A/T: Second chapter. Eep. Scary.

Disclaimer: CSI will never ever belong to me. All three series belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer and other big, important people. I make no money. Heck, I can't even make a few fans.

Out With It
Act 2: Blue Hawaii

There are days when one can fix one's gaze upon the sun itself without being blinded: thus it is with me now. I see you, I am dazzled, entranced, and I grasp your beauty in all its splendor.
-Julliette Drouet to Victor Hugo, 1836

"So when's that plane due to land?" Nick Stokes asked Sara Sidle as he walked through the doors of the Clark County crime lab. He was looking over a file and swigging down a bottle of water, black-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The younger woman looked up from her work and opened her mouth to reply, but Catherine was quick to intervene before Sara could get the chance to speak.

"Don't open that can of worms. She's already listed one hundred and one reasons why other professionals like ourselves shouldn't be allowed to set foot in our labs."

Sara gave the older woman an offended glare. "I have not! I merely pointed out that other CSIs have different ways of doing things. Sure, it's a great way to meet losers like us who have no social lives outside work, but they'll get in our supplies and reorganize everything and walk around like they own all of Las Vegas."

Catherine shook her head at Sara's theory, an amused smile twisting her lips. "I think Grissom would appreciate a more receptive welcome than, 'Hi, nice to meet you, don't mess with my stuff.'"

"Which is exactly what I'm doing," Sara argued. "You want me to be all helpful, right? These clothes are the vic's," she continued, holding up a dress to make her point. "I'm re-examining them to detect possible-''

"You're re-examining the clothes so you can compare your report against someone from Miami and then gloat about it when you find something," Nick casually interjected, not even looking up from his file and taking another sip of water.

Sara went silent, staring at the Texan with large brown eyes. Finally, she hung her head and heaved a long sigh. Catherine's laughter echoed in the background as Sara began bagging the clothes, giving Nick an evil look as she did so.

"Well, you're reading over the file," Sara feebly argued, even though it was clear that Nick had won their small spar. The Texan held up his hands in a non-confrontational manner.

"You can't accuse a CSI of wanting to know what the hell's going on. I won't make that great of a first impression if I don't even know the vic's name."

"C'mon, Sidle," said Catherine, looping her arm around the younger woman's neck. "Rumor 'round the lab is Grissom's having a pow-wow with us in the break room. Gil's lessons on how to treat out-of-towners and guests."

"Offer them bugs?" ventured Sara. All three grinned slightly at the mental picture of their boss offering dead bugs to dazed Miami CSIs in welcome.

"Surprisingly, no. More along the lines of not burping at the dinner table and always offering to take their coats," replied Nick, throwing away his bottle and closing the file.

"Never asking a lady her age," continued Catherine.

"Always saying 'please' and 'thank-you.'"

"Religion and politics don't make for pleasant ice breakers."

Sara laughed as she stored the evidence properly and then put away her lab coat. "So I guess cursing and flipping off the bosses is the wrong way to go?"

They turned off the lights and left the lab together.

…

"I assume you know why I called this meeting," Gil Grissom began as he and his CSIs sat around a break room table, casually sipping a soda or taking some preliminary notes.

"A crash course in how to deal with living people?" Nick offered.

"Exactly," confirmed the older man. "I know we haven't interacted with human beings outside the lab for some time now, but the body of Ellie Jenkins was found on the roof of Isle's Inn in Miami."

"She was a resident of Las Vegas?" Sara queried, scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad.

Grissom nodded. "We think her killer might be as well. The point is that she was murdered in Miami and it's their jurisdiction. It would be great if you could show them around and get them used to our labs."

"I don't think these people are incompetent, Grissom," Warrick replied. "A couple of minutes and they'll be off doing their own thing."

"And we do have our own cases," Nick continued. Grissom held up his hand to silence the barrage of protests that were sure to begin.

"Ellie Jenkins is priority number one. We've dug up three other cold cases with the same MO, so be prepared to partner up."

