Title: Burning Memories
Author: Jesika
Rating: PG
Category: CSI / angst
Warnings/Spoilers: Spark of Life
Summary: Maybe he's just not cut out for this job.

Rumor has it you used to be a pretty funny guy."

It's the phrase that's been repeating itself in his mind for the past several days, since the case ended and those images of charred flesh started to become just that, images. He isn't sure they were ever real to begin with, that it was some sick and twisted joke that his mind was playing on him.

He tried not to look through the windows of the burn unit and see himself laying there, feel the pain of the second degree burns outlining the numb third degree burns. He asked the doctor questions regarding the pain, remembering hearing those same words leaving a few of his colleagues lips while he was laid up in the hospital, his back too painful to lay on and his side not much better.

The advice given by Sofia Curtis to rid himself of the images didn't work, but instead he found himself kneeled in front of the toilet, dry heaving with tears streaking his cheeks, trying to force the images out of his head any way possible. Since then he's been insomniac, sitting in the middle of the floor of his living room staring at dead space, knowing that if he were to close his eyes it would just make the images come harder and faster.

The first two days after the case closed he had off, and the past two days he's called in sick, too drained to talk to Grissom himself and opting to leave the message with Judy at the front desk. His answering machine blinks a high single digit, the count coming out to one message from his mother, two from Sarah, one from Nick and Warrick each, and the most recent coming from Grissom himself, telling the tech to call him right away regarding his sick days.

He thinks that with his luck he won't have any sick days and that Grissom is calling to fire him, so when the phone rings again he lets it be, remaining stark still in his spot on the carpet while the answering machine clicks over, his bosses voice immediately flooding the room.

"Greg, this is Grissom, I need you to call me immediately. The others have informed me that they've been trying to contact you with no luck. Call me when you get this."

The machine cuts off when Grissom hangs up, and Greg slowly pulls himself off the ground, allowing the blood to flow back to his legs for a moment before walking in the direction of his bedroom, the apartment dark as he moves through it with ease. He feels like the walls are closing in on him, that the air is being pulled from his lungs, and in record time he's fully clothed and walking out the door to his apartment, his hair in an unkempt mess, a style that might have been seen on him before he became a CSI.

The moment he steps out of his apartment building he stops to take in a deep breath, gaining a breath of fresh air for the first time in almost a week, and he savors it for several moments before walking out to his car, knowing that any moment now at least one of the CSI's will be showing up looking for him, to make sure he's okay if not to fire him.

He doesn't think he can handle talking to any of them right now, answering any of their questions, and if he thinks about it enough he'd realize that he doesn't want to talk to anyone, not until he can figure out all of the thoughts running through his head. He realizes that running will cost him his job, but at the moment he's not sure he wants it anymore, not sure he wants to see anymore burned flesh or the other nightmarish things he has been exposed to since becoming a CSI.

He thought it would be the best thing for him after the explosion, thought he could handle anything as long as he wasn't locked up in the lab all day, but the only thing its done is taken the fear and paranoia he had before and added anger and depression on top of it. He didn't think it would be this hard, he's been around CSI's long enough to know that you can't let it get to you, but he still managed to fall victim to it, his psychiatrist prescribing him anti-depressants to add to the anxiety medication and sleeping pills he's been taking since the explosion.

The car pulls to a stop before Greg can really fully register the fact that he's been driving for the past half hour, and his thoughts are conflicted as he stares through the windshield at the hospital in front of him, his hands beginning to shake despite the medication he took only a few hours prior to leaving his apartment. He knows what's here, why his subconscious brought him here, and he's reluctant as he pulls himself out of the car and walks into the hospital, keeping his head down to avoid having to talk to anyone that might recognize him.

Soon he's standing outside the window of the burn unit, his face a mere inch from the glass as he watches the continuance of the debridement, realizing it could take a while for them to remove all the charred skin.

As he watches the process in front of him, he feels the sting and tingle in his back, trying to fight back the images of laying in a hospital bed with nurses and doctors picking at the dead skin, pulling it away only to replace it with the skin of a dead person. The thought of having someone else's skin attached to him still sends a shiver down his spine and brings the taste of bile to his throat, but he manages to suppress the urge to throw up by concentrating on the person in front of him, not paying attention to the person stepping up beside him to join in with looking at the woman.

"After all she's done, I still can't force myself to hate her. She's the love of my life, and now-"

Greg doesn't look away, doesn't pay attention to the flat palm of Neil Matthews pressed against the glass, longing to touch his wife. He doesn't hear the words either, doesn't move to acknowledge that words were even spoken to him, instead he continues to stare, tries not to look at the face because every time he does, he sees his own two years ago, etched in agony and pain while no one was around to witness it other than the doctors and nursing staff.

He felt alone, really alone. The only time one of the others came to visit was to question him about the explosion, make him repeat the smell of plastic, the feel of his body crashing through the window before he lost consciousness on the hallway floor. He thought he could hear familiar voices talking to him while he was in drugged induced sleep, but he couldn't be sure of whether they were real, or just voices filtering in through his subconscious.

For almost the first twenty-four hours after the explosion there was a faint ringing in his ears, and when he thought he heard his name being called he would turn to the voice, only to find his room empty. After the first several times he gave up, wouldn't even bother to open his eyes when he thought he heard his name was being called. When the doctor or one of the nurses came in they would gently touch his arm, and that was the only time he would ever bother to open his eyes.

Neil Matthews watches the young CSI stare in through the window of his wife's hospital room, takes in the pain etched across the young man's face, and he silently leaves his spot near the window to give the CSI some time alone, realizing that with all the death and brutality the young man sees in his line of work, that sometimes he just needs to take a moment to himself.

On his way out of the burn unit he passes an older man standing in the doorway watching the CSI, not giving much thought to it as he walks over to the elevator to return back to the cafeteria for more coffee, for more time to convince himself that it's alright to still love his wife even after all that she's done.

Greg faintly notices the departure of the older man, but he continues to remain in his spot, his eyes still fixated on the debridement still in process even after the newly abandoned spot next to him is filled once again. The person smells faintly of latex and sweat, and Greg doesn't bother to acknowledge his bosses presence, even after he hears his name being called.

"Everyone's been trying to get a hold of you. You shouldn't be here."

"No one should have to be here."

He can't find the energy or voice to verbally respond to Grissom's statement, so he merely shrugs his shoulders, a movement so small that it's almost missed by the older man.

"If you needed some time off, you only had to ask, not lie to Judy about being sick."

Grissom realizes how bad he is at human interaction when Greg ignores his statement and continues staring through the glass, and he considers calling in Catherine, maybe even Nick to handle this. They've both always been good at dealing with people in awkward situations, and he's almost convinced himself to pull his cell phone out of his pocket to call one of them when he suddenly stops his hand mid reach, turning to the sound of Greg's voice.

"Why did you put me on this case, put me in charge of collecting evidence from her?"

Grissom doesn't think he's ever heard someone sound so defeated, so drained of life, and he can feel his fingers wrap around his phone as he stares at Greg, the younger man's eyes still cast to the woman on the other side of the window.

"You can't let yourself get attached Greg."

"You don't get it."

"I guess I'm just not cut out for this job. "

Greg finally moves from his spot, avoiding Grissom's eyes as he turns around and makes his way over to the door. He expects Grissom to try and stop him, but the older CSI only watches in shock as Greg leaves, waiting until the younger man is out of sight before he turns back to the window and sees what Greg was looking at, the image of a young lab tech laying in the bed covered in burnt skin resurfacing in his memory.


This is supposed to be a standalone, but depending on reviews, I might continue.