A/T: Greetings from the basement, darling readers! I've finally completed my long-since-coming Ryan/Eric fic. (Props still go to Ryan/Greg, the greatest couple of all. ) Although past episodes of CSI: Miami have made it difficult to write these two in character without them hating each other, I'm still going to give it a try. Laugh if you must, but don't do it to my face.

On another note, this was originally written in response to Sex and Taxes. But then came and Recoil and 10-7, so we fanfic writers have our work cut out for us until the fall.

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Bits of the poem used in this work are from T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets, a brilliant piece. Read it after you've read this.

Undeserved in Four Movements
Movement 1: Soli and Fugue

He didn't really want to see him, but his reasons weren't any fault of Eric's.

Quite the opposite; it was Ryan himself who had behaved like the complete and utter idiot, the snob, the know-it-all. It was hard enough to try and make it as a criminalist while being pegged as "the new guy"; it was even worse when his friends didn't like him either. (all time is unredeemable)

What the hell had he been thinking? Had he even been thinking at all? Looking back, he couldn't say "yes" with 100 percent certainty. It wasn't as if he'd technically stolen Eric's evidence or taken the blood out of the lab or leaked the tox report; he hadn't meant to do anything that was against (what might have been is an abstraction- remaining a perpetual possibility) the rules. And technically, he hadn't broken any law according to the state of Florida. But there were other laws to take into consideration, such as those of friendship.

He'd broken their trust.

And that was worse than anything a lawyer could accuse him of.

All the excuses he fed himself were paper thin and fragile and meaningless; Eric had done nothing to deserve Ryan's poorly chosen actions. Even in the aftermath of a colleagues (what might have been and what has been) death, Eric hadn't acted like some demi-God when Ryan first joined the team. He accepted him despite the circumstances and they had begun as friends.

The man just assumed Ryan wouldn't treat him like that. He trusted him.

And now Ryan was paying the price. (point to one end, which is always present)

Eric wasn't ignoring him or retaliating by any means. He was acting as if nothing had happened at all, which made Ryan feel even worse. Eric would smile. He'd laugh and joke. But it wasn't the same because he'd look at Ryan with a grin that used to be genuine (I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where) and now was forced. In short, it was fake. It was as if Eric was saying Let's just forget about it, okay? I won't hold some immature grudge against you if you'd just act your age once in a while. And Ryan could only blame himself.

So, no. Ryan didn't want to see him. But he couldn't remember the last time he'd done something so incredibly scummy (and I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time) and he wanted to at least try to dig himself out of his grave.

He made up his mind.

Even as he recited and considered what he might say, he was already heading towards the locker rooms. He knew that if he dwelled on it for too long, he'd talk himself out of it; he'd cowardly accept Eric's gracious forgiveness and hope that time would heal his stupid mistakes.

But Eric deserved much better than Ryan's insignificant fears and self-doubts. He deserved something real and genuine.

So Ryan took a deep breath even as his hand pushed the locker room door open. With a quick glance around, he knew it was empty all except for one, just as he had hoped it would be and he thanked his undeserved lucky stars for this fortunate circumstance.

"Eric?" he called, his voice (words move, music moves) echoing off the bare tile walls. A slight shuffle was heard and a movement felt before Eric's voice said, "Over here, Ryan."

Ryan swallowed before following the voice, the vibration of sound waves traveling through the air. That's all sound was, really; amazing and complex all at once. Eric's voice, however, was more than just science. It was beauty, music, art; it was terrifying and it was all Ryan wanted to hear. (words, after speech, reach into the silence)

Ryan followed the words until he found Eric at his locker, changing from his lab coat back to what he had originally worn to work. In his mind, Ryan recited his new mantra of Don't think. Just ask. It sounded like a simple task; however, facing his foreseeable and imminent doom was beginning to cast doubt on every motivational thought he had believed not sixty seconds ago.

In other words, he was chickening out. And fast.

With Eric only half-clothed, Ryan figured the "don't think" part wouldn't be much of a problem. After all, no shirt equaled some serious brain function issues on his part. The "just ask" could prove to be a little more difficult.

"Hey man. What's up?" Eric asked when, after a long moment, Ryan didn't speak. (the old made explicit, understood)

The younger man simply stared back. In his mind, he tried to recall the steps of basic verbal communication. It had something to do with forming words and then, crazily enough, actually talking.

"Dinner," he replied.

This wasn't turning out as he had previously envisioned. All hopes of being suave or at least respectable were quickly draining away and being replaced by pre-evolutionary caveman response. Food. Fire. Kill. One-syllable words grunted to one another in order to convey a basic idea.

