Note: I had this slight idea… it grew into this… I hope you like it… just a side idea ya know?? (ha who am I kidding)
He was tired. The flight into Vegas was anything less than comforting. 'The one time it chooses to rain', he thought to himself. Of course, it had cleared up by the time he had left the airport. He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. It was hot in the taxi—even though it was midnight.
The bright lights of the Strip hurt his eyes; but they also kept him awake. He stared out the window, the neon lights mesmerizing him. He blinked a few times, as if trying to focus the passing world. Tiredness enveloped him; his eyelids were becoming heavy. He sighed.
* * * * * * * *
"Here you are sir—The Aladdin," the cab driver spoke as he pulled into the driveway. He breathed a sigh of relief—at least they were at the hotel. And a big one at that. The cab stopped in front of the main entrance.
"Will you need any help?" the driver asked turning around.
"No-no I got it," he answered, pulling his arm out from underneath the body laying against him. It stirred. "Here," he handed the driver a couple of bills. "C'mon buddy, we're here," he spoke to the form next to him. No response. "C'mon Ry, we're here," he said a little firmer.
"No," came a weak reply. He smiled.
"C'mon," he prodded, opening up the car door. He eased out, carefully sidestepping a puddle. "Ryan—c'mon. We're here," he ordered.
"Ok, ok," came a tired reply. Finally, a young man emerged from the car, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "Where are we?" he asked, looking around at all the lights.
"Las Vegas. Here can you take this?" He tossed a small suitcase at the boy. Ryan let it hit the ground, then picked it up. "Sure," he answered, giving a tired smile.
"Thatta boy," the older man said, closing the trunk. "Let's go," he said quietly, steering the youngster by the shoulders, towards the open door.
* * * * * * * *
"Ah yes, a reservation for McCormick. James," the older man told the receptionist, dropping his bags by his feet. She nodded as she proceeded to type the information into the computer. Ryan leaned against the desk, dropping his luggage to the ground. He was so very tired. He watched the people milling around, most of them were laughing and having a good time. He didn't understand—it was so late—he was so very tired…
"You're in room 715, and the elevators are down the hall; on your left," the receptionist directed him; handing him the electronic keys.
"Thanks," he graciously accepted the keys, and picked up his suitcase. He started walking towards the elevators; but then he paused and turned around. "You coming?" he directed his question towards Ryan.
"Yea," he answered stupidly, slowly picking up his duffel bag. James waited for him.
"You'll be ok," he reassured him. Ryan only nodded in response, stumbling slightly. They headed towards the elevators.
* * * * * * *
James looked over at the boy; he was passed out on the bed. He shook his head smiling slowly; it had been a long day—but he needed to make a phone call. He picked up his cell phone, and quickly dialed.
* * * * * * *
"Hey Grissom?" Nick Stokes asked, popping his head into the lounge. The two adults who were in the middle of a conversation, looked up towards the younger man. "O hey Catherine," he greeted. The women smiled. "Hey-a, I was just wondering if you two would like to go to breakfast with Warrick, Sara, and I," he asked politely, leaning against the doorframe.
"Sure," Catherine replied without hesitation. "Lindsey's over at Eddie's so I'm free to go." She stood up from her chair. "You coming Gil?" Grissom looked over from Nick to Catherine, back to Nick.
"No. I have a meeting with an old friend in a little bit—I'm gonna stay here," he answered, plastering on a smile. Cath eyed him warily, before heading out the door.
"Old friend huh—be careful," she called over her shoulder. He shook his head smiling, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Hey," came a voice from the doorway. He looked up.
"Hi Sara," he said, putting his mug down. She didn't move from the doorway.
"I just wanted to tell you that the tox screens came back negative on the Rickman girl; and trace is running the fibers found in her neck wound," he nodded. "Why aren't you going to breakfast?" He tapped his fingers on the table.
"I'm meeting an old friend for breakfast."
"Oh," she looked around the room. "Who?" He gave a slight smile.
"James McCormick. Perhaps you remember him? He was a professor at Harvard while you were there," She squinted, trying to recall the name.
"McCormick…McCormick—'Applied Physics' McCormick?" He nodded. She mulled over that for a few moments. "I remember him—good guy," she thought wistfully, turning around to leave. "Cute butt." He gave her a curious look; she returned with a coy smile and a small wave. He shook his head in disbelief.
And with that—she was gone.
* * * * * * *
"So how have things been Gil?" James asked, as they sat down at a table. Ryan sat down next to James, across from Grissom. He watched the older man intently. Grissom didn't seem to mind.
"It's been awhile since we last spoke," he said, picking up one of the menus.
"That it has, that it has."
"Why are you here in Vegas?" Grissom asked, reading the breakfast selections. James sighed. Grissom glanced up concerned. Ryan looked around the room. He was bored.
"Gil—there's something you need to know." Grissom looked slightly alarmed.
"What?" he asked tentatively. James paused.
"I-I don't know how to tell you this-"
"Tell me what?" Grissom slowly put his menu back down.
"Here Ryan, here's a few bucks—go to the arcade," James told the boy, handing him a few dollars. Ryan looked surprised. He looked from James to Grissom, back to James.
"Ok?" He took the money gently. James nodded at him; a signal for him to leave. Ryan nodded back, then hopped out of his chair; and headed over to the arcade. James returned to looking at Grissom.
"Tell me what James?"
"I'm here—I'm here Gil, because—because Megan Jenkins died last week," he spit out hurriedly. Grissom blinked.
"Megan Jenk-"
"Yes, Megan Jenkins." Grissom was quiet for a moment.
"Why couldn't you just tell me over the phone?" he asked quietly. James shook his head.
"You were at work, which is always the case—and it wouldn't have been fair to him." That caught Grissom off guard.
"Fair to whom?" James looked away. "Fair to whom?" Grissom pressed. James took a deep breath in.
"Fair to Ryan, Gil," he blinked slowly.
"Fair to Ryan?"
"Gil—Ryan is Megan's son," James said quietly. Grissom's brow furrowed.
"Ok—?" James was looking at the boy now. Grissom followed his stare. James sighed heavily.
"And—and—you're his father."