A/T: Who-hoo! I can't believe that I'm actually on the fifth chapter! Thanks for all the love and support. (Miserable as I am to admit it, without my writing and reviewers, I'm a very sad little person.)

Disclaimer: I've given up on making these amusing (mainly because I'm just not that funny), so here it is: I don't own (never have, never will) any CSI show or character. There. It took a lot of therapy hours to finally admit that.

Out With It
Act 5: City of Sin

I tremble for what we are doing. Are you sure you shall love me forever? I fear and I hope.
-Lady Mary Pierrepoint to Edward Wortley, 1712

He wasn't there.

Eric could have guessed this, but still, his hotel room was empty and he knew that if he called Ryan's cell, he would have caught him in an embarrassing, I'm-with-Greg-but-not-with-Greg moment, and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin whatever he and Greg had going on. He was elated that Ryan might have found someone significant, someone worthwhile, but the other side of the situation was not as blissfully easy to ignore. Ryan would be hurt when they had to head back to Miami, because Ellie Jenkins's case would either be solved or freeze over and either way, they couldn't stay here.

Not here.

Not in Las Vegas.

Eric sighed. He was tired and certainly needed some shuteye, but sleep was evading him yet again. The burdening case, Ryan's inevitable heartbreak, this uncomfortable state of affairs with Nick- it was keeping him awake when all he wanted was to fall head first into a deep, coma-like sleep.

He tossed in bed, his sigh painfully loud in the empty room with Ryan absent. Listlessly, he thought about the things he could do to induce sleepiness: watch reruns of whatever's on at six in the morning, go to a movie and get hopelessly lost in the process, or risk being spotted buying whatever cheesy novel the lobby bookstore was currently selling.

Or he could just lie there until shift started again.

Since seeing a movie would have taken entirely too much effort and buying the latest romance novel would have practically been a crime, he figured he might as well make do with what he had: some energy grain bars he had stolen from Calleigh and a T.V. with reruns that left much to be desired.

Trying to sleep was making him even more restless, even more aware that he was exhausted but not tired. It was apparent in the silence of the room how alone he was, and it was even more obvious that his mind would always wander back to this… situation with Nick. It was difficult because whatever opinions Nick might have of him could possibly be true and that was the last thing Eric wanted. He liked Nick, and that was the problem. He liked Nick. And God, he was an idiot for even allowing himself to get involved in anything that could conflict with the case. This was his fault and now it was his responsibility to think of something brilliant to settle it, making it so Horatio wasn't giving him those strange "I know exactly what's going on" looks.

With another sigh, he kicked his blankets off and padded towards the television, attempting to make himself as comfortable as he could on the uncomfortably cold and lumpy couch, complete with a bad upholstery choice.

He pressed the power button on the remote control.

"That's right! The amazing, ten in one storage system can hold up to twent-''

No.

"Shirley, would you look at this? It's a fantastic deal! Now these aren't actually real pearls, but look at the glow and how it offsets your skin! These manmade pearls look so authentic but are only a fraction of the price! We are going to sell out of these quick ladies, so you'd better get on that phone right now and-"

No.

"…aren't enough natural resources left to continue the SUV craze. Reports indicate that the warming trend in the United States could be a direct result of fuel emission. It's unclear on whether the government will outlaw these gas-guzzling vehicles, but a plan was brought to the Supreme Court this Friday. In other news-''

No.

"God is power! God is light! And when the devil comes to take your soul, when the Devil comes offering the temptations of the world, you look Satan straight in the eye and resist the temptation of si-''

Definitely not.

Finally, after two more channels of badly animated cartoons and an offering for free hair replacement treatments, he stopped at a Miami Vice rerun.

It struck him how sad he was- a single guy, tired and lackluster in his hotel room in Las Vegas, alone and watching cop shows that had been canceled decades ago. Had the world made him so weary already? Shouldn't he be out at a club with bright lights and pounding music? Even the thought of club hopping made him tired and he realized he was double his age already, practically ready to put in the retirement slip.

But Ryan and Greg were blatantly hitting it off, Calleigh and Sara were joined at the hip, and Horatio had actually laughed today, something he hadn't done since… since Tim died. Eric held his head in his hands, trying to concentrate on what the characters with scripted lines and written endings were saying. Tim was another death that he couldn't stop, only this time he was a friend that he could never get back, permanently lost to all the ruthless bits of humanity.

