A/T: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed my story (and, happily, wished for me to continue.) The general consensus of the population when it comes to the Nick/Eric question is either an overwhelming "Totally!" to "Heck, why not? I'll try anything once!" This pleases me greatly. Keep it comin'!

Disclaimer: We all, being the intelligent individuals that we are, know the answer to this one: I don't own CSI. I don't imagine anyone here owns CSI, now that I think about it. Do you suppose Jerry Bruckheimer is posting on this forum? No, really. I'm curious.

Out With It
Act 3: The Alaska

You soothe my soul, you fill it with so tender a sentiment that it is sweet to live during the time that I see you.
-Julie de L'Espinasse to Comte Hippolyte, 1774

Ryan and Eric dragged in through the front doors of the Las Vegas crime lab the next night, twenty minutes late. Calleigh, Horatio, and Yelina had entered before them and on time; all three were awake and ready to get to work. They were tired, certainly, but their minds never stopped racing, not even while they slept. Bits and pieces of past crimes ghosted into their dreams and they couldn't properly rest until they discovered the reasons to the never-ending dilemma of bizarre human nature. It was this bizarre human nature that led, inevitably, to murder.

Ryan and Eric weren't as lucky.

Ryan was haunted too, of course. He dreamed of yellow police tape and soulless bodies and a reoccurring, seemingly aimless dream of lights and glass and music that disturbed his slumber. Watching Eric sleep on the other side of the room –the Cuban's perfect stillness, no thrashing but instead quietly opening his eyes when he woke- gave away the fact that his mind, too, was unwillingly entertaining visions of things he would prefer to forget.

But human nature was both bizarre and predictable and having roomed together, the first thing Eric subconsciously did was press the snooze button on his alarm clock when it went off that evening. If it hadn't been for Ryan's backup alarm (even at Eric's teasing, he had set it that night anyway), it was anyone's guess to how late they might have been. Ryan didn't want to think about it, didn't want to even consider how bad he would make the five of them look in the eyes of the Las Vegas team.

"Hey," greeted Nick, once he caught sight of them shuffling through the hall and down to the break room, where Eric would grab a cup of coffee (or five) and Ryan would grab a bag of Skittles, his only means of dinner. Or, rather, breakfast.

"Hello," Ryan replied back, at least slightly more awake than Eric. Awake enough, in any case, to verbally communicate with a fellow co-worker. Eric, on the other hand, simply looked at the Texan until Ryan lightly elbowed him, tipping the darker man off that he was staring a little obviously with brown, sleep deprived eyes.

"Sleep well?" asked Nick, giving Eric a concerned look over the rim of his coffee mug. Eric blinked, seemingly trying to process the question in his mind.

"Huh? Oh, yeah."

Ryan rolled his own eyes slightly, a small smile on his face at Eric's caveman response.

"He's having a hard time adjusting to this night shift thing," the younger CSI explained, giving Eric another amused look.

"How do you do it?" asked Eric as they entered through the doors of the break room. He managed to make himself a cup of coffee before finding a chair and slumping into it, fighting back a yawn as he did so. "I think I need ten more hours of sleep before I can even think of waking up."

Nick laughed a little at Eric's tone. "You'll get used to it."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me."

"Don't worry about it. Breakfast at six PM will be typical for you in no time."

"Was that supposed to be comforting?" asked Eric, grinning slightly. "It's freaking me out. Normal people have breakfast in the morning, lunch in the afternoon, and dinner in the evening, after which they go to sleep."

"You think we're a bunch of mutant bat humans, don't you?" Nick asked, grinning and taking another sip of coffee, sliding into a chair across from Eric. "We work by night, sleep by day, and solve crime in the process."

"All you're missing is a penguin and a guy who likes riddles. And maybe a cool car stored in a cave."

"You're a funny guy, Delko."

"He's hilarious," replied Ryan, laughing slightly and punching in the numbers for a pack of Skittles in the vending machine behind them. "But I hope he wakes up before you get to the Ellie Jenkins's casino. He might take a nap in the car and start talking in his sleep again."

