DISCLAIMER: Not mine.
SUMMARY: A month after Nick's transformation, Grissom has noticed a change in the lab.
CONTINUITY: This comes after Archie's part, "Wishing", and can go either way with "Unbeating", really, but I'd say before.

Observing

The break room was quiet when he walked in, almost eerily so, which was why Grissom was surprised to look up and find the room occupied. He raised an eyebrow as he rested the file he'd been reading down on a counter and shuffled over to the coffee machine.

Archie Johnson sat curled up on the left side of the black couch, his left foot propped up on the seat and his right leg sprawled haphazardly forward on the ground in front of him. His left arm was wrapped around his left leg, sharing the weight of a half-empty coffee cup with his right hand as he leaned his chin on his bent knee, idly shifting his gaze between Hodges and Greg, the two other occupants in the room. The only sound he made was the light rhythmic tapping of his index finger against the shiny ceramic surface of the mug.

Grissom was surprised that Archie even allowed himself to relax in such a tangled position. Ever since the incident with Nick over a month ago, there hadn't been a time when he wasn't practically at the edge of his seat, on the balls of his feet, prepared to run for his life. And frankly, Grissom couldn't blame him; he hadn't actually been attacked by a vampire himself, especially not in his own little haven in the lab where he was supposed to be safe, but he would imagine that it wasn't quite so pleasant. The fact that Archie still remained with them at the crime lab after all that, when so many others had retreated in fear, was a true testament to his character.

But still, Grissom kept his transfer papers and a recommendation at ready in his desk should the sharpened baseball bat Archie kept next to his chair in the AV lab stop giving him peace.

Greg was tiredly leaned up against the counter next to the coffee machine, staring into the depths of his black coffee –Grissom hadn't even noticed when the man had started to forgo milk- his face blank. Dark shadows seemed to settle in all the contours of his face, making him look somewhat hollow.

Greg was one of his youngest CSIs, one of the few left from his original team, and at another time, was the life of the lab, but these days…

Nick's death and subsequent transformation had hit him the hardest. For days afterwards he had been a, well, Grissom wouldn't say a wreck, Greg was hardly the type to be blubbering in the halls, but even so, there had been an air of gloominess around him, even thicker than the one he held now, if that was at all possible. He became strangely quiet and sedate, and this quiet made it hard to notice the fact that Greg was acting like a worker ant; following orders, yet not entirely thinking for himself. He was still a good CSI, but there just wasn't much energy behind it anymore.

As much as Grissom had been wary of his flamboyance before, he had to admit that he missed it now. The lab was dull without it, and the graveyard shift was starting to feel like its namesake.

Hodges completed the little triangle on the right side of the couch, seemingly deep in thought as he studied Greg's form –thinking of what, Grissom couldn't be sure, but he had no guarantee that it would be helpful to Greg. In any case, Grissom knew that he would soon find out what the trace tech was thinking as he saw a smirk ghost across his face, and a glint in his eyes that Grissom imagined made him look very much like Archimedes after he'd discovered buoyancy.

Hodges seemed to have changed the least out of anyone. While he'd toned down on his brown-nosing just a little, he still maintained his snide attitude with his co-workers. Over the past few weeks, though, Grissom had begun to notice something underlying his usual bitchiness, some ulterior motive that he had yet to come to a clear conclusion about.

Lifting his navy blue, standard issue, LVPD Crime lab mug up to his lips, Hodges took a long sip of coffee before screwing up his face in exaggerated disgust.

"Sanders, your coffee is rank, what are you trying to kill somebody?" Hodges remarked, leaning back on the couch with a condescending, yet somewhat hopeful look on his face as he waited for Greg's retort.

Grissom hid a smile and almost nodded as he took a swig of LVPD's finest sludge. So that was what Hodges was trying to do; draw some kind of reaction from the sullen Greg. The almost-playful animosity between those two was probably the only connection they really had, and in his own way, Grissom supposed, Hodges was probably trying to hold the lab together, and starting an argument with Greg was his way of bringing the old Greg back.

Grissom saw Archie smirk; he'd probably figured it out as well.

