This is my first CSI fanfic, its just a one shot, tho. Its also the first time I've written a character death, and I'm also trying to write in the present tense (I always write in past tense) which feels quite strange. I'm hoping it will make it seem more realistic. Anyways. Thoughts are in italics. It will be quite sad at the end if I'm a half decent writer, just so you're warned. and to those of you waiting impatiently for me to update on my twilightamafodgeamacated (twilight related) stories, i will soon, i promise!

Hope you like!

I don't want to die.

A cold Las Vegas night. Outside, a storm is raging. Tourists dash through the rain, in a hurry to get out of the chill that is so rare in Vegas. Brightly coloured casino lights glare out through the rain, packed full, despite the weather. Car horns blare as traffic slowly get worse – visibility is low, the rain is blinding.

Sitting in one of those cars, a young man leans back cheerfully in the driver's seat. There is an ever-present sparkle in his eyes as he sings along to one of his favourite Vampire Weekend songs, music pumping full blast, almost completely oblivious to the storm just outside the car. Greg is in his early thirties, with curly blonde-brown hair, dark brown eyes, and an easy smile. It's near the start of his shift, so spirits are high and he's in a good mood – he has a solo case. Only a robbery, but still. It is his first solo case since his beating nearly a month back – the team had gone kind of protective of him since then and didn't really like the idea of Greg going alone. But Nick, Sara, and Warrick have messy double homicide to deal with. Catherine and Grissom are well into a case of their own – a big one by the sounds of it, as Grissom had had to leave Hodges to hand out the cases – something that pleased Hodges no end.

So Greg got lucky.

Finally, the traffic starts to speed up a little and Greg arrives at the house within a few minutes. It's a fairly decent part of Las Vegas, detached houses, large gardens; a family sort of area is Greg's first impression.

Greg looks around as he gets out his car. There's two police cars pulled up out front - that's what first strikes Greg as strange. The police force must be majorly overstaffed they're sending two or three officers on an ordinary house burglary, he thinks.

The second thing Greg notices is slightly more disturbing – there's blood spattered in tiny droplets on the police tape. Greg frowns, snapping a couple of shots. But if there's blood on the tape…then that means there's been bloodshed since the police arrived, Greg thought. Something definetly wasn't quite right here.

As he ducks underneath the tape, a third thought goes through his head, this one the most worrying of all. There are two Police cars parked right outside…and not a single cop in sight.

But Greg's thought gets answered just a couple of seconds later. He walks into the porch and spots one of the Policemen. He is young, younger than Greg, with dark brown hair and glasses.

However, Greg isn't at all reassured by his presence.

The cop lies dead on the ground, blood still oozing from the wound in his chest, eyes wide open staring at nothing. The formerly cream carpet is painted red with blood.

Nick arrives at his crime scene just moments before Sara and Warrick. A man in his late fifties marches out of the house where the crime scene took place, yelling at the lone policeman who tells him he can't be in there while it's a crime scene. Nick decides to deal with the witness first and help Sara and Warrick with the crime scene later.

"Hey, sir, is that your house?" Nick asks politely.

"Damn right. And I don't appreciate being kicked out of it by you lot snooping around. The thieves, they even took my TV! It's my house, it's evening, and I just want to sit down and watch the game but now-"

"Sir, please calm down. So would you like to take me through what happened?"

"Well, I was just sitting down for my dinner when all these teenagers comes walking into my house like they owns the place. They was armed too, with baseball bats and-" Nick stops him. It said on the initial report that there had been a shooting, not anything to do with baseball bats.

"Excuse me sir, but it said on my report that the victims were shot. Are you quite sure they didn't have guns?"

The man stares at him blankly.

"When did I ever say anything about anyone getting shot?" He says, looking at Nick like he's barmy. "It was a robbery! No one got shot!"

"Excuse me," Nick says, walking away from the man and into the house. "Hey, Warrick?"

"Yeah?"

"Something's not right here. The man says that he doesn't know anything about a shooting."

