A/T: Here it is, friends. The fourth chapter of my badly characterized, poorly timed, shoddily written CSI fanfic. It sort of depresses me to know that this is the greatest of all I've ever done. It doesn't exactly inspire confidence, does it? But hey- we do things because we love it, not necessarily because we're good at it.
In the matter of LJ Readers v. Calleigh/Warrick, this court must declare me guilty of not knowing what to do with my scattered ideas. I've decided against the C/W (sorry if I'm disappointing anyone!) It doesn't seem to fit right, but thanks for those who were enthusiastic.
I'm so thrilled everyone loves the Eric/Nick thing. I was a little hesitant at first but your support is definitely helping!
Disclaimer: In the event that one hasn't read my disclaimers the first three times, I'll repeat it: I do not, never have, and never will own any CSI show or character. I can barely hold onto my dignity. It's slowly falling away with every word I type.
Out
With It
Act Four: Absence of State
I
have seen only you, I have admired only you, I desire only
you.
-Napoleon Bonaparte to Madam Marie Walewska, 1807
"So."
Eric's voice was laced with something –something- that Ryan couldn't quite put his finger on. It was a mix of suspicion and amusement. The way Eric was grinning, that teasing look in his eyes meant only one thing: Ryan's late arrival to the hotel the morning before would certainly be the gossip of Calleigh and Yelina for the rest of the day, if not the week.
"So," Ryan echoed, giving Eric an odd look before checking to make sure he had his key card and grabbing his backpack, taking a quick inventory of its contents while consequently (if not purposely) avoiding Eric's eyes.
"So someone, who shall remain nameless, dragged themselves through that very door two hours after the rest of us crashed."
Ryan inwardly groaned. He knew this was coming and he was dreading every moment of it. The morning before, he told himself that he shouldn't stay out for more than an hour at the very most, else he'd face the consequences; consequences being Eric's endless teasing. He knew better, but the time spent with Greg felt like too little. So engrossed they were by merely talking to one another that Ryan had realized that the minutes had flown by and two hours had already passed. They could have certainly stayed longer, but Ryan knew he had to get to the hotel and catch a little sleep before work began. That, and the longer he stayed out, the more relentless Eric would be.
"I had breakfast with Greg," Ryan explained. "Or dinner. Actually, I don't what it was. He calls it 'brinner'."
"For two hours?" pried Eric as they proceeded to leave their hotel room on schedule, making their way towards the elevator.
"We talked." Did he need to elaborate further? Frankly, he didn't want to. Eric knew that if Ryan didn't like someone, he wouldn't spend two hours trying to get away from them.
"About what, religion and politics? Dude, it was a two hours. It takes the average over worked and under paid employee five minutes to down a plate of eggs and bacon before moving on."
"I know how long we took, Eric. He's an interesting guy."
Ryan tried not to let the defensiveness in his tone be heard. The last thing he wanted Calleigh to hear was that he sort of kind of maybe had breakfast with a nice, interesting guy. She would poke and prod every last detail out of him until she left bruises.
"So you guys talked about DNA swabs and finger printing?"
"Maybe."
Eric laughed as the elevator slid open and they entered, Ryan promptly pressing the down button.
"Didn't know you were so secretive."
"Didn't know you were so snoopy."
"Okay, okay," Eric replied, holding up his hands in surrender but his smile never wavering. "I can take a hint."
"Calleigh's been rubbing off on you. I never knew you were the kind to dig into people's personal lives."
Eric laughed as the elevator gave a little "ding" and the doors opened up to reveal the first floor of their hotel.
"Personal lives? So breakfast was personal?"
"Eric!" Ryan protested, shooting Eric an embarrassed glare before quickly walking out of the elevator. How humiliating. Had Calleigh told him? Did Eric know he was…? Ryan didn't want to think about it. He did not want his personal life to be the hot gossip of the week. Why couldn't anyone understand that?
"That's not what I meant, dude. You're not that kind of guy. I'm sorry."
He knew Eric would never laugh at him about this, even now that Ryan's cheeks were a deep crimson, sharp against his pale skin. Ryan wished he could blow it off, but honestly, he felt like defending Greg more than anything.
"Greg's not that kind of guy either," he heard himself say. He winced before he even finished saying it, realizing how it sounded and wishing he hadn't spoken at all. He met Eric's surprised expression for about two seconds before looking away again.
