Well, here we go, chapter 2, my first ever update to an existing story (fear). Thanks to those who reviewed, your words were much appreciated.

I am sorta happy with it I think but some of this chapter feels really clumsy….feh

Please feel free to savage this chapter if you feel the need, I'm still learning and all criticism is good criticism – hell, if it makes you happy say nice things too.

Still PG – unless you consider character assassination

Still disclaiming ownership but I'm working on a coup….

27/10/2011: This continues the re-editing of the story.

"You're … resigning?" The word seemed strange, malformed in Grissom's mouth; "Can I ask why?"

"You can ask, but it's really none of your business. Let's just accept that I've resigned going and leave it at that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to do". Without a backward look Greg turned on his heel and headed back to his lab.

Grissom watched his lab tech's retreating back, unable to understand precisely what had just happened. It was rare for the shift- head to be at a loss for words and rarer still for his internal monologue to come to an abrupt, and analogy-free, halt; now, to all intents and purposes, Grissom bore a striking resemblance to a stranded goldfish. His expression was still glazed when Catherine wandered past his office twenty minutes later.

"Grissom? ... Grissom? ... Earth to Grissom ... Hello?" Receiving no response, Catherine walked into Gil's office muttering under her breath; "Mission control, we have a problem.

"Hey, Grissom, snap out of it"

"Huh? ... Wha…? Oh, Catherine, what do you want?"

"Nothing, I was just passing, saw your zombie impression and wondered what was up".

"Greg's resigned".

"Resigned? How do you mean?"

"Do you see any chess pieces?" He asked, gesturing at his desk, which was demonstrably lacking in a chess board. "He's quit ... Is leaving the job ...and, no doubt, the building. He. Is. Going. Away…." In his agitation, Grissom spoke slowly, as if explaining things to a particularly deficient student.

Catherine, for her part, was not impressed with the distinct lack of useful information originating from the direction of her boss. "Thank you for the definition Grissom; let's try that again. Did he say why he was leaving?"

Grissom had the grace to look abashed; "Something to do with Mahler, I think".

"Mahler?"

"Yup".

"And a dead, nineteenth-century composer fits into this how?"

Grissom's silence was all the reply Catherine needed. "Sometimes Grissom you have all the empathy of a rock. If Greg had come in here with a carapace, and two additional limbs, you probably would have paid him more attention. Let's get the others in here and see if we can sort this out".

Taking his pained silence for acquiescence, Catherine strode purposely out of the office calling back over her shoulder "See you in ten minutes".

She passed Greg's lab on her way to the staff room; he seemed quieter than usual which, when considering that he wasn't dancing around the room with a glove on his head, was hardly surprising. Catherine couldn't have told anyone why, but Greg seemed more composed, almost at peace, as if the peripatetic air that constantly surrounded him had stilled. Obviously, something had changed, but this consideration was shunted to the side of her mind to be addressed once she had gathered her colleagues.

Sweeping into the staff room Catherine encountered Warwick and Nick involved in a battle to the death with the evening paper's crossword. As was usual with the two men everything was cause for competition: answers, speed of response, even spelling, all was fair game in the continual battle between the two to prove who was better. Sara Sidle sat on the counter of the kitchenette, coffee in hand, watching the pair. Arching an immaculately manicured eyebrow at Catherine, she grinned, "They'll be racing cockroaches in the halls, with Grissom, next."

Without raising his head from the ongoing battle, Warwick murmured, "Never," while Nick merely shook his head in bemused negation. Glancing up he saw the slight tightening along Catherine's jaw that usually indicated something was on her mind.

"What's up, Willows?"

"Staff meeting in Grissom's office."

"When?" sighed Warwick, "Who screwed up this time?"

"Now ... No-one ... and did anyone tell you you're a fatalist, Warwick?"

Warwick's groping attempt at a witty retort was subverted when Sara told him not to bother; Catherine had already gone.

"Guess now really means now; any idea what's going on?" Shrugging, at the negative responses from his colleagues, Warwick unwound himself from the couch and, followed by Sara and Nick, headed for Grissom's office.

