A/N: It's been so long since I've written a new story. And I promise I haven't neglected my current WIP. I've just stalled out a little bit. Anyway, I don't own CSI, CBS, or any other known entity. The title is from the song "Shadow of the Day" by Linkin Park, and I don't own that either. As always, I hope you guys enjoy the story, and please review. :)

Shadow of the Day

His hand hesitates slightly as it trails down the window, leaving a clear streak through the steam his breath is causing. The raindrops on the outside match the movements he's making on the inside, and he forces himself to steady his breath. He's not supposed to break down.

And yet, that's exactly what he's fighting against.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket, taking another deep breath. He tries to push himself away from the window to head back to work, but the rain is calling and his thoughts are running and he can't make himself focus on any other task at hand right now. He leans his forehead into the window pane instead, closing his eyes.

Footsteps enter the room behind him, and without even turning around, he knows exactly who they belong to. He keeps his eyes closed, and begs his voice and body language not to betray every emotion he was feeling.

Maybe just one…

To his surprise, the newcomer in the room doesn't say anything, instead simply sitting behind him on the bench. Expecting him to say the first word or make the first move.

It's not gonna happen…

They stay in companionable silence for the moment before the other man in the room finally says, "What can I do?"

He shakes his head against the window, eyes still closed. "There's nothing anyone can do," he replies.

The man on the bench nods. "The time when words and actions aren't enough."

The only response is the rain against the window.

"I am sorry."

"Everyone always is," he muttered, his voice being distorted by the window.

"This is true."

The room falls into silence again, and while both of them know that the conversation is far from over, neither one is sure where they want it to go. Because while the man on the bench wants the truth and answers, the man against the window is bound and determined to say nothing.

It's a battle of fortitude.

The man on the bench caves first, if for no other reason than to attempt to ease some of the pain of the man against the window. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do?"

The man at the window sighs, trying hard not to snap. "What is it that you want to do?" he asks, fighting to maintain his composure. "Nothing we do or say right here is going to change anything for her."

"Maybe it's not about her."

"This is about her, though. This is all about her. Just how she wanted it."

"What about what you want?"

The man by the window groans. "I think it's a little late for that, don't you?"

"I wouldn't know."

"It's not like she's going on some stupid vacation with her girlfriends. This is it."

And while the man at the window is growing angrier with each remark, the man on the bench is struggling to put together the pieces of the jigsaw for the full picture. Beyond watching his younger, yet superior, colleague struggle, he has very little idea what's really going on. "And, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"The question's simple, Greg. What about you?"

Greg opens his eyes, but keeps staring out the window. "Clearly, I'm not enough," he says, the statement reduced to a tear-threatening acknowledgement.

Ray breathes in his colleague's pain, finally putting the last piece into place. "What did she say?" he asks quietly.

Greg shakes his head, fighting to keep his emotions in check. "All she said was, 'I'm sorry.'"

Ray nods, just watching as Greg loses the inner war.

"Why wasn't I enough?" the younger man sobs.

And all Ray can say is, "you were right before. It's about her, not you."

Greg says nothing, continuing to cry while facing the window. Because even though he knows that Ray knows that he's crying, he doesn't want Ray to see it.

"It's not that you weren't enough, Greg," Ray continues. "It's not about you at all."

Greg scrubs his hand down his face.

"Sometimes, the hardest things for us to live with are the choices made by those we love. Once her mind was made up, there wasn't a thing you could do to change it."

"It's not that easy," Greg whispers.

"It never is," Ray acknowledges.

"I thought she loved me. That… that we were getting through this, that we were going to be okay." Greg bites his lips, trying to maintain any semblance of self, before realizing that by this point, he's already lost. "I really thought I was good enough for her. I thought I was doing everything right. I just… I don't get why. Why?"

Greg chokes on the last word, tears streaming down his face, and Ray has to fight hard not to join his friend in the emotion. "Was she getting help from anyone besides you?" the older man probes gently.

Greg shakes his head. "Sh-she couldn't… t-talk about it. Not even with me."

Ray flinches but nods his understanding.

"I kept trying, you know?" Greg continues. "T-trying to get her help. I just… I knew. I knew what was going to happen, and… and I didn't stop it. I should've been able to stop it."

Ray finally stands up from the bench, walking over toward his distraught teammate. "There wasn't anything you could do," he assures the younger man.

Greg shakes his head furiously in rebuttal.

Ray gently places his hand on Greg's shoulder. "Greg, listen to me. You can't make someone do something they don't want to do. You gave her options, but you couldn't make her choose a path. That would've only exacerbated the situation. You did everything you could- you loved her, you supported her. She chose a devastating path, but there was nothing you could do differently to change the outcome."

Greg continues to shake his head, albeit slower than before.

"It's hard to hear," Ray continues. "And, I imagine, even harder to accept. But you can't save everyone, Greg. No matter what you do."

Greg turns away from the window, allowing himself to lean back against the wall before sliding down to the floor. Ray sits down next to him.

"Doesn't feel like I couldn't help," Greg breathes through the tears.

"Never does," Ray says.

"And now what? I go home and curl up with her ghost? A steady reminder of how I failed her?"

Ray falls silent, because Greg's questions have no answers.

"I'll never get that image out of my head," Greg continues, crying. "Her body… the love of my life kills herself, and I'm just supposed to move on? How?"

Ray shrugs. "As much as you're not going to want to hear this, you'll find a way," he says. "And we're all here for you."

Greg snorts softly. "You're right. I don't want to hear it."

Greg's sarcasm gives Ray the smallest smirk.

"But, thanks," Greg offers quietly.

"Any time," Ray replies. "Now, if you really want something that'll make you feel better, we can go over to the PD gym, tape a picture of Hodges to the punching bags, and get out some aggression."

Greg smiles slightly. "As much fun as that sounds like, I think I'm gonna pass. I've got arrangements to make."

Ray nods. "Alright. But any time you want, that offer still stands."

"I appreciate it. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Ray pats Greg on the knee before standing up and heading for the door.

"Hey, Ray?"

Ray stops and turns to his colleague.

"Do you really think there was nothing I could've done?"

Ray nods. "You can't make someone admit they have a problem, or make them get help. The only thing you can do is let them make their own choices and hope for the best."

Greg nods slowly.

"You did what you could, Greg. Take comfort in that."

"What if that's not enough?" Greg asks.

"That's when you come talk to us," Ray replies.

Greg nods again.

Sensing that the conversation is over, Ray turns back for the door. Before exiting the room, he says, "I'm very sorry for your loss, Greg."

Greg lets his head fall back against the wall before whispering, "Yeah, me too."

The End