Greg continued in his routine. The night after he'd gotten high, he had refrained from indulging in his favorite escape, and chalked up his irritability and discomfort to a bad mood. Regardless, he tried to pace himself, skipping another night, and blatantly ignoring Catherine when she remarked that he was clammy at work.

Nick's anxiety about Greg did not seem to lessen as the days passed, though he did seem to be attempting to be nice to Greg. Greg wondered if the Texan could use a few pills himself now and then to calm down.

And then, one day at work, Nick brought up a topic Greg didn't even know the Texan knew about.

"So are you still seeing that girl?"

Greg looked up. The question had come out of nowhere. They were in the AV lab looking over security footage and Archie had left for some coffee, so they were alone.

"What girl?" Because Greg honestly could not think of whom Nick was referring to.

"A while ago, when I dropped you off to pick up your car," Nick explained. "There was a... a girl. The two of you seemed pretty friendly, is all. I just... I mean, I just assumed..."

"No," said Greg, shaking his head. "I mean..." He tried to think fast, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest. He felt the sweat gather in his palms. "Er... Why are you asking me this? It's none of your business!"

He hadn't meant to snap, but he seemed to be growing more and more irritable at work. He had an inkling why, but refused to consciously acknowledge it, so he just tried to reason with himself that his colleagues were getting on his nerves more often recently.

The fact that Nick didn't take his testiness personally showed Greg just how common this mood had become for him. "I just... I wanted to warn you is all. I talked to her—"

"You what?!" Greg exploded.

"Calm down!" Nick hissed insistently. "You're gonna draw a crowd, alright? Don't worry, she didn't know that I knew you. I was just... I wanted to make sure that she was OK for you. She's not."

"Who are you to say that, huh?" Greg demanded icily. "It's my life, I can date who I want."

"She said that it was just business between you, whatever that means..." And then, comprehension seemed to dawn on Nick's face and Greg's stomach twisted so violently he thought he'd have to run out right there and throw up.

"M-means w-what?" Greg managed to stutter, horrified.

"Oh God..." Nick muttered, concern etched deep in his features. "Greg... I can't believe it."

"Nick, I can explain—"

"You're a-a-a great guy!" Nick cried. "I mean, I don't... Well, that is... Women, I'm sure, find you... very attractive, right? And you're funny! Women love funny!"

Greg blinked. "What are you talking about?"

Nick looked suddenly very awkward. "I mean, what you do with your personal life is your business, I guess, I just never thought that... someone like you would ever really need a... a prostitute to—"

"Oh!" Greg exclaimed, everything suddenly making so much sense. "Oh... Oh, yeah..." He was about to deny that Camellia was a prostitute when he realized that it was a better explanation than the alternative. "Yeah, she, uh... Yeah," he finished dully, not sure exactly what to say at that point.

Nick sighed with relief. "Oh, wow, well, at least I feel better now..." He laughed. "For a moment, I thought you might be getting into a dangerous relationship, but... Well, if you both feel it's strictly business, then... I guess you're right. It's not my business, is it?"

Greg also emitted a low, relieved sigh. "Yeah, yeah it isn't. So, uh... So let's not bring it up again, OK?"

Nick nodded. "You don't... have to be embarrassed about it, ya know?" he said. "But if you want, I know a couple girls who would probably really like you..."

"Thanks, but no thanks," said Greg, rolling his eyes.

Archie reentered the room with his coffee in hand and slid into the chair. Nick and Greg became very quiet and Archie looked from one to the other.

"You know that feeling you get when you walk in the room and everyone stops talking and you think that maybe you were the topic of conversation?"

Nick and Greg simply blinked at him.

Archie shifted uncomfortably then turned back to the video. "Yeah, I totally don't have that feeling."

Greg rolled his eyes, and it occurred to him that Archie rarely bothered him, even on his bad days. The fact that he was so unhinged began to bother him.

"I, uh... I'm gonna go get some coffee myself."

He ducked out of the room, knowing he had provoked a curious glance from Nick as he did so and made his way swiftly down the hall until he somehow managed to find the bathroom, pushing the door open and gripping the sink as he looked at himself in the mirror.