"So he's a talker?" Nick asked, giving Eric a raised brow.

"I do not talk in my sleep. And aren't you supposed to be in the lab, Mister Punctuality?" Eric asked Ryan, giving the younger man a "they'll never find your remains" glare.

"Touchy."

"Sleepy," Eric corrected. "And probably grumpy as well. Now go bury yourself in some microscopes and crack this case for me. I'm going back to the hotel and getting some shut-eye."

"In your dreams."

"And what sweet dreams they are."

Nick looked at them both, amused and almost envious of their easy banter. They were obviously good friends with a great working relationship. He could only hope of reaching that point with Eric as well. Actually, it seemed they already had. They worked well together and had a great rapport between them. After all, if you're going to be stuck with someone for twelve hours every night, you're better off getting along than anything else.

Ryan laughed once more before waving a farewell and heading down towards the DNA lab, the thought of Blue Hawaiian coffee making him practically jog. Eric's response: 'And what sweet dreams they are' echoed through his mind as he made his way past the rush and press of workers milling their way through the halls of the CSI building, getting ready for another graveyard shift, openly wary and silently terrified of what the night may bring.

Ryan couldn't blame them. Abuse, rape, murder- at some point, these things among many others had become a run-of-the-mill element in society.

And what sweet dreams they are.

They never talked about dreams. They could never make it through without crying.

…

Before he knew he wanted to be a scientist, before he realized he liked chemistry and books and words, Greg knew he liked girls and guys. He used to be afraid of that. He wasn't any longer, not after all that he had been through and the support he's been given. It just wasn't that terrifying anymore. Instead, he was simply… lonely. He didn't have anyone to complain about his night hours or make him dinner or comfort him as he burst into tears like a child when his mind wandered too deeply into the cases he worked.

His social life was the lab, his friends were his co-workers, and a hot Friday these days was when Nick or Warrick or even Sara was up for breakfast at Denny's.

Lonely was something he thought he'd never be.

But he was, and in the white, sterile confine of the lab, it was obvious.

Then he met Ryan Wolfe. Gorgeous, charming, shy, brilliant Ryan Wolfe. And all of a sudden, the music that kept him company and his day-to-day, I'm-single-but-I-don't-really-care routine was down the drain, along with all the common sense he possessed. He had known Ryan for one night and he had more effect on him then all those he's ever dated combined.

God, what am I thinking? That question was easy: obviously, he wasn't thinking at all.

He flipped the coffee maker on and closed his eyes, leaning against the wall.

These feelings were not allowed. You can't get a crush on a co-worker who technically isn't really a co-worker, especially if they live a good six hours away by plane and particularly if said co-worker was a guy. A guy, who he'd guess, was completely straight and could never begin to feel anything for an eccentric, weird, geeky CSI.

You're so hopeless.

Greg heard the door to the lab swing open, even as he was slouched against the wall and facing the opposite direction. He knew whom it was- the footsteps were hurried and Ryan was late, despite his seriousness for the job and longing to impress both his boss and Grissom.

Greg mentally prepared himself before turning to face the darker haired man. He's off limits. Besides, it wouldn't matter anyway. Long distance relationships don't work and you're definitely not a one-night stand kind of guy. Neither is he. Moreover, he could never like you. Get your mind off of him and on the case.

Greg turned, willing his thoughts to calm themselves before offering Ryan a welcome smile. "Hey."

"Hi."

"Shall I note your delayed arrival to the lab and mock you, or should I be kind and let it slide?"

Ryan gave him an embarrassed smile as he quickly donned his blue lab coat. "My roommate's best friend is the snooze button. I apologize for my tardiness."

"Aw, and I've been so lonely waiting for you."

Ryan grinned slightly. "I'm sure you have." His large brown eyes wandered towards the coffee maker, hissing as it trickled the brown, hot liquid into a pot. "Is that coffee I hear brewing?"

"It is indeed."

"I hope there's enough for two."

"I'm willing to share for a minimal fee."

"Oh yeah? What kind of fee is that?"

"You do my chores for a week."

