Disclaimer: Sadly, as much as I'd love a portfolio of investments, I'd rather have CSI. I don't have either. I'm just borrowing. CSI belongs to CBS...

A/N – Thank you, gsr4ever, for the help and the title.

One Word

"Woo," Catherine sighed as she walked into the breakroom. "This is one shift I wouldn't look forward to ever repeating."

Warrick looked up from his magazine and watched as the blond crossed the room for the coffee pot. None of the team had said much to each other that evening, there had not been time in between cases to even get a moment in edgewise. Her tension was shared by everyone else on the shift that evening.

Two murdered kids, a robbery, a teen suicide because of not meeting her parents' overzealous expectations, a hit and run that left the driver in critical condition, and a rape case were not the best of conditions for a week of cases. It only compounded matters especially for them to have all happened in the same day.

"I was just about to hit the instant replay button," Warrick joked, his attempt at levity not lost on the room's only other occupant.

Catherine huffed a chuckle as she sipped from her freshly poured cup of coffee. Making a sour face, she spit the coffee back into the cup and dumped it harshly into the sink. "When was this made? Last month?"

She placed the cup down in the sink more strongly than was needed, but her frustration had reached its peak hours earlier. Not bothering to rinse it out, she turned towards Warrick and looked upon him thoughtfully. He seemed to be holding up well on the outside, but inside was most likely another story. They were all battling demons of one sort or another that evening. It only served in making them all question why life dealt the cards it did.

"Grissom will be glad he took tonight off. At this rate, our overtime will be running into next shift," Warrick surmised, pushing his can of Red Bull across the table towards Catherine in a peace offering.

She looked momentarily pleased as she took the few steps towards the table and yanked out a chair opposite her coworker. As she dropped herself unceremoniously into the chair, she gripped the can greedily and lifted it to her lips. After a long gulp, she placed it back on the table, giving Warrick a grin of thanks.

"He's got a lot to deal with these days," Catherine added slowly, watching her finger trace a lazy circle on the table.

It was on all their minds. No one really spoke of it, but it was always there lurking under the surface. Sara was not at work, and Grissom was barely around. When he was around, he was distracted. He did his job, but that was where they felt it stopped. He was there, but there was definitely something missing.

If they admitted it, it was missing for them, too. Sometimes they were honest enough to admit it to themselves, if never verbalizing it to anyone else. Not having Sara in the building definitely made a difference. It hurt, and it was empty.

The sun rose and set. The moon still rotated around the earth. The world had not shifted on its axis. Crime had not ceased. Murders were still committed. Paperwork still needed to be filed. Bureaucrats droned on about budgets and politics on the news. The world, it seemed did not miss their colleague being inside the walls of Las Vegas CSI. Life carried on as if there was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Days like this make me think about what life would be if I ended up in one of these situations," Warrick stated contemplatively, staring blankly at the magazine lying in front of him.

One eyebrow arched in response and acceptance. Catherine continued to look down towards the table. "I think we all think about those things from time to time."

Taking a deep breath, Warrick replied quietly, "More tonight than any other. So much useless violence. So many useless deaths all in such a short time. ... What if it was me?"

Catherine looked up, but her finger continued to trace an imaginary pattern on the table top. For a moment, she contemplated her own thoughts and wondered how to help him, if there was anything she really could say to make it better, to ease the pain.

Warrick continued speaking, filling the space. "Who'd I think of if I was looking death in the eye? When Nick was in that box, he thought about his family. They care about him..."

Catherine picked up where he trailed off. "...Greg has his parents..."

"...You've got your Mom, your sister, Lindsey..."

"...Sara had Grissom..."

Warrick looked up to meet her gaze. They stared at each other, searching the other's face for some answer that would solve the evils of the world. Catherine reached across the space of the table. Not sure what compelled her to do it, but she found herself wrapping her smaller hand around the larger hand of her coworker. With her palm on the back of his hand, she tucked her fingers around and underneath to squeeze just a little in a reassuring gesture.

The corner of Warrick's lips turned into a brief smile. He felt the strength she was trying to give him through that little touch. He turned his hand over and watched as Catherine left her hand there to lie on top still. She splayed out her finger to cover the span of his hand. He felt it. He felt the beat of her heart. He looked down at their joined hands.

"Warrick, sometimes it might seem darker than most, but you've got friends. You've got people who care about you. I wouldn't let anyone ever tell me that we all just work together. We far surpassed that years ago. We're like our own little dysfunctional family. So, don't you ever think you're alone." Catherine's voice floated out softly and soothingly, barely more than a whisper, but a sound that caressed his soul.

He sighed lightly, barely enough to be noticed. "I know that, but everyone has someone special, and I—"

"Hey," Catherine warned, cutting him off. "Don't do this to yourself. Okay?" She curled her fingers around and pulled his fingers into the palm of her hand to offer another squeeze. "You've got people who care about you just as much as you care about them."

