DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI.

Okay, just so you know, italics are flashbacks, or Greg's letter. Reviews welcome!

"Negative for blood." Warrick told them, holding up the cotton swab with the strange red liquid from the ground where Greg had been found.

"Doesn't smell like any type of food or drink." Grissom replied.

"Not nail varnish or paint either." Catherine said, shining the ALS on it.

"What is it then?" Nick wondered.

"Why would he lie down in it?" Warrick asked.

"Wait a minute. I got something." Catherine said, gesturing to where the ALS was shining.

"Blood." Grissom observed, looking at the small pool of real blood.

"So, only that much blood, he didn't jump out the window?" Nick asked.

"It would appear not." Grissom replied.

"You sure it was him? It couldn't have been like, a dummy or something?" Warrick asked.

"It was him." Sara whispered. "The hair...it was too perfect, too lifelike to be faked."

"He could have done it himself." Catherine said, turning of the ALS.

"It was just the same. It was Greg." Sara insisted, her voice still hushed.

"This doesn't male any sense." Nick said, taking a sample of the blood on the concrete."

"Get that to DNA, see if it's Greg's." Grissom said.

"And I'll call Brass, tell him to put out a broadcast on Greg." Warrick said, taking out his cell phone.

"Me and Cath are going to go look around his apartment." Nick told Grissom.

They were interupted by the arrival of three police officers.

"We were told there was a body?" one said.

"Where did it go?" added the second.

"That's what I want to know." Grissom told them.

The worst part was, he was too weak to do it. He had looked out the window for so long, feeling nothing, emotionless. He'd even put his foot on the window ledge, then pulled himself up so he was stamding, ready to jump. But he couldn't do it. Leaving his window wide open, Greg had gotten down from the window. He realised, the only reason he was doing this was to see what Sara said. If she really loved him. If his death would affect her. And if he died, he never would. Greg didn't believ in heaven. He didn't believe in hell, although he felt like he'd been there enough times. Greg didn't believe in an afterlife, didn't believe he would be able to look down on his friends as they carried on with their lives. Greg didn't want to die, didn't want to be plunged into eternal nothingness. He didn't really want to live in eternal nothingness either though.

He needed to know what she thought, what she would do. He needed to know if she really felt nothing. But maybe dying wasn't the only way to do that. He opened up his cupboard and found an old bottle of hair gel. It was the stuff he used to use, before switching to a more expensive product when he got his job at the crime lab. Greg used to buy this stuff in bulk, and had about six pints of it left, so it had seeemed a waste to thow it out. He always said he waould use it if he ever ran out. Greg learnt how to make fake blood from Archie, back when the two of them used to make cases for each other and then try to solve them, practising to be CSI's. He needed motor lubricant. Greg loved cars, but he never had time to fix one himself, not since his dad had shown him how to when he was in high school. Luckily, the guy in the apartment next to him was big into fixing cars, so he would have plenty.

Greg looked at himself in the mirror. He looked dead. Thrwoing on his brightest shirt and tightest jeans in an effort to look more like himself, Greg fixed a smile on his face. He didn't want to trigger any alarm bells. Of course, he ended up in an hour long discussion about formula one versus formula two cars, but eventually, Greg made it back home with the motor lubricant. He looked in his fridge and found a bottle of chocolate syrup, such a pity to waste it, but the end justifies the means. He still didn't have red food colouring or hand sanitizer, and so, not fancying a trip round the building, knocking on all his neighbours doors, Greg simply walked to the grocery store. When he returned he mixed everything up, then checked his watch. He wasn't supposed to be in for another three hours, and nobody would sense anything was up until about sn hour after he was supposed to come in. Even then, it would take them an hour of calling to realise he wasn't answering his phone, and half an hour to drive to his apartment and longer still to try to break in. Setting his alarm clock for six hours later, Greg made some final preperations and then collapsed on his couch. He didn't dream that night, or if he did, he didn't remember. But the dreams had stopped a while ago for Greg. Around the same time as the feelings.