Ryan gave him a confused look before suddenly grinning and then, like a miracle, laughing.

"You know, you're going to spoil me on that coffee you make," Ryan said, setting his backpack on a nearby desk and beginning to dig through its contents. "I'll go back to Miami and knock back a cup of that sludge they brew as I fondly remember Las Vegas."

"Every time you think of Las Vegas, you'll think of me. What a happy life you'll lead then."

Ryan smiled again, finally finding what he was looking for. It hadn't been that hard. His books and notes were in perfect order, his pens were fresh and he always brought plenty of back ups, should, on a weird occasion, the three he already carried around decide to stop working simultaneously.

Greg more or less walked up behind him, peering over his shoulder. Ryan tried to fight down his growing embarrassment at Greg's solemn silence once the lighter haired man caught sight of Ryan's OCD habits.

"A little OCD there, Wolfe?"

Ryan cleared his throat. "It's a minor case."

"Good. 'Cause I wouldn't know where to find a pen if you gave me a map. Is that music I see in your hand?"

"I –uh- I hope you don't mind," began the younger CSI, quickly zipping up his backpack and placing it against the wall, hidden from anyone's wandering eye. "I can't really concentrate when there's music playing too loudly."

"No music?" asked Greg, placing his hand over his heart and taking a theatric step back. "It'll be tough, but I think I might be able to survive for a few weeks without my Red Hot Chili Peppers."

"That's not exactly what I meant," replied Ryan, heading over to the CD player. He switched it on and took out Greg's By The Way CD before placed in another, turning it to a respectable sound level, one where you could actually hear yourself think.

Greg allowed the song to begin, curious as to what Ryan listened to.

"Is that…?" he began, quickly giving a Ryan an admirable look. "The Beach Boys?" Is this guy perfect for me or what?

Ryan laughed at Greg's tone of voice. "Yes," he replied. "I love them. No one makes music like that anymore."

"You're a full fledged nerd," Greg observed.

"A little."

"So am I. The Beach Boys rock. I have some of their old vinyl records."

"Really? I thought you were the weird punk rocker type. Well, not weird. I don't judge people on appearance or anything. But that Alice Cooper shirt you're wearing kind of gives me an impression."

Greg shook his head at Ryan's nervousness, smiling widely before walking over and slinging a long arm around Ryan's tense shoulders. "Calm down, Wolfe. I'm insulted all the time. At this point, nothing you say can offend me. Now, let me introduce you to the joys of running fingerprints from an entire casino."

…

"You awake yet?" Nick asked as Eric finished off his third cup of coffee. They were driving now, driving down to Ellie Jenkins's last known workplace. It had taken them nearly their entire shift the night before to find out where she worked- all they knew is that it was a casino, so Eric and Nick split a list and tracked down each gambling establishment, each boss and each employee roll until they stumbled upon The Alaska, a small casino that Las Vegas wasn't exactly known for.

"Surprisingly, yes."

"Surprisingly?" asked Nick, giving Eric a look from his seat at the wheel. "Three cups of coffee, two Twix bars and a bag of Skittles? You should either be awake or in a diabetic coma."

"You should feel fortunate I dragged myself out of bed in the first place," Eric laughed. "I had half the mind to just let Horatio go ahead and fire me."

Nick laughed too, turning back to the road. The Alaska was off the mainstream roads and the streets here were strangely quiet with nothing but sand, sky, and stars to keep them both company. It felt good to Nick to escape the lights and sounds of the famous Las Vegas and actually view a part of Nevada instead.

"I'm sorry this night shift deal is such a hard thing for you."

"I've got Ryan to keep me in line and to set the backup alarm."

Nick paused, recalling the way the two Miami CSIs interacted with each other. Ryan was certainly very nice, plus his large eyes and that shaggy haircut made him look the part. "He seems like a nice guy."

"Ryan? He is. I think it's great that we have him on our team. But, y'know, when he realized how late we were, he nearly killed me with his own bare hands."

"I'm sure your boss shared that sentiment."

"Which is why I've been avoiding him all night."