"Hm. I see." That was all Eric said as they emerged from the building and into the bright sunset of Nevada. The silence that followed was heavy and Ryan was grateful that Eric was a true friend and knew when not to keep digging for answers. But the conversation was still left unresolved and neither could work when in that state.
"Eric…" Ryan gave him a look before stopping dead in his tracks and turning towards the Cuban, solemnity radiating off every aspect of his stance, expression, tone. It was true that he was sometimes timid, but he could barely believe this situation himself and he absolutely would not allow Greg to be hurt by any gossip that was inadvertently spread.
"Don't tell Cal. She's the sweetest girl to ever live, but she'll start talking and won't stop. Got it?"
"Hey, your secret's safe with me. This conversation never happened. As far as I'm concerned, you came in twenty minutes after I crashed because you grabbed a bite from a fast food joint with a co-worker."
Ryan tried to fight off his smile, but in the end, failed. "Sounds like a great alibi. Thanks."
"Not a problem," he replied. "But I –uh- I was curious about something. If it's not, y'know, too personal."
Eric quickly hailed a cab at their curb and Ryan felt his stomach clench, because he somehow knew what was coming. He didn't want to face it, but he certainly couldn't run away.
"What's that?"
"Are you…"
Eric looked as uncomfortable as Ryan felt. Was he what? Ryan wanted to know but didn't want to answer. The taller man couldn't seem to find the right words and was quiet for a few moments. Instead, other conversations of those passing by filled the gap and pieces of gossip, news, and luaghter came and went with the sea of people along side them.
"I mean, not that it matters, but I kind of- wondered, maybe, that if you're… Do you like women?" he asked, unable to give it any fancy phrasing and instead just laying it out on the table.
Ryan swallowed. "Uhm…" He coughed and suddenly wished a cab would just pull up already. Better yet, lose control of the acceleration and just run him over.
"You don't have to answer."
Ryan laughed a little at Eric's worried expression, worried that he had stepped over the line.
"If I don't answer, doesn't that answer your question anyway?" Ryan asked, his frantic nervousness dying away to a mellow, accepting sickness. Eric knew. Ryan couldn't change that. He was out to someone else and God, he hated it!
"Not necessarily. But I'm not a judge, man. Even if you're bi or gay or whatever, doesn't matter to me. You're a good guy and a great CSI."
"Fine." Ryan took a deep breath and turned towards Eric. "I like guys."
There.
He said it.
Three little words.
Eric looked almost… impressed. Okay, that wasn't exactly what Ryan was expecting, but he doubted that Eric would start running down the street with his arms flailing in the air, screaming that one of his best friends was less than straight.
"You do?" Eric asked as a cab finally, finally pulled up.
Ryan didn't reply, merely opened the door to the cab and Eric walked around, following Ryan's actions, hopping in and buckling up.
"Yes, I do. Are you okay with that, or should I pack up my stuff and move to another state?"
Eric gave Ryan an amused smile before looking out the window, towards the hustle and bustle of Las Vegas. It looked like a normal city in the light of the sun, but when night came, it morphed into something bright, grand, a little tacky, and a lot sinister.
"It's never up to anyone, Wolfe. Would it make you feel better to know that we're both in the same boat? Or would it weird you out?"
Ryan tried not to choke on his own oxygen. Was Eric saying what he thought he was saying? It was possible that Ryan was over analyzing every syllable that left Eric's mouth, but he wasn't sure that was the case.
"What?" he asked, trying to remain as calm as possible. "Are you saying that you're… like me?"
"Nick kind of guessed last night. You know how Ellie Jenkins last occupation was at The Alaska?"
Ryan nodded, listening intently to Eric's story.
"Well, The Alaska is the hotspot for people like you and me, my friend. He saw that I wasn't freaked out and he just sort of… guessed. I told him just because someone doesn't get KKK on everyone in there doesn't mean they were gay."
"So you didn't tell him at first?"
"Didn't need to. But he was professional about it, so it could've gone a lot worse. I figured the subject of homosexuality was going to come up a lot in the next few weeks anyway, so I didn't exactly deny it."
"Not to offend anyone from Texas, but wasn't Nick a little…"
"Rigid and uncomfortable? Absolutely."
"Oh."
"That's what he said."