Greg shifted uncomfortably on the unfamiliar sofa. He looked at the clock, ticking slowly on the beige coloured wall, and realised she would be up in an hour. He needed to get out. Saldy, she had locked all the doors and windows, and had taken the key and hidden it somewhere. He started looking for it, turning over furniture and emptying cupboards. For a moment, Greg laughed, the bizarness of the whole situation getting to him. It was like when he was younger, and he would search his house looking for the candy his mother said would stick to his braces. Greg never found it. He didn't find the key either. Loosing interest in the game of hide and seek, Greg decided to make breakfast for the two of them. First, he had to put things back where they were. Cupcakes, he decided. That was what he wanted. She had to have a recipe book around some where. Strangely enough, for a woman, her house lacked many food producing appartaus, cookbooks being one of them. So he decided to wing it. By the time the owner of the apartment got up, Greg was covered in flour and trying to lick some pink gloop that he called icing off his elbow. He was starting to feel better. Just a little.

"Griss" Nick called out the window. "You might want to see this."

The note was on a piece of paper torn out of a spiral notepad. There was no mistaking Greg's handwriting.

I'm sorry. It read. I can't go on like this. To be honest, it doesn't really matter what they do to me now, because there is no me anymore. Greg is gone. He went a long time ago, lost to someone else. I don't really think you'll miss me much. Maybe Greg, I understand missing him, I miss him too.

Nick - thanks for being there for me. I'm sorry I won't be able to be there for you anymore. You were like my big brother, but you have to let go, leave me to move on.

Catherine - you were the one I could always talk to, and you would always understand. Hold my secrets safe, Catherine, and please, don't cry over me.

Warrick - you always protected me. Don't hold grudges, this nobodies fault but my own. Everything will go back to normal, and soon, everything will be forgotten.

Grissom - you were a great mentor and boss to me. I'm serious when I say that I hope you're happy.

Hodges - we always pretended we didn't like each other, but when the times got tough, I know you would be there for me. Thanks.

Archie - you were my first friend at the lab, and I hope one day you can go to all the places we vowed to go together, and leave your mark. P.S. you can have my surfboard if you want it.

Henry - you said that I was your hero, the one you wanted to be like. Don't be like me. Be you. Be Henry. He rocks.

Wendy - tell Grissom that you want my job in the field, don't let memories hold you back. Don't let anything hold you back, and thank you for being such a good friend to me.

Mandy - thanks for being there for me, and please, don't be mad at her. This was my decision.

Bobby - thanks for showing me how to use a gun, in the end, they scare me too much. This was easier. I wish I was a brave as you.

Jackie - I could always beat you at fingerprinting. But there was nobody like you for comforting. Thanks.

Brass - you were good to me, like an uncle. There's nothing you or anybody could have done to prevent this. It was up to me.

Sofia - I know you feel out of place, but you shouldn't. I had a great team, and they like you, I know they do. Don't worry.

Sara - It wasn't your fault.

Catherine was crying in the corner, and Nick was fighting tears himself. Grissom didn't feel like crying.

"This doesn't make any sense." he said, puzzled.

"Grissom? What is it?" Warrick asked, coming into the apartment, followed by Sara.

Grissom silently passed the note, which they read.

"We should pass this on to the others." Warrick said evnetually.

Sara was silent, but her face had gone pale and her eyes glassed over.

"Hold on, we don't know yet that he's actually...you know..." Nick said, taking the note from Warrick.

Catherine looked up suddenly, her eyes no longer filled with sorrow, but with anger.

"Why would he write this if he didn't plan to die? Why would he stop coming to work, leave the window open, play that song. It's obvious."

"Then where is he?" Nick asked.

"The small bit of blood on the ground, maybe he was dead before he hit the ground. The blood, it could have just been transfer from a wound or something."

"But there's no blood in the house. Besides, it still doesn't answer how he got out the window in the first place, and where he went."

"Somebody found him? They found him in his apartment and brought him downstairs, when they heard us they left him on the ground, then took him again when we left the apartment."

"Who would take a dead body?"

"Maybe he wasn't dead yet! Maybe he...maybe..."

"Catherine, don't do this to yourself, we don't know what happened."

"We only know who's fault it is" she said, her eyes becoming angry again.

"It isn't anybodies fault" Grissom said.

"Sure." Catherine said cooly, before turning and going into the next room.

"Where are you going?" Grissom asked.

"To find out what happened." she replied. "Nick, Warrick, come on."

"I'll help" Sara said, suddenly stepping forwards.

"Haven't you done enough?" Catherine asked, following the two men into Greg's computer room.

Grissom looked at his team, confused. What was going on?