Everyone else was having a relatively good time, despite the circumstances. He wanted his friends to be happy and he was never one to ruin a good thing. He tried to ignore this selfish feeling of loneliness that was rising up in him again, and he thought that maybe if he could immerse himself in the T.V. for a while, all thought about Nick's obvious discomfort and Tim's loss would cease.

So that's exactly what he did.

He hoped Ryan was faring better.

…

"Wow. This is a nice place," Ryan said, immediately taking in and appreciating the surroundings of Greg's apartment. He wasn't just being polite either; Greg's apartment wasn't half bad. There was a great view of the city and the colorful fish that were swimming around in a large tank made it much more… alive. Blue, yellow, pink: the night-lights of Las Vegas matched the fish perfectly and they swam, ignoring him, as if he belonged there and was nothing to be concerned about. "You've got a great view too."

"Well, you are standing in the middle of my living room," Greg replied. He knew he shouldn't have said it, of course, but he couldn't resist; Ryan left it wide open. Ryan gave Greg a look from his place at the tank- not angry, more like embarrassed and almost, if he dare even think it, flattered.

"I meant the view of the city."

Greg grinned as he shed his coat and tossed his keys on the first available flat surface. Flat surfaces in his house tended to get covered in papers, magazines, and other nonessential items in a day's time: he would certainly never find those keys later.

"I know exactly what you meant," he lightly replied, making his way towards the kitchen, which was currently filled with frozen dinners and other bad-for-you foods. He had a distinct feeling that Ryan was more of a health food kind of guy, going more for the baked chips and water policy. He probably wouldn't be able to stand the pile of dishes in the sink either, or that weird purple blob in his fridge that was possibly once a red onion.

"So what will it be, Wolfe? Eggs? Toast? Both? Oh, pancakes," he said, answering his own question and immediately turned to a cupboard, pulling out some sugar and flour. "Rare is the chance that I actually have time to make these. I'm always running fashionably late for work."

"You make pancakes from scratch?" Ryan asked, wandering over from the fish to the counter where Greg was laying out some measuring spoons and a pan. Greg being domestic was something Ryan hadn't quite envisioned, and yet there he was, still crazy and refined all at once. Light streaming in through curtains made his blonde streaked hair brighter, his smile more intense, and every aspect about him up the scale in terms of "Greg-ness". He was undeniably beautiful in more than one sense, and Ryan couldn't stop the slow pang of regret as it hit his gut.

"I certainly do. It's a recipe passed down from generation to generation, until I was the only one left to pass it down to. Needless to say, the entire Olaf clan wasn't exactly filled with confidence when it came to my culinary skills."

"Olaf?" Ryan asked, a huge smile beginning to grow. It seemed like a family name that this man would certainly be part of. Anything weird or "out there" was of the norm for Greg and Ryan almost wished he could be spontaneous and limitless as well. But he wasn't any of those things; his books and CD's were in alphabetical order and the pictures were hanging straight on his wall, not tilted or skewed. There was nothing about him that Greg could possibly find appealing or even vaguely exciting.

"Grandpa Olaf was a man of brilliant genius, God bless his soul. That's obviously where I get my brains."

"As well as your modesty?"

Greg laughed, pausing a moment to shake his head before looking up and smiling at Ryan. Ryan practically flinched when he met the other's eyes. What was this? What was this nausea inducing, dizzying, nerve wracking emotion that hit Ryan every time Greg so much as looked in his general direction? He was no M.D., but it was possible that these were side effects of a serious case of insanity.

Ryan broke the eye contact as soon as he caught himself returning it. Quickly, his mind geared up and began racing with his mouth and he briefly wondered what stupid thing he might say if he didn't watch his words. "Need some help? I'm not particularly bad at cooking. At least, no one's said anything about it yet."

"No, no. Don't be ridiculous. I'm the host and as such, I refuse to let you labor while in my presence."

Ryan gave him a smile. "I really don't mind. I hate making you do all the work."

"I know you do, but I can make these blindfolded. Grampa Olaf made them all the time and I'd certainly hate to break the tradition."

"Then I'll just sit here and be useless."

"That's exactly what I mean for you to do. Relax and don't think about work."

"I don't always think about work."

"Oh, really?" Greg asked, turning to face him from the stovetop. "What are you thinking about right now?"

