A/N: I needed to write something silly.
"They're dead. They're all dead," Grissom muttered as he sank down on the curbing outside the Las Vegas Crime Lab.
Behind him, there was a scurry of activity as men and women in containment suits removed the parachute like material that covered the building.
One by one, the CSIs on the night shift began to show up. Each was met with the disturbing image of Grissom now curled up in the fetal position on the sidewalk outside the building.
"Griss, man, what's wrong?" Nick asked as he knelt down over his mentor. "Come on, Grissom. Talk to us." Nick looked at his coworkers for help or assistance of some sort.
Four pairs of eyes just stared down at him, unsure of what was wrong and hesitant to do anything that might make the situation worse.
"Move it, Nicky," Catherine said as she squatted down beside the man in the child-like position. "Gil, you're scaring the children," she said as she smiled up at her colleagues. "What's wrong?"
He look at Catherine and sat up, drawing his knees under his stubbly chin. "They're all gone."
"Who's gone, Grissom?" Sara asked in a rather dispassionate tone.
"My babies—they're all gone," he said as he glanced back at the building. "It's all my fault. I should have been here. I'm so sorry, my babies," he said barely above a whisper as he continued to look at the building.
"Babies? Griss, did you have a little too much fun on that sabbatical? Drink some bong water or something? You don't have kids," Greg said. Feeling all eyes turn on him, he added, "Like none of you have ever tried the water?"
"They were innocent. They didn't do anything to anyone. Oh my god," he fell back to his side on the cement, "what am I going to do?" Sobs began to shake his body.
About that time, Conrad Ecklie appeared on the sidewalk. "People, crime scenes are waiting. What are you doing out here instead of getting your assignments. And why the hell is Grissom on the ground sniveling like a petulant child?"
"I don't know," Catherine said as she stood up and straightened her clothes. "He keeps mumbling that they're all dead." She shrugged her shoulders as she glanced at each team member silently asking for some help explaining the situation.
"Well, I don't care what the problem is. Get him off the sidewalk and you people get to work."
Suddenly, without warning, Grissom sprang to his feet. Tear streaked cheeks and a drenched beard made him look like a madman. "YOU!" he shouted after Ecklie, causing the man to turn around. "You did this. You murdering bastard!"
"Gil, I don't know what you're talking about. I suggest you find yourself a counselor or something. Did you get bitten by some weird insect on your sabbatical?"
Visibly shaking, Grissom walked slowly toward Ecklie. "They never hurt you. Why did you do it? You knew," and then he turned to look at each of his underlings. "And none of you did anything to stop it."
Greg looked from Nick to Warrick and made the universal crazy symbol with his finger twirling near the side of his head.
Ecklie smiled and shifted to his 'I'm the boss and I don't have to explain anything to you stance.'
"Grissom, you really should read your interoffice memos more often. This fumigation was planned for months—way before you ever left."
Suddenly, it all made sense. 'They' were his spiders, cockroaches and every other creepy critter he had amassed over the years. Everyone knew that Gil Grissom was wound tightly. No one would have expected that a bunch of arachnids and insects would be his undoing. As they gently sat him in the back of the padded van bound tightly in a white straight jacket, everyone could still hear him whispering over and over again, "My babies."