continued. "And no."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" growled Nick. "I'm in no mood to play games."

"There was an antidote," said Tomas shamefacedly. "But whoever took the solution took the antidote."

"Damn," swore Nick, tears involuntarily welling in his eyes. "Damn."

Brass asked, "Is there a suspect in custody? Is there a suspect at all?"

Thomas shrugged. "That I do not know. You'll have to consult the FBI."

Nodding, Brass asked quietly, "Can you at least tell us how long we have to get the antidote before he's too far gone?"

"Yes," said the CEO in relief. "Provided you can tell me how long ago he was infected and what his current symptoms are."

As Brass explained the entire situation to the CEO, Nick sank into a chair, staring at the wall. Greg was going to die. That realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The only person that Nick had ever loved was going to die. He stared as nothing as numb shock dulled all his senses, only hearing snatches of Thomas' and Brass' conversation.

"…how long?"

"…seven days…"

"…can…do?"

"…keep him calm…morphine…"

Then Brass was tugging on Nick's arm, leading him out of the office. Nick tried to focus on him and what he was saying, but it was as if Brass was talking in slow motion. Suddenly, Brass slapped him. "Nick! Snap out of it!"

Nick started and shook his head to clear it. "Sorry, Jim," he said quietly.

"It's ok, Nick," said Brass concernedly, looking at him warily. "I just didn't want you passing out on me." He looked at Nick for a moment more before clapping him once on the shoulder. "Come on," he said, jerking his head towards the door. "We gotta go tell Grissom the news."

Nick stood outside the morgue, looking through the door as most of the team crowded around Greg. It had been unanimously decided that he would stay there, quarantined, until the antidote was found. There was an air of finality to everyone's movements as they went about trying to make the youngest CSI comfortable. Catherine arranged the sheets, blankets and pillows that she had brought in on the cot that Greg was going to be sleeping on, pausing only to ruffle his hair affectionately. Warrick joked with Greg about betting on how long he was going to be in there, but the joke was hollow. Sara barely spoke at all, only holding Greg's hand and trying not to cry.

And there was Greg in the middle of it all, smiling too widely as if forced. He was scared; his wide brown eyes reflected it, as did his too-pale features.

A single tear rolled down Nick's face as a sudden spasm took Greg. He shook hard, his hands gripping Sara's as he struggled for control. The morgue had grown silent as everyone watched their youngest colleague shake.

Nick closed his eyes and let himself cry softly for a few moments until a hand touched his arm.

It was Grissom. "You can go in there if you want," said the older man softly.

"I'd…I'd rather go in alone," said Nick, looking away.

Grissom nodded understandingly, his blue eyes seeing far more than Nick knew. "Look, Nick," he said hesitatingly. "It'll be ok."

"Griss, Greg's gonna die," whispered Nick, looking at him. "He's gonna die and there's nothing I can do."

"Bullshit," said Grissom calmly. He looked Nick in the eye. "Greg is not going to die. We are going to find that antidote." Nick just shook his head mutely. Grissom reached out and gripped his shoulder. "You are a damn good CSI, Nick Stokes. You will find the antidote. You cannot give up hope. You didn't give up when you were buried alive, Pancho, and I will not let you give up now."

Nick's eyes seemed to clear at the use of his nickname, and he nodded, slowly at first and then firmly. "I will find that antidote," he said, eyes shining and jaw clenched in resolution. "I promise."