"Well, maybe it's not his phobia. You said he acted professional. Maybe he's really okay with it but doesn't want to bother you."
"So maybe the glass is half full. I like your optimism."
"Maybe he likes you and just happens to be wanting to ask you on a classy date to IHOP."
It was Eric's turn to blush and he stared out the window again, unable to hide a small smile.
"Classier than Denny's, you mean?"
"I never knew you to be a comedian."
"I get delirious when I'm hungry. My internal clock says I should be gobbling down some steaks about now."
"I guess that means we're hitting the vending machines again."
Yep. They were definitely back and their secrets were revealed to each other. Somehow, Ryan wasn't as panicked as he thought he'd be. They were real friends and it felt good.
"I just hope they haven't run out of Skittles."
…
"Is this where I'll find you from now on?"
Eric jumped a little, startled at the voice and nearly dropping his case file in the process. It had been a quiet, uneventful, and almost peaceful first ten minutes of work that night. He had been contently pouring over the DNA results of last night's casino excursion and, embarrassingly enough, downing a bag of Skittles and cup of coffee as he did so.
Eric quickly swallowed his mouthful of candies before looking up from his stooped position, giving Nick a somewhat guilty smile.
"There's a vending machine, isn't there?" he asked lightly.
Nick rolled his eyes slightly before taking a seat across from the Cuban, stealing a few Skittles in the process.
"Don't you ever have a real breakfast?" Nick asked, a sweet southern drawl to his voice. Eric was almost reminded of Cal, but of course, it wasn't the same.
"I do in Miami." The response sounded lame, but it was also some sort of conformation: I do in Miami. Of course he ate regularly in Miami. That's because he lived in Miami, which was why he wouldn't allow himself to find anyone significant in Las Vegas. It would be complicated and messy and he was too tired for that. Even if it meant being lonely, it was the preferable alternative to being angry and upset all the time.
The reasoning was perfect and the logic was flawless.
So he didn't bother to ask himself why it didn't seem to make any sense.
"Well, since you're here on time tonight," Nick began, placing some colored printouts on the table, "I figured we could head out to The Alaska again."
"Oo, a date."
Nick gave Eric a look and the Floridian immediately wished he hadn't spoken. Trying to lighten the mood, huh? Great going. You're about as subtle as an exploding bomb. Eric resisted the urge to kick himself. What was he thinking? No jokes, no quips, no nothing, especially not after the night before.
"More like DNA swabs from all the employees. As I recall, the real janitor couldn't account for his whereabouts that night."
"Yeah, but Ellie Jenkins was murdered in Miami," replied Eric, tapping the side of his coffee cup with his index finger thoughtfully. "Even if their alibis were sketchy, they would have to have gotten on the plane to have killed her."
"So we need the tapes from the Miami airport."
"Which means we need Yelina and Warrick."
As if both reading each other's minds, they immediately stood and began towards the A/V lab, where Warrick had been going over hours of airport footage. Most of it was meaningless and they weren't even sure what they were looking for, but with a leap of faith and a little luck, something might pop out at them.
So far, though, nothing had been of any use, and as Nick and Eric sat down from across the screens, watching black and white footage of hundreds of people boarding and buying tickets, it seemed as if the case had run smack into a brick wall.
"Hey Warrick," Nick greeted as he and Eric entered the usually dark A/V lab. Warrick and Yelina looked up from some screens as Archie fast-forwarded through an hour or so of footage.
"Hello," Yelina replied. She gave Eric a small smile before motioning towards some chairs. "Pull up a seat, gentlemen. We were just about to break out the popcorn."
"So I guess we're getting nothing from the tapes?" asked Nick as he followed Yelina's invitation and pulled up a rolling office chair.
Warrick rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Yelina and I have been watching this for almost a day. The airport has a dozen cameras in the lobby alone. With all the security measures, we have dozens of tapes we need to go through, but I have a feeling we're going to wind up with the same result."
"The result being a whole lot of nothing?" Eric guessed. Warrick nodded in response. "Right. We see where Ellie Jenkins enters the lobby still wearing her show dress and buys a ticket at a booth. Thing is, she doesn't have any luggage. Not even a purse."
"So I guess tracking down any lost personal belongings is out of the question," Nick murmured. "Even with these surveillance tapes, we still don't have anything."