These terrible feelings I'm having for you. "Eating."

Their chitchat kept them laughing as Greg continued to measure, mix, pour, until within a few minutes, a batter had been whipped up and a skillet was hot on the stove, cooking the first batch of what Greg called "Grampa Olaf's Oddly Odoriferous Griddlecakes." ("Odoriferous is a good thing," Greg explained once he saw Ryan's look of trepidation.)

Seeing that Greg was almost finished cooking, Ryan took the initiative by getting two glasses from a cabinet and some milk from the refrigerator.

"You might want to check the expiration date on the stuff," Greg warned, grinning at the look Ryan gave him when he spoke. "I haven't cleaned out the fridge in a while."

Ryan was silent, almost as if he was afraid to look, because along with Greg's charms came Greg's strange quirks and somehow, Ryan wouldn't be the least bit surprised that Greg had out-of-date products in his refrigerator. Finally, slowly, he turned to the carton of milk on the counter. His eyes scanned the label for the sell-by date.

"Greg, this expired two weeks ago," he announced, turning towards the other man with a raised brow. "That's really gross, not to mention slightly hazardous to your health."

"So what are you trying to say?"

"I don't suppose you have another carton?"

"Maybe in the back of the fridge. Way back, past the kingdom of soda cans. You might fall in if you aren't careful."

"Because that's where everyone keeps fresh food, right? Way in the back where you can't reach it?" Ryan was almost laughing at Greg's childish expression.

Greg served up and garnished the pancakes while Ryan took it upon himself to uncover the secret carton of fresh milk that he was sure was hiding in the dark, cobwebby corners of Greg's fridge. He also threw away a carton of bad eggs, a head of wilted lettuce, some runny cottage cheese, a couple of brown bananas, a small bag of dated ham, and a purple blob of what might have been red onion.

"Well, you're certainly a scientist," commented Ryan as he bagged the trash and left the kitchen, taking it and tossing it in the dumpster just beyond the back door.

"What's that supposed to mean?" inquired Greg from the doorway; hand on his hip and an amused smile on his face.

"All those experiments you've got going on in your fridge. I'm scared to go any further."

"You know Wolfe, you get funnier every day."

"I've been hanging around you too long."

They reentered the kitchen and Greg grabbed two plates off the counter and set them on the dining table before turning back to get some forks and knives. The pancakes were slathered in whip cream and strawberries, Ryan's guiltiest breakfast pleasure.

"I think Grandpa Olaf would be proud," Greg said from behind Ryan, slinging his arm around the other man. "Two guys who cooked a decent meal and didn't burn down the place in the process. Will miracles never cease?"

"Thank you," Ryan said, surprise laced in his words as he indicated the pancakes with a tilt of his head. "These are my favorite."

"I know," Greg replied, handing him a pair of eating utensils before taking a seat across from him. "I asked Calleigh. She seemed eager to tell me all kinds of stuff about you. Your favorite movie, your favorite color, your favorite pair of socks…"

"You asked her? Greg, I hope you didn't go to any extra trouble for me.''

Greg didn't meet Ryan's eyes; instead, he picked at the strawberries on the top of the plate. "I figured it was the least I could do to apologize for… what I did today."

Ryan felt his poise bottom out, making way for shock. Was Greg really going to bring this up? Ryan had weighed the pros and cons of bringing it up himself, but he figured that it only made sense to ignore it if the both of them had been relatively comfortable around each other even after The Kiss. "Greg, there's no reason-"

"I know you want to do well on this job and the last thing I wanted to do was mess it up for you, you know? I didn't mean to make it awkward. You're a great CSI and I'm lucky that you're still talking to me, much less trusting me not to jump you in my apartment after tempting you with breakfast."

"You don't have to apologize. It's no one's fault."

"It's the only decent thing I can do for you. I've already embarrassed you enough."

"It- it wasn't embarrassing."

"Ryan, you don't have to be polite about it. As you can probably already tell, I like both girls and guys. Moreover, I like you. But I stepped over the line and invaded your personal space and I'm very sorry. I plead my case with pancakes."

"There's nothing to-''

Greg looked up and Ryan felt that strange fluttering sensation in his stomach again.

"Would you please just say I'm forgiven?"

"Greg, you didn't do anything wrong."

"Besides completely cross the line?"

