A/N: Usual disclaimer…you know the drill by now. The only thing I wanted to comment on was my DISGUST at last night's episode of CSI. Not the entirety of it, just the end. GSR is the devil. And that's all I have to say. In any case…

Chapter 8- Wounded

"Lost and broken

Hopeless and lonely

Smiling on the outside

But hurt beneath my skin

My eyes are fading

My soul is bleeding

I'll try to make it seem ok

But my faith is wearing thin

So help me heal these wounds

They've been open for way too long

Help me heal this soul

Even though this is not your fault

That I'm open and I'm bleeding

All over your brand-new rug

And I need someone to help me close them up"

Wounded by Good Charlotte

Nick and the rest of the CSIs sat up late. No one felt much like going to bed or watching TV, so they sat quietly in the room Grissom, Warrick and Nick were sharing. Catherine and Sara's room was right next-door. Trying to make conversation, Nick said, "Guess what? Greg spoke to me today."

Instantly, everyone was all ears. Grissom asked, "What did he say?"

Nick thought for a moment, then replied, "He told me he was sorry. I told him it was ok, though I don't know what's he's sorry about."

Sara pursed her lips, then suggested, "Maybe he's sorry about your arm?"

Nick shook his head. "No, he was out when that happened." They lapsed into silence, each contemplating the meaning of Greg's words.

Suddenly, Grissom's cell rang. He answered it. "Grissom." He listened, expressionless. "Uh-huh. Ok. We'll be there when we can." He hung up, stony-faced, then asked Nick quietly, "Nick, didn't you lose your knife the other day?" Nick nodded, looking confused. "What did it look like?" continued Grissom calmly.

Nick's brow furrowed as he said, "Silver. Standard Swiss Army knife. Why, Griss? What's wrong?"

Grissom closed his eyes briefly, then asked one last question. "Did Greg say anything else to you?"

"Just…" Nick's eyes widened in shock as he realized what had happened. "Oh my God, no!" He jumped up, pale and shaking.

Everyone looked confused. "What did he say?" asked Catherine.

Nick looked at her, pain and stark realization written all over his face. "Good-bye."

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Greg heard snatches of frantic conversation around him.

"He's going into shock!"

"Push two, stat!"

"His heartbeat's out of control."

"Blood pressure's falling."

"…not breathing…"

"…flatlining…"

Then everything faded to black.

Sara shook her head emphatically. "No," she snapped in disbelief. "Greg would never try to kill himself."

Warrick sat her down and said patiently, "Sara, you said it yourself. That's not the Greg that you used to know."

"Besides," continued Grissom, "The doctors said that Greg was suffering from hallucinations. Who knows what was going on in his head?"

Still Sara shook her head. "I guess...I guess I just don't want to believe it."

A knock sounded on the door and Grissom opened it, letting Catherine in. "How's Nick?" he asked.

Catherine sighed, running her hands through her hair. "Sleeping, though barely. I insisted on it. He feels so guilty."

Sara looked up. "Why should he? It's not his fault."

Catherine sighed again. "I know that, and you know that, but all he can think about is how it was his knife that almost took his best friend's life."

Silence fell as everyone thought back on the fact that Greg had tried to kill himself. Once again, it was Grissom's cell phone that broke the silence. He left the room to take the call, not returning for several minutes. When he came back, his face was grim. "Which would you like first, the good news or the bad news?"

Warrick looked up and asked, "Is there actually any good news?"

Grissom gave a wry smile. "Yeah, they're letting us take Greg back to Vegas."

Sara looked happy but Catherine looked suspicious. "Why do I sense a 'but' coming on?"

Grissom shook his head sadly. "They lost Greg for a minute before they could get his heart restarted and stabilized. They don't know if he has any lasting brain damage because he's still comatose."

"How long will he be in a coma?" asked Sara, the initial happiness at the prospect of going home fading from her face.

Grissom shrugged, staring moodily off into space. "Well, when can we come see him?" asked Catherine, trying to judge what Grissom was feeling, an impossible task.

Grissom shook his head slightly as if waking up from sleep. "What? Oh, right. We can go tomorrow morning. They're air-lifting him to Desert Palms Hospital in the afternoon." He broke off again, returning to staring sullenly at the walls.

Catherine eyed him oddly, and said to Sara and Warrick, "Why don't you get to sleep? I've got something to talk to Grissom about." Warrick nodded and turned to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Sara nodded as well, but squeezed Catherine's arm in a wordless gesture of good luck before leaving herself. Catherine looked at Grissom with concern in her eyes. "Gil, what aren't you telling us?" He turned back to her, and for the first time she could see how worried he was.

"Oh, Cath, so much is uncertain. They'll know something if he wakes up. He'll get better if he makes it through the night. He might not try to kill himself again. Goddamnit, isn't anything certain in all of this?"

It was only then that Catherine knew just how upset he was; she didn't think she had ever heard him swear before. However, she understood how he felt perfectly. As a man of science, he was used to the facts. Either there was evidence, or there wasn't. But in Greg's case, so much was unknown, so much was uncertain, no one could be sure of anything. She patted Grissom's arm gently and said, "It'll be ok, Griss. It has to be."