Nick gave him an amused look. "All you Miami guys are great CSIs," he continued, hoping to keep the conversation flowing and get to know his new partner better. "I heard Ryan replaced someone though."

Eric looked up and even in the dark Nick could tell that he had said something wrong, as if his words were fire and they burnt Eric's skin. What are you, incompetent? Nick thought to himself, wishing he could just go ahead and bang his head against the steering wheel. Replacement only means one thing.

"He's not a replacement. He's an… addition. For when Tim got shot."

Nick was proved right, although he wished he hadn't been.

"I'm sorry."

"How can you be? You never knew him," Eric replied. "It's okay not to be sorry sometimes."

"Well, we almost lost one of out own too. Greg works DNA. Ryan's probably working with him, actually."

"How'd you almost lose him?" asked Eric, curiosity laced in his voice. "I didn't know gunmen tried to take over trace labs." Nick knew he was trying to hide the sorrow at the mention of Tim Speedle and he wished he hadn't even brought it up. God, he was stupid.

"The lab exploded."

"Christ," said Eric, giving the Texan a surprised look. "He survived that?"

"Barely. But Greg's Greg, man. He can get through anything and still make a bad joke about it."

They continued to make small talk as they drove up to The Alaska. Eric knew they had found the right place when blue lights shone starkly against a midnight sky, covered with silver stars.

Nick hadn't exactly been forthcoming with The Alaska's specific clientele, so when they pulled up in the Tahoe, Eric wondered why Nick had suddenly become so silent, so rigid and uncomfortable in the short ten seconds it took to park.

Once he caught a full view of the place, he knew why.

He wished he could be unnerved and embarrassed as well, at least for the sake of Nick.

But as they entered the building, Nick following silently behind, Eric heard his favorite song playing and the Cuban felt so at home and at ease. He wished he could stash away his crime kit and just dance, lose himself, dragging Nick along with him.

Eric immediately and forcefully destroyed that mental image. Where did that come from? He didn't want to know. He was here on business and strictly business, nothing else. Keep walking. You're just tired. He managed to convince himself that on normal occasions, such a thought would have never even occurred to him.

Either way, it was clear that they were both cops and they certainly stood apart from the rest of the crowd. As if they were wearing flashing lights on their shirts, everyone seemed to move out of their way, not wanting any trouble. Maybe their gloves and kits gave it away, or possible even their CSI jackets. Note to self: next time, try to be a little more obvious. Eric snorted softly before leading Nick past the crowds.

The two CSIs made their way towards the back, passing the dance floors and small stage. Eric felt oddly cold knowing that Ellie Jenkins had performed up there so many times but never would again, because her body was chilly and still now, locked up in a drawer in the coroner's office. Taking a quick glance around, he supposed that the casino was technically a casino, although it was more like a dance club with slot machines.

Nick's voice –"Las Vegas Crime Lab. Who's the manager?"- brought Eric crashing back down to Earth and they had somehow arrived to the bar, where a man in his late thirties was giving them both a dispassionate look. His eyes were heavy and gray- too tired and too beaten by the world to be truly happy.

"Well," he replied, giving them both a weary smile, "Here I thought you two were a nice lookin' couple." His voice sounded drained, even through the pounding rhythm and beat of the music that was currently blasting off the speakers. Nick's jaw set at the comment, but Eric merely gave the tired man a small smile.

"You take care of this place?" he asked.

Finally, the man shook his head. "Nah. You'd be lookin' for Miranda. Probably in the office, yelling at a government official over the phone."

"Thanks. And you are?"

"Steven Kellsie."

Eric took out a notebook and began jotting down some notes, black ink on white lined paper.

"The bar all you take care of?" It was the first thing Nick had said since they entered.

Steven Kellsie shrugged. "I clean up the occasional puke, fix the speakers when they short circuit."

"Ah. Handy man, janitor and bartender. You're a jack of many trades, Mr. Kellsie."

Steven gave him a small, awkward smile and another shrug. "More like a man with too much time to spare. Waitin' for my Prince Charming to walk through those doors one day."

