Sorry for the slow updates, I've been having issues with Writer's Block, and it's taken a few tries to get this chapter right. It is a bit short, but there will 'hopefully' be more coming soon.

Faraway Dreams, which some of you have been asking about, will be posted once I finish up some of the other stories I have going on, so that I can focus more attention on it, seeing that it will be a bit more complex to write.

Thanks goes out to Kegel for her help in this, and to my ever so wonderful muse Jenny. Go check their stuff out if you ever have the time :P

Chapter Six: Satisfaction

It was placid and quiet, both of which Greg loathed. They had talked some, a faint chatter, and it was apparent that he no longer wanted to talk, but work required a full session visit until his therapist marked him off as being okay. Much to Greg's frustration, the sessions had just started.

"So," his doctor began, his eyes resting on the chart instead of Greg for once that night. "Are you still having these delusions?"

He didn't answer at first. To say he hadn't would be an outright lie, the memories of the day before flooding in quicker than he could shut them out. But to say that he had, would no doubt condemn him to the funny farm. A mental institution was the last place he wanted to be.

Upon his lack of response his doctor nodded, marking a few things down. Greg could only wonder what, and worry that he was scheduling an open spot for him now. He laced his fingers together, trying to decide if the faint silence was a good sign, or a bad one.

The scratching of the pen against paper made him more anxious, and he drew in a breath to try and calm himself. There was no reason for him to be this nervous, he hadn't done anything wrong. But that was exactly what it felt like, and it seemed as though he was waiting for the final punishment to be dealt as he sat there hesitantly.

"You seem nervous," Brewer commented evenly, earning a snort of dissatisfaction from Greg as the young CSI tried to remember exactly why he was here in the first place.

"Considering the circumstances," he pointed out ironically. "I don't know what to think anymore."

The man shifted in his chair, leaning forward as if to study him. "It might help if we discuss some of your past," he offered. "It might trigger a memory response."

Greg had wanted to ask for what the purpose would be, but decided against it. If he hung to the belief or at least the prospect that he was suffering from some sort of memory loss, that alone wasn't half as bad as being deemed crazy. He raised an eyebrow, an indication for the doctor to continue.

"Where would you like to start?"

With another sigh Greg shifted so that he was resting back against the cushions, shaking his head as the man offered him something to drink. It took a moment to recall what they had talked about in their last session, but finally muttered a quiet suggestion.

"How did Grissom die?"

The question had been nagging him since he had learned of his supervisor's fate, yet hadn't been able to even bring up the suggestion around the others. Nick, who to Greg's immense surprise was the head supervisor of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, had already come down hard on him for mentioning Grissom the other day. The only reason he didn't end up suspended was because of Sara, who had somehow convinced the Texan that Greg had already been through enough.

Sara of course was touchy with the subject; Greg knew this already. Since then he hadn't even dared to ask, although the question was always burning on his lips. He watched Brewer nod as the doctor moved to his feet, opening one of the file cabinets in the back of the room. It was a first for Greg, who had already assumed the man knew everything.

"Grissom was head of the nightshift when Sara heard about the promotion. He was looking for a swing shift replacement, and the two of you moved to Vegas in hopes of landing the job. Both of you qualified, but Sara was chosen to monitor the swing shift."

Greg nodded only dully as he took in the information. He had no objections to anything at this point in time, almost coming to settle agreement with this new way of life. The CSI decided that if this was how things were going to be, he might as well get used to it all. At least, this was what he tried to convince himself.

"She became close to him then, but kept professional about her work, and her standings. The two of you began to see less of each other, you worked under Grissom, and your hours did not necessarily agree with one another. You shared an apartment for the first few months until she started talking about moving in with Grissom instead. They were dating at that time, at the disapproval of the others in charge."

Greg, at this point, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The thought of Sara dating Grissom made him ill almost. He always knew that Sara had a thing for him, but never dreamed of it actually becoming a romantic possibility.

"You were working the scene with him when he was killed," Brewer's voiced changed, becoming more sympathetic. "It was raining, and the two of you were working a case alongside the road when a car passing by lost control. You were taken to the hospital with a broken arm and dislocated shoulder, as well as some injuries to the head and various bruising. Grissom passed away shortly after being struck. It was a tragic event, and that perhaps is the sole reason why you can't remember any of it. Your mind has filtered it out, choosing not to remember the most painful instances of your life."

It seemed reasonable enough, and it chilled him to the bone to think of Grissom going in that sort of way. Greg had always pictured the man living to an extreme age before finally passing off quietly. Not alone in the depths of the night with a torrent of rain assaulting them both.

"Sara became withdrawn after that," Brewer continued, as if not noticing the eerie look that held fast on Greg's face. "As you can imagine his death had a lot of effect on her. She went to work, then proceeded to come home and lock herself away in her room. She hardly ate, and barely slept. It wasn't until after she tried to kill herself that you sought professional help."

This one had caught Greg by surprise, and he eyed the doctor wearily. Sara did have her problems, but none of which she tried to solve with the blade of a razor, or a bottle of pills, at least this was his hope.

"You tried to care for her yourself at first, but drained already from your physical injuries and the taxing toll of the stress and worry you found that you could not properly attend to her emotions. You became concerned, but it didn't install a fear until you found her that one night after getting off shift."

"What happened?" Greg asked the question uneasily, unsure of whether or not he wanted to hear the answer. Part of him knew that he wouldn't be satisfied unless he did, and so he sat quietly, waiting for the dreaded answer to come.

"She had tried overdose on a prescription drug," Brewer nodded towards him sympathetically. "Fortunately with the combination of alcohol, it only proceeded to make her sick. You found her passed out on the floor, and called in for help. Two days later, when she got out, Sara had her first session with me."

Greg let out the breath he had been holding, although already knowing that Sara had been okay in the end, in order for her to be doing so well know. He was shaking slightly, a small tremor in his hands and he closed them into fists, willing them to stop. It went unseen by his therapist, who continued on with the story in a somber voice.

"She trusted you, and still does to this day. You've been her support for so long. A lot of people assume that she's the dominant, and Sara portrays herself in such that way most of the time, but she's repeatedly informed me that if you were to suddenly leave, she wouldn't be able to hold herself together. It's the one reason you've stayed here for so long."

"Why am I so important to her?"

"You stood up for her," Brewer replied simply, twirling the pencil around in his one hand. "It took months of therapy, months of sleepless nights, and ever continuing encouragement to bring her back around, but in the end the both of you won. Sara's work ethic went up, as did her self-esteem, and that was when the two of you began dating. About a year after his death, the replacement night shift supervisor left for other work, and Sara was moved to graveyards while someone else filled the swing shift position. You continued to work as a CSI, but complications arouse out of your standings with Sara. You wanted to either transfer to another lab, or run for a supervisor position. Sara began to act suicidal once again until you agreed to stay with her."

"Doesn't that seem selfish?" Greg asked him pointedly, frowning at his doctor.

"You're a good friend, and it's obvious that you care more about Sara than you do about other aspects of life. You've given up a lot to make her satisfied."

"But never happy," Greg interjected.

His therapist smiled sadly, his eyes closing halfway as he began to write on the paper once more. "The question is 'was she ever truly happy?'"

TBC