He was probably paler than he'd ever remembered being. He slept more during the day, when he took his dose of Valium to knock him out first, and so he rarely saw any sun. But he was more than pale. His skin was a strange sallow shade, especially under and around the corners of his eyes. He pulled at his cheek to see the vivid red of the skin beneath his eye. He bit his lip, sighed, and turned on the water, splashing his face, telling himself to get a grip.

He was beginning to forget things. Like how many days it had been since he'd sampled the marijuana at Camellia's. He even forgot when the last time he'd taken a dose of Valium to calm down was. Had it been a day ago or two days ago? He closed his eyes, trying to think. He took deep breaths. This wasn't good. This was unhealthy. He needed more pills.

He reached a shaking hand into his pocket and pulled out his faithful bottle before tapping four pills into his open palm. He closed his sweaty fist around them. They were hot in his hand. He looked up in the mirror.

This was indeed very bad.

His breath hitched in his throat and he swallowed, before dropping the pills one by one back into the bottle and screwing the cap on.

No, he thought. I can't take them at work. I'm fucked if I take them at work. Wait. Relax.

The problem was that he couldn't relax, not anymore, not without the pills. Weeks ago, he had managed smoothly. At night, he used to take one or two pills and during the day he had been fine, happy, even sociable. But as he built up a tolerance, he was losing all that. He needed to increase his dosage. He needed to find that happy medium again.

But there was no hiding from the sallow complexion in the mirror, the dry, sunken eyes, the wide irises...

He pursed his lips and pocketed the bottle before turning around abruptly and exiting the bathroom. As he paced down the hall, he couldn't resist reaching into his pocket again to pull out his small bottle. He looked at the label, which predictably read Diazepam. The person it had initially been prescribed to was scratched out. He focused to try and read the name, wondering if maybe he could get a jump on Camellia's supplier, when—

"Oh! Darn it all! I'm so sorry!"

Greg had been so startled by the bump that he had dropped the bottle and it fell to the floor, along with the young blonde lab tech's papers. He barely registered the innocently sweet voice wrapped snugly in a deep Southern drawl, even more pronounced than Nick's. He kneeled down with her to help collect them when she laughed, awkwardly.

"Oh dear, I am such a scatterbrain!" she exclaimed. "This is my fault, I'm sorry, I didn't see you."

"Didn't see you either," Greg admitted, but he wasn't paying much attention. His eyes were on his pill bottle which rested right between the woman's sensible black heels. The tech was crouching, which meant that reaching for it would be awkward, but he couldn't let it just lay there.

"I'm Molly, by the way," she said cheerfully, still focused on gathering the papers.

"Molly, hey," he muttered, trying to devise a way of obtaining his pills subtly without the young woman thinking he was reaching for somewhere inappropriate. The last thing he needed was a sexual harassment write-up.

"And you are?"

She was looking at him and he didn't understand the question. Finally, his mind caught up with him. "Oh. Greg." And then, recognition fluttered across his face. This was the girl he'd seen Nick flirting with weeks ago. Why he remembered her, Greg wasn't sure, but he remembered very clearly the way Nick had smiled, the way his hand had rested on her shoulder, and the way his eyes had gravitated downwards and then back up again as she walked away.

He was so lost in this memory that he hadn't even realized that she had picked up the pills and was examining them.

"Diazepam, huh?" she said conversationally, jolting Greg back to the present. She handed it back to him. "Yeah, I was on that a few years ago when I was finishin' up my masters... I was goin' nuts from the stress, so my roommate insisted I see someone. How's it workin' for you, darlin'?"

Greg blinked, pausing a moment to gather his wits. "Oh, it's, uh, it's not mine," he covered quickly, pocketing the bottle immediately after receiving it. "It's, um... evidence. In a case. Very important. Are you on day shift?"

"No," said Molly. "I'm fillin' in for Henry Andrews in toxicology? He's out at a, um..."

"Semester at Johns Hopkins for biochemical research..." Greg finished, suddenly remembering. "I forgot..."

"Well, we all forget things," said Molly reassuringly.

"Not me," said Greg suddenly. "I'm generally good at not forgetting. Now I'm forgetting things..."

"Are you OK?" Molly asked, slowly.