"Aren't we all?"

"You're partner there might disagree."

Eric laughed because it was true. Nick looked uncomfortable and it didn't seem as if he were looking for a prince of any sort. Nick gave Eric look of both annoyance and embarrassment before allowing the Floridian to continue.

"You know Ellie Jenkins?"

"Ellie? Certainly did. Sweet girl. Never let a lady down harshly, responsible, filled with big dreams. Hell of a worker too."

"When'd you last see her?"

"About three days ago."

"She seem upset?"

"A little. Not quite as upbeat as usual. I just figured it was a woman thing or she was just being over worked."

"She fight with anyone? Anyone come asking for her or anything like that?"

"No. We look out for things like that. I'd get you a security tape, but you'll have to ask Miranda first or she'll have my head."

"And where were you last time you saw her?"

"Me? I was here, like usual. Stopped a brawl and settled an argument between a man and the Black Jack table."

Eric gave Nick a look and Nick nodded his approval.

"Okay, thanks Mr. Kellsie. Here's our card if you remember anything and we might need to talk to you again, so don't go jetting across the country."

Steven Kellsie accepted the card before casting them both another look. Eric supposed he was kind of good looking, despite his worn appearance. "You sure you two ain't datin'?" he asked, glancing at Nick once before focusing his attention on Eric.

"It'd be news to us if we were," replied Eric, imagining the two of them going out to dinner and the thought making him smile. It was amusing, to say the very least.

"Don't s'ppose I could have your number?"

Eric paused a moment, dark eyes piercing the lonely bartender. He too was lonely and tired and just wanted someone who he could love without rules and limits. He told himself he was too young to feel that way; he should be filled with life and go to parties and have great times ahead, but he didn't. He had a feeling that Mr. Kellsie didn't either.

"I live in Miami," he finally replied, almost regretting his response when he saw the older man quickly look away before giving him a humiliated half smile.

"That's my worst rejection yet."

Eric laughed, only this time it was sympathetic. "Nah, seriously, I do. I'm here for Ellie Jenkins's case."

"Good luck to you then. Ellie was a joyful girl."

"I'm sure she was."

"Wanted to save gorillas in Africa and stop little kids starving on the street."

Their eyes met and Eric saw his true regret of another soul lost. A girl who wanted nothing except to improve the world and she was gone. There were so few of her left.

Nick and Eric left the bar and the lonely man behind them, making their way further to the back where Miranda Preston's office was located. Nick knocked on the door and they waited as a woman shouted "Just a moment!" before her voice directed itself back to what seemed to be a very heated phone conversation about an electricity bill.

"Would you have given him your number?" Nick suddenly asked, not looking at Eric as he focused his attention on the door instead, as if perhaps it held the answers instead of Eric himself.

Eric considered the question a moment. "Maybe. He seemed like a nice guy. Serious, wouldn't cheat. I just want a real relationship now."

"So you date guys?"

Eric cast the Texan a wary glance. "Does that bother you?" His words were polite but his tone gave him away. "Am I offensive to you? You want to change partners so you won't feel revolted knowing we're three feet away from each other? Jesus Christ, do you think I'm contagious or something? You're just as imperfect as I am."

"Me? No, of course not. No way."

"Oh. Because your sudden silence and transparent 'Me? No, of course not. No way.' was kind of worrying me."

"It really doesn't matter to me, Eric."

"Fine. I believe you."

Nick could tell that Eric really didn't, but Miranda Preston opened the door to her office and invited them in.

…

"Wanna hit breakfast?"

Obviously, his brain and mouth weren't working in conjunction with each other, because that's not what Greg meant to say. What he meant was, "See you tomorrow, Ryan. I'll just head on to my empty apartment, feed my fish, and beat myself up about these thoughts I'm having about you." Then again, maybe that wouldn't have gone over much better. Next time, he should probably just keep his mouth shut altogether. And then maybe he could buy the Golden Gate Bridge for cheap, because the odds of owning a U.S. landmark and him not talking were about the same.