There was a silence for a few minutes, the whirring of the tape machine the only sound in the room. It was almost disheartening- no one wanted to leave Ellie Jenkins without justice, but they couldn't seem to find even the slightest clue as to what could help them discover her murderer. The four CSIs continued to watch the screen, despite the fact they all knew they would gain nothing from it. They couldn't think of anything else they could do to solve the case: there were no prints, no paper trails, not even a good, old-fashioned suspect.
It wasn't until Gil Grissom threw open the door that the four looked up, tearing their attention away from the screen.
"We need a Plan B," he announced and then turned and left the room. He left no space for questions or arguments. Yelina and Eric exchanged curious looks, but Warrick and Nick knew that when Grissom got an idea, they could only follow.
So they rose from their seats and did exactly that.
…
"Look who decided to listen to his alarm," said a voice when Ryan entered the lab.
"I thought we went over this story already," Ryan replied, grinning at Greg before making his way over to the coffee maker, where he knew a fresh hot pot would be brewing for them both.
"We did, but it's just so much more fun to relentlessly tease you instead."
"I see you've been taking pointers from Eric. Teasing me relentlessly is his favorite hobby as well."
Greg smiled in return as he meandered over to Ryan, his body just barely brushing with the other's as he leaned against the wall casually, watching as Ryan made his coffee.
"What exciting set of prints do we get to run today?"
"I note the sarcasm in your voice."
"Good. No one else has."
Ryan smiled slightly. He knew Greg was impatient to get back into the field, but the overwhelming amount of DNA involved wasn't giving him the opportunity.
Ryan turned from the making of his coffee to reply with something witty or charming, two things he so rarely was, but the moment he turned he realized how close they were actually standing. Their noses were almost touching, which meant their lips weren't far behind and Ryan practically jumped out of skin, because suddenly Greg leaned forward a mere inch and a half and their lips connected.
That, and he dropped his coffee.
He didn't notice that part at first; rather, the warm lips that were on his own was the only thing on his mind. This perfect man was kissing him, so what did he do? Ryan, being of the logical, level headed, Spontaneity-is-the-Devil psyche quickly broke away. He was horrified someone might have saw, and even more horrified of caring. He immediately regretted breaking away; it wasn't long enough and in reality, he felt like being a little reckless for once.
You didn't, he told himself, mentally pleading with God that when he opened his eyes, his coffee would still be in a cup, on a small table, steaming and not spilt all over him. Only he was hyper aware of the hot liquid that was on his pants leg and shirt. It was searing, brown, and probably staining his second pair of perfectly good clothing. Obviously, God wasn't taking requests today.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Greg had kissed him. Greg kissed him. And now the other man was looking at him with a worried expression; Greg opened his mouth to say something, but no words came. It seemed as if both their states of mind had taken a leave of absence.
"I'm sorry," Ryan whispered, finally managing to find some words hidden deep within his autopilot mind. He wasn't talking about the kiss, such as it was. He was sorry he couldn't control himself better, he was sorry that his brain wasn't working right, and he was sorry he was having feelings for one Greg Sanders. He immediately stepped away, breaking away from the other man. "About the coffee. It's… it's all over the place."
"That's okay," replied Greg, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He knew, as Ryan did, that something more than a kiss had just happened between them, only neither man could place what it was. "It was probably my fault."
"I'll –uh- grab the paper towels from… somewhere," Ryan said, quickly turning, his dignity fracturing with every step he took. I can't believe how monumentally stupid you can be he screamed to himself. They were quiet as he began going through the cabinets, seeing where some extra napkins might be lying about, hoping the sudden ice could be broken.
"There are some paper towels in the fourth drawer to your left," said Greg, finally managing to find his voice amidst the heavy, awkward silence that had suddenly filled every crevice of the room. Ryan didn't respond, merely followed Greg's directions and true to his word, there they were, waiting to clean up the mess he was so good at leaving behind.
"I'm… really sorry to make such a mess." Ryan heard himself speaking, but he couldn't make himself look up to meet Greg's eyes. Instead, he got on his hands and knees and began soaking up his second coffee disaster in the last four days; his first, if you all remember, was in Miami with Calleigh.
"Here, let me help."
"I've got it."
