Warrick has seen dead bodies before. Hell, he's a CSI. He sees dead bodies everyday. He's touched them, he's smelled them, he knows. Yet, when he sees her, his stomach lurches. The stench is putrid, and his eyes water. Holly is so pale, so blue, so cold. He tries to see her as another dead body, but he can't. He simply can't, because the reason she's dead is because of him. Holly is DEAD because of him.

He didn't pull the trigger, but he left her. He left her ALL ALONE in that house. He left her all alone to be shot by a criminal. He left her to feed his addiction. He left her to bring money to a corrupt judge. He left her all alone to DIE.

Nick tells him that it isn't his fault. He said, "Warrick, man. You screwed up, but you didn't pull the trigger. Her death is not your fault; maybe the bastard would have shot you too. You probably couldn't have saved her."

Warrick doesn't believe him. He knows better. He knows could have saved her. Holly would still be breathing if he just did his job. She would have had someone to protect her, to stand by herself. But she didn't have anybody, because he failed her. He FAILED her.

He suddenly shivers. Holly's eyes are closed, but he still feels as if she's looking at him, blaming him. He reaches over and touches her arm, quickly, just to see how she feels. She's so cold. SO COLD. He kicks the wall and curses when a sharp pain shoots up his leg. Yet, the pain is dull compared to how Holly must have felt when the bullet sliced through her body.

He curses again, and slides to the floor. And rests his forehead on his knees. He's suddenly thankful that nobody else is in the room with him. He doesn't lose his temper, he's always so mellow, but then again, nobody has died before. Nobody has died because of his gambling habit. NOBODY HAS DIED.

His gambling killed Holly.

Gambling wasn't supposed to KILL anybody. Yet, it did. He rubs his forehead with his thumb. Gambling wasn't supposed to have ruined him, but it did. He started gambling because of the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. He never did drugs, never drank much, but gambling...Gambling was his drug. It was supposed to make him rich. It was supposed to change his life. It did, but definitely not the way it was SUPPOSED to.

"I'm sorry, Holly," He mutters into his hands. "Oh God, I'm sorry."

What feels like hours later, he slowly stands up, and walks up to Holly's body. He stares at her; stares at her complexion, her beauty, her stillness. He closes his eyes, and whispers again, "I'm sorry."

But his regrets can't bring Holly back. His heart is laden with guilt, but he knows what he has to do. "I'll stop, Holly. I'll stop for you. You're not going to die for nothing."