"Yes. No. Yes. I mean, yeah, I'm fine."

She laughed again, but this time it was strangely awkward. "OK, then..." She rose to her feet and Greg followed suit. "You have a nice day, now, with your, uh... big case?"

"Yup, very big," Greg assured her.

"Is it the same one Nick's workin' on?"

"Oh, you know Nick?" Greg tried to sound nonchalant, but felt that he had failed.

She nodded. "He's been super sweet, helpin' me acclimate to the lab and such." She rolled her eyes. "Much better than that David Hodges, who was the first person I asked for help, but he claimed he didn't have time for 'rookies.' I'm not a rookie; I've been workin' toxicology for three years in Atlanta!"

Greg hated the smile that formed on his lips. This girl was young, naive, and enthusiastic. He knew from experience that Nick responded well to enthusiasm. Somewhere along the way, he had lost his. Maybe if he got it back, Nick might...

Greg shook his head to clear it and sighed. "Good. I mean, Hodges is a dick, it's common knowledge, but he's pretty good with trace evidence, which is pretty much the only reason we put up with him... And don't tell him I said he was good. That's the last thing he needs to hear."

"Ha, don't worry, I won't," she said. She frowned as she took him in. "You know, I've actually seen you around a lot. It's funny that we haven't met until just now. I've been around here about two months now."

"Yeah, that is funny," Greg said, not really caring at all. "I need to go, I, uh, have to talk to Nick about... stuff..."

"Sure thing," said Molly, hugging her papers to her chest. "I'll see you around, then? Don't be afraid to pop by to say hi, now. Ciao!" She walked passed him and away down the hall. Greg's eyes glanced downward, just to see what Nick had been looking at, and flinched to see that it was a fairly nice view. He hated to think that Nick might be interested in her. He hated to think that Nick could never be interested in him.

He had gone home that morning exhausted, and yet he refused to take his pills. He recognized the symptoms, but he still believed that he could control what was happening to him, and so he tried. He didn't remember when his last dosage was, so he needed to detox. He could still handle this. He was sure of it.

But by midmorning, his sheets were tangled and drenched in sweat as he shivered, as if he had some sort of ruthless fever. And the worst part was, no matter how much he tossed and turned or what he did, sleep remained as elusive as ever, perpetually hiding just behind his pillow, which he was constantly turning over. He flipped onto his back, spreading his arms across the bed and stared at the ceiling with a whimper.

This was not going well.

It must have been a long time since he'd taken a dose of Valium for the withdrawal symptoms to be this bad. He glanced at his bedroom door with tired, bloodshot eyes. It would be so easy, he thought, to just roll out of bed and go to the bathroom, swallow a couple pills, and then the pain would be gone and I could breathe again. I would sleep again.

And sleep was a rare gem that he was very anxious to possess.

"I have to..." he panted, every muscle in his body sore, as if he had just run a mile without stretching. He groaned as he moved, his breathing labored, and he let out a broken sob as he reached the end of his bed. He stumbled to his feet, putting an angry palm to his forehead and pressing hard against his skull to hold back the migraine assaulting his senses. He was seeing spots, but tried to ignore them as he made his way blindly down the dark hall. He refused to turn on the lights, because he knew the warm, incandescent glow would blind him. He was getting headaches just putting up with the florescent glare in the lab.

Finally, he reached the bathroom and seized the bottle. It took him a moment to uncap it, with his shaking hands, but he finally did, and four tiny five milligram pills fell into his hand. They were in his mouth within seconds and he tried to dry swallow but gagged. He quickly ran the tap and stuck a glass beneath it before bringing it to his lips and tossing his head back.

He sighed when the deed was done, his migraine already beginning to fade away, and he dragged his feet back into the hallway and towards his bedroom. By the time he reached his bed, he was still trembling, but his breathing was normal, and the spots were gone, and he climbed on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling.

Little by little, a tingling sensation crawled through his muscles, unwinding them, massaging them, and they were no longer heavy or sore and he relaxed into his mattress, allowing his eyes to close as his mind drifted away from him.

He shouldn't worry about the Valium thing. Withdrawal was a bitch, but so long as he had the pills, he could make everything better again, and things would be fine.

