Title: Everything
Author: frickangel
Summary: When darkness falls and uncertainty plagues, choices must be made. But will Greg make the right ones? SaraGreg.
A/N: Bloody, stupid plot bunnies. Started off as "Pretty okay", then to "Err..." and ended with, "Let's just get this done and over with".
Thanks to Aidrianna for her amazing beta skills. She will always be my hyphen and semicolon hero –grins–.
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own and don't I wish.
Chapter 1

"Mortal dreams are fleeting moments that go at daybreak leaving nothing but the empty shells of hope."
-Keng Yi

-----

There was silence.

There was darkness.

There was nothingness.

There was something wrong.

And he awoke. Air blessed his lungs along the way, as if it was the first breath of life he had ever taken and it felt like it.

The dim light assaulted his eyes, beckoning for him to close them again and return to his dreamless slumber. Yet, something from deep within shook his inner self telling him that nothing was real, that all of this was shadows of a lucid fantasy.

His eyes adjusted and felt comfortable enough to keep them opened a little wider. And then he realised:

There was something wrong.

Rubbing his eyes to relieve the sleep from them, he realised that his hands weren't gloved like he was accustomed to after all those years in the lab. The oddness of his naked fingers brushing against his bare skin was like ice-cold water trickling down his back.

The air was amiss with something yet he couldn't quite place his finger on it.

With the daze shaken from him, he found himself seated at a wide table and it was none other than the cool metallic one of his lab. Eyes trailing the reflected light, he saw many other things he recognised. Everything was all too familiar to him; from the machines that situated on the tables, the room space, and the arrangement to even the daylight of the fluorescent bulb from above.

Yes, it was true. He was home— in his lab.

And the moment of truth dawned upon him as he discovered the very thing that was wrong.

There was silence.

Nothing around emitted noise of any kind. Any normal hum and whirls from the apparatus and machines were not to be found. The only thing he heard was the rustling of his shirt and his jeans against his body as he stood up, setting himself to investigate his surroundings. The cold was assaulting him since he didn't have the protection of his lab coat any longer.

It was like a puzzle where the pieces never matched as if he was given a box with the wrong contents. Parts of his reality were all there and shown with pride, but none of it worked. The machines, which ran day and night, had stopped, the blue lab coat that used to adorn him was nowhere to be found and now his own existence in the lab was out of place.

Dancing his fingers across the table in harmony with his steps, his mind raced to find the answer but it was like a dream where the more you tried to recall, the more it slipped away. Gently, the fingertips traced the rim of a beaker and he picked it up. Remembering that the between two liquids mixed together, the one with the higher concentration of moles is called the solvent while the one with the lesser is known as the solute.

He rested the glassware back down and sighed.

If only he could remember what he had forgotten. It was there all right, but buried deep in the dark corners of his head.

If only he could remember.

"Looking for something, Greg?"

His body twisted behind, trying to find the source of such a clear yet simple voice. A voice that asked him the question he was seeking. His eyes rested upon her; with her pretty face framed with her dark brown curls and decorated with her smile. It was her smile that drew him to her; the smile like a Cheshire cat's that hid a secret- a secret which he must know. "Hey," the relief of seeing her made the uneasiness seem easier and her name flowed from his lips so effortlessly, "Sara…"

It surprised him so much to know her face yet the sound of her name was alien to his ears. His eyes felt tired once more and he half closed them, wishing the feeling to pass. A deep and growing ache troubled his abdomen and he clutched it, hoping that that too will go.

"You okay?"

"I don't know," Greg inhaled deeply and took a few steps closer, watching as she leaned back against a machine known as an infrared spectrometer. It was a simple-complicated device that meant nothing to him without the aid of the other needed machines It's like a square peg in a round hole."

Even when frowning, it never once ruined her beauty but on the contrary enhanced it.

"Why would you say that?"

It was his turn to frown. "Doesn't anything feel wrong here?"

He waited for her answer, and was rewarded by a scrutinising stare from her decorated with confusion. Maybe he hadn't been clear or perhaps he was speaking in tongues. Either way, Greg felt compelled to explain what he meant before she wrote him off as sheer crazy.

