A/N: Ah, yet another chapter. Usual disclaimer still applies, because if it didn't, things would be quite different on the show. But alas, that is not meant to be…shame. But anyways…angsty in the beginning…and the middle…but at the end, it gets lighter. So yeah.

Chapter 14- The Reason (Part 2)

"I found a reason for me

To change who I used to be

A reason to start over new

And the reason is you

I found a reason to show

A side of me you didn't know

A reason for all that I do

And the reason is you"

The Reason by Hoobastank

Greg sat in his car, staring at the steering wheel, and contemplated not going in. He could just stay there for the entire shift. Grissom would understand. He had told Greg that he didn't have to come back today, that he could wait another week or longer if it became necessary, but Greg had insisted that he needed to go back. This was the truth; he did need to, because Grissom was driving him crazy. Well, not Grissom himself, but the monotony and boredom of being at Grissom's house. Hence why Greg was returning to his apartment after work, instead of going back to Grissom's. They both knew that it was time, and that Greg needed to do this, to face being alone. Grissom had promised that he would only ever be a phone call away, but Greg still had to get through work. Well, actually, he had to get to work, but something in him rebelled against going by the place he was taken at. He sighed and looked at the clock. At this rate, he was going to be late to his first day back on the job.

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the passenger side door. Startled, he glanced over and was surprised to see Grissom leaning against his car. He unlocked the door and Grissom sat down, closing the door after him. They sat in silence for a little while.

"You know," said Grissom quietly after awhile, "that evidence won't process itself."

Greg looked at him and smiled weakly. "I know, it's just…hard, you know? Being back."

"Yeah, I know. But you're not alone, Greg. We're here to help."

Greg blinked in surprise. "I thought we agreed I should do this on my own."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to abandon you if you need me." He paused, then said gently, "That's what families do, Greg. They help each other." Greg nodded slowly. "You ready, then?" asked Grissom with a touch of his old impatience.

Greg nodded again and they got out of the car and headed towards the door. As they approached the approximate spot where Greg was taken at, he froze.

Grissom saw this and took Greg's arm gently. "C'mon, Greg," he encouraged quietly. "One step at a time."

Slowly, step-by-step, they made it through the door. Greg released a big breath he didn't even know he had been holding. Grissom didn't say anything, just squeezed Greg's shoulder in gentle congratulations.

All of a sudden, the pair was surrounded by the smiling faces of the night shift. Everyone was there, Nick, Sara, Warrick, Catherine, Doc Robbins, everyone. Even the receptionists, who Greg was positive he had never spoken to in his life, were there. They all surged forward to hug Greg at once.

Involuntarily, he flinched as the bodies pressed toward him. Grissom, seeing this, called, "Hey, one at a time, alright?"

Everyone stopped pushing and hung back, slightly abashed, until Catherine stepped forward and wrapped Greg in a gentle hug. "Welcome back," she whispered in his ear.

Warrick was next; he gripped Greg in a one-armed hug. "Glad you're back, Bro," he said, stepping back to allow the others through. Archie, Doc and David, his assistant, also gave Greg hugs, while Hodges declined, choosing instead to shake Greg's hand. The receptionists gave him hugs, and then it was Nick's turn. He just looked at Greg, shook his head, and walked away.

"Nick!" shouted Greg after him, brow furrowed in confusion. Not only had Nick visited him least in the hospital, but now this.

Sara grabbed his arm and said quietly, "Give him a few minutes, then go talk to him, ok?"

Greg looked at her, hurt evident in his eyes. "You know what this is about, don't you?" he asked.

She shook her head hesitantly. "No…but I can guess. Look, just…go talk to him, ok?"

Greg nodded and took off down the hall, wondering where Nick might've gone. He paused as he noticed that the door to the roof was slightly ajar. Pushing it open all the way, he clambered up the stairs, quietly opening the door at the top and stepped out onto the roof.

There was Nick, just a black silhouette against the fading red Nevada sun. The dry desert wind gently blew through his clothes and tussled his short hair.

Greg didn't say anything, just went and stood next to him. Nick blinked slowly, then said calmly, "Well, here we are, Greg. So tell me, do you want to jump?"