When all he got for his efforts was a half-hearted shrug and a sigh, his smug look almost fell away to concern, but in true Hodges form, he persisted when he wasn't wanted.

"I hear you're back to a box boy salary out in the field." Hodges hummed under his breath snootily, flicking his wrist. "I guess you just can't afford the fancy stuff anymore. Bet you wish you never left the lab." Hodges smirked. "I'd let you wash my car for five bucks if I was sure you wouldn't rinse it in acid."

"No, I can still afford it," Greg murmured faintly, none of his usual energy backing the words. Greg glanced at Hodges dully for a second before returning his gaze to the cup. "Nick used to love my coffee…"

Archie flinched, absently scratching his neck as he looked away.

Hodges' face fell in defeat.

If even possible, the silence became thicker, the tension becoming so thick that even Grissom, in his presumed oblivion of human emotion, could easily feel it choking him. It wasn't so much an angry tension as much as it was one of discomfort; each man unsure of how to continue. Greg's unspoken, yet blatantly obvious sorrow seemed to be choking everyone in the room, and if the worried glance Archie cast over his shoulder at Grissom was any indication, it was for a reason that the lab techs knew of, but didn't expect Grissom to.

Grissom did know, however. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't completely oblivious. Not many things happened in his lab that he didn't figure out eventually, and that included the relationships his co-workers had with each other, and with him. He knew very well of Sara's crush on him; indeed, if he'd allow himself the luxury, he would admit that he had a small crush on her as well. He'd seen the long looks Warrick used to give Catherine, had sensed his protégé's attempts at getting closer to his second-in-command. He'd even noticed when Catherine's flirting with Warrick had become just a little more serious just months before her death.

So it was no surprise that he knew exactly what kind of relationship Greg had with Nick. In fact, he had known for quite a while; for at least as long as Jacqui, the lab gossip, had known, perhaps even longer.

He prided himself on his ability to observe anything, be it scientific or otherwise, and come to a logical, and usually accurate, conclusion about it. There was no reason he couldn't watch humans in the same way he watched an experiment, and just like experiments, he liked to have as little variables as possible.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, Grissom believed that if he interfered too much, he would become a variable.

But even still, some things he would only learn from asking, and his mask of social ineptitude was a useful tool in those cases.

Grissom cleared his throat softly, gaining the attention of Hodges and Archie, before he spoke.

"Have you seen Nick recently?" he asked Greg, peering over the rim of his cup as he took a sip of warm coffee.

Greg tensed.

Archie shot a horrified glance over his shoulder at Grissom, before casting worried eyes at Greg, slowly straightening up.

Hodges looked like he wanted to roll his eyes at him, but his own instinct to suck up to the boss caused him to school his face into a careful blank as he, too, stared at Greg expectantly. Grissom imagined that he was curious as well.

When Greg finally looked up, it was only for a second before he turned bright brown eyes to stare at some unseen spot on the left wall.

"I…haven't seen him since he…turned," he finally answered. The only thing that surpassed the sadness in his voice was the pure exhaustion laced in the words, like he'd spent the last 720 hours searching for Nick without an ounce of sleep.

And Greg did look as tired as he sounded. His skin was much paler than usual. His once-spiky hair had grown out again, the greasy strands hanging limply around his face, with about an inch and a half of dark brown at the base that Grissom assumed was Greg's natural colour. Slightly puffy eyelids and dark, heavy bags framed his slightly bloodshot brown eyes.

Greg sighed, staring down into his barely-touched coffee before turning around and pouring it into the sink.

"I should…get back to my cases," he murmured as he shuffled towards the door.

"Greg," Grissom called. Greg paused at the door, not turning around. "Go home. Get some sleep."

The man merely nodded in acknowledgement, pushing the door open.

Grissom warred with himself for a millisecond before calling him back again.

"You'll tell me if you see Nick, won't you?"

Greg glanced over his shoulder at him briefly, then continued on his way with a quiet, "Sure."

Grissom nodded his head, draining his cup, then rinsing it out in the sink.

He still thought of Nick as one of his own, no matter what he was now. As long as he found no evidence that Nick was hurting people, was killing ­people, he could let Greg have his little lie.

The break room was just as quiet when he left as when he'd walked in.