Author's Note: This chapter kind of drags on if you ask me. I was in a slump when I wrote this. Next one's better. Much. It's also the second to last. There are two alternate endings! Joy! I finally decided on one, but I'll include the second ending in a bonus chapter, like special features on a DVD. Enjoy.

Warrick headed back into the lab as the military took Carter away from them. With a sigh, he made his way to the break room to get some coffee. As he passed the reception, a woman stood up.

"You are Warrick Brown?" she said.

Warrick stopped, having missed her before, and turned to greet her. He black hair was tied back in a ponytail and she wore horn-rimmed glasses. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

She reached out a hand. "My name is Dr. Samantha Utterson, I'm in charge of—"

"I know who you are," Warrick said, suddenly excited and confused all at once. "Why didn't the government whisk you away?"

"Brendan's name was on all their contracts," Samantha replied. "As I'm sure he told you, he handled the legalities, and the more shady side of our business. I'm here to inquire on the wellbeing of whoever was unfortunate enough to be infected with Dr. Samson's virus."

"The Samson Virus," Warrick said bitterly. "Is that what you're calling it?"

"I was just specifying which virus," Samantha said. "But I suppose it is fitting, as it was crafted by Dr. Samson and the first human victim is Matthew Samson."

"Is that true?" Warrick asked. "I heard a rumor he wasn't the first human victim, Dr. Utterson."

Samantha Utterson grew suddenly cold. "Can we have this conversation elsewhere?"

"I can take you into a room, if you like," Warrick said.

"Actually, I would much rather see the patient," Samantha replied. "Thanks to previous experiments, I have a knowledge of how the virus progresses."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do," Warrick said. "OK. If you think you can help him—"

"I never said that," Samantha said quickly. "I said I understood the disease. As soon as I heard what happened, I converted Katy's old team into a new team to research a cure. I'll do what I can, Mr. Brown, but I can't say it'll be enough."

"Well it's more than we got right now," Warrick said. "Follow me, Dr. Utterson."

Greg had never been dead before, so he wasn't so sure what he should expect. But floating in strange black ether felt so similar to dreaming, that he could only deduce that he was still alive.

The lower side of me, so long indulged, so recently chained down, began to growl for license. Not that I dreamed of resuscitating Hyde; the bare idea of that would startle me to frenzy: no, it was in my own person, that I was once more tempted to trifle with my conscience; and it was as an ordinary secret sinner, that I at last fell before the assaults of temptation.

What the fuck is that?

Robert Louis Stevenson. You read him in ninth grade. Or rather, you pretended to. That particular passage was one Mrs. Lockwood made you read out in class.

So English wasn't my subject. How do you remember all of that?

I remember everything, my friend.

What's that passage mean anyway?

It means that even without me to blame, Greg, you will still find yourself fulfilling my urges. Do you know how that story ends? I don't think we got that far.

When do we die and get this over with?

I am not certain.

I feel… pain. And heat. What is this?

Hell.

But it wasn't Hell. No. It was too bright to be Hell. There were shapes and sweat which dripped into his eyes. He tossed his head back and let out a low, pained whimper.

Something cold touched Greg's forehead and he turned his burning head towards the source of relief. To his horror, it pulled away from him again and he tried to call out, but then something colder took its place, and dripped into his hair. Rivers of cold carved their way through his scalp and Greg almost smiled. But he still felt like he was burning.

"Hang in there, Greggo."

Nick. So it was Nick who was there. Greg couldn't recognize the face of the shapeless blob which stood off to his left, but he did recognize the name. He tried to speak, but his mouth would form no words. Every muscle in his body was contracting all at once. He missed his black ether. He even missed his alter-ego. If he had to wake up to a world of fire and pain, then he didn't want to wake up at all.

"Oh my God…"

Who was that? That wasn't nick. The voice… it wasn't deep enough.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Nick was concerned.

"I woke up."

"Sara—"

Sara!

"Nick, don't start with me. Oh God… look at him…"

No… No, Sara, run, go far, far away from me.

Greg's back arched as a spasm of pain shot up his spine and he let out a scream. He fell back on the bed, and things grew clearer, things weren't blurry, he could see again. He was in a clean white room. He was breathing heavily, but he still felt like his skin was burning. Even the cold compress on his head felt lukewarm now.