"Ryan…"
The thick tension was thankfully cut by Calleigh herself, poking her head in through the lab doors. She smiled brightly at them both and opened her mouth to speak before catching sight of the disarray. She didn't need to know what happened because it didn't matter; she knew Ryan only got nervous about one thing, nervous enough to make a mess like this. Her eyes automatically shot to Ryan and she sort of grinned at him. Ryan knew he would be grilled later, asking the why's and when's of the entire catastrophe. He returned her look with one of distress: Please, say something. Break the pressure.
"Hey you two," she vibrantly began, quickly scanning Greg before speaking again, talking as if she couldn't practically feel the heavy silence. "The Bosses are calling us. This case needs a makeover and I think Grissom might have a new plan. We're in his office when you guys finish up."
She gave them both another look before shoot a worried glance over to Ryan. Knowing she couldn't say anything about it without making it worse, she gave them both another slightly confused smile before leaving.
Greg watched as Ryan quickly finished cleaning up the spill before shrugging out of his lab coat, still not looking at him, almost as if he were ashamed, and left the room without a word.
Greg could do nothing but follow, worry now with every step he took.
…
The door creaked extra loudly, of course, the way all doors do when someone comes in late. The meeting had started when Greg and Ryan tried to sneak in, but it was an office and they would have been noticed anyway. Ryan quickly took a seat next to Calleigh, while Greg choose to hang in the back, neither speaking to each other.
Gil looked over his glasses at the two, but choose not to say anything in terms of their tardiness. Greg gave him a look: You treat us like crap the rest of the time. Want to yell at us for being late at a meeting where we aren't even needed? Sure. Go ahead. Try it.
Grissom wisely looked back down at his notes, away from Greg's obvious somber and moody expression. "I have a feeling we've hit a dead end when it comes to Ellie Jenkins case. We don't know what or who we're looking for, so I propose we turn this around and give it a new angle."
"And how do you suggest we go about that?" asked Catherine, holding her case file but not actually reading it. They all had case files, but they were useless, filled to the brim with information they couldn't use yet.
"We've been trying to get Ellie Jenkins to tell us something. The question is, why would someone want to kill her? She had good friends, a good working relationship, and no significant other to speak of. What's the motive?"
"Maybe it was a random mugging. A junkie needed some quick cash," replied Nick. "Saw her in Miami, grabbed their gun and took her money when they were finished."
"That's a good theory. There wasn't a purse or wallet at the scene in Miami," Calleigh replied, twisting the ends of her blonde hair around her finger in thought. "It was two shots to the chest. Kind of cold and impersonal. A lot of people who aren't familiar with guns just shoot blindly."
It was a good theory, but all ten knew that such a predicament wasn't the case. It was never so simple.
All were silent, until Greg finally spoke. His voice lacked its usual enthusiasm and Ryan couldn't bring himself to look at the lab tech. He felt sick knowing that he was part of the problem.
"She didn't have any luggage, she didn't have a purse, and all she was wearing was the dress from The Alaska. She walked in and bought a ticket to the first available flight. She was running from someone. There wasn't any time to pack for a Florida vacation."
Sara nodded, biting her lip. She gave Greg a look, one mixed with admiration and concern. She could tell he wasn't exactly the ball of energy he usually was, and that worried her. "Greg's right. No one just takes a flight for the fun of it, especially not without a change of clothes or toothbrush."
"So we start with the teller who sold her the ticket," said Warrick, nodding, beginning to see bits of a puzzle that were coming together. "Maybe they saw someone following her."
"We've been looking at the casino too hard. Her troubles were at the airport," agreed Grissom. He glanced over at Horatio, who had been silent, listening to the theories and what-ifs. "What's your opinion, Mr. Caine?"
Horatio took a moment to respond. "She died on a motel roof. Someone had to have gotten on that plane to follow her. They might have even checked into the motel."
"Okay then," Catherine said, rising from her seat, a new energy now buzzing around the room, affecting all but two. "We've got a new plan. We start at the airport and work our way backwards."
…
The lab.
Again.
Ryan didn't want to be there, and Greg didn't look that thrilled either.
The heavy silence had returned with a vengeance and wouldn't stop biting at them. Neither man could imagine working this way and Greg, ever the talker, finally cleared his throat, because enough was enough. He had been an idiot to kiss him, but he felt propelled and in the moment. Which was stupid as well, because rash things were always regretted later. He could only hope that he didn't ruin their relationship for good.