Valium made everything fine.

Greg would be just fine...

The work days were growing longer and Greg's doses were increasing. When he was not on his medication, he was constantly worried about this. But when he was, he somehow managed to convince himself that it wasn't a problem. And the worst part was, he was beginning to prefer himself on his medication than off of it. He didn't want to stop.

To make matters worse, Nick placed a delicate hand on his back as he stood hunched over a table, sorting through evidence, this time the contents of their DB's purse. It was hot but welcome, heavy on his back, forcing his damp shirt against his skin where Greg could feel the individual fibers, imagined what Nick's fingertips would feel like tracing circles on bare skin.

"Are you OK? You're sweating."

"It's a little hot in here..." Greg mumbled, and in his defense, it was. The ventilation in the lab was obstructed, and while they had been assured that mechanics were working on it, Greg felt like they couldn't fix it fast enough. Without circulating air, everything seemed stale and stifled, and it was making him rather claustrophobic, even though the room itself was rather wide. It made his throat close up, and his lungs struggle to breathe fresh oxygen. On top of that, the lights were bothering his eyes again.

He pulled at his already very loose collar, as if it would help, and swallowed to open his airways, trying to focus on his job.

"Mm..." Nick mumbled. "Yeah, a bit. Want me to open the door?"

"No, I can handle it," Greg replied, opening a tube of lipstick. It had been broken off at the end, the top of it smudged. "Hey, uh... um..." Oh God, I've forgotten his name! "Uh..."

"What?" the Texan asked.

"Nick!" Greg cried triumphantly, eliciting a confused look from his friend. But he beckoned him over, trying to play off his enthusiasm as excitement over a possible discovery. "Look at this. Seems to me the lipstick was open, got snapped off, and was hastily resealed. On top of that, there are Altoids all over the bottom of her purse. You think someone else was in this bag other than her?"

Nick took the lipstick in his gloved hand and examined it. "Could be... I'll print it and send it to Mandy to see what she comes up with." He smiled, almost proudly. "Good job, Greg."

The younger man sighed, out of breath, and nodded as he folded his arms. "Yeah, occasionally I get something right."

The Texan smiled warmly. "More than occasionally," he said reassuringly. He held up the tube. "I'm gonna get on this. How about you go and take a break? You look like you need it."

"Yeah..." Greg replied, breathless. He tried to smile, but it felt out of place somehow. Alien.

Nick exited the room and Greg tried to relax. He couldn't. So instead, he followed Nick out, intending on walking about outside in the cooler night air. Maybe his lungs would open up again.

He walked swiftly down the hall, the florescent light flooding his vision, causing periodic colored spots to appear and Greg knew that it was the beginning of a migraine that he wouldn't be able to ignore. But just as he reached the lobby, he stopped dead.

Camellia was leaning casually on Judy's desk on her right elbow, her body facing David Hodges, who seemed to be in deep conversation with her. His face was deathly serious but she was smiling, clearly amused, her eyes focused on him. After a moment, she glanced over his shoulder and noticed Greg. Her smile broadened and she waved.

Hodges turned around. "Oh, hey, Sanders," he greeted. He turned back to Camellia. "So you really are here for this Greg? Are you sure?"

"Shut up, Hodges," Greg murmured distractedly as he approached the woman at the center of his problem. "What are you doing here?" he hissed through gritted teeth.

She gestured innocently at Judy and Hodges. "I just wanted to see where you worked! I was curious, Conejo."

"What did she call you?"

"I said, shut up, Hodges," Greg said again, this time without even looking at him. "You aren't supposed to be here. You should go."

"Come on, sugar, I haven't seen you in weeks," she said. "You never call, you never write... Have you lost my e-mail, cariño?" She pouted dramatically and he rolled his eyes.

"What do you want?" he demanded quietly, his eyes darting around as he tried not to attract anymore attention to himself.

Hodges made that task impossible. "You mean she really is your girlfriend?!" Hodges proclaimed loudly to the entire lobby. Greg whirled around and glared at him with the fury of a demon. Hodges held up his hands defensively and stepped backwards. "Sorry, Sanders, I just thought she wasn't your type is all."