Ryan looked up and gave him a smile, gazing at him longer than necessary before quickly looking away and asking, "Don't you mean dinner?"

Greg grinned. "I'm still confused about it myself, and I've been working here six years. All I know is that I eat when I'm hungry. You like Denny's? A waitress there knows me by name."

"Sounds tempting."

"She tells the cooks I'm in law enforcement and I help get killers off the street, so they don't spit in my eggs like they do everyone else. Of course, I always forget to mention I sit in a lab for twelve hours and run trace, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her."

Ryan laughed as he packed his things in his bag and put away his lab coat, the long hours of the day finally wearing down on him.

"I don't know. It's kind of late." That's not what Ryan wanted to say either, but the sensible, rational side of him automatically spoke. It was late and he was tired, but he would much rather insensibly and irrationally grab breakfast with Greg instead. Still, he didn't want to appear too eager.

Greg tried to hide his slight disappointment. What was he hoping for anyway? "That's cool, dude." Ryan was right, but it still didn't seem like a good enough reason to go home to an empty apartment.

Ryan paused a moment before turning back, watching as Greg silently began putting away the rest of their work items. His hair was a little flatter after a long shift, and battling with DNA equipment didn't make it any easier.

"I only meant if you're not too tired…" Ryan began, but stopped when he realized how stupid he sounded. Did he sound pathetic? Lonely? He wanted to spend a little extra time with Greg. After all, he was a great conversationalist and he enjoyed working with him immensely.

"Me? Tired? Never."

"Then Denny's sounds really good. But do they really spit in your food?"

"Only to low tipping customers, my friend."

They walked out of the lab together, laughing as they did so. Those who were passing tried not to stare too obviously: both men were sort of leaning into each other and neither of them realized how perfect they fit together, how well they got along, and how happy they made each other in just two days. They didn't notice the small smiles, the quirked eyebrows; in other words, they were oblivious and somehow, that didn't matter at all.

Ryan quickly spotted the rest of their team clustered in pairs in the hall, working on various aspects of the case. He ignored his earlier feeling of inadequacy about being the odd one left out; he seemed to have gotten the high end of the deal and he wondered, very briefly, if Eric or Calleigh's partner was as terrific as Greg. He searched for Eric before finding him hunched over photos of Ellie Jenkin's crime scene, intent on devouring his package of Starbursts as he did so.

"Hey Eric. How's the case?"

Eric looked up and Ryan frowned. The older man definitely wasn't getting enough sleep, and the dark circles under his usually bright eyes gave it away.

"Hey Ryan." He glanced briefly over to Greg, standing just a few millimeters away from Ryan, before asking him, "You wouldn't happen to be the famous Greg Sanders, would you?"

Greg gave him a grin before leaning to shake the Cuban's hand. "The one and only. If you're a friend of Ryan's then I'll give you an autograph for free."

Eric shook his head before laughing. "Nah, I think I'm cool."

"Sure? My next worldwide tour starts next week."

"Tempting, very tempting." Eric turned his attention back to Ryan before titling his head in Greg's direction. "I like him."

Greg's shoulder tapped lightly against Ryan's. "Hear that? He likes me."

Ryan rolled his eyes at the both of them. "It's nice to know you like him, Eric. I wasn't aware I had to introduce you to everyone I know for your seal of approval."

"Not everyone," corrected Eric, beginning to unwrap a strawberry candy. "Just the ones that make you grin like an idiot." The words were spoken innocently and at first, Ryan didn't catch on.

"Grin like a-?" Ryan's eyes suddenly flew open and he stood rigid, making a mental note in his mind to kill Eric if he survived this humiliation in the first place. He made an abrupt change of topics, hoping to head out with as much dignity as he could salvage. "Heading to the hotel?" he asked evenly, giving Eric a stony look.

"In a couple minutes. You?"

"Actually, Greg and I are going to go get some breakfast." The silence that followed was louder than Ryan could imagine, and he sincerely hoped Greg didn't notice. It was a strange silence because it wasn't filled with an invite: an invitation for Eric to join them. Or Calleigh. Or anyone. However, it seemed as if Eric got the message loud and clear: Ryan wanted some down time, and he wanted it spent with Greg. Eric wasn't offended. It was the reverse, actually, and he fought away a sly, 'Oh, I get it.' grin.