"With Miami? Wouldn't we just be better off-'' Sara began, an argument clearly beginning and she seemed prepared to fight to the end. Even Catherine and Nick, ever ready for a new challenge, seemed wary of partnering up with complete strangers who had different ways of doing things.

"We'll figure it out when they get here," Grissom interjected, giving them his best "boss" look. It was a hard thing to pull off these days. The Clark County night shift weren't merely co-workers or associates; they were friends, practically family, and watched each other's back no matter the circumstances. "We sit back until then."

Warrick didn't seem satisfied with this information, especially not if he had to sit around. His mind and his hands were always ready to uncover evidence and he could never be comfortable resting when he knew his time could be spent solving a case. "What about Greg? Why isn't he learning the basics of human communication with us?"

Grissom smiled slightly. "Greg will be Greg. If all he does is come in dancing to bad music while wearing a showgirl's headdress, I'll consider myself a very lucky boss. Besides, he's better at analyzing some fibers from one of the cold cases."

"So all we're doing is waiting?" asked Sara, glancing at her watch and then to the wall clock, making sure her calculations were correct. "Don't these people know how to tell time? They're twenty minutes late."

Catherine's eyes suddenly grew and Warrick looked as if he wanted to speak; instead, he made himself content by merely shaking his head. Nick pursed his lips behind his hand, trying to hide a smile.

"What? Are you gonna argue? Don't you think it's rude to keep people waiting?" she asked, looking at them as if they had suddenly grown a second head.

Her question was met by silence.

Behind her, someone cleared their throat.

…

Ryan had been a wreck that morning.

He had packed everything -everything- that he thought he might need for a stay across the country. He hadn't slept well that night, the worry and panic building up inside of him until all he could do was forgo sleep in favor of packing his suitcases, pressing his clothes, and preparing for a plane ride. He stopped his mail, did the dishes, washed any extra laundry, and watched reruns of In the Heat of the Night, a show he admittedly liked and something Calleigh would never let him live down should she discover that his VCR was programmed to record the episodes

Horatio was ever cool that morning, silently reading a forensics journal even when the plane experienced a little turbulence. Calleigh was bouncing with excitement, constantly chattering and gossiping with Horatio and Yelina, both of who listened patiently even when those with shorter nerves might have snapped. Eric simply slept. Ryan smiled despite his nervousness when Eric unwittingly used Ryan's shoulder as a pillow during his nap.

But more than anything, the young CSI was jealous; jealous that they could be so calm about jetting across the country while he could not. He felt like he should've been able to do the same without any problems and that this irrational fear, this grinding anxiety was another mark against him, another reason why he wasn't qualified to be in the field. Grin and bear it like a man. That was his new mantra and he silently repeated it to himself over and over again.

And they were finally there. They had arrived, more or less in one piece, to Las Vegas. They had checked into their hotel, unpacked, did inventory on their kits and then grabbed a cab; they were ready to hit their temporary crime lab and unravel another mystery, taking on all of Las Vegas if need be.

Ready. Ryan wished he were. He stared up at the CSI building as if it would eat him whole once he stepped through those doors. His hands clenched around the handle of his kit, his jaw set straight in both uneasiness and determination.

He jumped a little when he felt Eric's hand clamp down on his shoulder in a reassuring manner. Maybe he had noticed Ryan's tense nerves or his habit of tugging at the hem of his shirt when he was edgy. Maybe Ryan's chewed down nails (usually meticulously clean and well manicured) or packed-and-repacked luggage gave him away.

"You gotta calm down, man. You're going to be fine."

"Fine?" Ryan asked, trying not to show that his nerves were already frayed and he hadn't even begun his work. "I'm not nervous. I'm just…''

"Terrified?"

Ryan gave him a sheepish look, fighting a yawn as he did so. "Is it that noticeable?"

"Along with those circles under your eyes. When was the last time you slept?"

"About eighteen hours ago."

"Well, if it's any consolation, you make a great airline pillow. I just hope I didn't snore or anything."

Ryan smiled. "Not so much snore as talk."

Eric gave him a look as the guard at the door checked their badges and proper CSI identification. "Talk?"