"This whole place…" His hands outstretched to emphasise on the enclosure surrounding them. "… isn't right. I mean, I see you, I see the lab and I know I'm here but…" His mind was overloading from the struggle to find the perfect word to express himself, but he failed to find any, "I… it's not right, Sara."

The cloud of confusion never left Sara's eyes and he could see it even more now as she stepped closer, closing the gap between them. Standing right before him, she leaned nearer and brushed something off his shirt's sleeve and that's when he saw the red. For some odd reason, he found the red colour of his shirt disturbing and it nagged at him even more. It was as if the symbolic shade had triggered some sort of unease and worsened the pain he felt at his side. His hand absent-mindedly reached for the ache, just hoping that his touch would soothe it.

Satisfied that no imaginary dust had soiled his shirt, Sara lifted her head and studied his face. "This place…" she spoke with care, "…is you."

He fought the urge to grab Sara by the shoulders and shake her roughly, wishing for a clear answer from her. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his body, partly from trying to keep the cold away, "I work here, if that's what you mean."

For the briefest moment, he could sense the confusion in her again but was quickly replaced by a small grin and then her chuckle. If he weren't so frustrated from all his questions, he probably would've laughed along.

Her chuckle slowly receded to only a soft gurgle he could barely hear and she took a deep breath, as if her tiny burst of emotion had taken a lot. "Funny," she smiled once more and shook her head, "Always the funny guy. That's who you are, Greg."

"There's only one problem with that," he interrupted her, "I'm not trying to be funny."

She paused, furrowing her eyebrows and closing her eyes. Staying still, he patiently pondered her silence, and with every passing moment, fear hammered on him and the feeling of helplessness and knowing something was wrong wasn't just a thought now, it was a reality. "Sara…" he called out her name and he had planned on sounding as indifferent as possible but all that escaped was a plea.

"You don't remember, do you?"

If only he could remember.

"Remember what?" his hands trembled as he grasped Sara's arm.

"Everything."

Shaking his head, Greg tightened his hold on her and spoke with a voice so soft; he couldn't tell if it was his own, "I can't."

There was a flicker of emotion in her eyes; was it pity or anger? He couldn't tell, but before he could decipher it, she took hold of his arm and pried his fingers off with strength he didn't know Sara had. "You need to," she whispered, matching her tone of voice with his, "You need to remember, Greg. Or else you won't be able to choose."

The anger broke through and dangerously boiled within him, threatening to transform his confusion and desperation into pure rage. "Why won't you just tell me?" his balled-up fist slammed against the cold metal, echoing the eerie clash in the room.

She didn't flinch, not even when the apparatus on the table bounced slightly, toppling a beaker off its base and brought itself to a shattering end. Instead, she did what Greg had feared she would do- Sara backed away and walked out.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Greg suppressed the urge to scream like a madman and instead buried his face into his open palms. He ignored the dull ache that throbbed in his side as his hands ran through his curly brown hair. Taking a deep breath in, hoping that the air would miraculously bring the memories he sought; but nothing. Blinking the haze aside, Greg took his own steps out and ran after the senior CSI.

It was an odd thing; he could see her and she was walking steadily away from him. He was running but no matter how fast he was, he couldn't reach her. "Sara!" he called to her, yet she didn't look behind.

Maybe she hadn't heard him.

His feet pounded down on the corridor's floor, making another turn and still having Sara in his sight. It was then that he took a split second to look to his side, to the labs and offices and it struck him. It had been such a sudden revelation that he forgotten about his prey and he stopped in his tracks to make sure he wasn't imagining it.

No, it wasn't his imagination.

There was nobody.

Every office and every laboratory, behind long stretches of glass panes, were void of human presence. Only the machines sat idly by themselves, the furniture untouched and stationary. On his right, the A.V. room where he would normally find Archie sitting on his stool, trying to crack out the knots in his neck as he went through hundreds, if not dozens, of tapes and video footage.

