A/N: I kept writing this in present tense instead of past tense. I think it might be leftover from my CSI: NY fic.

Personal stuff's going down. Life is crazy. Friends sometimes suck. CSI is always there. Rock on.

Dutchie – I'm moving in August, so I quit my job. Hence why I am unemployed.

Calleigh really had no idea how she managed to make it through the rest of the day without exploding. That was the second time she'd almost kissed Ryan – damn Valera for walking in, though she had made a breakthrough in their case – and she was getting frustrated. Particularly with the "almost" part. She wasn't sure how much more she could take. She was literally aching every time he caught her eye that afternoon. His dark gaze was smoldering; he was looking at her like he couldn't wait to rip off all her clothes. She was sorely tempted, more than once, whenever he passed her in the hall, to push him into the nearest supply closet.

At the end of shift, when the floater had been identified and Alexx determined that it had been suicide and not murder, Calleigh found Ryan in the locker room. He was once again staring at his locker, though not so dejectedly as before.

"Ryan," she said, and he turned to look at her. "Still want that drink?"

He blinked and stared her for a few seconds before responding. "Yeah. Sure."

The bar they ended up at was a dingy hole in the wall. There were maybe fifteen patrons scattered about, seated on the filthy bar stools and booths with peeling upholstery. Ryan and Calleigh's booth was small, tucked in a darkened corner that reeked of cigarette smoke and stale beer. Their legs touched underneath the table, their elbows touched on top, and it was all Calleigh could think about. Ryan didn't seem to notice.

They didn't speak. Their eyes were on their drinks. The mood at the booth was somber.

Calleigh's vision was blurred, but not from the alcohol. She'd only had the one drink, and she hadn't even finished yet. Her vision was blurry because she'd been staring at her half-filled beer mug for the better part of an hour. She wasn't even positive whether or not she blinked. She was thinking.

She knew she should be thinking about Horatio and Eric, and she was. She wondered where they were in their trip, if they were safe, if she would ever see them again, if she should've given them a proper goodbye. But mostly she thought about what had almost happened between her and Ryan in the locker room earlier that day. She knew how she felt about Ryan, but she wasn't sure how ready she was to take their relationship to the next level. Mostly, she was afraid that she had built up this fantasy in her mind, and the reality wouldn't live up to her expectations.

Hell, she'd never get anywhere thinking like that. No one ever got anywhere by giving into fear. That was like not crossing the street because you were afraid you'd get hit by a bus.

Eventually, she raised her eyes to stare at Ryan.

His eyes were downcast, so she couldn't tell what color they were. She wanted so badly to lose herself in those eyes. If anything could make her forget, it was those eyes. He took a long gulp of his beer, then licked his lips. Her eyes were riveted on that action. She wondered, if she were to kiss him, would she be able to taste the beer on his lips? What would he taste like? He seemed like he would taste sweet. He turned his mug slowly in his hands, then traced the outline of the handle with one finger. She found herself wondering what it would feel like if he were to do that to her. She imagined his finger trailing down her stomach, going lower…lower…lower…

"You want to get out of here?" she asked. The words were out of her mouth before she even realized what she was saying, but she wasn't about to take it back now. Damn her fear. She couldn't let the fear hold her back from going after something she really wanted. And she wanted Ryan. She had to cross the street sometime.

She couldn't even blame the alcohol for lowering her inhibitions, because she hadn't consumed any alcohol. She doubted she'd drunk enough beer to even get to the alcohol. So whatever she was thinking, whatever she was feeling, it was her and nothing else.

He met her gaze, his eyes a dull, smoky gray. "What?"

"Come on," she said, sliding out of the booth and grabbing his hand, "let's get out of here."

The cab ride was silent. Calleigh had given the driver her address on a whim and tried to ignore the surprised look Ryan gave her as she settled back into the seat. Her heart was beating a thousand miles a minute. She couldn't believe she was actually doing this. No, scratch that. She couldn't believe she was finally doing this. She couldn't believe that after so long, she and Ryan were on their way back to her apartment.

She had no idea what the hell was wrong with their driver; he must have been the slowest driver in the world. She swore that a glacier passed them on their way. But the long ride gave her a chance to study Ryan – the line of his jaw, the curve of his ear… All while he wasn't looking, of course. When he did turn to look at her, she would look away. But then she could feel his eyes on her. She felt herself growing warmer and knew she must be blushing. When she turned back to look at him, he was looking out the window again.

At last, they pulled to a stop outside her apartment building. Ryan leapt out first, almost before the cab had come to a complete stop. He ran around to the other side as Calleigh opened the door and held out his hand to help her out of the car.

The walk up to her apartment had never taken so long. It felt like an endless march up stairs and down hallways until they arrived to her door, where she hesitated.

She wanted this. God, did she want this. So why the hesitation?

Ryan must have seen her hesitate, because he said, "You know, maybe I should just call it a night." She turned to look at him, her eyes open wide, unable to say anything. "I mean, with just the two of us working the lab, we're going to have a busy day tomorrow."

He started to turn. Calleigh's brain was screaming at her to break out of her paralysis and say something, do something, anything, to prevent him from leaving. She didn't want him to leave. She couldn't believe he wanted to leave.

"Ryan," she said, and he turned back around. Without even stopping to think of the consequences, of the ramifications, of what she was about to do, she stepped forward, placed her hands on the back of his neck, and pressed her lips to his.

A/N: Oh, I'm evil! Sorry about that.