"I know all your secrets," Ryan grinned as he and Eric followed Calleigh and Horatio down a windowed hall, passing through the doors and into an unknown future. It was darker there somehow, more ghostly than the bright, in-your-face Miami. "Tons of juicy blackmail material."

Eric rolled his eyes, grinning along with him. "Let me tell you, Ryan, I lead a dark and racy life beyond CSI," he said, sarcasm dripping off his words.

"Fast women and high priced drugs?" the younger CSI innocently asked. "I never would have thought you to be the type."

Eric laughed, easygoing despite the circumstances. "Wolfe, the only women in my life are my mother and sisters and the only drug I take are caffeine pills to help me stay awake when we tackle double shifts. I'm a science nerd just like you."

They suddenly halted in their trek, Eric almost running into Yelina from behind. Ryan realized he had hardly been paying attention to where he was going. Where were they supposed to meet the famed graveyard shift anyway? He silently watched as Horatio peered into a room where five individuals were gathered around a table, looking over files and waiting, it seemed, for them. Ryan forced his breaths to come out normally.

Eric leaned down, his tanned skin sharp against that of Ryan's own pale color.

"You were born to do this job," he whispered. "Don't worry. We're here for each other, got it? Yelina, Cal, H, you, me."

Ryan swallowed and nodded, focusing his eyes on the group he would soon be working with and feeling a little less uptight about the ordeal. Horatio had opened the door and the words "…don't these people know how to tell time? They're twenty minutes late." floated out to greet them.

He could do this. He had to. If not for himself or Horatio, then at least for Ellie Jenkins and Tim Speedle, who, he heard, wanted to help people just as much as Ryan did before they had to leave the Earth.

…

The air was still as Sara slowly turned to face them from her position at the table, her eyes wide and lips formed to speak something along the lines of an apology. She closed, opened, and then closed her mouth once more, too ashamed of being overheard by respected guests to form any words at all. In the end, all she could manage was an embarrassed smile.

"Foot in the mouth," muttered an older woman, immediately rising to greet the five Floridians. "Please excuse our manners. We're not really used to company, I guess. Won't you come in?"

Calleigh gave them all a large smile, charming as ever. "That's quite all right. I guess we are a little late. The traffic out there was terrible."

"Absolutely," the woman readily agreed, as if understanding Calleigh's intentions of clearing the air. "Please have a seat and make yourselves at home. Allow us to introduce ourselves." She held out her hand and shook the five visitor's hands in greeting. "I'm Catherine Willows. This is Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown, Sara Sidle, and Gil Grissom, our shift captain."

"Very nice to meet you. I'm Calleigh Duquesne, and this is Eric Delko, Ryan Wolfe, Yelina Salas, and Horatio Caine, our shift captain." She smiled again, hoping to break the awkward tension between the two groups. "You have a spectacular lab. I'm sure working here will be a pleasure."

"Thank you," said Catherine, obviously reading Calleigh's mind. It was true. Sara's comment was making this a little rockier than planned. "We're planning to brief the case, exchange notes. Would you prefer here or an office?"

"This is perfectly fine," Horatio said, pulling up a chair and giving them a slight smile. Eric, Calleigh, Yelina, and Ryan followed suit, willing to try anything to get the ball rolling.

"I guess we'll get started then. Gil?"

Grissom didn't respond at first. He observed the four visitors through the lens of his glasses, absorbing their image, analyzing their personalities, voices, eye color. Horatio looked back, sharp blue eyes doing the same. It was what they were trained to do. Even if they tried, they probably couldn't stop the natural tendency to observe everything around them. So engrained was the examination of details that it became second nature for them.

Finally, Grissom spoke. Catherine looked relieved.

"I think we've got a plan mapped out. Do you mind being paired up?" Grissom was all business, no pleasantries. Catherine rolled her eyes; she supposed that's what she was there for.

"Not at all," replied Calleigh. "Ryan and I have solved tons of cases together."