"I'm sorry." The words were truthful and Ryan managed to look up and even meet his eyes. Greg sounded as miserable as Ryan felt. "The kiss was a mistake. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable." It was dumb thing to say, and he knew it. Of course he made Ryan uncomfortable, thus the lack of their usual words and banter.
"Don't worry," Ryan replied, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry I spilt coffee all over the place."
"That's not your fault either. I caught you off guard."
"A little," Ryan admitted, finally smiling at him. Greg tried to return in, but in truth, that smile was killing him.
"Are… are we good? I'd understand if you would prefer to work with Archie or Hodges or… someone else."
"We're okay. You're… the most fun person around here. You're a great friend and we work well together."
Greg inwardly winced. Friend. That's all you are to anyone.
"So. Wanna hit breakfast?"
This time, Greg didn't question whether or not his brain and mouth were working together properly, because this time, he knew what he was asking. It felt pretty good and he actually wasn't that nervous when he approached Ryan. Why should he be? It was all or nothing, yes or no. Greg wouldn't die if the invitation was turned down, but going home to an apartment full of fish to be miserable by himself wasn't exactly appealing.
In his mind, Greg knew he was asking Ryan to breakfast for all the wrong reasons, but Ryan would never know about any feelings the CSI might have for him and even if he did, Greg would never make any romantic move. Well, besides the kiss. The repercussions that would inevitably follow could leave behind a mess too big for any two people to deal with. One-night stands weren't Greg's thing any more, even if it meant that his only company outside of work happened to be his fish and his neighbor in apartment 12B, the nice old lady that remembered his birthday last year.
Breakfast was an extra hour or so to flirt (even if Ryan never caught it), stare (even if Ryan never saw it), and actually talk (because there was more to a relationship than just sex. Greg ignored the fact that they weren't actually in a relationship, which he considered a minor detail at best.)
"Is this déjà vu?" Ryan asked, grinning up at him from his place at the counter, his belongings now spread out in an organized fashion all over the surface. Extra books, extra files, extra pens. It was a good thing too, because Hodges just finished stealing Greg's last known writing utensil and that pack of manila envelopes had somehow disappeared into the deep, dark recesses of his desk drawer.
"Déjà vu? Perhaps. Or it could be me, Greg Sanders, asking you, Ryan Wolfe, if you would honor me with your presence at a table where food will be served."
"I like that. The 'honor me with your presence' really gave it the extra flair."
Greg grinned as well, leaning over the other side of the counter and making himself content by merely watching Ryan work.
"How much flair would I need to make you accept?"
"I don't know. Rumor is that you danced around wearing a showgirl's headdress once. That would add a lot of flair to whatever you're saying."
Greg titled his head, as if considering the idea. "You drive a hard bargain. It's unfortunate I left my headdress in my other lab coat."
Ryan laughed, giving Greg an amused look before returning to his task at hand. "Denny's?" he asked, and Greg let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding. Ryan's inquiry meant "yes", and that's all Greg could possibly hope for. Ryan was obviously man enough to have breakfast with a guy who, two minutes ago, hadn't been able to speak to him due to shame. And Ryan was also dedicated. This wouldn't affect their work, and Greg was thankful.
"I figure I'd show my classy manners and allow you to explore the culinary delights of the local IHOP."
"IHOP?" asked Ryan, quirking an eyebrow. He had a feeling that this would become an of-the-norm event: breakfast –wait, dinner- no, "brinner", with Greg. He wished he could make himself care or even rationalize, but before the default "logic Ryan" could say anything, the rarely seen "spontaneous Ryan" sprang forth.
"Sounds great. Sure you're not too tired?"
Greg merely gave him a look and Ryan was hit with a suspicion that the other man was probably never tired.
It was like déjà vu, really, as he and Greg made their way down the hall and towards the break room to sign off for the day. Once again, unbeknownst to the two, Calleigh was carefully watching them from over the top of her surveillance report, elbowing Yelina slightly before nodding towards them both. Archie was ignoring the laughter of the two women and he idly wondered whether should alert Greg to the fact that he and Ryan were the next hot item. David Hodges merely rolled his eyes.
Ryan knocked slightly on the doorframe before leaning against it. Eric was sitting at a table, reading the DNA comparisons both men had finished earlier, chewing on some gum he had beaten out of the machine.
