Author's Note: Aw, how cute are all of you! Your reviews are just so sweet and encouraging. I hope you like this newest installment – I live to make you guys happy! Read, review and enjoy!

I've lived in this place and I know all the faces

Each one is different but they're always the same

They mean me no harm but it's time that I face it

They'll never allow me to change

But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong

I'm movin' on

(I'm Moving On" by Rascal Flatts)

In the lab

"Nick!"

His mind called out the words, though they never made it past his lips. It was what he should have said, but wasn't quite quick enough to say. He had seen Nick bolt down the hall, the obvious panic etched onto his face. He had hesitated. Why should he go after Nick? Nothing was wrong after all. Wasn't that what Nick kept telling everyone? He had sat at the table, staring at his evidence without seeing it. He had work to do, he tried to remind himself. He was torn between ignoring Nick's obvious pain and rushing to his rescue. He was stuck between having hurt feelings and helpful instincts. He waited for a few long moments before he up his mind. Whether he was angry or not, Nick was his friend. And he clearly needed someone there for him now.

So Greg had gotten up and followed after Nick. He walked slowly down the hall as he tried to formulate what he was going to say. You haven't known what to say for nine months, what makes you think you are going to know what to say now? he thought as he walked slowly down the hall. He wished he were more like Grissom. Grissom always knew what to say in any situation. He had even been able to talk Nick back from the point of hysteria last May. But Greg wasn't Grissom, wasn't anywhere close to being Grissom. He didn't have the perfect words but he might just have adequate ones. He paused outside the door to the rest room that he had seen Nick go into some minutes before. He hoped that he had given Nick enough time to collect himself a little before Greg interfered again. The last thing Greg wanted to do was intrude on Nick's personal turmoil. He hoped that this would be a good time to go in.

He had expected to see Nick pacing, or hunched over, or even sitting on the floor. He had not expected to see Nick sprawled on the floor in a pool of his own blood. The remaining pieces of the mirror glittered hideously around him.

"Nick!" cried Greg diving to his friend's side. "Oh God!"

In spite of his shock and terror, the rational part of his brain told him that he need to get help. He leapt up and wrenched the door open.

"Somebody call 911!" he screamed. People stopped moving and stared at him in surprise. "Just do it! NOW!" he yelled, as the door fell shut and he dropped back to Nick's side.

In his office

Grissom was reading a case report when his phone rang. He laid the report down and picked it up.

"Grissom"

"Mr. Grissom, it's Dr. Stanley."

"Hello Doctor. How are you?"

"I'm fine thank you. I need to ask you – has Nick been into work the past two days?"

"Well, yes. I mean, he must have been. He was scheduled to work"

"But you don't know for sure?"

"Hold on…" He rifled through the papers until he found the previous day's shift report. He scanned through the pages, looking for the familiar signature. It wasn't there.

"No, Doctor Stanley, he wasn't actually in yesterday"

"But he was scheduled to be?"

"Yes. Why are you asking me this?"

"He didn't call to tell anyone that he wasn't planning on coming in?"

"Not that I know of. What is this all about?"

"Mr. Grissom, I'll explain everything in moment. But first, has Nick been in today?"

"Well… I don't know"

"Can't you find out?"

"One moment…" He put her on hold and dialed the extension for the reception desk. "It's Grissom. Did Nick Stokes come in today? Oh he did? Thanks, no don't bother paging him. I just needed to know" He reconnected to Dr. Stanley. "Yes, Nick is here to today."

"He 'is' there, as in, he is still in the building?"

"No one has told me otherwise. Doctor Stanley, can you please tell me what-"

"Mr. Grissom, Nick stormed out of our session yesterday. I knew he was not particularly engaged in the therapy, but yesterday he made it quite clear that he had no intentions of returning. I should have called yesterday, but my assumption was he would go to work, if for no other reason than to prove a point to me. I left messages at his house, asking him to call and verify that he was okay. I accept that he does not feel he needs therapy at this time, but I grew concerned because he did not return my calls. Mr. Grissom, when he left here yesterday, I think he was in a very dangerous frame of mind. I am deeply concerned for his well being at the present time. But if you tell me that he is at work today, then for the time being he should be safe. I would like you to talk to him…"

Her voice faded away as the sound of someone shouting echoed down the hall.

"Somebody call 911!" He recognized Greg's voice instantly.

Oh God, no….

"Just do it! NOW!"

The phone fell from Grissom's hand as he ran towards what he knew must be awaiting him.

"Mr. Grissom? Mr. Grissom, what is it? Mr. Grissom…."

In the locker room

God, he was tired. The last week had been a busy one, and Warrick was about ready to call it quits for the day. He ran his hand tiredly over his face. The past seven days had crawled by like a year. He felt as if he had aged so much in so little time. How many days had it been since he had been in Nick's house, threatening to drag him to the therapist? He found that he couldn't remember. It was all so blurry. Had they really not spoken since that day? That couldn't be right. They must have spoken since then. But they hadn't. They had not exchanged words since that ugly outburst that they had had. The last time we spoke, we were in here Warrick mused, looking around the empty locker room. Why haven't I tried to talk to him since then? he wondered. He knew the answer, though he hated to admit it. He hadn't tried to connect with Nick because he was afraid of what he might find out. He had accused Nick of being at risk to slit his risks, or to overdose on his prescription drugs. He wasn't so sure that he had been wrong. But he was too scared that if he sat down and talked to Nick, really talked to him, that he would get confirmation that he was right. And he wasn't so sure that he could handle that. He had seen the look in Nick's eyes this past week. It was a look he had seen only once before and had prayed he would never see again. He thought back to the previous spring, when he had desperately clawed through those last, final handfuls of dirt to see Nick's desolate face beneath the plexiglass, with his gun under his chin. The look in Nick's eyes, the utter despair had torn through Warrick like a knife. He had been able to save Nick once before. What if I can't do it now? The worry lingered in his brain, rolling around like a quarter in a can. He didn't know what to do this time. It had been so easy last May. All he'd had to do was tell Nick to put the gun down, and reassure him that he was safe. It was different this time. Now there were so many months of pent-up frustration and anguish that Warrick wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. So he did nothing. And he hated himself every day that he stood by and watched his best friend self-destruct.