Ryan smiled a little. "Tons" was taking a few liberties in terms of the number of cases they'd solved, but this was Calleigh after all, and she was never one to shy away from anything.

"I meant with us," Gil replied. "We don't want you to have to waste your time trying to navigate your way around the city and we'd like to have one of our own with you in the lab. Is that all right with you?"

"That's probably a good idea," Horatio approved. Although the simple fact that they could read maps and use lab equipment hung in the air, no one addressed it.

"Great. I understand this is your jurisdiction as well and we don't want to step on your toes. Catherine, Mr. Caine, and I will take care of the day shift investigators as well as the cold cases with the same MO as this one. Miss. Duquesne, you and Sara could probably start with the victim's family and last known residence. Nick and Mr. Delko, her friends and last known job would be a great help. Warrick and Ms. Salas, the vic's-''

"Ellie Jenkins," Ryan interrupted, very suddenly, as if his mouth and brain weren't communicating properly. He flushed a deep red when nine pairs of eyes shifted towards his direction. His fingers began to tug at the hem of his sleeve and he looked down, embarrassed, because he never ever spoke out of turn like that. Not unless the situation was serious.

"I'm sorry?" asked Grissom, shooting his a look mixed with both curiosity and slight –very slight- surprise.

He forced himself to look up and face their questioning glances. "I –uh- I know she's a victim. But her name- it's Ellie Jenkins."

Ryan took a quick look Horatio's direction. The red head's eyes were smiling, as if he were proud of Ryan's timid outburst. A person doesn't lose their name or identity after they die. Tim Speedle surely hadn't.

Grissom paused for a moment before nodding and it seemed as if all nine understood what Ryan was trying to say. "Then Warrick and Ms. Salas, you're in charge of tracing Miss. Jenkins's steps from the airport and all audiovisuals that the airport might have recorded. I've made copies of all the case files that we had. Any questions with this arrangement?"

Yes. At least, that's what Ryan wanted to say. However, he refrained when he heard the numerous murmurs of "no" that filled the room. It would be embarrassing to address the issue, especially in front of everyone else, yet Grissom had inadvertently left out a member of the team. Ryan felt himself grimace; being forgotten wasn't the best way to start the day, but he quickly shook the thought. He could just as easily grab Grissom before he left and-

Yelina suddenly looked up and Ryan inwardly groaned at her thoughtful expression. "What about Ryan?" she asked, her accent prominent among the rest of her friends.

The question seemed to still them and Ryan suddenly felt like the little kid that no one really knew what to do with, like a high-schooler at a college frat party. It was the question he had hoped he could avoid in front of his friends and coworkers; it seemed he was the odd one out. They were all partnered up and ready to roll. Ryan didn't want to hold them back.

"I can handle trace and prints," he suggested, hoping to smooth this dilemma over as quickly as possible. "I can practically do it blindfolded." The silence that followed was questionable, as if they were parents considering whether or not to allow their energetic child into a china store. Ryan fought away the humiliating blush that was working its way up his neck. What was wrong with these people? After all, he was a certified CSI and could manage prints and DNA like he could ride a bike.

"I won't blow up the lab or anything," he said, a tinge of aggravation coloring his voice.

Grissom, Catherine, Sara, Warrick, and Nick's faces turned stony and they looked away from him. Ryan felt sick as he exchanged a nervous glance with Eric. He was already screwing things up big time; obviously, he had said something to strike a nerve in the Las Vegas team.

"Fine," agreed Grissom, not looking Ryan's direction. "Mr. Caine? Anything you'd like to add?"

Horatio looked up from his copy of Ellie Jenkins's file. Miami's case files had been passed out as well and everything that either group knew about the case had been shared and was ready to be set to good use.

Gil Grissom and Horatio Caine had two conflicting personalities.

Two different ways of looking at things.

Two different ways of working.

One common goal.

Ryan watched as the two Level 3 CSIs sizing each other up and knew that Gil Grissom was probably a brilliant man with more than his share of tricks up his sleeve.

But Horatio Caine had his tricks as well.

And Ellie Jenkins's ghost could use all the tricks she could get.

