A/N: Here is chapter numero dos, in less time that I myself anticipated. This chapter is the beginning of Greggo-angst, and focuses on his thoughts during "You Kill Me." Here also begins the anti-Grissom animosity, which is in no way a reflection of my own feelings (strictly Greg here, folks). Usual disclaimer applies: I don't own and never will. Please read and review, and enjoy the show!

Chapter 2

"What I've become
What I have done
I never asked to be the one"

Greg had just had one of the worst days of his life. To start with, there were no new cases to work on. And, of course, he couldn't go home early, even though he had finished all his paperwork. Instead, he had to suffer through his full shift with nothing to do, and, even worse, no one to do it with.

It was his first shift as a CSI without Sara there by his side. Sure, there had been days when she had the night off, or was working on a different case, or even after she had switched over to Swing, but she had been there in Vegas, or even there in the same building. Now, she was miles away, and wouldn't even answer his phone calls.

He knew that she was in San Francisco; it had been his first hunch, and then he had overheard Grissom and Brass talking, which had confirmed it. She was in San Francisco, but she may as well have been in China. And, in Greg's not-so-professional opinion, it simply wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to the team, which had dwindled down to only four CSIs under Grissom's command. More importantly, though, it wasn't fair to him. He didn't really know what to do without her there for him, there for him to joke with, or to laugh with, or even to ask for advice about anything from processing evidence to dealing with guilt surrounding Demetrius James's death. She had been the one constant in his life for eight years now, and it was not fair for him to have no choice, no say in giving that up.

Really, he understood why she had to leave. The pressure had been mounting for Sara ever since her kidnapping, and Greg had watched her slip downhill, watched her life crumbling, even as things were falling into place for her. And Greg had been helpless, unable to stop her fall. And he would've given anything, anything in order to help her. But he hadn't been able to. He could no more have stopped her downfall than he could've stopped a natural disaster.

But he wished with all his heart that he had been able to.

He missed her. He needed her here with him. He was like the moon; the only light he gave off was the light that he reflected from her.

Greg groaned aloud, sinking his head into his hands as he sat by himself in the lab. He officially hated that metaphor. It was possibly one of the stupidest thins that he had ever though of, and he had thought many stupid things in the past.

He just wanted Sara to be here. What he really wanted, he guessed, was for him to mean enough to her to keep her here. And he didn't mean enough to her. He definitely didn't mean as much to her as she did to him, and it was that which hurt him most of all.

A knock on the door brought Greg out of his thoughts, and he jolted upright. "I'm working, I promise," he said quickly, hoping and praying that it wasn't Grissom. He wasn't sure if he could face Grissom.

"Really? Cuz it looks like you were just sitting there, alone with your thoughts." It was not Grissom; it was Warrick.

Greg swiveled around in his chair, raising his eyebrows at Warrick. "Alone with my thoughts?" he asked lightly, clearing trying to joke it off. "Who knew that you were such a poet. It's a shame; you have a real flair for the cliché."

It was Warrick's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Haha, you're a real laugh, Sanders," he said dryly. "But I didn't come in here to be made fun of. I wanted to let you know that I was heading out, and I was thinking about heading to the Strip."

"Awesome," said Greg, his tone easily reflecting Warrick's sarcasm. "I appreciate you taking your time and effort to come all the way down here to let me know where you plan on going this evening."

Warrick sighed, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Sanders. That's not what I came here for. I'm heading to the Strip, and I wanted to know if you wanted to join me. Nick already said no; he's wiped. But I just had an energy drink, and I'm feeling pretty wired right now, and I know you have enough energy for three people, so I figured we could hit the Strip together." He paused, then added in quieter tones, "Besides, I thought you might want to get your mind off things for awhile."

Greg almost went for the sarcastic question he could easily have thrown in there, but he knew that Warrick was letting his defenses down and showing his sensitive side for once, and Greg figured that it wouldn't hurt to do the same. "Thanks, man, really, but I think it's a better idea for me to just head home. I might get myself into trouble if I go out tonight."

Smiling in understanding, Warrick clapped Greg on the shoulder before turning to leave. "Alright man, but take care. We're always here if you need to talk." Pausing before exiting, Warrick said, "Oh, and Greg? Nick and I are headed out now, and since you obviously weren't working on anything important, I figure you can head out too."

"Thanks!" called Greg after Warrick as he left. With a sigh, he rubbed his forehead in irritation. He didn't understand why this was so hard for him. Why wasn't it this hard for Grissom? Didn't that man care at all?

If Grissom was feeling the pain of the situation as much as Greg, he certainly hid it well. When Greg had seen Grissom earlier in the night talking to Brass, he hadn't looked any different or like losing Sara had meant anything to him. Granted, Grissom had about 20 years more experience hiding his emotions than Greg did, but still, Greg thought that the man might cave and show emotion in this situation, that he might show how much he missed Sara.

Greg knew that if it were up to him, things would be different.

Because if it were up to Greg, he'd show Sara how much he missed her.

Because if it were up to Greg, he'd go and find her tonight and bring her back here and make her see that she couldn't just leave.

Because he would have run away with her if she had given him the chance.

But the truth was, none of these things matter, no matter how much he wanted them to.

Because the truth was, he had never had her in the first place.

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It didn't take long for Greg to get ready to head out. The worst part for him was trying to decide if he should even bother going home. It would be no better for him there than it was here at work. There again, he reasoned, if he buried himself in work, he would be turning into Grissom, and that certainly hadn't convinced Sara to stick around.

So, after packing up his stuff and heading to the locker room to grab his coat, he went to leave. He had just been mentally congratulating himself on successfully avoiding seeing Grissom, when there he was, walking down the hallway towards him. Inwardly, Greg's gut reaction was to turn and walk the other way. He had no desire to talk to Grissom. He had nothing to say to the man. It wasn't because he blamed him for Sara's departure, it was just that he felt he had nothing to say in this situation.

His mind scrambled for words that could form into cohesive sentences that would not betray his hidden animosity towards Grissom, but none would come, and it was too late, anyway. Grissom acknowledged him, saying, "Night, Greg."

Before he could stop it, before his could force something more pleasant out, he heard himself grunting, "Yeah, whatever."

Nice one, Sanders. If Grissom didn't suspect any hostility before, he sure as hell did now. Way to go. Chalk one up for team Greggo.

If Greg had looked to see Grissom's reaction, he would have noticed that Grissom seemed taken aback by the younger man's antipathy, but Greg himself was taken aback by this sudden burst of animosity, and therefore had no time to dissect other people's emotional reactions.

Instead, he bolted for the bathroom, where he could hopefully be safe and alone for a few minutes while he got his head back together. He just didn't know why he had reacted that way, why he seemed to be harboring anger towards Grissom.

He went into the bathroom, thankful that it was empty, and turned the water on, gripping the sides of the sink so hard that his knuckles turned white. He did not understand himself, and almost felt like he should go apologize to Grissom. Because he really didn't blame Grissom. It's not like Grissom could have stopped Sara from leaving anymore than Greg himself could've stopped her.

Cupping his hands under the cold water, he bent to splash it on his face. As he straightened, he had a sudden revelation. He understood why he was made at Grissom. It wasn't that Grissom could've stopped Sara; it was that he should've. Whether or not Grissom would've made any headway in keeping Sara in Las Vegas, he still should've tried. And to Greg, Grissom just hadn't tried hard enough.

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A/N (Part 2): Ah, poor Greggo. So young to be in so much pain. Too bad he's just too fun to torture. Next chapter will be the last one to feature any plot/dialogue from "You Kill Me," so after that, it will really move into unfamiliar (though maybe not-so unexpected) territory.

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