"Yeah – and for a double homicide, there's not exactly a lot of cops around," Warrick frowns.

"There's also a distinct lack of bodies," Sara says, coming into the room. "I checked all the rooms. So what did the man say?"

"Said something about a burglary. Bunch of teenagers took his TV and some other stuff."

Sara frowns, thinking. "Hey, wasn't Greg meant to be doing a burglary case tonight?" She says slowly.

"So if we've got Greg's burglary, then that would mean he's got…" Nick says.

"Crap," Warrick mutters.

Greg walks slowly around the house. It's obvious that this is no burglary. He finds the bodies of another cop, older than the first, a boy in his early teens, and a woman somewhere in her late thirties.

There had been a struggle; a coffee table lay on its side, an ornate vase that had been on top of it lay in pieces on the floor. The body of the boy lay face down half way up the stairs – it appears as if he had been trying to run upstairs before being shot in the back.

The woman was slumped in the kitchen. The stove was still on, so she'd probably been taken by surprise. The back door is hanging open. The older cop is in the same room, hand half way to reaching for his walkie talkie when he got shot in the stomach. Greg gingerly put his hand on the body – it's still warm. Much warmer than the bodies of the original victims

Greg takes a deep breath and walks into the living room. There's an ominous looking pool of blood near the couch, with drips of blood leading out into the corridor and to the boys dead body. The TV is still blaring, and seeing how it's on a action movie, Greg thinks the boy must've been in here before trying to run up the stairs.

Greg goes back out into the hall, staring around all the carnage, trying to figure out what the hell happened.

Okay...so the attacker comes in through the back door. He probably shoots the woman first, which lets the boy know that there's someone else in the house. Because he's ready, he tries to fight the attacker off – there's a struggle, and somewhere along the way the attacker got shot, probably in the arm. The boy sees his chance and tries to run upstairs – but before he makes it, he gets shot in the back.

The explanation fits all that he can see, but that's just from basic examination, he hasn't even got started on processing everything yet. He glances at the body of the young cop who seems to be reaching for the door.

So the attacker comes back, probably after sorting out his own wound. He comes in through the back door again; he's seen the Police cars and knows that they're in the house. So he walks in prepared, the older Policeman hears him, so he reaches for his walkie talkie but gets shot before he gets chance. The younger Policeman hears the gun fire and backs away to the front door. Because he's not looking where he's going, he stumbles over the coffee table But he gets shot before hitting the ground, so the blood sprays over the police tape. The attacker leaves through the front door, pulling it closed so the cop's body isn't visible from outside.

Of course, all that was just a theory, but it seemed to fit all the points. He realises that he needs to report all this to control and reaches for his walkie talkie, but then realises that he left it at the lab from when he was trying to prank Hodges the other day.

"Damn," he mutters, reaching into his pocket. At least he still has his phone.

Nick's phone starts ringing, he glances down at the caller ID.

"It's Greg," he says to the others, picking up. "Hey, G, is everything okay?"

"Uhh…not exactly," Greg says.

"Listen, we think there might've been a mix up with the cases. What's going on up at your end? You got our homicide?"

"Four dead bodies," Greg confirms. He sounds a little bit queasy, slightly freaked out.

"Wait, four?" Nick exclaims.

"Yeah. Two original victims, two cops."

"Dead cops?" Nick frowns. That can't be good.

"Blood and guts all over the place. Literally. Killer must've returned to the scene." Nicks nods, and then a horrible thought occurs to him. What if the killer was still there?

"Um, Greg?"

"Yeah, Nick?" He pauses. He doesn't want to freak Greg out when he's probably just overreacting.

"…You got your gun, right?"

"No," Greg says slowly. Nick sighs.

"Look, just be careful, okay. Keep an eye on the place till we get there. Sara, Warrick, and I will be there real soon." Well, that isn't strictly true. Their case is at least ten minutes drive away from here, even in good traffic.

