Disclaimer: I own nothing.

In order to go forward you have to know the past first. He had to figure out what was at the core of his problems before deciding on doing anything.

The explosion, that was what had started set it all into motion. Involuntary his mind flashed back, transporting him back to the day of the explosion. This wasn't his first flashback, but this time, instead of trying to shake of the memories, he forced himself to revisit the memories. He needed to know where it had gone wrong, where he had gone wrong maybe, where he had started to feel not like himself again anymore,

The smell of burning plastic had been the only warning sign. He had smelled it, instinctively turned to located the source. Than it had happened.  His memory files had nothing to offer for it. He didn't remember having been thrown through the glass wall of the lab, landing amidst glass shards in the corridor.

He had come to in the corridor again, after having been out for maybe half a minute. He was confused to say the least. it was hot, he could smell fire and there was this annoying ringing noise that just wouldn't stop. As much as he wanted to pick himself up from then floor he couldn't. His body wasn't in synch with his mind. Mentally screaming at himself to get to hell out of there did nothing, but add to his growing frustration. He must have been more dazed than he had realized for it was only then that he wasn't alone. A guy, paramedics uniform was hunched next to him. He was talking, but Greg couldn't understand a word, all he heard was the ringing noise. Should he be worried? Probably yes, not being able to get up wasn't a good sign. But he was too tired to care. He was alive that was for sure, and he didn't feel too bad right now.

Being wheeled out of the building, he got a pretty good view of the damage. Shattered glass, destroyed equipment, destroyed cases it occurred to him.  Well, who cared, Grissom probably did. Hell it was all the man ever cared about. If I blew up the lab, then  I'm gonna be looking for a new job, Greg thought. The ringing noise had now stopped, he could hear a voice, but couldn't assign a face to it. It was nobody he knew.

The heat suddenly lessened and the dim emergency lighting of the lab, was replaced by bright morning sun light. A flash of pain shot through his already aching head and he closed his eyes.

He must have lost consciousness again, because the next item in his memory database was a memory of waking up at the hospital. The numbness had subsides and made way to pain.

He fell asleep almost immediately after Warrick and Catherine had left. The next time he woke up Catherine was back again, no alone. Something about her told him that this time it wasn't business, but for a social call, her smile was too tense, too forced.

When she told him that she was responsible for the explosion he was at a loss for words. Catherine was looking at him, clearly expecting some kind of response. It was clear to him that he wasn't going to get away without one. He was far too exhausted to work up much of an emotional reaction. That would come later. In order to avoid having to give an answer he replied with asking what exactly had happened and who else had been hurt. Catherine told him, then wished him a good night. He could tell that she had come with the intention of easing her conscience, but when she left she only looked sad.

While he passed the first day mainly sleep, things started to get increasingly unpleasant the next day. The pain radiating from his back and neck made dozing near impossible. Lying on his side was growing more uncomfortable by the hour.  Hospital routine had him. The day started out early with a nurse waking him up at 6 am. After a brief check-up and a bland breakfast, the hours started to stretch like chewing gum. He visually examined the room. It was pretty pleasant by hospital standards. A painting on the wall, flowers and cards on the bedside table. He had noticed the cards before, but he wanted to keep this treat for later in the day. He already suspected the he would be bored out of his box by early afternoon. By 10 am he was desperate enough. Getting up to a sitting position was a painful chore, which reminded him that the after effects of the explosion were going to last a while. There was a card from the guys at the lab, everyone, even Hodges who couldn't stand him, had signed it.  The next one was anonymous. It read: "Feel better soon."

Strange, he had no idea who that could be. Catherine had also left him a card. He read through the text.

"I'm really sorry for what happened. Get well soon."

Catherine's signature underneath. When had she left that. It didn't really matter.

Morning changed into afternoon, punctuated only by a visit from his doctor. It didn't improve his mood. He had been fortunate all right, the explosion, the fire and his flight through the glass could have done a lot more damage. The worst thing was that there was no reason that it hadn't, it was all a coincidence. Great, alive and with a face thanks to a coincidence. Still there were going to be scars both on his back and neck. His back was going to be sore for quite some time. Strangely the prospect of scars didn't disturb him as much as he would have expected.

The day passed slowly. Catherine dropped by just before dinner. She seemed uncomfortable. This didn't fit in at all with the impression of unshakable confidence that he had always gotten from her. Apparently he wasn't to only one to live behind a facade.

"Hi Greg, how are you?"

"Better", he lied. "How's it going?"

"Well, I have a lot of time on my hands. I hope you don't mind, I went over to your place, got the key from your landlady. I brought you some stuff. I hope I got the right CDs for your disc-man." She put a bag on the bedside table.

"Thanks."

During the next days, the pain was the only thing distracted him from thinking. The explosion which could have cost him his life, made him think about the life he would have lost. A fake life?

It hadn't always felt so fake, but he was getting the distinct impression that the easy going flippant personae he displayed at work wasn't really him. At least not any more. It used to be him.

What was there really to his life? There was his job, where he spend most of his waking hours. He was good at it, that was true. But it no longer really fulfilled him. He wanted to do more, it was his dream to be working as a CSI one day. But deep down he was afraid that he wasn't up to it. It was quite a while ago, but the memory of freezing up when working the bus accident was still fresh. Despite being good at his job, he seldom earned kind words from his co-workers. he got along well enough with the guys at the lab and had had quite a few bets with Jacqui, but the CSI crowd usually dropped by to tell him that they wanted their results asap, or even better yesterday. No matter how fast he worked, he rarely got anything beyond: "good work". And Grissom wouldn't even acknowledge that much. Still, in spite of everything, his job still seemed like the best thing he had going, compared to what else there was.

There were his co-workers. It had hurt him that apart from Catherine and ,if you counted professional visits, Warrick were the only ones to have visited him.

Move on the hobbies: he spent a lot of time reading. Scientific books and journals, but also pretty much everything else, poetry, sports, social studies, psychology.

His private social life was pretty dried up, he used to have quite a lot going in that department but as he had started working overtime and more often double shifts at the lab, that area of his life had significantly suffered.

His life wasn't really great, in fact it came pretty close to sucking. But still he was terrified to go back to it. Already in the hospital, he dreaded his first day back at work. The situation was Catherine could probably be ignored, both of them were after all good at pretending, but just going back to the lab and carrying on like always seemed impossible. The thought scared him more than anything.

He tried to blame his dark thoughts on boredom, but it wasn't true, and he knew it. He also tried to convince himself that his fear of the lab would resolve itself. But his well educated brain at already put the stamp "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder" on it.

Great, he felt trapped. A job which was essentially his life, but he was terrified of returning to.

Finally came the day, when he was fit to go home. Not knowing whom to call and with his car god knows where, presumably still in the CSI parking lot where he had last parked it 5 days ago, he called himself a cap. Five days that seemed like ages ago. Could a person really change in five days? Or was it just having been cooped up in the hospital that made him feel not like his usual self. He still hoped that things would just magically be the same as they had been before.

He was ambivalent the next morning, For one thing, after 5 days at the hospital, he could not wait to get back to work. He had been bored out of his mind and he had had too much time for thinking. Thinking that hadn't let to pleasant conclusions.

But at the same time, he didn't feel up to it. he was tired, having rested poorly not only because of his back, but also because of the recurring nightmare. The thought of the lab still made him cringe. Okay, the first day is the hardest, it will feel all right once you get back into the feel of things, he told himself while getting ready. It didn't. Greg shuddered at the memory of his first day back at work.

Note: Dark, I know, but that's my interpretation, feel free to comment. I am planning on a happy ending though.