The question caught Greg off-guard. "What?"

"Do you want to jump off this roof? Cuz I'd help you, if you ask. I already helped you last time you tried to kill yourself."

Greg was beyond confused. "You didn't help me…I…it was…"

"It was my knife," hissed Nick, whirling around to face him, unshed tears glinting in his eyes. "My knife that you used to slice through your skin. My knife that almost ended your life. My knife…" He broke down crying, and it was the tears that scared Greg more than the anger. "God, Greg," whispered Nick. "Why my knife? Was it some kind of not-so-subtle message aimed at me or something? Or…"

"No." Greg's voice cut him off, sharper than he had intended. He softened it and said again, "No."

"Then…?" Nick didn't need to finish the question.

Greg sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't know," he said quietly.

"Didn't know what?"

"I didn't know it was your knife. When I found it, I…well, I wasn't thinking clearly. I just wanted it all to end. I…I thought you were dead."

"What?" asked Nick, confused.

"I kept seeing these images in my head, and they were always of you guys. All of you were dead. You…you kept telling me it was my fault…that…that I should just kill myself." He held up a hand as Nick started to protest. "I know you didn't say that, that you would never say that, but at the time, I thought it was real. I thought…I thought you hated me," he whispered miserably, staring at his feet.

"Greggo, I could never hate you," said Nick gently. "Even when you tried to kill yourself, I didn't hate you. I hated myself… I thought it was my fault, that I should be blamed."

"Nicky, how could anyone blame you? Blame me! I have to live everyday with the fact that at a weak moment, I tried to end my own life."

Nick just shook his head. Greg grabbed his arm and said loudly, "Nick, IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT!" He hugged Nick, hard, trying to make him see that he couldn't blame himself.

Nick hugged him back with bone-crushing strength. They broke apart and Greg asked, "So…are we cool?"

Nick laughed, wiping tears off of his cheeks. "Yeah, man, we're cool. Now let's get back, or Grissom'll have our hides."

The pair of once-again friends clattered down the stairs, each very glad to be friends again.

Sara heard music, if you could call it that. Pounding bass combined with screaming guitars in a jumble of sounds at a decibel level painful to human ears. She stood, a small smile playing on her lips. She had missed the sound of Greg's music. She strode to his lab, poking her head in the door, both amused and slightly terrified by the sight she saw.

He was dancing around the room in a vague style that resembled a mix between ballet, the cha-cha, and a mosh pit. He had declined to wear a lab coat, leaving it draped over a chair. Instead, he was wearing an old, black concert t-shirt from some band she had never heard of, and a loose-fitting pair of jeans barely held on his thin frame by a worn black leather belt.

As she watched, his scuffed Converse shoes began doing what appeared to be a perversion of The Lord of the Dance to the music blasting from the stereo's speakers. Now he was singing to the music, using a test tube as a microphone and shaking his rear suggestively as he sashayed around the room.

Luckily, he stopped when the computer gave off a series of high-pitched beeps. Rushing over to it, he clicked on something, then did a short victory jig, whooping aloud as he did so. He pushed print, twirled in a delicate pirouette and stopped in a most comical position when he saw her leaning on the door. "Uh…Sara…did you need something?" he asked, attempting nonchalance, and failing miserably.

She hid a grin. "You're really back."

He smiled at her gently. "I never left."

"What made you decide to stay?"

Greg grinned, his eyes taking on a far-away look. "Let's just say that I had some help getting a different view on what I do." His eyes moved to the picture of him and Nicola he had taped on the wall.

"Nicola?" asked Sara, raising an eyebrow.

Greg nodded with a small smile. "She helped me see that what I do matters."

Sara eyes softened and she said gently, "Greg, we all think that what you do matters."

"I know, but at the time, I couldn't see it."

Sara suddenly grew serious and she started, "Greg, we need to talk…", but at that moment, her beeper went off. "Greg, that's Grissom, I gotta go. We'll talk later, ok?"

He nodded, turning his music up louder as she left.

A/N: I realize the description of Greg's dancing has really no plot value whatsoever, but I wanted to bring back a taste of the Greg we know and love. Oh, and I don't own The Lord of the Dance. But I did go see it once.