"Get out…" Greg muttered, staring at the ceiling.

"Greg?" Nick said. There was the sound of shuffling and two shadows blocked the light. Something clutched his hand and squeezed it very tight.

"No…" Greg panted. "Get her out of here…"

Whatever held his hand weakened and then let go all together. He saw one of the figures stepping back.

"Greg… it's Sara."

Greg closed his eyes. "I know… I know who she is…" When he opened his eyes again, the images were sharp enough to see their faces. Nick stood by his bed, and Sara by the door. Her eyes were wet. She looked like a train wreck. Greg smiled. "Aw, Jesus, beautiful…" he said. "What happened to you?"

Nick looked over his shoulder at Sara, but her eyes remained glued on Greg.

Greg took a deep breath. "You should go, you know… he wants to hurt you. I can't let that happen."

She strode forward quickly and took Greg's hand again. "Greg," she said. "Greg, honey, you have got to beat this, do you hear me?"

"What's wrong with me?" Greg asked. "What's going on?"

"You're sick, Greg," Nick said. "You have a virus."

"Is it contagious?" Greg asked. "You guys should both… leave…"

"It's not contagious, Greg," Nick said. "Not by a long shot. We've tested it."

"You're stronger than a silly little virus," Sara said. "You'll beat this."

Greg shook his head slowly. "In the car… Sara, I don't know what happened. I wasn't there, and I'm sorry, so whatever he did to you… But…"

"What is it, Greg?" Sara prompted when he didn't continue.

Greg's smile was delirious. "My God…" he said in awe. "You are so cute when you're worried."

Sara laughed and closed her eyes. She nodded. "Greg, I know he wasn't you. I crashed the car."

"I know you did," said Greg. "I was there."

"I thought you just said…"

"No," Greg interrupted. "You chased him away… you said that you loved me."

Sara's smile faded, but her grip on his hand tightened. Nick was looking at her in confusion.

"Greg…" Sara said. "I-I didn't know. I thought he was going to kill us."

"He was," Greg said. "He is. Still is. Oh God, it's so hot in here."

"Doctors gave you something for the fever," Nick said. "It oughtta be kicking in right about now. Things should cool down soon."

Greg kicked the sheets off his bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. Tears streamed out his eyes and into his hair. "Sara, I don't want to hurt you…"

"Sh," Sara said soothingly, stroking his hair. "You could never hurt me. Not even the other you. He's all talk. Just like you."

"I don't know what I could do anymore…" Greg whispered, his voice hoarse.

Nick rose to his feet. "I'm going to go tell Grissom you're lucid," he said. "He was on his way out, but he'll want to see you."

Greg nodded slowly. "Do you hate me, Sara?"

"Don't talk like that," Sara said. "I could never hate you."

"I might have killed you," Greg said. "Could have."

"Didn't," Sara replied. "I'm OK."

Greg's face contorted as another shot of pain ripped through his body. When it was gone, he began to cry. "I love you so much, if I end up hurting you I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

Sara rose to her feet and leaned over Greg. He looked over at her through his tears, which she wiped away with her hand. He smiled and laughed a little as her hair fell lightly around her face. She was pale, and her arm was still in a sling, but she was still a sight for Greg's very sore eyes.

"I told you already, Greg," Sara said. "You would never hurt me."

"What he said," Greg said, "I didn't mean it."

Sara laughed. "He said that you loved me. He called me an angel. He said I drove you crazy."

Greg rolled his eyes. "He didn't say all that."

"He did," Sara said, repositioning the cloth on his head. "He said a few other things too, but they don't matter to me."

"It hurts so much, Sara…" he said with a sob. "I can't do this."

Sara leaned down and gently kissed his salty dry lips. "Hush. When you beat this, I'll be here for you."

Greg closed his eyes and smiled. "Aw," he said. "Why'd you have to go and do that?"

"Because you're adorable," Sara replied.

"Nah, I know that," Greg said. "I always thought that our first kiss would be when I was dressed like James Bond or something, and I'd sweep you off your feet. Not when I'm all sweaty and gross."

"I don't mind you sweaty and gross," Sara said.