"Thanks, Cath." Warrick offered her a more genuine smile than earlier. "I'm kinda glad Grissom isn't here tonight. I... I don't think I could have a conversation like this with him. ... Not right now."

Catherine released his hand and grabbed his drink again. "I hope everything's okay."

Grissom walked into the townhouse, the stale feeling of quiet greeted him. It had welcomed him for the prior three weeks. It had been a mixed blessing to come home at the end of each shift. He found himself unable to fully concentrate at the lab, but he dreaded the quiet that surrounded him at home.

Once relishing in the quiet solitude that his lonely life had afforded him, he had become accustomed to Sara's voice or presence. The little noises she made when she was around. Her noon runs to the refrigerator when he was trying to sleep. The stairs creaking under her feet. The TV tuned to something other than the discovery channel. The humming or low singing she did unconsciously when she was busy doing something. He even found himself missing her music.

The quiet assaulted him more than he ever thought possible.

As much as he was offended by the quiet, he was forced to battle each and every day with the tasks that Sara used to accomplish. He never really noticed how much she had taken over and helped out around the house. Grissom hated how petty he sounded, but it was a lot of work. He seriously detested having to do her chores as well as his.

It was she who had reminded him to take out the trash. Sara was the one who watered the plants. Washing the dishes still occurred every other night, but that was for lack of dishes, and not because of sharing the duty. Bruno was not able to walk himself, instead he was left to roam for a few minutes at a time in the tiny backyard.

He missed her cooking. No, it was not gourmet, never gourmet, but it was good. She had never liked cooking for herself, but she had enjoyed cooking for them. He missed her bringing the mail in and sorting it on the table. He missed her opening the newspaper and laying the sports section out for him.

Oh, and let him not forget the way the house stayed exactly the same way. It never changed, not one bit. Grissom was used to Sara rearranging the magazines on the coffee table. He had become accustomed to her putting the soy milk on the shelf rather than in the door. The book she had been reading lay untouched on the bedside table. Her side of the bed was in the same unkempt condition as it was when she was last in it three weeks earlier, but not that he was counting. No, he had not washed the sheets, and he found nothing wrong with that.

He still stood just inside the door, clenching and unclenching his free hand hanging at his side. He looked at the hook to his right and stared at her jacket. He realized that how permanent she was in the house. Everywhere he looked, he saw her. And, everywhere he went, he felt her. On impulse, he reached out towards the jacket. Pulling it from the hook, he crumpled it in his fist and brought it up to his nose. Breathing in the scent that was Sara made tears almost spring to his eyes. For her to be so close, yet so far away. So much the same, and so much different.

Grissom sighed into the stillness and made his way slowly towards the kitchen. He shuffled along, almost dragging his feet, as if to postpone the inevitable of getting further into the abyss of silence. He dropped the bag on the counter and unloaded the items. Dog treats were placed on the counter. The fruit was dropped into the top crisper drawer as he removed the old pieces and placed them in the trash. He moved the soy milk to the shelf, just because, because she did it that way. The cereal went in the cupboard. Bread on the counter next to the refrigerator. The razors were just laid on the bar to be put away later.

All around him lurked the shadows of a love and a life that were lost. They assaulted him sometimes when he least expected it and sometimes not.

The curtain to the patio billowed easily in the breeze. Grissom caught sight of it for the first time since he had been in the room. Bruno was unable to open doors, and somehow an irrational sliver of hope edged its way inside.

The little hum of the equipment was the only sound in the layout room. Greg and Nick scanned evidence from one of the two cases they had been assigned. Silence had consumed most of their time together that evening. It was the worst night they had had in months, and work left little time to make casual conversation.

As little verbal conversation had ensued, it left a lot of time for mental dialogue. Each person had their own thoughts roaming around their heads, but it seemed disrespectful to discuss their own personal or internal debates over someone else's pain and suffering. Finding it difficult to continue the hushed tone of the evening, Greg ventured to have some kind of exchange.

"Nick?" Greg asked cautiously.

"What's up?" came the distracted reply. Nick's head remained down, but his eyes moved upward to see what Greg was working on.

Greg sat back in his chair and removed his goggles. "I'm, uh... just wondering about... you know." He cleared his throat, gaining a little more confidence. "Not having Grissom standing here over our shoulders makes me think about stuff."

Nick knew he did not want to discuss Greg's topic of choice just as much as he knew he was going to, but playing dumb did not always hurt. Possibly, it might buy him a little time. "What stuff?" Shuffling a few pieces of clothing around, he pushed a T-shirt across the table towards Greg. "Throw the ALS on that, too, will ya?"

Feeling the not-so-subtle shift on the mood of the room, Greg kept his mouth shut. He knew as well as anyone that the ordeal with Sara brought Nick's emotions about his own abduction back to the surface. He had dealt with it and moved on dutifully, but seeing it made him feel the helplessness and frustration all over again. Even seeing it from the rescuer's side did nothing to change the emotions. It had made him more frantic to help her because, while the others could imagine her fears, he could feel them.