"Sure." Greg sounds a bit uncertain.

"Okay, see you soon, Greg." Nick hung up, turning to the others. "How did this happen?"

"Well, Hodges gave out the cases," Sara says.

"If he caused this mess on purpose, then I'll kill him."

"Hey, Nicky, nothings gonna happen to Greg," Warrick says calmingly.

"I know, its just...the killer returned and doubled his death toll from two to four within what? A half hour time window, max. He knew the risks, he obviously didn't want people in the house, looking for evidence. What's to stop him from coming back for Greg?"

Warrick doesn't answer.

"Come on, lets go," Sara says. "Nick, if it's okay, I'll leave my car here for now and get a lift with you. I need to phone Grissom – and Hodges."

"Sure. Tell Hodges I'm gonna want to have a word with him when I get back to the lab."

Greg hangs up. He decides that, seeing how the others probably won't show up for another ten, twenty minutes or so, he might as well start processing the scene properly now. He's a little disappointed that he'll probably have to hand over the case, but it can't be helped. He starts in the hallway. There's a small table to one side with family photographs on. He gingerly picks one up – it's a shot of three people standing in the doorway of the house, maybe from when they first moved in? The woman, who Greg assumes is the Mother of the boy, is standing in the doorway with a younger version of the boy next to her and another skinny man with glasses standing next to them. The man looks to be the Father of the small family – but is nowhere to be seen in the house. Greg frowns, then moves onto the next picture.

This one is older, with just the boy in when he was a lot younger, maybe eight. Greg only notices it because there's a gap in it – the picture doesn't full the entire frame, only about two thirds of it. The missing third seems to have been cut away roughly - there was another figure standing next to him at one point. Greg sees an arm around the boy's shoulder, some fatherly sort of figure, perhaps. But the arm is large and muscled, with a big gold ring on one finger – it doesn't seem like the arm could've belonged to the same man in the first picture.

Moving on from the pictures, Greg makes for the stairs, stepping carefully around the body and up onto the second floor. One of the doors is open, showing a room with green walls with football pinups plastered all over them. Assuming this must be the son's room, Greg walks in. The room is quite messy, with a bed in a corner and a desk along the wall. There's a TV sitting atop a chest of drawers opposite the window. A large stack of paper sits on the desk, some sheets fallen on the floor. Greg walks over for a closer look, frowning.

But suddenly a hand clamps tightly over his mouth; he tries to turn around, panic shooting up from his stomach – a hand rising up to defend himself - but before he gets a chance to even look at his attacker, a gun is brought up under his chin.

Greg freezes, shaking, panicking at the feel of the gun, cool and sleek, pressing hard against the top of his throat. Fear streaks through him in waves, he swallows, trying to calm down, only one thought in his head.

I could die here.

A soft, low voice leans close, whispering menacingly in his ear. The voice's breath smells like cheap booze.

"Don't move. Don't try to fight, don't even think about screaming or trying anything – or your death will come sooner than you'd like. Understand?"

Greg can't move even if he wants to – not only is the man holding him back, but fear is rooting him to the spot. The man suddenly jabs the gun up, deeper into Greg's throat and he jumps. The man chuckles.

I don't want to die.

"Now, we're going to walk downstairs. In the Kitchen, there's a door that leads into the basement. That's where we're going to go. One stupid move and I'll shoot."

Greg nods slowly. "I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth now. Don't scream."

The man takes his hand away from Greg's mouth; Greg fights the urge to cry out for help. "Good boy," the man smirks patronisingly. Greg expects he'll be forced into the basement now, but the man walks around in front of him, looking at him. Greg stares back, holding the man's gaze. He's still terrified, but if he has to go down, then he's not going down without a fight. Nick will be here soon – he hopes.

The man is maybe in his early forties, and surprisingly to Greg, he looks quite normal. Stronger physique then most, maybe, but he has a normal face, slightly frightening green eyes, brown hair. Greg also notices the large ring on his hand – the same ring on the arm around the boy in the picture.