"I'm sorry?" Eric asked, not quite (love is itself unmoving) catching on and shooting Ryan a quizzical look. And how could Ryan really blame him? After all, he wasn't understanding it himself either.

Ryan took another breath, praying he could form a grammatically correct sentence with as little humiliation as possible.

"I want… I want to buy you dinner," he clarified, trying to meet the other man's eyes and finding it to be a daunting task.

"You do, do you?" Eric asked, grinning and shaking his head.

"Yes. Absolutely. Anything you want." Ryan shoved his hands in his pockets nervously, absentmindedly clicking some change around. "My shout."

Eric eyed him and after a long, insanity-inducing pause, he sighed.

"You know," he said, turning to shove his things in the locker, "As fun as it is to watch you squirm, you don't have to buy yourself out of this." (caught in the form of limitation)

This was yet another glitch in his plan. Great. So anxious he'd been to be calm and collected that he hadn't counted on being glaringly obvious. Still, he wouldn't go down without a fight. Or at least a brawl. Okay, maybe a sissy slap fest, but that wasn't the point here.

"Buy myself out of what?" he asked, feigning ignorance. He was sure that being ignorant was the one thing he could actually excel in. (time past and time future- allow but a little consciousness)

Eric gave Ryan another look, this time more of the Are you kidding me? variation.

Ryan knew the look. Eric was questioning his sanity, his common sense. But that had all broken away months ago. All he had was this lab and these people and this job. There was nothing else to separate him from the disturbed.

Instead, he stared at his perfectly polished shoes and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. All of this was falling apart. He had no escape route, no Plan B. He hadn't thought (to be conscious is not to be in time) that far ahead, which was so unlike his usual self. He always had a Plan C when the situation called for it. He wished he had one now.

But Eric was ever gracious. He didn't force it out of him; instead, he closed his locker door shut.

"Friends forgive each other. Don't do anything as stupid like leaking tox reports again and we'll be cool."

Ryan stood, swallowing what little pride he had left. "But the evidence… what I did-"

"Was selfish. You won't hear me argue that on that point, man. But it's okay. We all do things we regret."

"Eric… I didn't- I only meant-"

"Don't beat yourself up over this, Wolfe."

Eric smiled, a little more real this time, before moving towards the doorway. Ryan let him pass, silent and too ashamed to stop him from going any further. He could get out of this if he wanted; no scars and a pretty stable relationship with his friend, if Eric chose to be one.

Friend.

Ryan's heart dropped at the thought. Despite all this mess, Ryan still (not that only, but the co-existence) selfishly wanted more than just a friendship. He at least wanted to try. But that option was pretty much out the window, unless Eric considered stealing evidence and betraying a friendship as some bizarre romantic gesture.

Eric certainly wouldn't have any affection for him –not after this disaster, at least- but Ryan could at least do something decent to try to prove he meant his apology sincerely.

He turned quickly, following Eric's exit. He could just see the back of Eric's retreating form.

"Eric!"

The man stopped before turning at the call.

Ryan hurriedly approached him and threw caution to the wind. His Plan A was pretty much squashed. He was never one for improvising, but he knew that his Plan B couldn't be well thought out and elaborate. His only choice was to grab at a couple of straws and hope (the end precedes the beginning) for the best, as time permitted him no other option.

"I… I know this great Thai place," he began, his words rushed. "Friday nights they have a live band. I want you to come."

"Ryan, I told you-''

"I know what you said. Come anyway." Pause. Breathe. Just don't think. "Please."

Silence.

Ryan wondered if Eric could hear his heart hammering in his chest.

The silence was steadily approaching the unbearable. Eric was observing him, taking the offer and turning it around in his mind, running it through a mental lab and wondering if it was authentic or worth anything. Ryan looked up and finally managed (and all is always now) to meet his eyes. He wasn't graceful and he wasn't tactful either; for once, though, he just wanted to be brave and he wanted Eric to see it.

Finally, as if the spell was broken, Eric smiled.

"Only because you bullied me into it," he replied, which meant, miraculously, yes. He would meet Ryan at a restaurant Friday night. He'd listen. He'd give him the time of day. He might even forgive him.

And, once more, Ryan was at a loss when it came to plans. Unprepared. So he could only nod dumbly and ask, "Seven?" (words strain, crack and sometimes break, under the burden)

"Give me directions tomorrow morning and I'll meet you there."

Ryan smiled shakily. "Sounds great," he said, his breathing slowly returning to normal. "Tomorrow." And he turned away, feeling as if he just won something highly undeserved.

He wished he could feel guilty.


Quick now, here, now, always—
Ridiculous the waste sad time
Stretching before and after.

Burnt Norton (Quartet #1), T.S. Eliot