…

The paired CSIs had immediately gotten together once the meeting was over to begin their investigations. Eric gave Ryan one last smile before meeting up with Nick, a dark haired fellow with a slight country accent.

You were born to do this job. Eric's words kept floating around in his mind. He hoped that the Cuban was right and that he wouldn't give Miami law enforcement a bad name.

He was abandoned. He tried not to dwell on the thought of working alone, ignoring the feeling of being left out. What did Calleigh always say? Find the bright side of the situation? Well, there wasn't much you could do to screw up in a DNA or trace lab. That is, unless you mixed explosive chemicals or somehow compromised evidence. He inwardly winced. He'd never done those things, but there was a first time for everything.

Catherine was about to follow Horatio and Gil out of the room before she glanced over her shoulder towards a man who was trying to keep his dignity in tact. She paused before turning and walking towards him instead. He felt her approach and fumbled with his field kit, trying to act as if his being discarded wasn't a huge deal and look as if he were doing something remotely important.

"I'm sure you're a fantastic CSI. I apologize for the way things seem to be working out." Catherine Willows seemed to be a kind, determined woman and her words were almost reassuring. She could tell he was embarrassed, but he certainly wasn't broken.

Ryan returned her small smile. "No problem. I like DNA."

"Do you need someone to escort you to the labs? I could get Mia or Bobby to show you around."

"I can handle it." He grabbed his kit handle before giving her a smile. "Good luck with the cold cases. You'll like working with Horatio."

"And I'm sure you're going to enjoy your job as well." She gave him a grin, her amusement genuine. "We have some really interesting people who work here. You probably got the good end of the bargain."

Ryan wasn't sure if he could agree, but he kept his head held high as he took his kit and began making his way to where he suspected the labs might be located. He hoped no one was watching; it felt humiliating to be the odd one out. He sighed, knowing he would just have to make the best of it. His dignity was certainly wounded, but he was here for Ellie Jenkins and that was the one thought that kept him going.

He continued down the hall, making sure to ask someone if he was going in the right direction before he got completely lost.

Your CSI skills are improving, he thought, all but rolling his eyes at himself. You can find your way around a building now.

That's about when he noticed the sounds, the strange vibrations underneath his feet.

Ryan stopped, giving his surroundings a curious once over before listening again. It was sort of like music; heavy and thumping, maybe even with words. He looked around again, inquisitive. Where was it coming from?

He ignored his natural tendency to uncover the source before heading on. It didn't really matter. Well, usually it wouldn't. The problem was that the sounds seemed to be getting louder as he moved towards the labs. He might not have been the most learned CSI there, but there certainly had to be some regulation against loud, agitating noise in the work place. There were cases to be solved and evidence to be analyzed. Who in the world would allow this type of-

Ryan stopped dead in his tracks.

The lab walls were made of glass and within that room was a man; blonde hair, a rock band t-shirt, skinny DNA tubes in his hands, obviously being used for make-shift drum sticks. He was mouthing words to whatever music he was currently listening to. Did he know that it could be heard down the hall? Ryan got the feeling that the man probably wasn't even aware of it.

"Excuse me, sir?" Ryan asked, quickly getting the attention of an older gentleman who looked as if he might know what was going on. Ryan sincerely hoped that this wasn't the lab he was supposed to work in.

"Yes?"

"Is that- is that the DNA lab?"

The man followed Ryan's gaze before rolling his eyes at the sight. "That's definitely the lab," he replied. Ryan could tell the older man probably had numerous go-arounds with the technician occupying the room.

"But the… the guy in there. He's- he's not really…" He searched for the words but couldn't seem to find the right way of expressing his concerns. The older man seemed to understand.

"Don't worry. Are you a new guy?"

"I'm from Miami."

He nodded. "Ah. I've been hearing about that. Listen, he's a fantastic tech. He's just a little… eccentric. And he doesn't spell that well, so you might want to fill out the reports."

"Oh."