"You a cop?" The man asks.

"No," Greg frowns; he didn't expect the man to ask that, of all things. "No, I'm a CSI. Did…did you do all this?"

"Yes." The man says, without hesitation. He doesn't seem to feel at all guilty. "Now, come on." He jabs the gun into Greg's back. Greg hesitates, then walks forwards, slowly making his way towards the stairs. He tries to think back to his training, figure out what to do, but his mind is blank.

C'mon, Greg, think. Talk to him. Get him to let his guard down. Don't take any stupid risks, Nick will be here soon.

"What happened here anyway?" Greg asks.

The man smirks.

"Something that should've happened a long time ago." They've reached the stairs by now, Greg is wondering if he can maybe push the man down the stairs, buy a few seconds of time. The guy is bigger than him, but Greg has surprise on his side. The man glances at him. "Before you think of trying anything, have a serious think about whether you want to live." The man turns his gun away from Greg and back to the bedroom they just left. Just visible, there's a poster of a football player. The man aims for the very briefest of seconds, then fires. The bullet hits the man on the poster right between the eyes. "I trained with the military. There's no trick you can pull that I haven't seen."

Then I guess I'll have to make one up. Greg counters. He doesn't dare say the words out loud. If he was more like Sara, or Catherine, he could try and keep the man talking until backup arrived, maybe even talk him into putting the gun down - but the man would see this coming. If he was like Nick, and if the man wasn't so obviously stronger than him, Greg would try to fight him off. But neither of these ideas would work. It's time to throw the rule book out the window and come up with a new plan.

"Okay. Yeah, sure. Bye." Sara hangs up the phone with Grissom.

"What did he say?" Nick asks.

"He told you not to worry about Greg, and just to get there as soon as possible."

"Yeah, I'm trying," Nick mutters, banging his fist down on the horn. Stupid traffic jam.

"And he also said that Hodges wouldn't do this on purpose – he knows better than to try and do something that would get him in trouble with Griss."

"Sure, sure," Nick says absentmindedly.

"Hey, Nick. Quit worrying about Greg. We're going there right now."

"I know, I know, I just…I feel very protective of him. He's like a little brother to me."

"You mean unbelievably irritating and impossible to get rid of?" Sara asks jokingly. Nick snorts humourlessly.

"Sara, could you maybe phone him? Just to check everything's alright."

"Sure," Sara sighs, picking her phone up again. Greg answers almost instantly. "Hey, Greg?" For a few seconds, there's no answer, just a strange sound on the other end of the phone. The thumping of footsteps, maybe. And then –

"Sara!"

Nick turns his head, hearing Greg's cry from the other end of the phone. He puts his sirens on and stamps on the accelerator.

"Greg, what the hell- " Sara starts, alarmed.

"Sara, HELP!" There's a split second pause and then suddenly a gunshot and a piercing yell. Then silence. Nick freezes, hands clenched into fists.

"Greg, were you just shot?" Sara asks, terrified of the answer.

"Nearly," he replies breathlessly. Nick gestures for the phone – Sara knows better than to argue and gives it to him wordlessly.

"Greg, get outta there, now!" Greg doesn't answer, instead letting out a pain-filled moan, followed by a string of curses. There's a crash and a few thumps, then silence. "Greg." Nothing. "Greg? Gregory?"

"Nick."

But it isn't Greg who answers, it's Sara. Nick doesn't acknowledge her, just pressing down hard on the accelerator. He's silent and for a few seconds Sara thinks he might've calmed down. But then-

"GREG?"

There's an ominous chuckle and a faint whimper. Then the line goes dead.

Nick curses loudly, very tempted to break the damn phone. Instead he drives even faster, doubling the 30 mph speed limit. Sara bites back a remark about how they won't be much good to Greg if they cause a car crash and just waits, hoping they arrive soon.

Why haven't you killed me yet?" Greg asks, having absolutely no idea where he's going with this strange new plan of his. The man glances at him, an eyebrow raised.

