Author's Note: This is almost done. Keep an eye out for my halloween special which is coming after this story is done posting.

The woman in the bed blinked a moment. And then, her expression morphed into one of recognition.

"Oh dammit, not you," she groaned.

Catherine seemed baffled as she looked from Nick to Camellia. "Have you two met before?"

Camellia turned away as Nick tried to keep his temper in check. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks as he clenched his jaw, his fingers itching to get a grip on Camellia's throat.

"What was Greg doing at your house again?" Nick demanded coolly through his gritted teeth.

"Saving my life," Camellia returned. "The doctors said that if he hadn't called the paramedics, the trauma could have killed me."

"But what was he doing there?" Nick hissed.

"Nick, this is my victim, would you let me conduct this interview?" Catherine asked, sounding shocked at Nick's behavior.

"Catherine, why don't you go call Brass," Nick whispered. "I need to have a word with this woman."

Catherine exhaled sharply, knowing she did not have the legal capacity to take this woman's statement without Brass, and so she nodded. "You have five minutes, but then I'm coming back, and you're going to tell me what the hell is going on."

Neither Nick nor Camellia spoke upon Catherine's exit. They each just took a moment to stare at each other. But Camellia seemed exceptionally uncomfortable with the silence. "What do you want me to say, huh?"

"An apology would be nice, first of all," Nick suggested.

"Apologize for what?" Camellia returned. "If you are jealous—"

Nick interrupted her with a barking laugh. "Jealous? Of who, of you? No. No, I could never be jealous of you. You're too pathetic. No, I want an apology on Greg's behalf. It's all your fault that he's all messed up the way he is now. It's your fault that he's an addict, and that he's scared, and that he's just… so sick and if you had never—"

"If I had never what, cariño?" Camellia retorted sharply. "If I had never let him blackmail me and take my pills? If I had never answered the phone when he called me, begging for more? If I had never answered the door when he walked into my house of his own free will and sat down to relax a little bit? I think, sugar, that you should remember that while you point that crooked little finger at me, there are three more pointing right back at you."

Nick scoffed, but he was unnerved. "What are you talking about?"

"Why do you think he turned to the pills in the first place, cariño?" Camellia whispered. "Why do you think he could only turn to me? He hated his life. He hated the people in it—"

"That's a lie," Nick hissed through gritted teeth. "Don't lie there and tell me that he…" But Nick wavered. "Don't say that. You're lying. Greg doesn't have the heart to hate anything or… or anyone."

She smirked wickedly. "You don't know him as well as I do, do you?" she asked. "You see the person that he wants to be. Stoic, strong, content… But I see him as the person he is, when he calls my number, and knocks on my door, stumbles in and asks for anything to take away the pain—"

"Shut up," Nick interjected. "Just… shut up. You don't even know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Camellia retorted. "I have seen him at his worst, cariño—"

"Yeah, well, so have I!" Nick shouted back. "You can't tell me that you've seen him at his worst when you haven't held him as he trembled from withdrawal and begged you not to take him to the hospital. You can't tell me you know him when you haven't seen the fear in his eyes when the doctor told him the truth of what's happening to him. And don't you even try to tell me that that person I see, the strong, smart and yet sometimes very vulnerable man, is not the real Greg Sanders. Now what the hell was he doing at your crime scene?"

Camellia was finally silent as she stared at Nick, her lower lip protruding slightly. She closed her eyes and turned away. "I don't have to tell you that."

"You better believe you're going to tell Catherine," Nick hissed. "So you might as well tell me, too."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Camellia spat, strangely bitter.

"Because he's too out of his mind to say anything coherent," Nick returned. "Look, the doctors said that if he doesn't wean himself off the drugs, the withdrawal could kill him. So he's doped up on twenty mils right now. So you're going to tell me. You got that? Cariña?"

The door opened and Catherine strode in, putting her phone away. Nick growled agitatedly, but Catherine shot him a glare that could turn Medusa to stone, so he quieted quickly. The older CSI turned instead to Camellia.

"Miss Peréz," Catherine began coldly. "What were you doing when the car drove into the wall?"

Camellia's eyes were moist as she watched Catherine, and a slick tongue slipped out to lick her chapped lips. "I was talking to… Greg."

Catherine swallowed and blinked. "What were the two of you discussing?"

