Spoilers: ALM and everything that predates it I guess.

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~Forty-Two~

All of my life I have sought meaning. That search has been the only meaning my life has had. It is an irony that causes me pain, even as I laugh at the paradox my life has become. Often there is someone whom I can take my meaning from. Never my father, and never my mother, but what are humans if not adapters.

And so I took meaning from my grandmother. Even when I knew she wasn't strong enough to provide the meaning for two people, I couldn't help myself. It had become a habit, one that I tried hard to break. But I replaced one addiction with another, and I spiraled out of control.

My job gave me meaning, one of the best I have ever had. I got to help people. They tell me I don't have white-knight syndrome, but maybe I am just better at hiding it than some.better at making things objective. Sometimes I hate that.

When the two collided, I almost lost everything, and Holly did. I can't even begin to describe my guilt. I have nightmares about it. About them telling me. About the look in Grissom's eyes, the disdain from Brass, all of them.

I was late today. I can't even remember the last time I was late for work. I called her to tell her I was on my way. She said she'd be fine, she'd just process the scene and I would catch up with her when I got there.

I never heard Holly scream, except in my dreams. When I heard "Suspect on location!" and the sounds of a struggle I felt my heart in my throat. I had done it again. I was off a scene when I should have been there. I should have been there for her.

I panicked. I went on to automatic pilot... Draw the gun...run after the policemen...make sure she's okay...check perimeter...Holly...focus...Damn he's gone.

Catherine.

I came back inside, I had to know that she was really okay and that she wasn't just saying she was. What will I say to Lindsey if...don't even go there.

Catherine.

She's covered in blood. It isn't hers. I am so grateful, but the cut on her head needs attention, and I try to help. She reminds me not to touch her, and I sit by helplessly as she processes herself with a level of clinical detachment we usually only see from Grissom.

She won't break down in front of David, or anyone else. But she does in front of me. I hug her of course, what else can I do? I admire her bravery. She faces her attacker, has the gall to look up his nose for the incriminating evidence, but I see her eyes as they lead him away.

I have had nightmares for years. About gangs at school, about my grandmother, about gambling, about Holly. Now I know that she will be in them too. People that I must watch get hurt when I should be there to protect them.

I have sought meaning so many times, and every time I get close something rips it away. Maybe I am not meant to have meaning, maybe everything is random.

Maybe, I am getting close. Maybe in this building, the place where I work, and the place where I have learned so much will tell me someday.

"Hey Greg" I shout down the hall to the lab.

"What?" come the reply of an oft rattled lab tech.

"Pick a number between one and a hundred."

"Why?"

"Just do it Greg."

"All right, all right." Man, he sounds harried, I wonder briefly what Gris has put him through tonight. "between one and a hundred, I'll take 42."