Title: Funeral For A Friend
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Greg Sanders
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Rating: PG-13
Table: Missing Moments Challenge, tv_universe
Author's Note: Stand-alone fic.
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 slumped on his living room couch, a glass in his hand. He knew that he shouldn't be drinking, that it wasn't going to make him feel any better, but at least it might make him feel numb to the world for a while. He needed that numbness at the moment.

Warrick's funeral had been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to get through. It was still so hard for him to believe that his friend would never be there again, that Warrick would never walk into a room and smile, teasing him about being the "new kid" on the CSI block.

It wasn't fair, he thought despondently. Warrick should still be here, with his friends, with his family, his son, the people who loved him. His child, especially, needed him around. It was heartbreaking to think that Eli had to grown up without the guiding influence of his father.

Greg's eyes filled with tears at the thought; why did life have to be so cruel? He saw things like this every day; parents taken from their children -- but it was different when the person who'd been murdered was his friend, someone he'd grown close to.

He would always miss Warrick, always wish that his friend was still here, working alongside him, teasing him, making him laugh. There were so many people who would miss him; McKeen had taken so much away from them with those three gunshots.

It was harder on Grissom than on anyone else, Greg told himself, taking a swig of his vodka. Warrick had died in his arms, trying to tell him who the murderer was. Though they'd caught McKeen, and he would be in jail for the rest of his life, it still didn't seem like enough.

He would have to talk to the therapist again, the one that the higher-ups had brought in to interview all of the CSIs. He'd talked to her once, and had broken down in front of her, right there in the office, with people in the halls outside the room able to see him crying.

But even with the knowledge that he should be stronger, that he didn't want anyone to see him crying, he hadn't been able to stop. It was as though far too many tears had clogged up inside him, and Warrick's death was bringing them all to the forefront.

All he wanted was to forget the funeral, forget all the pain in all the faces of the people who had been there, and forget his own pain. He wanted to sink into a dreamless sleep tonight, to finally be able to get all the thoughts of Warrick's death out of his mind.

Greg sighed, knowing that what he wanted wouldn't be possible. He would probably be seeing Warrick in his dreams for a long time to come; losing a friend had affected him more deeply than he had ever dreamed it could, and it would take a long time to get past this.

Still, he wasn't going to let it affect his work. The CSIs put themselves in the path of danger every day; he'd known that one of them could run out of luck sooner or later. He just hadn't expected it to be from someone on the police force, a dirty cop who was utterly worthless.

He smiled grimly, taking another swallow of whiskey. At least McKeen would never see the light of day again, and he was proud that the CSIs had caught the bastard and locked him up where he couldn't do any more harm to any more innocent people.

He'd done enough harm already, Greg reflected, studying the depths of the whiskey in his glass. He'd taken a father away from his child, a good friend away from people who cared for him, and a wonderful CSI from their team. The damage had been done.

He was just glad that McKeen was now locked up, behind bars where he belonged. Of course, they could never be sure that another dirty cop wouldn't come along again, but if it happened, then they'd manage to stop them, too -- hopefully before they killed anyone.

They wouldn't let this happen again. Not on their watch, not in their department. Greg could feel the sadness start to fade away, being replaced by anger. Maybe he was finally starting on the next of those grief stages that the therapist had talked to him about.

No, he didn't think he was quite there yet. He was still going to feel sad about Warrick's death for a long, long time to come. He might already be moving into anger, but the sadness hadn't gone away, not by a long shot. He wondered if it ever would.

He was glad that he had to work tomorrow night; he would get some sleep tonight, and try to take it easy on his day off. He wouldn't drive past Warrick's house; he wasn't going to torture himself like that. He'd try to put all this out of his mind for a while.

But Greg wondered if he would ever be able to do that. He didn't think so. Swallowing the last drops of the whiskey, he got to his feet with difficulty, heading down the hallway towards his bedroom. He hoped that he could fall asleep quickly -- and that his dreams wouldn't be haunted.

***