"It's not important," said Camellia.

"It's important to me," Nick growled.

"We could have been talking about Mickey Mouse for all it matters," Camellia snapped. "Bastard still would have driven a car through my house either way, wouldn't he have?"

"There is a possibility that he wasn't targeting you…" Catherine said slowly.

"You think Lyle would call Greg a cunt, do you?" Camellia retorted.

Catherine pursed her lips. "I'm just trying to keep an open mind here, Miss Peréz."

"Lyle hated me," Camellia said with a sigh. "He ran his car into my house, probably waiting for me to walk by that window so he'd be sure to hit me."

"Why did he hate you?" Catherine asked.

"Maybe for the same reason Greg hates me," Camellia answered. Nick was confused to hear a tinge of self-loathing in her voice. If she were anyone else, and if Greg weren't involved, Nick would have almost felt sorry for her.

"That's not answering my question, Miss Peréz," Catherine pointed out.

Camellia looked away. "I'm tired. Can we do this later?"

"Look, I have a very sick man half-conscious in my car right now," Nick snapped, just about at the breaking point. He ignored Catherine's surprised expression as he ploughed on, not caring anymore what he said or who he hurt. "I need to know the reason he got this way. I need to know what the hell you said to him, what lie you fed him to make him think that—"

"I'm sorry he's sick!" Camellia finally burst out, loud and shrill enough to shatter glass. The tears were streaking down her face. "I never meant to hurt him, I didn't mean to give it to him, it was an accident, I didn't lie, I didn't tell him anything, I couldn't have lied because I didn't know, alright? At the time I didn't know, I didn't know…" She burst into inconsolable sobs, pulling her legs up beneath the hospital sheets and leaned her forehead against her knees.

Catherine immediately turned on her friend. "What the hell is the matter with you?! This interview is about a case, not about Greg!"

"Your interview may be about a case, but I have my own questions for this woman, OK?" Nick returned. "And you should too, Catherine! My God, if you could see Greg right now…"

"He's with you," Catherine stated frankly. "Greg is with you and you didn't think to tell me about this before coming in here with me?" She blanched and her fingers flew to her face. "Oh God… he's why you're here, isn't he? Tell me what's wrong, Nicky. What's going on?"

There was a knock on the door and then Brass entered, looking aghast and annoyed as he stared at his sobbing witness and the two CSIs. "Catherine, I told you to start without me, but I didn't tell you to reduce the woman to tears!"

"You can blame Nick for that," Catherine said. "He starts in on her about what she did to Greg and the next thing I know she's babbling about how she didn't know—"

"I didn't!" Camellia insisted through clenched teeth. She looked up at them with a swollen, tear-stained face, but her gaze was fierce. "I swear I didn't know."

"What exactly is it that you didn't know?" Brass asked.

"That I'm sick," Camellia replied. "I swear I didn't know. But I didn't think it mattered anyway because we used a fucking condom so…"

Nick's knees went weak and he stumbled backwards. He wrapped his arms around himself and stared at Camellia in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"You said he's sick too!" Camellia returned. "You just said it! But I didn't know, I didn't mean to—"

"I meant sick with withdrawal…" Nick uttered, his jaw hanging slackly. "I meant that you sold him the…" His stomach gurgled inside and let out a groaning sound as he suppressed his gag reflex. "What the fuck did you give him you bitch!" Nick suddenly burst out, launching himself madly at the woman in the hospital bed. He felt two pairs of arms encircle him. One pair was burly and unforgiving while the other was slim but very strong. Both of them threw Nick back, away from Camellia, and the Texan fell into a chair by the door, gasping for breath, his furious eyes unable to leave the damaged girl in the hospital bed.

"Catherine!" Brass barked demandingly. "Would you please take him outside while I finish this interview!"

Catherine nodded, her lips thin, as she gripped Nick's wrist and pulled him to his feet, dragging him out the door even as he chomped at the bit to get another chance at Camellia.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Catherine demanded.

"Greg. Greg is what's the matter with me, Catherine," Nick returned. "I just can't…" He put his hand over his eyes and then ran it through his greasy hair. "Jesus, Catherine, if you could just see him—"

"Then show him to me," Catherine returned, her blue eyes frigid.

