The Art of Losing

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, or any of it's characters.

Greg, you may notice is my favorite subject. Which must make you wonder why things never really go his way in my stories…

I lean on the doorframe, trying to look suave.

There's no way…

No, I'm going to be positive about this. I mean, we get along great when we work together. And I know she's been single since her and Hank split. That puts the odds in my favor, right?

"So, um, Sara… Would, uh, would you like to go get something to eat with me?"

She turns, a shocked look on her face, and I instantly regret asking.

"Greg?"

I can't bring myself to look at her. "I… yeah, that was stupid of me, I'm just gonna go."

As I turn to leave, I feel her hand on my shoulder. "Greg, wait."

There's pity in her voice.

I hate pity.

Let's see, how's this go again…?

Oh, yeah.

'You're a great guy, Greg…'

"You're a great guy, Greg," she says.

I almost laugh.

It's always the same.

"But you're not my type. Don't get me wrong, I think you're really funny-"

"Yeah, whatever."

I leave then, walking until I know she can't see me anymore, then running.

Nick calls my name as I run by.

But I don't care, don't slow down.

Straight to the stairs, then up to the roof.

I can't get her words out of my head.

'You're really funny.'

I'm always the funny guy.

I hate being the funny guy.

Greg'll walk around in funny hats.

Greg'll stick markers up his nose.

Stick a quarter in Greg's ear, and he'll do a little dance!

I kick the ledge.

There's a great idea. Now my ego and my foot are wounded.

I look down at the sidewalk.

All those people just walking by, most of them from… I don't know… Florida, or somewhere like that.

Don't they know that this city's evil?

Sin City. There's a reason it's called that.

This place'll suck the soul right out of you if you let it. Break your spirit and send you back home to live in mom's basement, completely broke and alone.

Well, at least I've still got money.

"Hey, Greg, whatever your problem is…"

Nick. Oh, yay. Just want I wanted. Mr. I'm-gonna-pretend-I'm-your-buddy.

"I'm not going to jump," I fake a smile at him.

The people here love forced cheerfulness. Whole damn city's based on it.

"I saw you running-"

"Needed a cigarette," I offer a little too quickly.

"You don't smoke."

Damn, maybe they do pay attention.

"I figured this would be a good time to start?"

He shakes his head, walks over to me. "Is it Sara?"

Crap. Crappity crap crap crap.

"Yeah."

Nick smiles. "There's a million other girls in this city, Greg. Find another one."

I don't think he meant it to sound jerky, but it came off that way.

"You happen to know any who like 'funny' guys? Because that's what I always get."

He suddenly looks very uncomfortable; I know what's coming.

"You, uh, you're a… a good looking guy, Greg, and…"

I roll my eyes. "Is this going to end in one of those 'guy hugs'? Because I'll just go ahead and jump if it is."

He shakes his head. "Greg-"

And now we're on the warning tone.

The 'be serious or shut up' voice.

I roll my eyes and turn to walk away.

"Yeah, grow up. I know."

The really pathetic thing about this is that I don't get to walk away unhappily; I get to limp away unhappily.

Stupid ledge.