"Hey Eric," said Ryan, observing the Cuban at his very worst. A wrinkled shirt, sloppy hair, and dark circles under his eyes made him worse for wear. Ryan gave him a sympathetic look before he spoke again. "Continuing your healthy candy diet, I see."
"And 'funny Ryan' emerges. You are a man of many talents, my friend."
"Sorry. I couldn't resist."
"I can see you're all broken up about it."
Ryan smiled a little, but it didn't last. In the end, his concern for Eric overrode everything else. "You look beat. Greg and I are heading out to the IHOP and you're welcome to join us. They serve real food."
Eric momentarily turned his attention to Greg, who was standing next to the darker haired CSI. The fact was that Ryan was probably one of Eric's best friends, and despite the tempting offer of food that didn't come from colorful wrappers, he wasn't about to tag along. You had to be both deaf and blind to get the vibe coming from them both. Eric would only mess things up, and that's the last thing he wanted for Ryan.
"I'm good. Thanks, though." He turned to Greg, giving him a small wave. "How's it going, man? I hear Ryan axed the music."
Greg grinned. "We compromised. No heavy death metal and we keep it a reasonable volume, so he brought the Beach Boys."
"Wow. That's stretching it pretty far when it comes to Ryan."
"I pride myself in being a bad influence. I'm sure your boss will thank me later."
"I'm sure I'll thank you later when he decides to blast out some Marilyn Manson or something." Eric rose from his seat, fighting back a yawn. "Anyway, I think I'll call it a night. Nick and I get to start fingerprinting parts of the airport tomorrow."
"You hide your enthusiasm well," observed Ryan. Of course, finger printing ticket booths and looking for blood in restrooms didn't exactly sound like a day worth getting up for.
"Need help? Dusting? Blood spatter? If you want, we'll be the first to dive into the sewers," offered Greg, Eric's absolute exhaustion not lost upon him either.
Ryan turned and gave Greg a look, crossing his arms across his chest as he did so. "We?" he asked, in a you've-got-to-be-kidding tone of voice.
Greg gave him an innocent look. "But I thought you liked hiking through miles of raw sewage."
Eric laughed as the two approached the brink of serious banter. He held up his hands as a peace offering. "No sewer diving will be required, boys. We're progressing."
Eric didn't want to dwell on how much or little they were actually progressing in terms of the Ellie Jenkins case. He wanted Ryan to be comfortable and not have to worry about his nonexistent failures when it came to solving her murder. If anything, Eric was the one failing. "So you two are hitting the IHOP?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.
"We certainly are," replied Greg, smiling widely and slinging his arm around Ryan's neck. "Ryan and I are escaping to a wonderful place where other pancake lovers such as ourselves can eat and not have to hear about low carb dieting."
"It's nice to know you two lovebirds are getting along so well."
"Eric!" said Ryan, remembering his embarrassment from last night and wondering if he should bother saying goodnight to anyone anymore. Sneaking out a back door somewhere seemed more logical, merely because his best friends wouldn't be there to hint at secret relationships between himself and almost-complete strangers.
"Aw, Ryan. There's no need to be ashamed of us," Greg lightly retorted, following Eric's lead. "Just imagine what our children will look like."
Eric gave Ryan an innocent look. Ryan didn't return it.
"Anyway, I just came by to invite you to breakfast or something," Ryan continued through not-quite-gritted teeth. He knew he must have been as red as a tomato and he hoped no one noticed. "I'll see you at the hotel in a few hours."
"You have your room key?"
"Yes, mother. And I'll look both ways before crossing the street."
"I'm just saying that I'm dead serious about the hallway deal."
"I'll see you in a little while. Get some sleep."
"I will, I will. Now get out of here before you starve to death."
"Want me to bring you back anything?"
"Sure. Whatever's on special would be great. I'll pay you back."
Ryan gave Eric a look that read he would clearly not allow any payback of any kind before he and Greg left. Eric sighed before sitting back down. He hoped Ryan wasn't getting into anything he wouldn't be able to get out of again.
…
Ryan tried not to be uncomfortable in front of Greg when it came to Eric's teasing, but the "lovebird" comment was just beginning to dig beneath his skin and for a few minutes, Ryan couldn't think of a word to say. Coupled with the earlier kiss, he began to think that this entire breakfast idea was bad one.
