To The End

"So Say Goodbye To The Vows You Take"

"And Say Goodbye To The Life You Make"

"And Say Goodbye To The Heart You Break."

"And All The Cyanide You Drank"

"To The End…"

He sat in the dark room, watching the light reflect off the walls as the cars drove by, their headlights shinning brightly in the dark sky. He watched the glow of the green numbers on the clock as they changed. He watched his hands clumsily fumble as he shook.

There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do. He was on empty, tired of putting up a happy and cheerful façade. After everything that had happened, it had all come down to this. All alone, sitting in his dark and empty apartment.

His attire not colorful, or meaningful. But dull, and toneless. His black slacks and dark green shirt blending himself against to the wall. As he watched the cars go by more and more his body seemed to shake. Some things were unexplainable, some things no one would ever understand. Then, some things tended to be so obvious you couldn't hide them.

He had hidden for years, behind his cheerful demeanor he played along with at work. There was nothing more that could keep everything hidden. His pain wouldn't hide anymore, and it was affecting him in more ways than he wanted to imagine. He wasn't cheerful, he didn't care about his job, he felt sick, he felt weak. He was scared. Never had he been really scared of something, but now…he was scared of himself.

Scared of what being here alone, to wallow in his own thoughts would lead him to do. Would he be just another crime scene? If this solitude led him to an awful and unthinkable decision, what was in the future? What would the team do? Would they mourn the death of him, or would they clean up the mess solemnly. Trying to figure out if it was a homicide or a suicide. It probably wouldn't take much, they were too smart.

That's why he couldn't face them. His insecurities that no one ever saw, they were surfacing and with a little more exposure, they would know what the real him was like. He didn't want them to know, he didn't want to be a burden, he didn't want to be taken away for suicidal thoughts.

His life wasn't great, sure he had just gotten a promotion, but there was nothing. He was empty just like before, he was sick, and weak, again. No one could save him now. No one could understand how he felt. There was no one to talk to, and no more mask to hide behind.

As a car went by, he stared blankly at the glass sitting on the small table beside his bed. The mixture was giving off an almond-like odor. His eyes became clouded. That was death; it was something that held a lot of meaning at the moment. His judgment clouded by the empty bottles of beer at his side. Another car, another flash. His eyes red and puffy; his hair lying flat against his head and covering his eyes as he let his head hang down.

His silent sobs echoed off the empty apartment. As the cars went by his tears fell, and his unbearable pain and depression made him crumble. With his arms tucked around his stomach and his head sitting upon his knees, his shadow on the wall rocked back and forth.

Everyone had left him, there wasn't anyone left. Why was he still here? He felt almost abandoned, he was abandoned. Condemned to a hell, because no one was left with him. No one knew him, and no one cared any longer.

He had heard the knock on his door, he didn't answer on purpose. The clocked blinked again reading, 12:00 am. He dropped his head again and ignored the muffled calls from the other side of his door in his living room. There was nothing here, no one here to talk to anymore, no one lived here, just a shadow of a man, of what once was. There was no use in looking for something that didn't exist any longer.

Lost in his own thoughts he hadn't heard the door open, he hadn't heard the voice calling out his name. He didn't respond to the shadow lingering in his doorway. Their voice louder, but his thoughts consumed him more than what was going on around him. His eyes were wide and blank as he stared off into space. The concerned voice drew closer. Cautiously, they neared him; his body began to shake as he felt angry, sadness, and hope all at once.

"Greg…" The voice echoed throughout his head, it seemed to come from an owner far away, when in fact the owner was inches from him. His hands that still held him around his waist shook harder as he clenched his jaw, a pain over taking him.

An arm touched his shoulder and the voice called out his name gently. His breath as he sighed smelled of alcohol. His body stopped shaking and calmed down to small trembles. He looked up; tears drying to his now pale complexion on his face, his breathing were heavy.

A figure crouched before him a worried concern clearly expressed on their face. He didn't reply, just stared into their deep brown eyes. They captivated him as he felt his mind go blank. They shifted; their gaze was no longer focused on him but to the empty bottles lying next to him. "What is this?" The question hung in the air; only silence followed it. He continued to stare.

The pitch black room made it hard to focus on anything and his vision was already blurry. The gaze returned and he was still unable to come up with a reply. A felt the hands on his shoulders; felt them shake him; heard them call his name and try to get him to respond. He was scared of answering, they wouldn't like the answer.