When the three CSIs – like an hastily arranged posse - arrived at the door to Grissom's office it was very obvious that Catherine and Grissom had been waiting for them; this was a well-known harbinger of impending doom amongst the CSI team and they were put immediately on edge.

At the best of times Grissom's patience was marginal, held in check solely by the knowledge that the accumulated bad karma he'd gather from taking it out on his people would be returned in kind - probably by a visit from his nemesis, the head of the day shift; his agitation, however, was obvious.

Catherine, who was perched on the edge of Grissom's desk, appeared more composed; although it was obvious to those who knew at worked with her that something was clearly 'up'.

It was Warwick who broke the, increasingly uncomfortable, silence. "Okay, you two, what is it?"

Grissom started to respond when Sara interrupted, "Aren't we going to wait for Greg? I mean, he is kind of useful, and he knows his stuff … and …," she tailed off, abruptly, noticing the tense look that passed between Catherine and Grissom.

Pausing briefly for the inevitable interruption, which, for once, didn't occur, Grissom started again. "No, to answer your question, Sara, Greg's not coming, the reason - and that reason answers your 'what's up' Warwick - is because Greg's resigned …" Grissom made to continue but was overridden by several questions fired at him from different parts of the room.

"Resigned? Why?"

"Are you sure?"

"What did you say to him this time Grissom?"

Catherine's smirk at the last comment was quickly suppressed as she felt Grissom's eyes rest upon her. He looked hurt. She sometimes forgot that, despite appearances to the contrary, Grissom was not only human but also extremely humane. Admittedly, he had virtually no interpersonal skills, but that was due more his being completely oblivious rather than inherently callous. Deciding to rescue her friend, before he dug himself a hole the size of Texas, she pre-empted his response.

"We don't know why he's resigned. He didn't say, at least he didn't say anything to Grissom …." She paused to scowl at Nick, who'd muttered a quiet 'now there's a surprise,' before continuing. "So, the reason we're having this meeting is to decide what to do. Do we say anything to him? Obviously, none of you were aware of anything, unless he's said something in confidence". The unspoken question was met with silence and no small measure of guilty looks.

It was Sara who finally spoke, her voice subdued. "We all like Greg, I ... I … mean ... I like Greg, and I think Warwick and Nick do too, but it's not like we're close; close in a buddy-buddy sense, that is." Sara looked around rapidly, silently imploring Warwick and Nick to support what she, in her own special way, had said. "He does his work, we do ours, we have coffee occasionally, but it's not like we know him, right guys? … Erm … guys?"

Warwick raised a laconic eyebrow and smiled deprecatingly at Sara. "Sidle's right; inarticulate – and largely incoherent - but right. I guess Greg's always just been there; You know, there's the Mass Spec, the DNA analyser, Greg, the gas chromatograph …."

"Christ, Warwick, have you been taking sensitivity lessons from Grissom?" interjected Nick. Catherine winced.

"The simple answer Catherine, is that we really don't know Greg well enough to tell you if there's anything wrong or, for that matter, if anything's right. It's not that we don't like him, as Sara said, it's just that he doesn't really appear to be here; he's like a ghost at times. Don't misunderstand; he's an amazing tech … it's just … "

Catherine sighed, "It's alright, guys, we get the picture. You're not in trouble so don't start writing your eulogies for the guy; he's leaving, not dead.

"Do you want me to have a word with him Grissom?" she asked, turning he attention to the older man, "It's prying, I know, and way outside the normal standards of professional conduct, and," she conceded, "Greg is perfectly entitled to leave if he wants; but I get the feeling we're missing something here." (The fact that she hated a mystery, especially one occurring under her nose, was left unsaid).

Grissom shrugged; when it came to people he was lost. Catherine, taking his response as a 'do what you think best' response, assumed her best amateur detective demeanour and headed for the lab. She paused in Grissom's doorway, "You lot stay clear for a while, go play with a body or something; this is not going to be easy".