A/N: I don't know why I'm doing this. I'm not even 100 sure a bunny even exists here. I'm no longer the reliable person I once was and my schedule is insane. I also feel that crossovers aren't exploited as much as they should be.

However I do live off comments, and where muse is lacking; comments are motivation. hint-hint

If when this story is finally complete… the title doesn't make any sense, I'm terribly sorry. I'm just incapable of leaving it as 'Untitled' 'til an amazing title hits me if it ever will.

On a completely different note, Sean Maher is hot.

"I want you to know Greg, this is completely up to you, no obligations. You don't have to do it if you don't want to." Grissom said looking up at the younger CSI standing by his desk. Greg stared back at him slightly blankly and for a long moment, Grissom couldn't help but wonder if Greg had understood a word he'd said. He watched as Greg shifted slightly, rolling up on to the balls of his feet before settling back down again. His gaze moved upwards to somewhere above Grissom's head, but his face remained emotionless.

"Greg?" Grissom said, eyebrows raised in uncertainty, "you don't have to give an answer right now, but I need to know by the end of the week." He looked back down at his paperwork and continued to fill out number 3 of the 8 identical forms. Greg turned slowly and walked out of the office, carefully closing the door behind him. Grissom watched his youngest CSI leave, eyes narrowed with concern, maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.

-----

Four hours later when Grissom left his office to go home, he was made certain that he'd definitely made the wrong decision. In the empty morning hours when the lab was at its quietest and employees were hard to come by, Greg Sanders was standing outside what was once his lab. A hand almost pressed up against the glass door, but not quite touching it; eyes looking into the room, but not quite seeing it.

Grissom hated moments like these, he wasn't a psychiatrist and neither emotion nor communication were his forte. He found himself standing next to his CSI trying not to seem expectant, he needed a signal, a sign to tell him what to do, which direction to take, what pace to go. Gil Grissom was not a people's person. Unfortunately Greg was acting as if though his presence hadn't even been noticed and Grissom wished he'd just lash out, scream, shout, smash the glass, cry even, something, anything that he could respond to.

"I'll go."

"What?" Grissom found himself caught off-guard by the comment and its normalcy.

"I'll go," Greg said more fluidly now, his hand now actually coming into contact with the door, "I mean what reason do I have not to? This," he indicated the lab with his free hand, "this is nothing, it's stupid, I'm being idiotic. I'll go. It'll be good to get away."

The very basic knowledge of psychiatry he had accumulated over his years screamed at him to disagree, keep him here, keep him close, he couldn't afford to lose a CSI anyway. Greg was still too young, too naïve, too sheltered for the world.

"Hey Grissom! Don't worry about it! I'll be able to catch up on my surfing!"

"Greg."

"You know, sometimes I feel I've lived my whole life in this lab... I was so young," he whispered wistfully opening the door and walking in, "so young." Grissom stood at the doorway and watched as Greg went further in, hands sweeping over familiar worktops, machinery, bottles, almost as if captivated. Greg stopped in the middle of the room, surveying it carefully, noticing the changes and then ignoring them, he took in a deep breath of strong lab air before he continued, "this is all I've ever known you know? I was so young, so free, and then I was here every night and even in the days when I was at home I was here and then, and then you know I'm here, now and I have nothing."

Grissom shifted uncomfortably at the repetition of the words 'you know', what was it that Greg wanted? A connection? A similarity? Understanding that he just didn't have? 'I don't know' he wanted to say 'but if you hold on a moment, I can ring Nick' he almost laughed, what an American sitcom comment. "You're still young," he said instead, probably the most inadequate response possible.

Greg's face split into a light grin at that and he chuckled slightly, "where have my six years gone?" he asked, the regretful tone still not gone. He pulled down the plastic board and uncapped a marker pen, 'GREG WAS HERE' he wrote in block graffiti style before turning back to Grissom. "Will you remember me? If I were to die tomorrow, would you remember me?"

Grissom gave him a slightly horrified look, where had he left the number for the psychiatrist? He cursed his lack of articulacy, wanting nothing more than to explain that of all the people in the lab, Greg was the most memorable, the one who turned everything inside-out, upside down and still managed to come out on top, the one who made everyone laugh, the one who linked the lab and the field, the one who everyone wanted to protect.

"I don't think you should go."

"I want to. When can I leave?"

"When you're ready."

"Trust me Grissom, it'll be fine. I'll send you postcards everyday."

-----

"Stokes."

"I need you to do me a favour."

"Grissom?"

"You said you were going home for your vacation time,"

"Yes…"

"I need you to take a small detour."

"A small detour?"

"A relatively small detour?"

"Relatively? Relative to what?"

"Sydney."

-----

"Grissom put you up to this," Greg said, a statement as opposed to a question, knowing full well that Nick hadn't just 'decided' to take a plane to some ranch in Texas via Miami.

"Nooooo," Nick said, drawing out the word as if though it made him more convincing despite knowing that Greg could see straight through him.

"Nick…"

"Yes, but, it's only because we're worried," he lied. In all honesty he had no idea what he was doing on this plane sitting next to Greg Sanders on the way to Miami. The next time Grissom roped him in to something he would definitely ask about the reasoning.

"I'm almost 30."

Nick stared at him, almost 30? Who was he kidding, Greg was no way near 30, he'd only just… wait, maybe he was… no way

"Nick? Are you OK?"

"What? Yeh! I'm, I'm fine. It's just nothing." He stared at the chair in front, avoiding eye contact with Greg, time went so fast, where had his life gone when he wasn't looking? How could he be so old. Unmarried and alone. He closed his eyes thinking of his siblings and their cosy, happy families in their houses with their pets and their straightforward day jobs. He needed this vacation.

Greg watched as Nick lost himself in his thoughts before he turned to look out of the window as the plane left Vegas behind in a blur of bright lights and neon that you could see even through the light haze of clouds they were flying over. Miami, he'd decided would be good. A fresh start. A new life; if only for a few weeks.

-----