"You complaining?"

"No, not at all – but it looks like you shot the other victims as soon as you entered-"

"Don't call them victims. They deserved everything they got."

"How can you say that? That boy was what…thirteen? Fourteen? And you just killed them…" Greg trails off. He didn't mean to burst out like that but he couldn't believe the man showed no remorse for what he did.

"That boy was my son. And that woman was my ex-wife. She left me for that idiotic self-righteous son of a bitch and my own flesh-and-blood son refused to even speak to me. My own son. They deserved it. And that man she left me for ran out the house as soon as the first shot was fired, the coward. I'm going after him next." He turned around to look at Greg. "What's your name?"

"Greg." He gives the man a glance. "What's yours?"

The man is about to reply when he frowns, hearing music. Greg realises what it is before the man does – it's his ringtone, Feel like Making Love. Acting on instinct, he simply kicks the man as hard as he can and makes a dash for it, yanking his phone out his pocket.

"Hey, Greg?" It's Sara, completely oblivious to what's happening on the other end of the phone.

"Sara!" Greg yells down the phone. The man has recovered from the surprise attack.

"Greg, what the hell – " Sara starts.

"Sara, HELP!" The man takes aim and fires; the bullet scrapes past Greg's neck, etching a scar as straight as a ruler. Greg lets out a loud yell and dashes for the front door, but the man is blocking it.

"Greg, were you just shot?" Sara yells.

"Nearly," Greg replies, short of breath, terror and adrenaline racing through him. The man is coming for him now; Greg sprints into the Kitchen, the man just seconds behind.

"Greg, get outta there, now!" He hears Nick's voice. He doesn't answer, eyes focused on the man striding towards him. Greg turns around, getting ready to run – the only advantage he might have against this man was speed. He heads for the backdoor, but then man reaches out and punches him across the cheek. Not only was the punch hard, but the man was still wearing his ring, and Greg lets out a moan as the metal catches him just underneath the eye, blood dribbling down his cheek. Greg swears with frustration; getting desperate now, he grabs the nearest thing to hand – which happens to be a wine bottle – and smashes it hard on what would've been the man's shoulder, but the man is too quick for him and the bottle merely slams against the table, breaking with a crash. The man pulls Greg back by his collar when he tries to run again and slams him viciously into the wall. Greg swings a wild punch that goes nowhere, the man just laughs and slams him into the wall again. By the time man let's go of him, Greg slumps to the floor, defeated. He sees his phone a few feet away, it ended up on the ground somewhere in the struggle - but he can't reach it. He can just about hear Nick shouting on the other side and tries to reply.

Then he hears Nick yell his name down the phone. The man merely chuckles. Greg tries to murmur a reply but it comes out as a small moan, a whimper. The man picks up the phone and hangs up, then glances down at Greg laying on the floor, a sneer in his voice.

"Well, that wasn't too clever, was it?"

Greg just glares up at him, trying to get as much of his hatred across in one look. Slowly, he sits up. He feels a lot weaker, and no doubt he'll have some pretty nasty bruises if he lives to see another day, but for the most part, he is okay. He's certainly still got enough spirit in him to carry on fighting, even if he now knows he's no match for the man.

"It won't work," Greg mutters. He's back to the other plan now, just keep talking.

"What was that?"

"All this. You're not going to get away with it. You said you were with the army. That means that they've got your prints on file. You're not wearing gloves, your prints will be all over this place. You're going to death row.

"That's what you think. But you don't know the rest of the plan."

"Go on then. Enlighten me," Greg says sarcastically. He can't appear weak in front of this man; he's not going to be impressed by whatever the man says next.

But the man doesn't say anything. Instead, he just walks over to the side – the same side Greg got the wine from – and picks up a bottle of alchohol. Greg frowns at him. The man then goes to sprinkle the wine all over the sides and the floor, going out into the hall way, sprinkling yet more. A slow sense of horror fills Greg as he realises what's going to happen next. Greg stares up at the man as he comes back in, flicking the rest of the wine at Greg, who recoils in horror.