Eric knew it would be best to end the conversation. After all, Ryan and Greg would be hitting lunch soon enough if he didn't let them go.

"Ah. Sounds like fun. Do you have your room key? 'Cause if you come knocking at the door and I'm asleep, you're spending the night in the hallway."

"Gee, thanks for that," replied Ryan, smiling but still a little uneasy. "I've got a key. I'll see you in an hour or so."

"Okay, see you then. Don't get arrested."

"Well, thanks for ruining that plan," Greg lightheartedly replied. "Guess holding up the local Seven Eleven's out of the picture. Ryan and I'll just have to find something better to do."

…

Ryan looked out the window of the restaurant, their knees slightly touching but neither was taking the initiative to move them. They had accidentally touched so many times that night that it really didn't matter at that point. At first, Ryan would quickly pull away and try in vain to hide a blush, acting as if scrambled eggs and French toast was the most fascinating thing on the planet.

But they began to fall in sync with one another, and suddenly touching knees seemed like a ridiculous thing to be worried over.

So they talked. Once they covered the subject of families, friends, and Miami versus Las Vegas, they began the subject of careers and schooling. They covered music, books, and it seemed as if one breakfast couldn't begin to give them enough time to talk about everything they wanted to. Ryan supposed it always boiled down to time.

"So how'd you become a CSI?" Greg asked over an empty plate of what used to be pancakes and sausage.

"I came up from patrol. I didn't like just arriving at a scene and waiting until the big guns got there. I wanted to stay with a case until it was closed. What about you? I hear your boss likes to lock you in the lab."

"I used to like it a lot more than I do now. It gets boring after a while. And techs are definitely under appreciated." He paused a moment before adding, "Plus, y'know, the lab exploded." His last statement was softer and Ryan nearly had to strain to hear it. Greg cleared his throat and then took a sip of his water (He never ordered coffee at a restaurant. It wasn't ever as good as his special stash.) He almost seemed embarrassed at the moment and didn't look Ryan in the eye.

"Your lab exploded?" Ryan asked, shock and concern written all over his face. "What happened? I mean, only if you want to talk about it. I could understand how you wouldn't want to think of it again."

Greg shrugged. "It's okay. Catherine left the fume hood on too long and too high and it just blew up all over the place."

"Were you in the lab when it happened?"

Greg nodded. "Sure was."

"Weren't you hurt?"

"I have a couple of scars, but I like to call them battle wounds. I just… wanted to get out of the lab. Sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating and it drives me nuts, so I pestered Grissom into letting me train to become a CSI. The only thing scarier than the lab is my fear of looking like an idiot in front of my boss, you know?"

Ryan could certainly empathize with that. "I could see why you would want to get out of there sometimes."

"They think I'm a freak. It's not offending or anything, I just want them to take me seriously." A comfortable pause before Greg looked at Ryan curiously. "We're about the same age. Does everyone in Miami pat you on the head too?"

Ryan frowned a little. "Actually, some don't speak to me at all. I tell them I'm not a replacement."

"They lost someone?"

"Tim Speedle. I came in after he was shot in a jewelry store and everyone's just trying to get used to the fact that he's gone. I don't mind the occasional cold shoulder, though. I just want to do my job properly."

"I guess we're both the odd guy out on the job, huh?"

"Yeah. But you're going to be a great CSI pretty soon. You're not just a DNA tech."

"And you're just not a replacement."

It felt good to hear those words.

They smiled at each other from across the table as seven o'clock hit and the sun rose and washed Las Vegas with light.

TBC.

…

A/T: Man, this chapter is killing me! I suppose it's alright, but it took an eternity (okay, maybe a week) to complete. Oh, well. It's the price I must pay for the brilliance that is Ryan/Greg. Hints of Warrick/Calleigh? Yes? No? Don't care? Without feedback, my mind will wander without direction and you do not want that to happen.