Ryan was surprised at the amount of guilt that was evident in Greg's voice. He always seemed so laidback, taking everything with stride and now he was begging to be forgiven, terrified that he might have made Ryan uncomfortable. It made his well-hidden self-doubt and anxiety clearly visible and Ryan realized that there were a million layers to this man. He resisted the sudden urge to uncover each and every one of them.

"Okay, then. If it makes you feel any better, consider yourself forgiven." Ryan felt ghastly saying it, but it seemed to be the only thing to alleviate Greg of his shame, although Ryan couldn't think of a single thing Greg needed to apologize for.

Greg's relief was plain as day and he let out a small sigh before smiling at Ryan from across the table.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Greg grinned again, his usual sparkle finally returning. "And shall I also say congratulations? We have created the most delectable pancake of all time. We'll sell the recipe to IHOP, make millions of dollars, and retire to a big-shot condo in Florida playing golf and bingo for the rest of our days."

"And we'll never have to wait forty five minutes for a table at any dining establishment again."

"Amen, my brother." Greg raised his orange juice glass and Ryan did the same; they clinked them together before taking a drink. Greg immediately dug in. Ryan, ever polite and (dare we say it?) reserved, began by actually cutting his food.

They were at ease now; any awkwardness that might have been there was gone. Still, Ryan couldn't help but yearn for a small piece that was missing somewhere, the piece that seemed to appear when they had kissed.

…

"So."

Ryan looked up from his backpack and idly wondered if Las Vegas was the city of déjà vu. However, he didn't hide his eyes from Eric; instead, he sucked in a silent breath before turning to face him, crossing his arms across his chest and giving Eric a look. He didn't want to be intimidating (he could never pull it off) but he at least wanted to hold his ground. Eric would question. And Ryan… well, he would at least try to meet his eyes instead of rummaging through his backpack this time.

"Is there something on your mind that you would like to ask me, Eric?"

Eric gave him an amused and somewhat impressed grin. "Whoa. I've never seen 'tough Ryan' before. Every day I learn something new about you. Must be this city."

"I know what you're going to ask," Ryan continued, trying not to return the smile. He knew Eric was only concerned and maybe, just maybe, all of Eric's "you like him, you just don't know it yet" theories were starting to come true.

"Who says I was going to ask anything? I'm merely a concerned when my friend stays out to who-knows-when in the morning."

"I didn't stay out that late."

"Of course you didn't. I was hallucinating when you came in a mere five hours ago." Eric gave him a triumphant look, and Ryan had to reluctantly admit that the Cuban had a definite upper hand in this battle.

"At least I didn't fall asleep on the couch. Watching Miami Vice no less."

Eric wisely chose not to address that matter. Instead, he stayed on topic, something he could tell Ryan was trying not to broach. "You can't win this, my friend. Where'd you two lovebird head off to? IHOP?"

Ryan paused a moment. To admit they went to Greg's place might be a little suggestive and even if Eric knew that nothing would ever happen, he would still prefer to keep the unyielding repartee to a minimum.

"Yeah," he replied, turning back towards his current activity of pretending to be doing something more important that talking with Eric. "It was good."

"Good?"

"Fantastic? Spectacular? Mesmerizing? I'll call it a whole bunch of things if you'd like."

"I see my sarcasm is rubbing off on you."

"That's giving yourself a lot of credit, don't you think?"

"Ryan," Eric began, a huge smile on his face and warning tone to his voice. He was about to continue his comment when his cell rang. Ryan and Eric exchanged a curious look; Horatio was just in the next room and Gil never had any reason to call before.

Eric flipped it open. "Delko," he answered. It didn't matter who it was, they'd find out soon enough.

"Hey Eric."

"Nick?" Eric quickly turned from Ryan's line of sight, hoping his face wasn't giving his slight embarrassment and nervousness at talking with Nick again. But Ryan, ready for some serious payback, didn't allow Eric to hide. He followed wherever Eric turned to make sure he could get a clear view of the slight blush that Eric was now donning.

"Yeah, it's me. You getting ready?"

"Uh, sure. Me and Ryan were just about to head down to the lab."

"Don't bother. A janitor found an entire stack of pictures in a garbage can at the airport. They were all of Ellie Jenkins."

Eric looked at Ryan again, but this time it was solemn. Ryan paused as well, now frowning, his expression questioning what news Eric had just received.