Greg laughed a weak and tired laugh. "Sara, I never go there on a first date."

"You're so dirty," Sara said rolling her eyes. "You're also a liar."

"I'm the perfect gentleman," Greg replied. He winced in pain, and Sara's face fell.

Nick came back in the room. "Grissom and Catherine headed back, Ecklie had a job for them. But look who I found in the hall?"

Warrick entered, followed by a woman neither Sara nor Greg recognized.

"Hey, there, Greg," Warrick said. "You look good."

"Who's she?" Greg asked.

"Mr. Sanders," the woman said, moving forward quickly. "I would like to ask you a few questions. Your fever looks like it's decreased, how do you feel?"

"Like shit," Greg replied. "But how are you?"

The woman looked back at Warrick. "Well at least he still has his sense of humor." She turned back to Greg. "Mr. Sanders, my name is Samantha Utterson, I'm here to help you. I have an intimate knowledge of this virus and I think that if you just answer my questions honestly, I can…" she glanced at Nick and Warrick. "I can maybe prevent this from happening to anyone else. Can you tell me when you started feeling the effects of the virus."

Greg shook his head no. "If you're familiar with this thing, Ms. Utterson—"

"Doctor Utterson," Samantha interrupted.

"Doctor," Greg said. "Then you know that I only remember half the things that happened to me."

"I see," said Samantha. "But you have become aware of the second part of you."

"All too much," Greg replied, his voice shaking with his shivering.

Samantha nodded. "And is there any conversation between the two of you?"

"Yes," Greg answered.

Samantha looked surprised. She directed her next questions to the others. "When the second personality surfaces, what color is his irises?"

"Blue," Sara answered.

"Uh huh," Samantha said. "How long has he been infected?"

"About ten hours," Nick answered.

Samantha was caught off guard. "Ten hours?"

"That's right," said Warrick. "Give or take about a half hour."

"Mr. Brown, may I speak with you outside a moment?" Samantha asked.

He nodded and they stepped outside.

"What's going on?" Greg asked Nick. "What's she doing here?"

"She's here to help, Greggo," Nick replied. "Grissom and Catherine send their regards."

"I don't want to be dead…" Greg muttered.

"You won't be," Nick said stubbornly.

Outside of Greg's room, Warrick turned to Samantha Utterson. "Alright, doc," he said. "What's with the surprise, I thought you knew all about this virus."

"I did," Samantha said. "Or at least the strain we had in our lab, but this virus isn't supposed to act that fast in ten hours. Your friend is describing symptoms seen after three weeks of infection. Sure, the incubation period is short, only a few hours, but by now the virus should have only created the division, and he should be acting out. His eyes shouldn't change color, for one, and for another the original personality should be completely unaware of the second personality, let alone be speaking with it. Judging by the blood sample you showed me, I can guess that ten hours ago someone shot him up with a double dose of it, but Katy must have been working on a new strain."

"What's that mean for Greg?" Warrick asked.

"Well," said Samantha, frowning. "The original strain was incredibly flawed. It's purpose was to—"

"Shape the ultimate soldier, leave your conscience at the door, I know," Warrick said.

"In effect, yes," Samantha said. "Create the perfect killer and when the job was done, revert back to one's original self with no recollection of the horrible things one did while in that state."

"The assassin personality serves as a sort of fugue state," Warrick said.

"Exactly," said Samantha. "You think we're evil, Mr. Brown, but we were trying to help the soldiers. If they had no recollection of the war they were in, there would be no post-traumatic stress."

"And they would gladly kill whoever they needed to for their country," Warrick replied.

Samantha sighed. "It was supposed to be harmless, in effect. Not create fevers like this, at any rate. The second personality was supposed to be without morals, it's true, but it wasn't supposed to be as violent as it turned out to be."

"Just obedient," Warrick said. "And what about this strain, what is it doing to Greg?"

"Besides progressing at a rapid rate?" Samantha said. "I'm not sure. I can tell you what comes after this, though. He will revert back to Greg Sanders, for an hour or so, and then he will slip into a very violent state. After that, his mind will slowly deteriorate until the virus has completely destroyed his DNA and his mind can no longer function. He will die."

"How long?" Warrick asked.