He almost seemed amused by Ryan's in-the-headlights look. "The name's Al Robbins. ME." He held out his hand, the one that wasn't clutching his walking cane. Ryan quickly shook it, desperate for an ally.

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. You're working DNA?"

Ryan nodded in response.

"Good. Maybe you can knock some sense into him. His name's Greg Sanders and he hides his brilliance well, but he grows on you like a bad fungus."

Ryan couldn't help but a laugh a little at the ME's solemn expression and his description of the relationship the technician had with people. The older man smiled a little as well.

"You'll like him. Good luck with your case."

"Thank you," replied Ryan, giving the ME a small wave before turning back to what would surely be an interesting encounter.

He took a long, deep breath before opening the door to the lab, the muffled sound suddenly exposed; loud, thunderous music filled the hallway and he quickly allowed himself in, hurriedly closing the door behind him. Ryan gave the room a quick once over before returning his gaze back to the tech.

The words of the song filled his head. He had heard it before, he just wasn't quite sure where.

"I was lying on the grass the Sunday morning of last week, indulging in my self defeat."

"Excuse me?" he said, trying to be heard over the pulsing sounds. This had zero effect.

"My mind was thugged, all laced and bugged, all twisted wrong and beat-''

"Excuse me!" Ryan called again, this time much louder. This still didn't help him any. The man had his back turned, using some scissors to clip the tips off of DNA swabs while he nodded his head to the beat.

"A comfortable three feet deep."

Ryan knew this called for drastic measures and, ignoring the music as much as he could, walked right over to the spiky haired gentleman and prodded his shoulder.

Greg Sanders, obviously in tune enough with his surroundings to notice someone else's touch, stopped his air-drumming and glanced to his left.

Their eyes met and Ryan felt his stomach suddenly knot. It wasn't the result of worry; instead, it was… something else. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but it made him uncomfortable.

"Now the fuzzy stare from not being there on a confusing morning week impaired my tribal lunar-speak-''

Finally, the man jumped and turned to switch off his stereo, as if he had left reality for a few moments and suddenly crashed back down to Earth.

The silence that resulted was nearly as loud as the music itself.

"Sorry. Didn't hear you come in," said the man, observing Ryan, who, under the stare, began to turn a light shade of pink

"That's all right," he politely replied, unsure as to what to say.

"Have we met?" the tech inquired, the silent question of "who are you?" hanging in the air.

Ryan's mind was still more or less on standstill, trying to absorb all that was going on around him. "Ryan Wolfe, Miami CSI." He held out his hand in introduction.

The other man's eyes grew wide before he gave Ryan an embarrassed smile and returned the handshake. "Grissom wanted me to make a good first impression for you guys. Guess that was a pipe dream, huh?"

Ryan smiled, an easiness beginning to form between them. "I don't know. I kind of like that song you were playing."

Greg's eyes lit up and a huge grin spread across his face. He quickly left his spot from behind the counter and headed over to the Floridian. "Really?"

Ryan nodded. "I think nineties rock is so much better than the stuff they play now."

"That's what I always say!" said Greg, obviously very enthused about the subject and shaking Ryan's hand vigorously. "Nick thinks I'm out of my mind, but you can never trust he who thinks Garth Brooks has talent."

Ryan laughed. "I don't like country music either."

"You said you're from the Miami team? Where's your partner?" Greg looked around, as if expecting to see someone else before returning his attention to Ryan.

Ryan tried not to let his bruised self-esteem show. "I was kind of left to fare on my own," he confessed.

"Odd-guy out?"

"Sort of. I offered to work DNA and trace. Everyone else was paired up and I didn't want to be a third wheel or anything."

Greg nodded as if he understood, a small frown on his face. "I feel you. I just passed my proficiency test and I've been working the field for a few months, but since this case popped up, they've really needed some extra hands in the lab," he explained.

Ryan couldn't fight his small sigh. "Two CSIs in the lab," he summarized, giving Greg a small smile. "Bruises the ego, doesn't it?"

Greg grinned. "Absolutely, but humiliation loves company. So we'll be working together?"

"Only if you don't mind sharing the lab."