"Meet you down there?" Eric asked Nick, shrugging on his thin coat and grabbing his key and backpack. Ryan followed suit, because the case was slowly beginning to reveal itself. Ellie Jenkins was important and they wouldn't rest until she could as well.

"I've already got you a bag of Skittles."

…

It didn't take long to find Nick, despite the large size of the airport: the swarming of police officers and K-9 dogs gave away his location in a mere few seconds. He and Ryan had taken two separate cabs and Ryan made him promise to call if anything important was discovered and Eric, ever the best friend, assured him that he would be the first to know.

"Hey, Eric!"

Eric turned from his spot and there Nick was, waving him over, a young Hispanic man standing next to him.

Eric approached carefully. The man seemed scared out of his mind and kept trying to protest his being there. He was wearing a custodian's uniform and was tugging at the hem of his sleeve, watching Eric with terrified brown eyes. For a moment, Eric was reminded of Ryan when the man made his nervous gestures.

"His name's Phillip Carez," Nick supplied once Eric had made his way past the sea of K-9 dogs, analysts, and officers. "He's the one who found the pictures in the garbage can."

"Does he speak English?"

"A little. Said he saw the pictures and called the police because he had seen Miss. Jenkins's photo in the newspaper."

A man, innocent or guilty, was in their presence and it was their job to decide which one he was. Eric quickly turned to the man and held out his hand.

"Hola. You speak English?"

The man nodded quickly. Eric felt like the bad guy as he often did, making people like Phillip Carez consider themselves threatened by the American justice system.

"Yes."

"Okay, good. Thanks for sticking around, Mr. Carez. Can you tell me how you came about those photographs?"

"I-I was just doing my work. I was taking care of the garbage and putting in new bags. I was mopping the floors. My boss says that-that I don't need papers to-''

"Don't worry Mr. Carez, we don't need to know anything about your papers. Just tell us about the pictures."

"I was bagging the trash but knocked over the can and it all spilled out. I was cleaning everything back up but there was a stack of pictures of this girl I see on the T.V. They said she was dead, so I call police."

"Did you see anything else?"

"No. No. I-I stay where I was until they came."

"Did you touch the photos?"

The man nervously nodded. "Yes. I moved them. They would be ruined by sodas in the trash."

"Okay, that's fine. Listen, thanks for calling us. We're going to take your picture and prints and you'll be free to leave." Eric knew Nick had asked all the relevant questions already and there was no reason to keep Mr. Carez any longer than necessary. He could remember his father's own nervousness when it came to American police and the last thing he intended to do was jade someone else who just wanted the best for themselves and their family.

Nick silently watched as Eric took his camera and inks, making sure Philip Carez was dealt with as compassionately as possible. What was it about Eric? He wasn't sure. All he could possibly be certain about was that he couldn't let anything he might feel for him interrupt their case. Just because Eric was good looking and smart and kind didn't mean Nick could just walk right up and ask him for drinks. It meant that Eric had distanced himself from Nick the night they visited The Alaska and the Texan couldn't guess as to why. Sara, who was positive she was hit by occasional bouts of ESP, claimed to know the answer: "He's totally into you!" But such a miracle couldn't be real, because miracles were acts of God and God didn't exist.

Phillip Carez practically flew when Eric released him. Nick took job of rounding up the officers and analysts and sending them back to the department; he and Eric could take care of the rest. The airport was too big to analyze and there were millions of prints in any one location of the building. All they needed were the contents of the trash and the can itself; anything else was secondary.

When the hustle and bustle left and only Eric and Nick remained, silence immediately took over. This was the part Nick didn't know how to handle. He could charm his way out of most anything, but Eric was one of the few who wouldn't buy it.

"Ready?" Nick asked, replacing his kit tools and bagging the prints they had collected off of the garbage can. Eric silently nodded, doing the same, and they walked out after giving the approval to reopen the area where they had previously been working.

Eric was dreading the truck ride back to the crime lab. He and Nick wouldn't speak; playing whatever game they'd been at for the past two days since Nick guessed about Eric. Would this be of the norm? Would they be only in the company of silence, a smothering quiet? He had a feeling they would unless one of them spoke.

So, grabbing hold of every fiber of courage he ever possessed, Eric did.