The hand in his hair stopped as he took her in. It was a casual stance, her weight on her left foot as her hand rested on her hip. Her eyes were locked with his and her lips were straight. Not even a hair on her head moved. Catherine always had an attitude about her, but this was different. She rarely used this gaze on anyone that wasn't a murder suspect. But Nick knew that she was deathly serious.

Slowly, he nodded. "OK," he said. "OK."

The door opened, jarring Greg abruptly from his sleep and he jolted. Sleep hung heavily on his eyelashes. Nick couldn't have been gone longer than twenty seconds... Unless Greg had actually fallen asleep, which in all actuality could have happened. For all Greg knew, it could have been twenty seconds or twenty hours later.

The Texan climbed into the car without a word to Greg and turned the key in the ignition. The younger CSI blinked at him.

"You OK?" he asked.

"Funny question for you to be asking me," Nick mumbled as he put the car in reverse. He looked over his shoulder as he backed up.

"You're different," Greg noted. "What happened? Where did you go?"

"Upstairs."

"Where upstairs?" Greg asked.

"Back into the hospital."

"Why?"

"Don't talk to me, Greg," Nick sighed, then pursed his lips, staring straight ahead out of the windshield as he made his way out of the parking garage.

Greg's heart rate increased as he stared at Nick in silence. "What's wrong? What'd I do?"

Nick said nothing as they pulled out of the garage and into the night. Greg was blinded by streetlamps and neon. He closed his eyes tightly and moved closer to the door, further away from Nick. He tried to maneuver his head into a comfortable position against the cold window. The glass was icy against his cheek.

"I'm gonna be straight with you," Nick finally said after a few more blocks. "I'm taking you to the clinic."

"What?!" Greg exclaimed, his voice cracking. "No, no, no, you promised, Nick, I can't—I can't deal with that yet, no, I need you, I need you, Nick—"

"I'm only telling you," Nick began, "as a courtesy. Something you neglected to do for me."

Greg began to panic. "What are you talking about?"

Nick shook his head as they came to a stoplight, but seemed too stunned to speak.

"Nick, tell me what's going on!" Greg demanded, desperately.

"You want me to tell you what's going on, Greg?" Nick returned, furiously. "I talked to your doctor back there and do you want to know what he asked me? If I wanted to get tested. For HIV. Why do you think he'd ask me that, Greg?"

Greg's heart lurched as icy tendrils constricted around his throat. "Nick... Nick, I was gonna tell you, I swear..."

"Don't even try, Greg," Nick spat. "You know why this happened, don't you?"

"Yes!" Greg half-sobbed. "Yes, God yes, it's because I'm a moron, a stupid naive little kid who got into a bad situation and—"

"It's because you're disgusting," Nick interrupted coldly. "You think it's just recently that you suddenly became stupid, Greg? You're whole life is a joke. Everything about you is... tainted. And I want nothing to do with you."

There was a rapping on the window and something cut across the darkness of Greg's consciousness. His eyes fluttered open to see Nick casting him a concerned expression through the glass. His heart was still racing ahead of him as he immediately turned to look at the driver's side and found it vacant. He also noticed that they were still in the garage, beneath the hospital. They hadn't driven anywhere. Nick didn't know anything about Greg's possible illness. It had all been a dream... And yet it had been so vivid, Greg had been convinced that it was actually happening. He turned back to look out the window again as his vision focused and Nick opened his door.

"Greg?" the older man called tentatively.

Greg's throat was too dry and constricted for speech so he simply nodded his understanding. There was a sharp intake of breath and he blinked in time to see a blur of blonde hair. Minutes later, cool hands were on either side of his face, thumbs running across his cheekbones, pushing his hair back, even pulling at the skin around his eyes. He blinked a little more rapidly as his pupils shrank and he made out the distinctive form of Catherine Willows.

"My God, what's happening to you?" she breathed, and the next minute he was in her arms, her chin was on his shoulder, but his own arms were too heavy to return the embrace, and he was still too discombobulated to say anything worthwhile.

"Talk to me, Greg. Are you OK?"

"Mm..." Greg tried, but it was all he could do.

"He's drugged up right now, Cath, you won't get much out of him. I'm not sure if he's even completely aware that we're even here at all."

That wasn't true. Greg was very aware, painfully aware, if only he could reassure them...