"Mind? It'll be great to have someone to talk to. I'll get you a lab coat."

"Thanks," Ryan replied, setting down his field kit next to what he could only assume was Greg's.

"Want some coffee?" Greg offered as he began to shuffle through various storage spaces in search of an extra generic coat.

Ryan fought not to make a face. "I sort of have a thing against company coffee. The stuff in our break room nearly kills me."

Greg gave him a smile, a smile that nearly floored the Miami CSI. "That's break room coffee. I meant my coffee. It's Blue Hawaiian."

"Is it any good?"

Greg smiled again, pulling out a clean blue lab coat from a small storage closet. He handed it to Ryan before turning to a small coffee maker and pouring a cup full.

"Cream? Sugar?"

"Both, please."

Greg continued to make Ryan's coffee while their conversation flowed. "You look about my age. Are you a newbie for the CSI team?"

Ryan frowned at the term. "Are you the newbie? Are you the replacement?" The questions the Miami-Dade staff had asked him his first couple of days still haunted him when he had too much time to dwell on it. "Are you replacing Tim?" They had looked at him as they would a killer, as if Ryan had shot Tim himself.

I'm not a replacement.

"No."

Greg looked over his shoulder when he heard Ryan's tone of voice.

"Is that term offensive to you too?" he quietly asked.

"A little." Ryan tried to explain himself, hoping that Greg wouldn't think he was a complete nut case. "It's… insulting. When people call you a newbie, it's like they don't respect you enough to call you by your real name. As if new workers aren't already stressed out enough, right? They have to be reminded they haven't proven themselves yet."

Greg turned to face him and for a moment, they were both silent.

"You wanna be partners?"

"I'm sorry?" asked Ryan, looking up. Greg grinned.

"You said you were the odd guy out, right? You're going to need someone to show you around and get you used to the city. I could be your partner. I know it sucks being the little kid."

Ryan paused to consider his options, the pros and cons and regulations. "Okay," he finally agreed, unsure of what he was getting himself into and for once, not caring. Their fingers brushed when Greg handed him the coffee and Ryan tried not to choke on his own oxygen.

He politely took a sip, trying to avoid Greg's eyes. Once the flavor hit his tongue, he took an entire gulp, praying that the caffeine could get him through the night and praying even harder that he could manage what ever hurdles were thrown his way.

"This is the best coffee I've ever tasted," Ryan admitted appreciatively. "Maybe it'll get me through tonight. I've never worked graveyard before."

Greg grinned, wide and bright. Ryan returned the smile. Both were at ease for once.

"Shift's about to officially start. I have Ellie Jenkins's personal items. We can start running trace if you'd like," Greg offered, heading towards a drawer. He had already started talking, already making himself at home with his new partner.

Ryan nodded, taking another sip of coffee before shrugging on the crisp blue lab coat, freshly pressed and clean.

"That's what I'm here for."

Maybe they could be friends. Ryan felt a heavy load lift from his shoulders and as he watched Greg begin fiddling with equipment, he realized that maybe this case wouldn't be as long and grueling as he first anticipated. He took a small breath and helped himself to another cup of coffee, willing his trembling fingers to calm themselves. He looked out the glass walls of the lab, his eyes absorbing the movement of the rush, the people hurrying up and down the hallway, speaking on cells and reading through files, trying to solve untimely deaths of those who couldn't stop it themselves.

You're not lonely. You were born to do this job.

Greg Sanders took the chance to observe Ryan when he knew he wouldn't be caught. The darker haired man was gazing out the window, his eyes catching sight of something that Greg couldn't see. Greg noticed Ryan's eyes were filled with determination and beauty and they looked almost distant, as if his mind was on something else altogether.

Greg looked away. This knot in his stomach was a bad feeling.

Over the city, lights were beginning to shine in the dusk.

The sun set on Las Vegas.

TBC.

…

A/T: What do you think so far? Here's an idea to run past you: what do you think of a small Eric/Nick side story? Do we like it? Hate it? Who should I couple up and leave alone? Please participate in my brilliance!