A/N: Usual disclaimer, but a slight warning that this chapter is rated strongly for...well, read on and see what it's rated for!

Chapter 7- Tourniquet

"I tried to kill my pain

But only brought more

I lay dying, and I'm pouring

Crimson regret and betrayal

I'm dying, praying

Bleeding, I'm screaming

Am I too lost to be saved?

Am I too lost?

My God, my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

My God, my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

My wounds cry for the grave

My soul cries for deliverance

Will I be denied?

Christ, tourniquet

My suicide"

Tourniquet by Evanescence

Pictures played over and over in Greg's mind, like a DVD on repeat. From being captured to being shot to being raped, he repeated it all in the sedative-induced sleep. When he was awake, however, it wasn't any better, the sympathy brimming in people's eyes, the false tears cried at his expense…he couldn't take it. And after all, it was his fault. If he hadn't have left that day, none of this would have happened. Thoroughly depressed, he requested more and more sedatives over the next few days, preferring the nightmares over the reality, until he could no longer differentiate between the two. He spent majority of his hours hovering between hallucinations and the few clear moments. The clear times became less and less frequent, then shorter in length, then nonexistent.

In one vivid hallucination, he imagined Grissom and the entire CSI team dead, and staring at him, bullet-wounds fresh on each person. The Grissom-specter spoke, saying, "You did this to us, Greg."

Catherine looked at him sadly. "Why, Greg? Why?"

"I don't know," answered Greg, bewildered.

Warrick was next. "How could you, man, after all I've done for you?"

"I…I'm sorry…"

Then Sara. "I loved you. And now this. What's wrong with you?"

He couldn't even answer with the unshed tears that clogged his throat.

Finally was Nick, probably Greg's closest friend of them all. "You deserve to die, Greg," said Nick slowly. "You should kill yourself."

The images faded, their places taken by other, varied pictures, but the one phrase stuck with Greg like a broken record. "You should kill yourself…" The thought was constantly on his mind. He already knew how he would do it. After all, he had the knife…

FLASHBACK

Greg's eyelids fluttered and the images he saw slid in and out of focus. Since he no longer recognized the people around him, he only half-listened to what they were saying. Something about cheap hotels in the area, and contacting someone's family.

As he blinked, his eyes saw something shiny on the floor. When everyone had finally left, he bent down, ignoring the pain, and picked it up. His subconscious whispered that it was a pocketknife, and something told him to hide it.

END OF FLASHBACK!

Now all Greg needed was to figure out a time. Night would be best, he decided. Only one nurse on duty. And after she came to check on him, it would be hours before someone came into his room again. He settled back against the pillows in relief. Tonight would be the night.

Nick came in to visit Greg, once again, just as he did everyday. And just like every other day, Greg was asleep. Either that, or non-coherent. Nick sighed and sat down in the chair. He had been released from the hospital after staying overnight, and now the CSI team was staying in a hotel until Greg was well enough to go back to Vegas.

Nick picked up Greg's hand and held it between his own. "Hey, buddy," he said quietly. Much to his surprise, Greg opened his eyes. Even more to his surprise, he actually seemed to be focusing on him.

"Nick…" whispered Greg hoarsely.

Nick leaned in and said, "Yeah, I'm here."

Greg swallowed hard and spoke again, with obvious effort. "I'm…sorry." Exhausted, he lay back against the pillows, a layer of sweat shining on his forehead.

Nick was beyond confused. What was he sorry for? Unsure of what to do, he gave Greg a half-smile and said gently, "It's ok…"

Greg nodded once, slowly, then said, "Good…bye," before closing his eyes.

Thinking that Greg was asking him to leave so that he could sleep, Nick stood. He squeezed Greg's hand gently, then released it. "Bye, man, see you tomorrow." He left with no idea of what was going to happen that night.

Greg lay with his eyes closed, listening to the nurse's shoes retreating back to the hallway. When his door closed softly behind her, he sat up and reached around the back of his bed, pulling the Swiss Army knife from its hiding place. He fumbled with it for a moment in the dark, trying to find the blade. He finally found it and opened it, staring at it. The deadly keen edge winked in and out of visibility. For the first time in almost two weeks, he smiled, but the smile was only a ghost of what it had been. He closed his eyes and placed the blade gently against his arm. With a deep sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, he pushed the blade through the skin.