But as they walked, talking about nothing in particular, Ryan found it hard to be uncomfortable around Greg. So they continued on for a few blocks and Ryan's discomfort evaporated into the thick night air of Las Vegas. If they accidentally brushed shoulders or hands, so be it. It didn't matter. It was just them, and somehow Ryan couldn't make himself feel wrong about it. Kiss or no kiss, they were still friends.
"So Eric and you seem to be really good friends," Greg commented as they strolled down, hands jammed in his pockets and donning a sweatshirt to fight off the cold that sometimes crept in from the desert.
"Yeah, he's great. When I first signed on, he wasn't exactly jumping to be my best friend or anything."
"Because of Tim?"
"They were a team and I took over after he died. I didn't blame anyone for how they treated me. I probably would have acted the same way if I knew Tim like they did."
"You two are hitting it off now, though."
Ryan laughed. "That's us. Practically joined at the hip, unfortunately for Eric."
"Should I be jealous?" Greg asked lightly, although he wondered if Ryan and Eric really did have something he should be jealous over. After all, Eric was a good-looking guy with a charming personality and he wouldn't blame Ryan if he was swept away. Greg was half decent looking with very little charm to work with. Instead, he was just weird.
"Jealous of Eric?" Ryan couldn't help but laugh again at the mere thought. "I don't think so. I guess I should count myself lucky that he and I are friends, but trust me, there's very little to be jealous over. He keeps stealing my pens."
"Ah. You realize you should buy some stock in BiC or something."
"There is nothing wrong with carrying around extra pens."
"Two is extra. Nineteen counts as excess."
"How would you know?"
Greg shrugged innocently. "I needed a pen today. I grabbed one from your bag and just happened to notice the millions of others you carried around."
"I don't have nineteen pens."
Greg shrugged innocently. "You used to. Now you only have eighteen because I really needed something to write with."
Ryan spotted the blue and white lights of IHOP, their glow promising real food besides that of Greg's (admittedly spectacular) coffee and Skittles. They entered (Greg propping the door open for Ryan, ever the gentlemen) and were met by a waitress with bleached blonde hair and dark roots, white teeth, and very tired eyes.
"Hi. How many in your party?"
"Two please," replied Greg. "Sanders." The woman nodded before jotting it down in the notebook, her long, fake nails clicking against her pencil.
"That'll be forty five minutes."
"Forty five minutes?" asked Ryan, vaguely wondering if he could sit around for such an extended period. "That's a long time."
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but that's usually the minimum wait time in the morning."
"I don't suppose the fact that we're in law enforcement is going to help us any? You know, get us a great table and a meal for free?" asked Greg, although Ryan could tell he wasn't up for that long of a wait either.
She smiled and laughed a little. "I'm afraid not."
"Then we're sorry to take up your time. Thanks anyway," he replied, before steering Ryan out of the restaurant and back to the street.
"No breakfast there, I guess," mused Ryan. "I saw an Arby's down the road, if you can handle roast beef this early in the morning."
"You know, you need a real taste of Las Vegas," replied Greg as they began walking back down to where they parked, Greg's arm somehow finding its way around Ryan's neck in friendly, we're-just-two-guys-lookin'-for-grub sort of way. Because Ryan knew in any other circumstance, that's what two guys would be like. And they were just two guys. So it was a bad, bad idea to lean into any sort of embrace Greg offered.
"I know a spot that serves the greatest pancakes known to Nevada and there's no waiting time, decent prices, and fan girls won't mob us the moment we step inside."
Ryan couldn't stop his laughter. "And where's that? The middle of the desert?"
Greg grinned in return. "My place."
Somewhere, Ellie Jenkin's ghost told herself that maybe her death wasn't a complete waste.
TBC.
…
A/T: My promise: Chapter five no more beating around the bush! Will Nick make his move? (Or Eric? I haven't decided yet.) Will Ellie Jenkins's case ever get solved? (Of course it will!) Will chapter 5 not completely suck? (I make no promises.) I know this seems to be dragging along, but I wanted the timing to be at least a little realistic. I've never been one for the "I've known you five minutes, so let's sleep together!" pieces. And writing a murder mystery is so much harder than it looks!
Tune in next time! Same bat time, same bat channel!