Greg stepped up to the windows, pressing his face against the glass and searching for its missing occupant. Only the computers stood alive, the static flickering across the monitors but without an owner and without a purpose. Drawing back, Greg turned behind hoping to find Wendy, Bobby or maybe Henry. Even Hodges would be a sight for sore eyes. To his horror and dread, Greg couldn't find any of them.

The emptiness and silence of the building was disturbing and sent a shiver down his spine. The cold had nothing to do with it and the shivers that ran through him didn't cease. Everything was sterile and clean, where the calm water was unnerving and unnatural.

It was true. He was the only one left… but why?

No, there was another.

Sara.

She knows. She must know.

Tearing down the pavement, Greg resumed his search for the elusive brunette and for the equally elusive answers. He took at first a few rights and sporadic turns to the left looking for her and when he had stopped somewhere along to catch his breath, he found her.

Alone and standing still, Sara had her back facing him and her hands by her side; attention drawn away by something else. Pulling himself together, Greg crept up behind her, afraid that if he made any sudden moves, she would bolt and run again like a frightened animal.

Cold fingers of his brushed against each other as he lifted his arm to hold Sara by her shoulders. This time he will not let go and she would not be able to shake him off as easily as before. He was going to hold her down forcefully until she told him the solution to this god-awful riddle. Enough was enough.

Inches before he could feel her clothes on his fingers, Sara twisted her head behind and lifted her finger to her lips, signalling silence from Greg.

He froze, not knowing anymore what to do or to think. In the end, after watching her returning her gaze to the front and staring beyond, he clasped her shoulder. Greg had prepared the force he needed to turn the woman around but Sara had done so voluntarily and without objection.

She stood and locked her sight on the ex-lab technician.

What was he going to do?

Greg shut his eyes to think of the right words to say, knowing that his past question had not been answered without uncertainty. Sara's tilted her head slightly, as if she knew what to expect from him, knowing the words he himself didn't know. He swallowed hard and parted his lips, "Tell me."

"Tell you what?" she quizzed him.

"Everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

It was as if every other sound had disappeared along with the people, nothing existed except him, Sara, and his DNA lab behind her.

Only then did he realise he had ran a full circle, coming back to the exact spot he had left after her. Slowly turning back to Sara, he held his breath and waited for her to speak, for the sound to return to him and for reality to kick him.

Air rushed by him, like someone had turned off the vacuum and now every sense was being sucked back in and he could finally hear. Eyes still on Sara, he saw her mouth move and let out two simple words.

"Get down."

Greg never knew she had such strength, the power to push him down to his knees, using her body as a shield against the sudden explosion shattering from somewhere behind her and throwing out a great force. A force that Greg recognised too well and wished he never had. The smell of fire, mixed with the chemicals and the gas had tipped him off as well as the fire licking at his bare skin. He screamed for it to stop—to end.

And it did.

He opened his eyes, not remembering he had closed them and he found Sara crouching by his side—searching him. It didn't matter if she was there or not, but the feeling of exhaustion overwhelmed him suddenly, crushing him and choking him. Could be from the sweat that the heat caused, could be from the tears, could be from the memory of three years ago, or could be everything. Sliding down and leaning against the wall, Greg could feel the heat travelling through it and emanating from the lab.

"Why?" he pleaded at her, not knowing why she had put him through this nightmare again, "Why?"

She was kneeling by him, face to face and he found nowhere to escape, "Because this is what haunts you, and scarred you, Greg. You need to solve your past demons before you make your choice."

"What choice!" he coughed on the smoke as he brought his hand up to wipe the soot from his face only to be welcomed with a sticky warmness. In the dim lights, he could see the blood oozing from the cut on his arm. A piece of glass must've gotten him. Yet, why didn't Sara look dirty or shaken? She was the one who protected him.

"Listen, Greg!" she cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to pay full attention to her. "I want you to understand that there was nothing you could've done back then to stop the explosion. It was never your fault, there was not—"

"There was!" he yelled at her. "I could've checked the hot plates, or separate the solvents… make sure things were li—"

"Nothing!"

"What do you know? You weren't there!"

"I was!"