His nightmares had taken months to leave him after he was rescued. The irrational fears of ants and small bugs had taken a while longer. After Sara's ordeal, the insect fear might not have come back, but the nightmares returned with a vengeance. Sometimes it was a box, sometimes a car, sometimes him, and sometimes Sara. No matter what the combination, the result was always the same. He woke up panicked, empty, and alone.

Anger and deflection had taken a front seat to most of his reactions. From the time right after his abduction, whenever he heard someone refer to it, Nick would get internally angry but outwardly offer a joke or a smirk to deflect the question or remark. Afterwards, he would go home and take out his anger on the punching bag in his garage. As time went on, he noticed his anger coming out at the wrong times. It had taken some time, but Nick pulled it under control, only for it to strike out at the wrong time.

Knowing that Sara was helplessly under that psychopath's control, lying there waiting on them to find her and rescue her, was breeding insanity. Not only did it bring back his fears of having been alone inside that coffin for so long, it made him fear for his friend. He knew how he had been angry and cynical and bitter, even sometimes still, if he admitted it.

Nick was afraid that his pseudo-sister, the one who championed for the underdog, would end up the same way as him if she made it out alive. They had always been so similar in helping out the helpless, but she was always more headstrong, more fearless, in her path. It was scary to see her take on so much sometimes, but he knew the victims deserved the best. To think that Sara could lose her fight was driving him insane while she was declared missing.

He continued telling himself that a pessimistic and contemptuous Sara was better than no Sara at all. He kept reminding himself that it was not over until they found her, that she was out there, somewhere, waiting on them to find her. He had persisted in repeating the mantra of 'It's not your day, Sara.' over and over in his head. He let it go as soon as they found her.

Feeling guilty about shutting his friend down, Nick relented. For too long he had been shutting everyone down, everyone out. Greg had, in fact, been through his own near-death experience. It would not be right if he kept his friend from letting go of his demons the way he knew best. While Nick's and Sara's situations were closer in nature, all three of them had been put into their own circle of Hell, an ordeal that most people would never understand.

"You're worried about what happens after, aren't you?" Nick asked quietly.

"Sorta. ... Grissom's a nice guy and all, but he's acting weird."

"Weird for normal people, or weird for Grissom?" Nick knew he was out of his league talking about how someone on the outside was affected in the aftermath. He could speak on his own behalf, but that was a tainted version because of his own ordeal.

Greg responded first with a little chuckle. He knew about Nick's deflecting technique, but he also knew his friend was trying. "Grissom... He's distant."

"He, uh... He kinda has a right to be." If possible, Nick's voice got even quieter. His eyes never left the jeans he had been examining. "When he saw her... It wasn't pretty. That image has to be burned in his mind forever. He, uh, needs time to process it all."

Greg studied his friend and coworker. He knew that Nick was speaking more from personal experience than from the outside vantage point. He had seen Sara, they all had. Her case was not some random nameless, faceless case they worked and shelved when it was over. It would live with them, haunt them, forever.

"Do you think it's good for him to be like that when he's at home? I mean, ya know, it can't be good." Greg asked nervously, realizing that Grissom's home life was mostly never a topic of conversation.

"I doubt he's like that at home. He's just Grissom. He won't talk about it. He'll find a way to decompress when he's not here. We all find ways to cope with what hurts us the most." He looked over at Greg earnestly. "Sometimes people help, and sometimes they don't. Sometimes time does, and sometimes too much time can hurt."

Greg realized that Nick was right. The Texan had been forced to take off time after his abduction and go home to heal. He reconnected with family he had not seen in years. He came home healed and seemingly happy. He was still shaken upon his arrival at McCarran, but he was a whole lot better than when he left.

Greg's parents had wanted to visit, but he had told them not to. He had told them that he was fine and going back to work, that they need not worry. He knew he needed people and work to get his mind off of what had happened. He was eager to see his family and to enjoy their company and be comforted, but he did not want the hassle.

There was not a lot to tell about his beating. Sure, he was beat to a pulp, but that was physical. Sure, he ultimately took a life, and that had its own pain and mental anguish. He justified it in his mind. He knew what he did was right, he saved a life. His situation was not worse or better than Nick's or Sara's, but it was inherently different.

He had not been taken and left for dead by some whacko to be mentally tortured for hours on end before it all came to a close. Greg would choose physical pain over psychological any day of the week. Nick had been taken at random, and that had to be hard to imagine, but at least it had not been personal. Sara was taken because of who she was and who she was with. Grissom might not have the physical recuperation to endure, but he was sure to have mental scars.

The cure-all was relative to who it was being applied to.

Greg put his goggles back on and set to getting back to work. "Even if we can't go over and see her, I'm glad she has Grissom. At least she has someone to help her work through it."

"It's good that they have each other," Nick agreed.

To Be Continued...