He stood on top of the roof, looking down at the people below, and thought that bungee jumping sounded pretty good about now.
He loved flying. He had always gotten a kick out of adrenaline rushes; being a CSI was really just an extension of that. He liked falling and floating and speed. He liked roller coasters, and wished to God that one of these days he'd do something right so that Grissom would take him for once to his favorite relaxation spot.
He glared at the people below him. He loved flying but he hated the jealousy, and truth be told, he'd been jealous of a lot of people lately. Mostly, he was jealous of Warrick. Warrick, who was Grissom's favorite little CSI. When Warrick screwed up, Grissom just patted him on the head and let him continue. If he had screwed up, Grissom would have kicked him out the door. Silk silk silk. What do cows drink? Milk. He was sure that Warrick would have gotten it wrong too.
He shook his head at himself. It wasn't fair to Warrick to be this angry at him when he hadn't done anything wrong. It wasn't Warrick's fault that Grissom valued him more than everyone else. Sometimes, he felt that Grissom valued everyone over him, even Ecklie.
A lot of things had happened to him in the last few years. Kristy had died, Nigel Crane had been stalking him, he got shoved out of a two- story window. He smirked. That had been one time where falling hadn't been as fun. It was too quick to enjoy, even too quick too be frightened. Just hands pushing at him and then falling backwards and a sudden rising world to catch him, although the world's hands had not been gentle. Lately, not a lot had been gentle.
He was feeling sorry for himself. He turned away from the world in disgust and walked around the roof. He didn't feel like himself lately, the charming, happy optimist that everyone knew him as, that he knew himself as. Sure, his past had been full of painful things, just like anyone's, but he had gotten over them, gotten through them. Even when he was nine, he had gotten through it. Kids are resilient. He once had been too. But now, things just felt like there was collapsing on top of him and there was no escaping them. He had felt like this in Texas once and the feeling had become so overwhelming that he left. He left everyone he loved behind and his childhood home to escape, to run away. Las Vegas had been the perfect escape.
Until now.
Now Vegas had turned into the claustrophobic nightmare and he needed to get away. Too much had happened and it seemed like there was no one to rely on. Warrick was a good guy, but he had his own problems and his own life to deal with. Sara was too caught up in her work to be a friend. Catherine would try to be helpful but would just end up sounding patronizing. Greg was nice but he surely wouldn't understand, being so young. Grissom? He would never understand. He had hoped for the longest time if he just worked and worked, he could eventually prove himself to Grissom, but Grissom didn't believe in him and never would. There was no one here for him and he just couldn't bottle it up anymore. Not anymore.
He turned back to the edge of the roof and before he could push it away, he realized one escape would just be to end it all. Hey, after all, he did like flying right? He could try and learn.
He laughed harshly and sat down. How sad had he become, contemplating suicide at the place he worked. Maybe he was just a pathetic runaway, a quitter, but he wasn't going to kill himself. He wasn't that much of a coward.
He didn't think.
He heard someone call his name from behind him and he turned around. It was Catherine. She probably wanted to work on their robbery case. He waved at her and told her he'd be there in a couple of minutes. She nodded and disappeared.
He sighed to himself. He couldn't leave Vegas any better than he could leave the world. He couldn't quit now, not after he had worked so hard to achieve absolutely nothing. There had to be a way to get back to being himself again, the happy, optimistic, CSI from Texas who liked to watch TV and football and firmly believed in justice and honor. There had to be a way to get back from this jaded, shadow of himself that he had become, and he didn't think running was the answer. More than likely, he'd just find a new city, settle down somewhat happily for a few years, and then grow to hate it and have to run away again. He couldn't keep running. It just wasn't his style.
Besides, he had friends here, and whether or not Grissom respected him, he did love his work and the satisfaction it brought him, knowing he had helped putting some creep behind bars so he could never hurt anyone else again. Whether or not that sprung from his own abuser never being put away or just being raised with the ideas of justice and honesty, he didn't know and didn't care. His job felt good to him. It gave him the only meaning he felt he had left in this world.
And he would miss Sara if he left, her intelligence, frustration, and bantering. He'd miss Warrick's sense of humor and cool. He'd miss Catherine's sassiness and bluntness. He'd miss Greggo's hair, wacky style, and awful music. He'd miss the Doc's little, weird, jokes, his coroner's humor, and he'd miss Brass's brash sort of authority, that very cop essence that he always held. And he'd miss Grissom, as much angst as Grissom seemed to cause him, because he widely respected the strange man. He'd miss Grissom's bugs, his quirks, his near hatred of the Sheriff and the FBI, and the little, one-sided compliments that he'd slip in so subtly that you could barely tell if it was a compliment. He'd miss them all if he left because even if they couldn't help him with whatever it was he was going through, they were still nevertheless his friends, and he didn't want to leave them. He didn't want to leave Vegas. He didn't want to run away.
Still, he couldn't just live like this. He'd have to find something, anything to keep him from being so miserable. He didn't know what. But something. Because he couldn't just stand being forced up to this ceiling and contemplating suicide once a week. He couldn't accept himself as being that weak.
He stood up and looked over the edge again. He still wanted to fly. He still wanted to fall.
He turned and walked away. He wasn't going to fall that way. He wouldn't allow it.
Maybe he'd go *skydiving again after shift.
He smiled widely to himself as he walked back inside.