Hey this is just a short drabble if you will, from Greg's perspective. It's kinda sad and was written in about 5 minutes...please let me know what you thought. Thanks Liz aka L'eau Goddess

Disclaimer: I do not own C.S.I. nor any of the characters portrayed in this story.

What If No One Noticed

No one on the team understands me, or hell even understands the things I do. To them, it's simply hand over the evidence, wait, get the results back and go from there. They don't understand the effort and the painstakingly meticulous way I go through each and every sample.

I'm usually overlooked at "staff" meetings, and no one has ever asked me when my birthday is. (It's tomorrow in case you care.) I've never felt like I was really part of the group, part of the team. To them, I'm simply Greg, the annoying pest, who occasionally helps solve some of the biggest and most high profile cases Vegas has ever seen.

No one asks me why I blast my music so loud (to drown out the zombie-like sounds of silence that frighten me), or ask why my hair is always wild and crazy (Papa Olaf's side of the family, best genes I ever got). No one asks why I wear bright colored shirts as often as I can, (to cheer up the dull, lifeless feel of the LVCL). Not even my closest "friend" Nick, notices that every night at exactly 11:30pm I leave to take my heart medication. He only notices my absence if he has something that needs to be processed, but he never asks where I was or what I was doing. None of the C.S.I.s have noticed that I've been shaking more than usual lately and drifting off to another world. The truth is, I'm getting weaker and slowly fading all together. I kind of doubt they'll even notice when I'm gone.

To be dead at 24 is a very scary thought, and yet for me, it will be reality. Since no one cares, maybe I should end my reality sooner, and put off the suffering. After-all, who's gonna notice I'm gone?

Next day Las Vegas Crime Lab

"Hey Griss, where's Greg?" Sara asks quietly. A small cluster of people has gathered in the break room with a small birthday cake, complete with sweet cream buttermilk icing, Greg's favorite.

"Actually Sara, I really don't know." Grissom responds carefully.

"Maybe we should call him to let him know we care and we're thinking about him and miss him." Catherine states in an off-handed manner.

There is no answer at Greg's apartment and the C.S.I.s disperse to continue their normal daily routine.

End