He's never wanted to do anything more than he wants to pull that trigger. Never. He can feel the sun beating down on the back of his neck, hear the helicopter blades overhead and Brass crashing through the brush behind him, can smell blood and pine needles, but all he can see is that alley. That fucking alley, filthy and dark and Grissom, sobbing and covered in blood, and Warrick, big funny handsome Warrick laying on his back on the dirty pavement with his mouth open and his unseeing eyes reflecting the sky.
He's never been able to understand what makes people kill. Swore there's nothing that could drive him to that, but when Brass asks him about the gunshot, he isn't lying. He didn't have an attack of conscience or even common sense. He really did just miss.