"What is the matter with you?" His tight-lipped expression was wrong as his lips trembled. The figure's eye brows turned up in worry. He didn't have a verbal response, but the question sent his already emotional disastrous state into a downward spiral. He felt the warm tears fall quickly, their hot feeling bringing warmth to his face.

"Why aren't you at work? You didn't even call." He felt it push him off the edge as he being to sob; trying to hold back was no longer possible. He collapsed against himself and pulled every part of him in tightly clinging to himself as he wallowed in his self depression.

"Greg…" The spoke softly, their hands still resting on his shoulders.

In his agony he found himself crying out all of his troubles, "She died…" The sentence had died almost before it even left his mouth.

"Who?" The voice asked softly, concerned.

"Everyone's gone…" He whispered in between deep breaths as he cried. Not caring that he was breaking down, the alcohol making him clouded anyways. "Why is the world so unfair?" He asked looking up at her for the first time, his eyes watery and tears still ran down his face, his eyes bloodshot, watched her, pain evident in them.

"I don't know." Was her only reply as the once cheerful man in front of her began to cry once more, and she was at a loss of words. Her hands pulled him forward and he fell into her clinging to her, drunk, depressed, and crying.

"I have no family…" He cried as she rubbed his back in shock of the breakdown still. He felt her trying to comfort him as he spilled his thoughts into the empty night air. "Everyone has died." She clung to him also, tragedy had struck Greg Sanders and he couldn't deal with it. The happy and cheerful man seemed to have died the minute the phone call must have arrived.

"It will be alright Greg. Everything will be fine." He shook his head, which rested against her shoulder, in response.

"No one left…no one can understand."

"I can." She replied honestly as he seemed to wobble in her embrace.

"How?" Was all he managed to ask as he stared up at her blinking back the sadness.

"I've lost family too." The reply given to him was short and to the point, the voice that had soothed him was strict and emotionless. She didn't want to talk about it, and come to think about it neither did he. He pulled away from her and let himself lean back against the wall. He fumbled for the corner of his bedside table and clumsily pulled himself his feet, before stumbling backwards and landing hard against the wall.

She moved to help him but he waved her off. He began to see his original plan as a car passed the window, the glass still sat on the table. Trying to focus his blurry vision, he moved to grab the glass. As he reached for it however, a hand had picked it up off the desk. He turned and looked at her, "Give it back Sara…" His words were harsh as he spoke them angrily.

"No." She replied as she smelled the drink, her determination was only fuel by shock by the time she registered what the drink actually contained, "What are you doing with cyanide?" Greg stumbled angrily towards her, angry at her for interrupting, angry at her for stopping him, angry at himself for believing that this is what needed to be done.

As he moved forward he found it difficult and she was too fast for him. He face was stern as she gave him an angry and disapproving look. "Answer my question."

He stopped moving and squinted at her in the darkness, "What do you think I was doing with it?"

"Why?" Was all she could ask, her voice soft and full of sadness, but still in a demanding tone.

"I can't take this anymore!" He exclaimed grabbing fistfuls of his own hair and pulling it upwards, his eyes closed in frustration. "I can't pretend that everything is alright, when its not. It is not even close." He opened his eyes and moved towards her a bit, stopping as she stepped back. "I want to die Sara. I want to go peacefully and leave this world behind."

"You're not being rational Greg, you're drunk and depressed."

"Who doesn't drink if they're depressed?" He questioned looking again at the glass she held in her hand. "No one here loves me, no one here knows me, my feelings, what I am. Why shouldn't I leave? Everyone I love has left me! I want to be with them, I don't want to be here all alone. With these nightmares, and this long excruciating hours of being alone, and having the chance to think about it all."

"Nightmares?" She questioned examining his reaction.

"Nightmares." He laughed softly, sounding more melancholy than anything. "It's been two years and yet they won't leave. I feel the flames licking at my back as I fly and crash. I remember the searing pain as I couldn't move, and the unexplainable feeling that I should've died that night." He tugged on the hem of his shirt and pulled it upwards exposing his bare chest underneath. He tossed the shirt on the bed beside him. "Everyone I meet always asks about the scars, about why they're so ugly and how I got them. Then they leave."

"It can't be that…" Sara trailed off as he turned around and another car's lights illuminated the room allowing her to see the scaring that covered his back. Long gashes and small ones adorned his slightly muscled back. His skin looked wrinkled in places from the burns, and almost resembled a plastic texture.

"It is that bad." He whispered hoarsely still not facing her, "No body ever stays because of it."

