It was in his usual manner that Cal Lightman strode through the door to his office, passing the illuminated logo sign with a scowl, pausing only to give the secretary at the desk a slight grin. Loker watched through the security cameras in the back room, his vision largely unfocused as he ground his teeth together with agony.

Is that what it takes to get a smile out of that guy? Just existing? Loker thought bitterly, hands clamping down on the edge of the chair, sweat making his palms slick. It wasn't ever that easy for him. Just existing never got him a smile, a kind word, even a second glance from the man he called his boss.

It stung hot in his heart to know that he used to look up to that man, even still did. Yet there was no other voice that snuck its way into his dreams, his nightmares. The scalding, condescending British accent burned in his ears every time he dared close his eyes, every time he held even the slightest doubt.

Doubts were no stranger to the fearful, curly haired intern. He had had his fair share of abuse from classmates, from teachers, from co-workers; ever since he was able to smile it seemed that the world frowned upon him. He had been fighting his whole life against it, the darkness, that black cloud that wrapped its way around him each time that he tried to face the day with a smile.

It was funny, how working in a place specializing in deception detection never noticed. How he cringed every time Lightman criticized him, the agony that he faced when someone scoffed at his half smile, at a stupid comment he made. How no one noticed the bags under his eyes from late nights spent sobbing his eyes out into a dirty mattress, in some run-down apartment that he could hardly pay the rent for. Working odd shifts at shitty jobs, in a warehouse, in a fast food joint, anyplace he could in an attempt to scrape together some change to pay for a roof over his head. His stomach was growling more often than not, and he could barely afford the over the counter medication he used in amounts far above the recommended limit in order to dull the pain.

As he moved away from the security central and towards his office, the bottles of pills rattled in his pocket, a soft and deadly melody. Unfortunately, he could hear the distinct clicking of Lightman's shoes coming down the hall as he moved, but he couldn't bring himself to turn his head to look at the man he had grown to fear, the man he had grown to loathe. But the voice came, echoing down past the tile, a reminder of the sorrowful disappointment his life had become.

"Hey, hey Loker! What're you doing out of your office? Haven't you and Torres been on that case about the man lying under oath? Have you watched all those videos in court over again?" The angry man got closer and Loker froze, looking Cal straight in the eyes with a forced half smile, as usual.

"Sorry Dr. Lightman, that's what I was just heading over to do." Lightman scowled at this, looking him over head to toe as he usually did, reading him as he did with everyone. Loker prayed that Lightman didn't notice the sweat on his brow, the shakiness of his limbs, the hunched posture he knew that he had. A smile couldn't hide all of that, could it? Lightman gave a slight grunt, then motioned towards Loker's office space.

"Well carry on then."

That was it. That was all the man said before he walked away again, heading in the direction of Jillian's office. Was Lightman so accustomed to Loker's fear, to his sorrow, the masked agony, that he accounted it to nothing more than normalcy?

That didn't matter now. Loker knew that those were the last words he would hear Lightman speak, the last time he would have to bear the cheeky British man spitting comments that hurt like knives. He had known when he stuffed the bottles of pills into his pocket early that morning, exhausted from waking up early every morning with the feeling that he did not belong, that he was not welcome on this earth. On his way to work he did it, pouring every spare pill he had in the dingy apartment into an old prescription bottle. Sleep aids, muscle relaxants, and a small cocktail of other assorted drugs, all stuffed into a small orange bottle which was hidden in the pocket of the baggy coat Loker was wearing.

Checking that Lightman was out of sight, Loker diverted his path from the way to his desk to the break room. There was no one in there, and he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, body and mind numb with the overwhelming amount of pain in his head. There was nothing but static as he moved to the bathroom, water bottle in hand, pills rattling softly in his pocket.

Loker threw himself into the men's room, locking the door, pulling the pills out of his pocket, and dumping half of them into his hand. Quickly he swallowed them, trying to avoid his own gaze in the mirror, pouring water down his throat with every three or four pills that went down his throat. The bitter taste lingered on his tongue, not even the water was able to wash away the taste of death.

There was fear pounding in his heart as he screwed the cap back on the pill bottle, once thirty or forty capsules were simmering in his stomach, and unlocked the bathroom door. The halls were still clear, most were confined to their office spaces so early in the morning, free from excitement or from any excess energy. Loker felt a smile creep onto his face, a shaky, one sided smile. The kind of smile someone gave when they were about to do something crazy, something totally, completely insane. The smile of someone who had a shred of confidence that they were maybe, just maybe doing the right thing for once.

He passed the door to his office space, resisting the temptation to check his desk one last time. There were fingers clicking on keyboards, colleagues opening their desktops, getting to work on whatever task Lightman had assigned them. He wondered briefly what his desk looked like. Were his pencils in order? Had he left any spare sheets lying out on his desk? What would happen to all of his unfinished work?

He brushed it off as the last thoughts of a man who was already dying. Biting on his lip and casting his eyes to the ground, Loker hurried past his office door, and went towards the interrogation room, opening the locks on the door.

As he walked into the dark space, he wondered what Torres would think, what Jillian would think, and what Lightman would think. If anyone would cry. If there would be any seats filled with mourners at his funeral. Who was he except nobody? A little, dorky guy stuffed in a cubicle, nothing more than a spectacle to be laughed at by anyone who even took a second glance at him.

Once again he discredited this to the fact that he was in the process of killing himself in a truly awful way. These thoughts and black clouds wouldn't exist any longer, after he was dead. In fact, there would be nothing. No more pain, no more suffering, no more insults and harsh comments from people he desperately wanted to love him.

The door unlocked as he punched in the code, and he walked into the familiar, clear walled space. The lights had all come on automatically, just as the door had automatically locked behind him. He turned the camera on with a finger pressing down on the power button. The red light blinked on, and he saw his image dance onto the computer screens in the area below him, just outside the glass. A small smile flitted across his lips as he sat in the sole chair in the center of the room, looking into the camera. He pulled the pills out again, popped off the lid, and let it clatter to the floor. He tried to hold the smile again, and hold his voice steady as he spoke to the camera.

"Hello Dr. Lightman."

AN: Thank you for reading the first chapter of Last Sunrise, and expect more sometime in the near future :)