"You wouldn't," Greg whispers. The man winks, a smile on his face.

"Whose gonna stop me?"

Greg can't just sit and watch as the man gets out a box of matches. If the man drops the match, Greg will go up in flames. His death will be by no means quick though, he would burn to a cinder before he got to die. He can almost feel the flames now, unbelievably hot as they slowly burned through him, fire raging, screams barely heard through the crackle of the flames…

Greg can't let that happen.

With one last moan of strength, Greg reaches out and yanks the man's leg out from underneath him. The man trips over, swearing; Greg swipes the matches off him and unsteadily gets to his feet – he knows from experience he can't fight the man, so he runs for the front door. To his complete disbelief, he actually makes it out. The storm is still raging on. The rain hits down hard on his face and Greg gives himself a few moments to catch his breath, relief flooding through him. He nearly laughs.

He thought he would die in that house.

And at that moment, two very familiar cars pull up across the road, sirens wailing. Greg grins broadly, almost giddy with relief as he sees Nick and Sara get out of one car, then Warrick out of the other. He can't believe his luck. He looks across at them. Then he frowns. Why don't they look happy to see him? Infact, the opposite; they suddenly look mortified. They don't even seem to be looking at him, but at something behind him. Greg turns around slowly, a sense of dread filling him. Sure enough, the man is standing behind him in the doorway. Pointing the gun directly at Greg's chest.

There's a few seconds of complete silence. No one dares makes a sound; even the rain seems to grow quiet. Greg stares silently at the man, mouth slightly open, pleading for his life with his eyes. The corners of the man's mouth twitch, and then a smile appears, growing until he is beaming.

Stood on the other side of the road, Nick inwardly screams a silent "No!"

The man pulls the trigger.

Instantly, the silence is broken. Greg tried to jump to the right, but he wasn't fast enough, the bullet hits him near his left shoulder and he yells out, all the air knocked out of him as he stumbles backwards, a crimson flower of blood blossoming near his chest.

I've been shot, he thinks, stunned, unable to believe it. The man turns and runs, certain that he will get away – none of them will chase him if one of their own is in danger.

The three CSIs stand across the street, momentarily frozen in shock. Sara is the first one to snap out of it, running across the road, regardless of her own safety. Warrick follows after her, talking urgently on his walkie talkie, kneeling down by Greg's side.

"Greg? Greg, man, can you hear me?" Warrick calls. To Greg, he seems a long way off, his voice strange and distorted, as if from a long way off. He mumbles something incoherent. Nick appears beside them, trembling with rage. He looks down at Greg for a few seconds, then after the killer. With fury in his eyes he turns to run after him. Whoever the man is, he's not going to get away with this. Nick will not let that happen.

But-

"Nick-" Greg starts, but then breaks off, coughing. Blood spurts out of his mouth, spraying onto his shirt. "Nick, don't go," he pleads, tears in his eyes. "Don't leave." Nick looks between Greg and the growing distance between him and the killer. If he doesn't go after him, the man will most likely get away with it – the man who shot Greg could go unpunished. The very thought seems repulsive to Nick.

"I'm not going anywhere, Greggo," Nick promises, kneeling down by Greg's side, gripping his hand, tears dripping down Nick's face. Sara tends to Greg, taking off her jacket and tying it tightly around the wound, trying to stop the seemingly endless blood-flow. Greg lets out a moan of protest.

"No, Sar', put your jacket back on. You'll get cold," he says weakly, his speech slurred. Sara nearly laughs through her tears, she can't believe Greg's worrying about that at a time of this.

"Greg, I couldn't care less," she says, gripping Greg's hand for all she's worth. Warrick stares at him, reassuringly squeezing Greg's shoulder. Greg stares up at them all, feeling the energy slowly leaving his body, and realises something.

He's not ready for this. This wasn't meant to happen.