Her hands slid around his waist, her palms climbing up his chest as she rested her chin on his shoulder, her silken hair brushing against his ear. Greg sighed.

"I think you'd be surprised at what is Greg's type," she said, and even though he couldn't see it, Greg could hear the smirk in her voice.

And then, Greg's throat closed up and his heart dropped. Nick turned around the corner, his eyes on some papers, and then he looked up and stopped.

Camellia was now in the process of lightly kissing Greg's very pale neck, but Greg barely felt it. All of his attention was on Nick, and the oddly disappointed expression in the Texan's surprised eyes.

"Nick..." Greg managed to choke out, and Camellia looked up.

"The Texan tourist," she said pulling away from Greg and striding over to Nick, wiggling her hips as she went. "I should have known." She extended her hand to him. "My name is Camellia," she said.

Nick's tongue shot out to lick his lips and he gave a shallow nod at the vixen before taking her hand. "Nick."

"I gathered as much," she said.

He coughed, presumably to clear his throat as he shifted, seeming to come out of the trance Camellia had put him in. "I, uh... last time, I was just checking up on, uh... on Greg."

"Right," she said, nodding. "I understand."

Nick glanced up at Greg, who remained speechless. "He means a lot to me, ya know? I just... I wanna make sure he's OK. And you... I mean, you didn't look OK. But the two of you, uh... you seem to be on the same wavelength, so I guess, uh..." He frowned and looked at his watch. "You know, there's, uh, something I have to go and, uh... do. So I'm just going to go and do that and leave you two to do your thing. OK?"

"Nick..." Greg began again, but his friend held up a tired hand.

"Don't, Greg," he said, and turned around shaking his head.

Greg hated the guilt that formed like a lead weight in his stomach.

Camellia turned back to Greg, glancing at Hodges, who was watching on in glee. Greg badly wanted to strike him, and was barely able to restrain himself as his fury with Hodges swiftly replaced his guilt over Nick.

"Wipe that dopy smile off your face, it only advertises what a stupid voyeur you are," he snapped instead.

Hodges hid a chuckle behind his hand before turning around and walking away. Greg raked a shaking hand through his moist hair.

"You don't look good, Conejo," said Camellia, almost sounding worried. She seemed to get an idea. "You know, I know just the thing to make you all better."

His hand stopped in the middle of his scalp, his eyes glancing up at her in interest. "You do?" he asked.

She nodded, stepping closer and taking his free hand in hers. "Yes, Conejo. Come back to my place and I'll show you what I'm talking about. The gang's all there. They miss you, you know. You were quite the interesting stoner last time."

"Would you keep your voice down?!" Greg hissed, seizing her arm and glancing around nervously.

"What, you mean them?" she asked, gesturing at all the people bustling about, including Judy, who had turned back to her computer, ignoring Greg and Camellia again. Camellia moved towards Greg, pressing her body against his. "They're all caught up in their own busy lives, cariño. They have no idea about the fun we're up to."

Nonetheless, Greg still held his breath. He glanced at his watch. Shift wasn't over for another two hours. He looked up at the hall Nick had disappeared down and considered everything a moment. He moved closer to Camellia, so he could whisper in her ear.

"Do you have anything that could... make the withdrawal from the Valium not so intense?"

"Oh yes, Conejo," she replied. "I have everything you need."

Greg knew he was trembling, and sweating more than was usual in the dank air of the lab. He needed something to disguise these symptoms. He needed something that wasn't Valium to calm him down. Maybe Camellia could help him out with that.

"OK," he said, finally relenting. "Alright, I'll... I'll come." He broke away from her and put his hands on Judy's desk, making her look up. "Judy, tell Grissom that I, um, wasn't feeling well and headed out early to see a doctor."

She raised a curious eyebrow at Camellia and Greg knew that if she were the type to crack an inappropriate joke about 'playing doctor,' she would have. But instead, she simply said, "Please do. You look terrible."

"Yeah, so I hear," Greg mumbled.

"Don't worry about him," Camellia assured Judy, rubbing Greg's shoulders. "I am taking him to an herbal specialist. One hundred percent natural medicine. Come with me, Conejo..."

And with that, she guided him out of the lab, and back down the rabbit hole.