"Greg." She told him speaking louder, "These scars don't make you ugly. You're still the same person, the same lovable and cheerful man that you've always been."

"He died…" Sara raised an eyebrow still staring at his back as his shoulders tensed and he held his head in his hands. "The Greg you knew died."

"No, he is standing right in front of me. An emotional wreck." She found it hard to find the words she wanted to use to describe the sight before her, "Lost in the cloud of alcohol and depression. He is still there." He had lifted his head up and turned his just so that he could see her out of the corner of his eye. "The happy, and cheerful man that made me laugh, is still there. I can still see him and I feel him, just below the surface."

Greg dropped to his knees and held his head once again in his hands as he cried lightly, "What am I doing?" he asked his voice broken. Sara set the glass down on the dresser by the door and walked up behind him. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder as she sat on her knees next to him trying to comfort him. She had never seen a depressed Greg, much less a suicidal one, it scared her to no end.

She hugged him to herself, and although conveying emotions weren't too all easy with her, it seemed to be at the time, to comfort him, to let him know that she believed in him and that he still had some one that cared for him, and that killing himself isn't the right idea.

"I'm so stupid." He confessed leaning against her and trying, and failing to wipe his eyes. She only gave him a sad smile as she watched him struggle wit his inner thoughts. "I just feel so alone…" His confession was barely above a whisper but she had heard it in the silence of the small apartment.

"You're not alone." She stated and tried to make eye contact with him as he turned to look at her, "I'm here." He only hugged her in response and however startled she may be by his actions, hugged him back.

"Thank you…" He mumbled into her neck as he held onto her tightly. She shivered slightly at the contact of his breath against her neck. She just held him until she felt his weight begin to fall more onto her, his breathing had leveled out and she was certain he was asleep.

He moved and she stiffened in surprise, his eyes fluttered open for a second before he moved to stand. She stood as well helping him to his feet as he shuffled over to his bed. He flopped down on it and stared at her though his half-open eyes. "I've never been more grateful, and I owe you…" He whispered. Sara only nodded and stepped out of the room as his eyes closed; taking the cyanide with her.

Once the liquid was safely disposed of she pulled out her cell phone. After pressing a few numbers she held it to her ear and looked around the dark living room. A voice on the other end picked up.

"Grissom?" She asked. The voice replied and she walked towards Greg's room, "I found him, I don't think he is going to be able to make it in tonight." There was silence, "One of his family members died and he is feeling terribly ill." The last part wasn't really a lie, he would be feeling horrible in a few hours. "I think I'm gonna take the night off." She told him hesitant. "I don't think he should be left alone." Grissom had agreed with her and she closed the phone. Greg was stretched out across his bed. She smiled as she walked over to the bed and pushed his hair away from his face.

He shifted slightly in his sleep and his eyes opened once again, "Sara?" He questioned groggily.

"Yeah?" She asked raising an eyebrow.

"Are you staying?" She nodded to him, knowing if anything it would only reassure him that he wasn't alone. Slowly he shifted so that he was lying on one side of the bed, he patted the spot next to him. Sara watched him for a moment as he tried to fight off the sleep. She was indecisive as she stared at the empty spot next to him. However, she made up her mind as he had opened his eye fully to look at her. Kicking off her shoes she laid herself down on the bed next to him.

His eyes were half open as he placed his hand on her cheek as they face each other, "I care for you a lot, Sara." His voice seemed to fade as sleep began to overtake him, "It means a lot that you're here." His hand pulled away and fell in between them as he fell asleep.

Sara felt her eyes grow heavy from the lack of sleep she had experience for the past few nights, and as she watched his chest rise and fall, the steady sound of his breathing becoming a constant rhythm, she began to fall asleep in the dark room of Greg Sander's apartment. The cars passing the building shinning their lights across the walls and allowing the pair that slept silently in the bed to become visible. The green clock on the side table blinked…1:30 am

The End

A/N: I was going for something depressing and since I couldn't find anything to read that made me loose the depressing feeling I decided to try my luck at a CSI fic. This is how it turned out. It is leaning towards my favorite ship, Greg/Sara, while it tends just to be more of a friendship piece. The song I used is "To the End" by My Chemical Romance. The lyrics are posted on my livejournal incase you want to read them. http/ if you think it is worth it, because honestly it was just a plot that was stuck in my head.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, not CSI or My Chemical Romance...(makes me mad, weird how I put it at the end too)