No. It couldn't be. "You weren't," he whispered now, too tired to go into another screaming fest. "Not there."

"I was…"

He followed her gaze, along the smoke, the shards of glass, pieces of cement, plastic and burnt paper. Greg was staring at himself, lying on the floor right at the front of his lab. The Greg that he was three years ago, broken from the explosion, hurting and just lying there like a worn out rag doll.

Closing his eyes, he tried blinking away the image but it was there and that mirror of himself lay coldly on the ground. That couldn't be him. He was sitting here, away from the lab and this was years ago. Turning away, he looked aside and found someone else, another person, another Sara.

She was on the floor too, but conscious and bleeding.

The words stuck in his mouth, and threaten to suffocate him but letting his mind whirl piecing together the puzzle of the two Sara-s he saw and his mirror image.

"I was there." Sara broke the silence and disconnecting his gaze. "I saw everything, felt everything. I was there."

He turned back, and looked but the two others were gone. Leaving only him and Sara alone- again. "I don't remember…"

"Through my eyes, Greg… You were seeing it through my eyes."

A crack broke through the barrier, forcing the emotions out of him and the tears had never felt so good. "I was so scared."

"I know." Sara held him tight, close enough for Greg to feel her soft curls on his face and to touch her comfort. "I was scared too."

After the explosion and Catherine's private confession, Greg never blamed the older woman. He wouldn't be human if he hadn't been angry at her and he did. But it was Catherine; one of the few he would trust his life with no matter what and she had come to him, telling him the truth although she didn't need to. He would've received the official report sooner or later.

It was after the initial months of shock had worn off, and everything settled in. His nightmares chased him, forcing him into paranoia and depression and finally out of the lab. He couldn't talk to anyone because no one understood it. Grissom tried, but only after discovering how his hands shook so badly and his fear numbed his senses, dimmed his humour and self-esteem.

Wave after wave of self-realisation crashed on him, and all Greg could do was to hold on to Sara.

"Got to make a choice now."

Greg was too drained to feel any more curiosity or confusion, he just wanted it all to end and maybe he could finally go home. He let his head fall back against the wall and rested there for a while, feeling himself breathe easier just a little. Finally his eyes lifted to meet hers and nodded slowly at Sara, not understanding still by what she meant. "What about?"

"Life," she simply replied and smiled gently. "Remember back before this. Where were you?"

No energy to fight the questions, he allowed himself a moment to ponder the easy question. "In my lab."

Sara shook her head, and asked once more, "Before you came here, Greg."

His head dulled with pain, and the ache from his abdomen had escalated from a slight throb to a wincing pain as he bent over slightly from it, reaching to hold where it hurts. "Why does it hurt?"

"Greg…" she held his head back up, ignoring his question. "Recall where you were."

"I don't…" he spoke through clenched teeth, trying hard to bite back the pain that assaulted him, wondering why it hurt so badly, why Sara would be asking him senseless questions and thinking about the gunshot that had tore through him.

He gasped.

The memory sliced through the haze and came in broken parts, and he remembered. He remembered screaming Sara's name before seeing the flash and the pain before the darkness.

"I was shot."

She nodded a few times in silence, pressing her lips into a thin line as if she was trying hard to control her own emotions. "Yes… you were."

"Right here," his hand moved over the exact point of the sting, where the bullet had entered. He realised what it meant: his red shirt- his own blood. "I'm dead."

"No!" Sara held his face between her palms and assured him, "Not dead… not yet."

"What about you?" Another sort of cold fear gripped him, hoping and praying that she wasn't here for the same reason.

Was she?

"I'm here to help you." She smiled weakly.

"Not dead?"

"Not dead," shaking her head another time, she held on to Greg's hand. "And neither are you."

"Is that a good thing?"

"You have a choice, Greg."

"I think I know what you mean now," he weaved his fingers between hers, feeling her smooth skin and laughed a small chuckle, "But–"

"Think!" she commanded him, yet the plea was there. "Think of the things and of your life. Please."

