Title: Empty Space
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Greg Sanders
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Rating: PG-13
Table: Emotions, mission_insane
Prompt: 2, Sad
Author's Note: Standalone fic. Spoilers for the CSI: Vegas S9 episode "For Warrick".
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Greg Sanders, unfortunately, just borrowing him for a while. Please do not sue.

***

Greg stared down at the photo album in his lap, feeling his eyes fill with tears. He blinked them back, not wanting to let them fall, but he couldn't make them go away; he could feel them starting to streak down his face, unwanted and uninvited, but unable to stay away.

Every time he looked at pictures of the CSI team as they'd once been, he wanted to cry. He knew that Gil was alive and well, and even happier than he'd been when he'd worked with the team. He shouldn't feel like crying, but it was hard to deal with not having him around.

And then there was Warrick. Greg's fingers traced over the smiling features of the man who had been one of his closest friends ever since he'd joined the crime lab; Warrick had been one of the people who'd encouraged him to be where he was now -- a CSI, rather than a lab rat.

Warrick had always told him that he could achieve that dream if he just reached for it, and worked hard enough. And he'd been right. He owed a lot to his friend -- more than he would ever be able to say, and more than he could ever dream of repaying.

It was too late to repay that debt now; Warrick was dead, murdered by a dirty cop. The man who had killed his friend was in jail, but that wasn't enough. He wanted to see that bastard suffer, see him taken down as far as he could go, until he was in the depths of hell itself.

But he had to be satisfied with knowing that the man who had killed one of his closest friends would rot away in prison, with no hope of parole. It was true that Warrick hadn't been a saint, but he hadn't deserved to die -- and not at the hands of a cop who should have helped him.

He knew that he shouldn't be looking at these old photo albums and indulging himself in the melancholy and sadness he'd been feeling lately. But it was like this every year since Warrick's passing; he always felt sad and hopeless when that particular anniversary came along.

Everybody else at the crime lab seemed to have forgotten Warrick; they seemed to feel that putting his killer behind bars had been enough. But it would never be enough, Greg told himself. And there would always be an empty space in his life where Warrick had once been.

They had never been lovers; they were never more than good friends. But Greg felt the loss of that friendship acutely, more than he'd ever thought he could. He had other friends, of course, but no one who had meant as much to him as Warrick did.

When the murder had first happened, and they hadn't found out yet who had killed Warrick or why, he had felt more helpless than he ever had in his entire life. He'd wanted nothing more than to find Warrick's killer -- and to decimate the person until even their memory had been eradicated.

But of course, he couldn't do that. He'd had to wait through the long process of putting two and two together, working with the others in the crime lab until they'd brought that killer to justice. They'd at least gotten some satisfaction from that, though it hadn't been nearly enough.

Looking at this photo album was only making him sad, Greg told himself, wishing that he could close the book and do something else, watch a comedy show on tv, or a funny movie. But something made him keep turning the pages, looking at the pictures, letting the memories flood over him.

He hadn't thought that he would still feel so empty after Warrick's murderer had been caught; he'd thought that would give him some closure. But there were times when he still felt that empty space within him even more acutely than he had when he'd first heard of Warrick's death.

More than anything, he wished that he still had Warrick here to talk to, to laugh with, to work beside. He missed his friend more than he'd ever thought he would; there were still times when the lab felt empty, when walking into a room brought back more poignant memories.

The sadness welled up in him again, feeling as though it was a tangible thing that could choke the breath from his throat. Greg closed his eyes, trying to take a deep breath. He could barely breathe; it felt like that sadness was choking him from the inside.

He sat there for a few moments, his breathing shallow, trying to push back the tears and not let a single one fall. He'd cried so much when Warrick had first died; he wouldn't have thought he had any more tears left to give to that sadness, but apparently he'd been wrong about that.

He still missed Warrick. He probably always would, Greg told himself, feeling a sob rise in his throat. They'd had a bond that he hadn't found with many people; Nick was the only other person who was that close to him, though lately, he and Nick seemed to be drifting apart.

No one could replace Warrick in his life. There would never be another friend who he'd look at in quite the same way; there would never be anyone else in his life who understood him the way that Warrick had. He'd lost so much more than just a friend when Warrick had been murdered.

He had lost the person who was his anchor, the person who had helped him adjust to his life here in Vegas when everything had been new to him. That empty space in his life had never been filled by anyone else -- and Greg knew that it never could be.

Closing his eyes, he cleared his throat, finally taking the deep breath that he'd been trying for several minutes to let into his lungs. The sadness was still there, but it didn't seem as prominent as it had been; it was fading a little around the edges, though it was still there.

It would always be there. A day wouldn't go by when he wouldn't miss Warrick and wish that his friend was still here for him to talk to, to laugh with, to work with. There would never be a point when he didn't miss the closest friend he had ever known.

But it wasn't always going to be as strong as it was when he looked at these old photos, or as strong as it had been when the pain had been fresh and new. He wouldn't always feel this overwhelming sadness whenever he thought of Warrick; even now, there were memories that made him smile.

The good memories he had of Warrick far outweighed the bad, he told himself with a sigh. He had to try to remember those good times, and not let the sadness of Warrick's death overpower those memories. He had to hold on to everything that had been good about their friendship.

That was what Warrick would have wanted him to do. His friend wouldn't have wanted him to be overwhelmed by the sadness of his death; rather, Warrick would have wanted all of his friends to celebrate his life, and to remember him with a smile.

And that was what he would try to do, he told himself as he closed the photo album and got up to put it back on the shelf where it belonged. He wasn't going to dwell in the past; instead, he would concentrate on his future, the one that Warrick would have wanted him to have.

Stretching his arms above his head, Greg closed his eyes again, concentrating on banishing the sadness from his mind and from his heart. He knew that he would probably let it come out again in the future, but for now, he would put it aside -- and he'd try to keep it at bay for as long as he could.

***