He can't do it.

Not yet.

"I don't want to die," he says, his voice breaking, tears streaking down his face.

"Greg, you're not going to die," Nick says fiercely. He can't stop crying either, his whole body shaking with sadness. "You got only got hit in the shoulder, and Warrick's called for an ambulance, they'll be here any minute."

"They'll be too late," Greg answers, quite certain. He's struggling to see now. He can feel it, he's not got long left. "Tell my Mom…tell her I love her.

"We won't need to. You're gonna tell her yourself, at the hospital," Nick tries again, but even he can tell he's kidding himself. Greg has turned paper white, and although he's still got fight left in his eyes, he's not going to last much longer.

"And…tell Grissom…I never meant to disappoint him."

"Greg, you never did. You have no idea how proud we are of you," Nick says, voice shaking, cradling Greg's head in his hands.

"Hey, 'Rick?"

"I'm here, buddy." Warrick never got chance to really get to know Greg, not as well as Nick and Sara did, but it still really pains him to see him like this. He makes a silent vow to never stop looking for the man who did this.

"I wish…I got to know you better."

"Me too, man. Me too."

"No," Nick counters. "You will get to know him. A few weeks from now, everything will be back to normal. You're gonna be mucking about, annoying Hodges and, and driving everyone up the wall with your stupid music, and-" Nick breaks off. He can't believe this. This shouldn't have happened. "Greg…" he whispers Texas voice thick with emotion.

"Sar'?"

"I'm here, Greg." Sara can't believe this is happening to Greg. This is the crazy, spiky-haired, often irritating lab rat who was never meant to even grow up. How could he die? How can he be dying?

"I'm gonna miss that Sidle scent." Sara laughed, in spite of herself. Greg smiled faintly. "And Nick. Nicky?"

Nick waits a few seconds before replying. He doesn't want to hear what Greg has to say. That would be like accepting it. That would be like saying goodbye. "Nick, please," Greg pleads. Nick turns to look at him, meeting his eye. The rain has soaked through Nick's hair and covered his face, but its still clear that he is crying more than either of the others. He looks into Greg's eyes, which are dangerously close too closing. "Aw, Nick, don't cry. You'll get me all teary," Greg jokes.

And then he stops, because he realises he doesn't know what to say. And he can feel time running out. In his head, he realises there are so many things he never got to do. He and Sara never did go out to dinner, he never did meet just the right girl, he was never going to get married and have a family – his poor Mom was never going to get Grandkids. He was never going to hear another Marilyn Manson song, or annoy the hell out of Hodges, or drink another cup of his favourite coffee…

"Nick, you're…you're like a brother to me. I'm really gonna miss you."

And then it all becomes too much. Greg's body loses the battle with the bullet, his heart uttering its final beat. Sara feels his hand turn limp in hers, and that sparkle finally leaves his eyes. Warrick bows his head in respect. Sara trembles and then lets out a sob. Nick stares at Greg, still unable to believe it.

"Greg…?" he whispers. Nothing. Not a whisper. "C'mon Greg, please." The still open eyes stare up at him blankly, glazed over. Trembling, Nick slowly reaches out with his hand to see if he's breathing. At all.

Nothing.

Greg.

The four of them stay like that, unmoving, even after the ambulance arrives. The rest of the team arrive, and Sara and Warrick shakily get to the feet, but Nick doesn't move. No one has the heart to try and move him yet. They all come up and mutter condolences, but Nick hardly hears them.

Greg.

This shouldn't have happened.

Oh, Greg...

Nearly two hours later, Nick finally reaches out a shaking hand, and gently pulls Greg's eyelids closed. He looks better then, at rest.

And still, the storm rages on.

That really did make me feel sad. Omigosh, I can't believe I killed Greg. tell me what you think, guys, I wanna know how I did. All reviews are appreiciated, except pointless flamers. Wow, over 6000 words! cool...

Awwwww, I feel sad now! :¬(