Title: Not Myself (Based on the song by John Mayer.)
Author: neon
Author's Note: You may recognize my writing style. I changed my s/n. I used to be Stripped, but John Mayer's CD fascinates me, and I love every single song on it. My favorites just happen to be 'Neon' and 'Why Georgia?' and I chose 'Neon' as my s/n. So, don't flame me for 'stealing Stripped's stories,' because IT'S ME, MAN!
Summary: Archie feels unnoticed. The person who's known him the longest is the only one who really knows he's there. An Archie/OC centric fic, with splotches of G/S and W/C, N/OC, Greg/OC. A lot of out-of-lab interaction between Archie/OC, as well as in-lab.
Disclaimer: Liz doesn't own CSI. If she did…woo…she'd have so much fun with everything. Everything would be total G/S…Hank would be gone bye-bye, Bobby and Catherine (I go for both B/C and W/C) would be hitched…yeah, ok…off topic. Liz doesn't own CSI.
Feedback: Yes, please.

Introduction: Home, Sweet Home – Archie's POV

There goes my pager…again. Probably some desperate shmo from the lab that needed me to decode the life of some freaky murderer by watching tapes. That's what I do, you know? Sure, my job was great, and it was something I loved to do, which was something a lot of people only wished they could say. A lot of people would like my job, too. Being an A/V tech at the Vegas Crime Lab is definitely a very desirable job. And I had a strong relationship with almost every co-worker I had, which is a rarity nowadays. But for some reason, I wasn't happy. I hadn't felt at all like myself lately. My apartment felt different, my world felt different; basically, everything just felt different. I'd never been one to complain, though, so I just sucked it up, and showed up for work every day, with a smile on my face. Maybe I just felt neglected.

Even Greg (one of my best friends, and the DNA lab tech at the crime lab) was getting more attention than I was lately. He had some 'spectacularly wonderful girlfriend,' outside the lab, and she made him 'the happiest living person in the world.' Usually, Greg was the person I could relate to, but not anymore. Same with Nick (an on the field criminalist); his 'perfect girlfriend' had visited the lab, and I have to admit…she was damn near perfect. She had the whole Britney Spears look down, only a lot more real, and minus the silicone.

I was constantly asking myself why I stayed where I was, if I was so miserable. There had to have been something keeping me in Vegas, because any other man would cave in, and leave, if he were in my position. Either I was very determined or very stupid…or maybe a combination of the two. I was determined to make myself happy, and stupid to even think it was going to happen. That sounds about right. At times, I just felt like crawling under a rock and rotting there. No one would've even noticed I was gone, probably, until tapes starting piling up in the lab.

At any rate, that day (or, should I say, that night), it was particularly hard to pull myself out of bed. I felt like my body was about twenty pounds heavier, and my head pounded. I didn't feel like going to work, but I had to. Another day, another dollar, Arch, I told myself, as I stared into the mirror. My reflection had never been my favorite thing to look at, but hey, if I wanted other people to be able to tolerate it, I had to at least try to make it look a little better.

After a quick shower, I went into the kitchen, and got what most people would consider dinner, but what I consider breakfast. Left over pizza. That's an ideal breakfast, no? Maybe it is for a frat boy, but not for me. I was young enough to be a frat boy, yes, but I wasn't. I should have at least had a live-in girlfriend who knew how to cook. Maybe that's what had me so depressed. I had no girlfriend, and I felt like a loser for it. There weren't many eligible women at the lab, either. Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom were attached at the hip, Catherine Willows and Warrick Brown had given many PDA's, which sent Grissom flying up the wall, mind you. There was only one woman left at the lab, and she was like the oil to my vinegar.

Molly Parker was an on the field criminalist, who sometimes got stuck behind the scenes with me, considering she specialized in A/V things. She was also the biggest existing annoyance in my life. She thought she was better than me, and whenever I confronted her about it, she denied it. She walked around with her fancy designer clothes and everything; it made me wonder why she worked at the crime lab. If she had so much money, she shouldn't need to work. I would only half-listen, as she explained things to me, like I was a twelve-year-old apprentice, and I was older than her! She was only twenty-two, and I was twenty-three! I hated it. It seemed, to me, like I was the only one Molly couldn't tolerate. Sure, she was smart and all, but there's somewhere people just have to draw a line. I just happen to draw mine at being talked down to by a younger woman. Call me sexist or age discriminatory, or whatever else you'd like to call me. I'm not. I just don't like feeling inferior…understandable, right?

Who knew, though, that the one woman I couldn't stand, over the next few weeks, would become my saving grace? Certainly not me…

~~

Suppose I said I am on my best behavior,
And there are times I lose my worried mind.
Would you want me when I'm not myself?
Wait it out while I am someone else?
Suppose I said colors change for no good reason,
And words will go from poetry to prose.
Would you want me when I'm not myself?
Wait it out while I am someone else?
And I, in time, will come around. I always do for you.
Suppose I said you're my saving grace?
Would you want me when I'm not myself?
Wait it out while I am someone else?
Would you want me when I'm not myself?
Wait it out while I am someone else?
~~ 'Not Myself' – John Mayer ~~
Yes, that's the whole song. It's a ballad, with a lot of guitar breaks, so it actually a three or four minute song.