"At this rate?" Samantha said. "All that can happen in the next… three hours."

"Good God…" Warrick said with a sigh. "And there isn't anything you can do?"

"Not I, no," said Samantha. "But this strain may be different from its parent strain. Greg skipped a phase, for instance, and that is the catatonic stage, which in normal patients occurs sometime during the first week. The subject does not respond to external stimuli for about two days. This strain may skip more phases."

"I need to tell Grissom," Warrick said.

"I can do that," Samantha said, kindly. "You go in and be with your friend. He won't be like this much longer."

Warrick nodded and they parted ways. He looked in the room. "Nick, Sara?"

They both looked up at him as he beckoned them to meet him in the hall. Once outside, Warrick closed the door. "I didn't want to say this in front of Greg, but Samantha's prognosis was not a good one."

"Don't say it, Warrick," Sara said looking paler then ever. "Please, I just can't…" she stumbled and Nick caught her arm.

"Sara, you're not at the top of your game either—"

"I'm better than he is, Nick," Sara snapped. She pulled her arm away from him. "I can stand on my own, too." Although this assertion was undermined when her knees gave out from under her and she fell straight back into Nick's open arms. He lifted her to her feet again and swung her arm over his shoulder.

"You should lay down," he insisted.

"What did she say, Warrick?" Sara asked, ignoring Nick, though she continued to lean on him.

Warrick opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. "Damn…" he said, rubbing his eyes. Sara could see them glisten in the florescent light of the hospital hallway. "She said… Greg could be dead within the next three hours."

Sara took a deep breath and bit her lip as she wavered. Nick opened his mouth to speak but she held up a finger to silence him and closed her eyes, saying, "I'm fine!" before she completely lost consciousness and Nick caught her for the third time. Nick looked up at Warrick.

"Let's get her back to bed," he told his friend. "And make the best of what we have."

They did exactly that. On their way back over to Greg's room Warrick became nervous.

"What are we going to say to him?" he asked Nick.

"That we're not giving up on him," Nick replied.

Warrick opened the door and was hit in the face with full-fledged panic. "Looks like we won't be saying anything at all to him."

Nick's eyes darted around the room in fear. "Where the hell did he go?!"

The phone rang on three separate occasions in five minutes.

Grissom looked over the crime scene photos snapped by the day shift for the thirteenth time that hour. His mind kept wandering. He had left his heart back in that hospital. So it was a welcome distraction for him when his phone rang.

"Grissom."

"Mr. Grissom, I'm Dr. Utterson, I'm familiar with Greg Sanders virus."

"Are you now," Grissom said. "Then you're either with the military, or you're not allowed to be talking to me right now."

"Neither, my name was never on Carter's contract," she answered. "I have been asked by Warrick Brown to tell you that you might want to spend as much time with your friend as you can. The way the virus is progressing…"

Grissom tried to tune out her next words but they crawled into his ear like a centipede and wiggled around his mind. He closed his eyes.

"Thank you," he said, and hung up. He stood up and threw the photos down on the table angrily. He then sat down at his desk and stared at the phone for a few minutes before he felt the familiar sting behind his eyes and he began to cry. He took off his glasses and ran a hand through his hair. He wiped away his tears and swallowed his emotions, resolving to go back to the hospital and spend what time was left with Greg.

The phone rang again. For a moment, Grissom just stared at it, contemplating not answering. His compulsive habits got the better of him. He couldn't just let ringing phones lie.

"Hello," Grissom said, keeping the pain from his voice.

"Grissom, we have a problem."

"Nick?" Grissom said. "What's wrong? Is Greg OK?"

"Uh… He bolted. Again."

"He what?" Grissom's voice was flat with fatigue.

"He ditched the hospital," Nick said. "Did… did that doctor tell you—"

"Yes," Grissom said quietly. "She called just a minute ago."

"Grissom, we've gotta find him," Nick said. "Who knows what he's getting himself into?"

Grissom sighed. "I'll get Catherine."

He hung up on Nick and grabbed his vest, which he'd slung over his chair. He was just about to leave when the phone rang again. Hoping it was Catherine, and not Ecklie, he answered.

"What?" he said, sharply.

"Hey there, Grissom!"

Grissom paled. "Greg?"