He slammed his locker shut and was about to leave, when he noticed that Nick's locker was slightly ajar. That's weird, Warrick thought. Nick never forgets to lock up his stuff. Warrick pushed the locker shut, and was about to lock it, when something compelled him to pull it open again. Glancing around, to make sure that he was still alone, he opened Nick's locker. He knew it was wrong to go through Nick's personal stuff, but he had the strangest nagging feeling that he needed to do this. He pushed Nick's coat aside, and noted with a smile the pictures that neatly lined the door. The people in those pictures looked so happy. He was just about to close the door again when his eyes flickered upwards and landed on the piece of paper that lay folded on the shelf, just barely in his line of sight. He knew he shouldn't read it. It was none of his business after all. But he couldn't stop his hands from picking it up. The top of the note read: To My Friends. Warrick delicately unfolded the piece of paper. As he started to read, he felt his heart stop.

To my friends,

By the time you read this, it will be too late to stop me. I want you to know that I don't blame any of you for the way things turned out. You guys found me that day, but I haven't been able to find myself since. I can't keep looking for something that doesn't exist anymore. I'm sorry that it all had to turn out this way.

Sara – thanks for being there for me, and for always looking out for me. I know I never gave you as much information about how I was doing as you wanted, but I always appreciated your concern. You will do great things with your life.

Catherine – your motherly ways never went unnoticed by me. Thanks for your love and support; it was beautiful. Tell Lindsey I'm sorry, and that I hope one day she'll understand all this. You are an amazing mom and an amazing woman.

Warrick – let go of the guilt. Don't think for a second that I wish it were you instead of me in that box. Life happens, and sometimes it sucks. I won't ever forget your friendship. Please don't be too hard on yourself because of this – it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. You were the best friend I could have asked for.

Greg – you've been the source of endless humor for me. Thanks for always making me smile, even when I didn't feel like it. Don't let that final conversation upset you – I understand what you were trying to say. I had my mind made up long before we talked. You are going to be one hell of a CSI.

Grissom – you've pushed me to do more than I ever thought possible of myself. I can only hope that I lived up to some of your expectations of me. You have been the most brilliant of mentors, and I wish I could have left a legacy other than this behind. I never meant to disappoint you.

So that's it guys. I hope one day you'll understand that why I did this. I couldn't go on living in someone else's life. I hope you don't hate me, but I would understand if you did. There is nothing any of you could have done to change the way things turned out. I love you all, and I will miss you.

Nick

This was wrong. This was all wrong. Warrick forced himself to breathe. It would be okay. He would go find Nick, and tell him that he was there for him. He would make Nick understand that there wasn't anything that he had done yet that couldn't be fixed. It would work out. He was trying to fold them note with trembling fingers when he heard Greg's terrified voice yell down the hallway.

"Somebody call 911!"

No, no no. It wasn't what he thought it could be. He stared at the note. This couldn't be happening, not yet. He had found Nick in time once before, so he should have found him in time now.

"Just do it! NOW!"

The note fluttered to the floor as he rushed to what he prayed was anything but what the note implied.

The three worlds collided with Nick in the minutes that followed. He wasn't aware of the chaos around him, as the people he thought didn't care about him struggled to save his life. He didn't feel the intense pressure on his wrists as Greg and Grissom tried to stop the damning flow. He didn't hear the urgent whispers that told him to hang on. He didn't notice the hands, sticky with his blood, that stroke the top of his head gently. He didn't see the salty tears that no one tried to hide.

Then, just as quickly as they had rushed to his side, strong, trained hands that promised to do everything they could for him tore him away from them. The others could just sit and wait, as the air hung thick and heavy with uncertainty. There was no way of knowing what would happen. None of them knew how long he had been lying there. None of them knew how deep the cuts were or how much blood he had lost. They only knew that things had gone terribly wrong. They each sat there, thinking that if he could somehow survive this, how they would each do something better to make sure that things never got this bad again. And yet, as they sat there, comrades in a battle that they could not fight, they still hid their secrets from one another. Greg didn't tell them about the fight he'd had with Nick, and how he had secretly wondered if it was something he had said that had pushed Nick to do this. Warrick didn't tell them about the note, and how he had secretly thought that there was no way that Nick could ever do such a thing. Grissom hadn't told them about the phone call, and how he had secretly thought that he was such a failure for not noticing that Nick was slipping away from them. They sat there, caught up in their own secrets, each thinking that they were somehow to blame for this. As they sat there hoping for the best but expecting the worst, they each silently asked the question that they were too afraid to say out loud.

"Christ Nick, what did you do to yourself?"