Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot!
Greg Sanders was shutting down.
It wasn't a slow process, nor a very fast one. It happened in it's own time, began without warning to anyone else, and the signs were all too subtle to pick up on until it was too late. The first time he dragged in to work tired enough to fall asleep standing up no one took notice. They did that most days too. And when he started doing it every day they still ignored it. Greg was a self proclaimed partier, of course he would get little sleep.
The bags under his eyes were attributed to such little sleep. His excessive coffee drinking was nothing new. He'd always drank a lot of coffee, so a couple extra cups per day were not even note worthy. The shake of his hands went undetected, since he hid out in his lab all day. A heavy ceramic mug filled with steaming liquid could steady the shakiest of hands; they escaped notice. And since no one thought to look at his hands, no one could tell that his nails were suddenly chewed off, although he had never been a biter. His bloody fingertips were unseen.
Greg had always had a bad diet. He'd been told many times that the things he ate would be the death of him. So it was no surprise, really, that he was getting skinnier. But it was about the time that he started fading faster that people finally noticed that he was more than skinny. He was starved. His clothes hung off his frame like a skeleton, and when he was caught in the locker room changing a shirt every bone in his body could be counted. They had asked in their concerned voices, but he had just looked at them with his dying eyes. His spark had faded.
After that, the signs came too fast to process. He became quieter and quieter until he stopped talking altogether unless asked a question. His body slowed down; it didn't respond to him as quickly as it used to. He stopped drinking coffee. His face looked like he was a drowning man staring up at the light and knowing air was just out of his reach. The day he came in to work without doing his hair was the day they decided to take action.
And it was the day they were too late.
They were all there; they all watched him as he finally shut down. He had taken one step in to the break room and he had fallen, both figuratively and literally. His body gave up at long last and he collapsed to the floor without so much as a sigh. Just closed his eyes and crumpled. They all cried out, of course. But they were too far behind to save him. All they could do was pick up the broken pieces and hope to put him back together again.
He remained unconscious for five days. He swam in and out for another two months. The doctors had stabilized him two hours after he arrived at the hospital, and had announced that they had seen this before. There was a simple, tragic explanation for his condition. Greg Sanders had lost the will to go on. He had lost the will to live. They were left wondering how they missed it. The signs had been there for them to see, how had they remained so blind to him?
There was always someone there for him when he awoke, always someone to try and call him back to the real world. Sometimes he met their eyes, sometimes not. It became a race again time as the CSIs fought for the life of one of their own. And it was a race none of them had ever expected to fight before. To fight the physical and follow the evidence to rescue a body, that was what they knew. But to fight the mind, where there were no clues but words? How could they fight that when they were given no words?
It took three more months for Greg to give them words, and he was never alone. But they were too late again, too stupid to see the signals. He was lying in his bed and staring silently at nothing while Nick sat by his side, chatting just to fill the silence. He had looked up, a rare occurrence, and Nick had paused to smile at him encouragingly. Greg had opened his mouth and turned the world upside down.
"I love you," was all he said. Then his mind reached out to protect him again, and he sank back in to oblivion, deaf to Nick's screams for him to return to the world. Nick tried through the night to revive his broken husk, but he had shut down again. And then they were forced to wait once more.
Waiting gave them time to reflect, and reflection on mistakes is never pleasant. They identified every sign, and drew up mental time lines. They could see now, all the things that should have told them Greg was falling. And they could also see now all the things that should have told them that Greg was in love with Nick Stokes. Nick could see; once confronted with himself, he realized he loved Greg too. And he was desperate to rescue him.
It took six months for Greg's mind to loosen its hold. He swam up out of his faded black and the first thing he knew was Nick's voice. He fell back. He swam up again and he could hear Catherine. She was crying, and calling out to him. He tried to rise, but fell back once more. The third time, he opened his eyes and there was no one. It was the first time he had been left alone. Had they given up on him? Then the door to his room opened and Nick came in, holding a cup of cafeteria coffee. He acted faster than his own mind, before Greg could shut down again.
"I love you too," he said, his words hurried but sure. And Greg's mind paused, uncertain if it had somehow picked up a bad wire. Nick sat next to him and the coffee was close enough for Greg to smell. He slipped a bit closer to the world. Nick's voice washed over him like a soothing wave, apologizing, and professing. He professed love and apologized for not seeing it before. He apologized for not watching the signs.
And Greg smiled.
He felt a spark of something he recognized as life, and it flooded through him with warmth. So tiring was life that he wanted to sleep. But before he slept he moved. He reached out a weakened hand and he grasped on to Nick's strong one. And his sleep was untroubled knowing that he had such a strong guardian there to watch over him.
When he awoke, it was a beautiful feeling. He could feel his body, and he could hear his thoughts. They spoke no longer of falling away, but standing up. They urged him to life, not death. He could hear many voices, and many tears. He could smell coffee and three types of perfume or cologne. He felt the sheets wrapped around him, the warm hand held in his, and the latex gloved hand brushing his cheek.
His eyes opened and there they were; his whole life stood before him. His team of CSIs cried out once more for him, to know that he had returned. And his parents stood silent behind the commotion, content to know that their son was in good hands. Greg took in the crying smiles of Sara who had come straight from work, Grissom who was like his second father, Warrick who had always treated him like a brother, Catherine who was his confidant in harder times, and finally Nick who he loved beyond words and dreams. He saw them there, and he knew that he would never have to fade again.
There was hope now, and there was a reason to go on. So Greg took a hold of that reason and held tight, shoving it around in his mind as if to say 'I am here to stay'. When he looked over at Nick, he tried to squeeze tighter and found that he was feeble. But he was only smiled at and Nick leaned over to whisper in his ear.
When Nick whispered that he was not alone anymore, Greg believed him. When he whispered that he would help, Greg accepted him. And when he whispered that he loved him, Greg smiled. It would take time before he was himself again, but with the help of these crying smiles, he would make it. Greg had shut down, and they had brought him back to life. He had faded and they had made him brighter. Life had given him a second chance. Or rather, life had seen the signs.
And these people were his life.