((AN-Due to severe lack of fics with Doc Robbins and David, I wrote this. It's rather angsty and short, but hey. Please R&R if you like it.))

David Phillips drove over to the house. A call had come in for the coroner to come and pick up the body of an old man. He had mysteriously dropped dead in the middle of a picnic on his front lawn with his wife and daughter. Since this wasn't a homicide or anything like that, the CSI's didn't show up. Only David. And David would also be doing the autopsy. Doc Robbins was on his day off, so David ran the morgue.

When he got there, it was oddly silent. Neighbors were outside the police tape quietly crying. One lady stopped David.

"Sir, please tell us what happened. He was a pleasant man. He cared for his family…he didn't deserve to die." David nodded and went over to the body. He stopped dead in his tracks. He had expected a wrinkly old man who was wearing socks and sandals. A man with grandchildren running around screaming with joy, but not this. Never like this. The man's face was so familiar that David broke down crying.

Doctor Al Robbins was dead.

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Back in the morgue, David faced a difficult task. Since Robbins had died unexpectedly, he was to perform the autopsy. The body had already been prepared and was now lying on the table. How do you perform an autopsy on a man that you respect? How can you cut someone open when for so long, they taught you how to work? David hoped against all hope that he was still alive, that when he made the first incision, blood would come out of the hole, showing him that he was still alive.

Time stood still as David slowly put the knife against the doctor's skin. He pressed and made a tiny cut. Would there be blood?

Nothing. The doctor was officially dead.

Fighting back tears, David started the autopsy. An hour later, when the doctor was stitched back up, David wrote out the report.

Name-Albert Robbins

Occupation-Doctor

D.O.B-19/01/52

D.O.D-18/05/05

C.O.D-Heart Attack

David put a tag on Robbins' toe and slid him into cold storage. He then sat down on the floor and cried and cried.

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The funeral service was beautiful. The preacher told everyone how wonderful the doctor was. He went on to say that he was a wonderful father, husband and doctor. He had helped solve many cases with the CSI team and would be deeply missed. Within the ranks of people sitting in the pews, the sounds of sniffles and soft crying could be heard. David's eyes spilled over with tears, but he wasn't ashamed. One by one, people came to pay their respects. When David got there, he could barely see from the tears. He took one long, last look at the doctor and walked away from the face forever.

Later that night, when he got home, David lay in bed and thought about the good times in the morgue. Robbins showing him how to prepare a body correctly, what all the parts were named, and the nights that they spent doing autopsies together. David couldn't cry anymore. The grief was so immense that it crushed all other feelings. Eventually, he fell asleep and with that, the warm darkness came like a blanket. He didn't want to wake up in the morning, but he knew he had to. He would help the families of the victims through his work. But that was tomorrow. Tonight, he would sleep and embrace the darkness that washed away the pain in his heart.