What life? He asked himself the same question everyday. Since he was young, life was all about studying and getting that high score because everyone knew he could do it. Teachers, tutors, neighbours all told his Norwegian family that Greg was a gifted genius, that he shouldn't be confined to the limitations of California's ways. They all agreed and were prepared to send him off to some distant. No one cared what young Sanders wanted because everyone thought they were giving him the best.

All they knew was to expect the same thing from Greg and no one bothered to care about his actual needs. And for some god-forsaken reason, he couldn't find it in himself to rebel and be the person that isn't Greg Sanders. He wanted the attention as much as he wanted people to listen to him and he found the best way to do that was to give them what they want. Finally, for once in his life Greg made his family listen to his choice.

He threatened to disown his family, to not do well and even suicide. But no one took him seriously, because Greg Sanders was a wholesome son who did as he parents wished. This time, Greg took matters into a non-Sanders fashion and attempted an overdose, finished off with strong alcohol from Papa Olaf's liquor cabinet.

Finally, they abandoned their plans and gave Greg the local education he wanted and he was accepted into Stanford, moving into Phi Beta Kappa. From that day onwards, Greg thought he had finally outgrown his obsession of pleasing people, but he was wrong. Subconsciously he retreated to the old Greg and without realising it, was once again living to please people.

It was after he was transferred to Las Vegas did he find his old habit. People were expecting Greg to make things happen, to always be happy and chirpy, maybe hyperactive even. Then they wanted him to work faster and longer, and be just as contented. The one time he sunk into his realisation, he had ordered Warrick and Nick to leave his lab. They never asked him if he was all right and instead asked if he had taken his meds that morning. Good ol' Rick and Nick who only thought that Greg knew jokes and the birds and bees. Even after the explosion, they wanted the giddy-happy Greg back but no one knew he had died in the fire.

Coming out to field, he had hoped people would see a change and not want their DNA man back. Instead, the expectations piled on and on.

He was tired… so, so tired.

"It's my choice?"

"Only you can choose to live," Sara replied, never once leaving him.

Staring at her, studying her brown eyes, Greg wished he could tell her about his façade and what he wanted in his life. "And if I choose otherwise?"

He could see her swallow hard and look away, "It's your choice…" she whispered sadly.

Through the three decades of his life, through all the decisions he made, this was the one time he felt like he couldn't care much about the outcome. Yes, people would be sad, or upset, but who would they really mourn for? The man whom they'd known or the man who they let slip pass?

Jumble of memories and moments in life drowned him, but there was a glimpse of a smile.

A smile and a laugh.

The laugh turned into a frown, and sometimes a scowl. Then there were the times she made fun of his addiction to coffee or his choice of music, to the occasional grins she slipped pass under Grissom's disapproving glare. It had started off as a playful crush, something he did to uphold his playboy image, but over the years he forgot the "playful" part and had allowed it blossom into true friendship.

Genuine jokes and laughs exchanged; no fake smiles and plastic chuckles.

Maybe it was more than just friendship. And maybe for once, he had really stopped pretending and had truly let himself be himself. If only he could hear her laugh again, just one more time before he left.

His lips parted, the words, 'Sara, laugh for me?' forming at the tip of his tongue. "Do I click my heels together and wish?" It was a lousy attempt at good humour, but it was humour nonetheless, yet Sara never laughed- not even a smile. He felt disappointed at himself and at her. Why wouldn't she just laugh?

"No," she replied meekly and placed her forehead against his. "They will know."

Who was 'they'? the question was ready to roll, but instead he was overwhelmed by her presence and her physical touch.

And her tears.

Even in the midst of the smoky dimness and the thick, heavy air, Greg could only feel her warm skin against his and the coolness of her tears falling on his cheeks.

Closing his eyes, his thoughts drifted from the humid air, to the dusty floor, the ache in his side, his choice and Sara's laugh. One by one, those thoughts disappeared like morning dew in the hot afternoon sun, until finally he was left with the ache—which soon subsided.

Left with his choice—which was soon forgotten.

And left with her laugh—which soon faded.

Then there was nothing.

TBC…

Thanks for reading
-Cheers
Jo