"I..." But he lost his train of thought. It didn't matter if they were there or not. Everything was just too much effort.

"What's going on, Nick? You know something I don't, so spill."

"Greg is having a few... problems. But he's working them out. I'm helping him, and there's a clinic—"

"Clinic, what sort of clinic?"

"Catherine..."

"Nick!"

It was as if Greg wasn't even there. His eyes moved from one of his friends to the other as they spoke. But Nick's eyes remained on Greg.

"Greg is really sick, Catherine."

"I know, that's what Ana Peréz said, but you won't tell me with what!"

Nick was silent for a few seconds. But Catherine was impatient.

"Nicky!"

"I know what she said, alright, but I don't think she meant it in the same way I do. I don't... I don't know how she meant it, he won't tell me, the doctor won't tell me either, OK, but all I know is that it's probably transmitted..." His face flushed red and he ran a hand through his hair. "Aw, Jesus, Catherine, do we have to talk about—"

"Nick, we lost Sara to California, and Warrick to... We've lost Warrick. We neglected Warrick, there had to be more that we could have done and I don't want—"

"Catherine, please—"

"OK, then I'll ask Greg myself." She whirled around, her hair flying off her shoulders as she turned and shot daggers at the young, drugged up CSI. Her expression softened as she reached out and took Greg's hand, sandwiching it between her own. "Greg... sweetie... can you hear me?"

Greg managed a nod, but knew that his face most likely wore the most vacant expression she had ever seen, because her brow furrowed in doubt. She squeezed his hand harder. "What's going on with you, huh? Are you sick? What's the matter, honey, what are you sick with?"

"Catherine, it's not just—"

"You shut up if you won't talk to me," she snapped shrilly. She turned back to Greg and tried to smile even as a single tear escaped her eye. "Do you remember... We're family. Right? You know how much what you do effects us. Right? You understand that, don't you?"

Greg nodded again.

"If our roles were reversed," Catherine continued. "You would want to know, and I would tell you. So tell me, Greg. What's wrong?"

Greg's eyes moved lazily over to the Texan, who was standing with folded arms and a set expression. "Nick..." he choked, making the older man look up. He closed his eyes and nodded his head at Catherine, before yawning.

"What's that mean, G?"

"I think it means he wants you to tell me..." Catherine said slowly, turning from one of her friends to the other.

"Is that what you want, Greg?" Nick asked, his voice only a whisper but echoing in the space of the garage.

Again, Greg nodded, then leaned his head wearily against the door frame.

"Greg has a Valium problem," Nick explained matter-of-factly to Catherine. "But he knows it. He's getting help. Right now."

"From this clinic you were talking about?"

"Yes."

"Is that all?"

"It's all I know."

"So... what did Ana Peréz mean when she said..."

"I don't know."

Greg closed his eyes tightly. "Camellia..."

Nick looked up. "Yes, Greg. Camellia."

"Nick..." He wanted to tell them. He needed them to know. If he had the virus, they would find out sooner or later. And even if he didn't have it, they would eventually find out Camellia was HIV positive and connect the dots. He groaned. His dream flashed inside his mind. So vivid, so sharp. He could still hear Nick's bitter words. "I want nothing to do with you."

"Catherine," Nick said quietly. "I'm going to take him now. Why don't you go upstairs and talk to Brass. You're on right now, aren't you?"

Slowly, Catherine nodded. "Take good care of him, would you Nicky?" she whispered.

"You know I will."

Her heals clicked on the concrete as she walked away towards the elevator. Nick closed the door to Greg's side, leaving the younger man in silence a moment, before he opened the other door and got in the car. He turned the keys in the ignition, saying nothing to Greg, who had an unhinging sense of déjà vu.

He swallowed to open his throat. It didn't help much, but he tried to speak. "Where're we... where we goin'?"

Nick blinked and looked at him, his hands on the wheel. He seemed surprised that Greg was coherent enough to construct a sentence. "Where do you want to go?"

"So long's I'm with you..." Greg began, his mind trailing off into silence. He shrugged. "Don't care."

Nick pursed his lips as he continued to look at Greg. He reached out and squeezed a hand on his lap. "I'm going to take care of you, Greggo," he promised. "OK?"

Greg somehow managed a smile. "Kay."