They had been driving for almost two minutes, two very long sixty-second periods of time. He remembered the advice Ryan had given him the night before: "Just talk. Do whatever it takes. He can't possibly be upset because you're gay." Calleigh, who had oh-so-innocently overheard, immediately agreed with Ryan and wasn't shy of putting in her two cents. Eric knew that if he couldn't do it for himself, he would have to bring up the conversation with Nick to at least appease Calleigh.

Just talk, Delko. You're good at that. It can't be like this anymore.

"Nick?"

Nick seemed relieved by the noise and turned to Eric. The white moon hanging in the sky of Nevada lit the interior of the vehicle only slightly; Nick could vaguely make out the Cuban's features, but he was almost thankful for this circumstance. He wasn't sure he could talk to him face to face anyway. "Yeah?"

"Do you have a problem with me?" It sounded as if Eric was forcing the words out of his mouth and Nick couldn't blame him. He knew what Eric was talking about; he knew it couldn't be an easy question to ask.

"No. Why would you think that?"

"You haven't spoken to me in the last two days."

Nick didn't have anything witty or charming to say to that, which meant his first defense was all but annihilated. How was he supposed to respond? He sent a silent prayer to the non-existent God his family so believed in and struggled for a reply.

"I'm sorry. I didn't notice. I guess it's the case."

Eric let out a small, unbelieving laugh and a little bit of the tension faded away. "Nick, dude, you can be candid around me, okay? I'm sorry if any aspect of me makes you uncomfortable, I really am. I think you're a great CSI and I don't want anything between us to be awkward. I'm still the guy you knew before any of that stuff at The Alaska happened."

"Who you are doesn't bother me." Nick finally looked at Eric, wanting to make sure that his point was understood. He wanted to make sure Eric felt at ease around him, not on his tiptoes in constant worry of what he might think. "You have my word."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive."

He could practically feel Eric smile, and Nick couldn't help but feel a bout of relief. Whatever misunderstanding between them was draining away, replaced by a companionable atmosphere.

"Good. That means we can go over this case while I search my backpack for food sustenance," Eric remarked, quickly unzipping some pockets of his bag and beginning to dig through them. He was sure Calleigh had given him some sort of trail mix bar or something else disgustingly healthy.

"Don't bother," replied Nick, reaching into the coat of his jacket and pulling out a small red bag. He tossed it over to Eric, who was momentarily speechless. In his hands was the unmistakably bright package of the best artificially colored and flavored edibles on Earth.

"These are Skittles. I thought you were only joking when you said you had some for me," Eric said, unable to stop his eager hands from ripping open the top of the package. Did he seem pathetically eager? Maybe so, but he was hungry and not even the Apocalypse could stop him from at least chomping down a few.

"Joking? I don't know a whole lot about you, but I know there's no way you would have eaten before you got to the scene," replied Nick, shrugging casually. "So I just got to the vending machine before I left."

"Thank you."

"Your sharing is thanks enough."

"I don't remember hearing anything about sharing."

Nick laughed as he held out his right hand right side up, waving his finger expectantly. "Of course you didn't. Just don't share any of the grape ones."

"I like grape Skittles."

"Then this partnership will work out well."

And Eric, for once, could believe that it would.

…

It was the end of shift.

Eric took a quick look around the lab, already sure that Ryan had left. The younger man had probably headed towards the break room with Greg to say good-bye, as was their custom, but Eric had been immersed in organizing photos and prints that he had lost track of the time and wasn't in his usual spot.

Eric grabbed his backpack and left the building. He had already said his farewells to Calleigh and Horatio and was actually anticipating a good day's sleep. The case was progressing and his relationship with Nick wasn't suffering in the least. For once, he felt good about his job and everything in his life, despite Miss. Jenkins's case, felt solid.

He hailed a cab and went through the motions: directions, drive, pay. His was brain was on autopilot and all he wanted was a hot shower and a dreamless rest. But as he was climbing the steps of the hotel, his clothes wrinkled and looking rather scruffy, he heard his cell phone ring, its shrill tone making his head hurt. He quickly answered it, hoping he wouldn't have to return to the lab. Frankly, he was too tired to concentrate on anything anyway.

"Delko."

"Hey Eric."

Eric took in a deep breath; it was Nick, and Eric tried not to let his high school crush appear too evident in his voice. He was a grown man, after all, and all this thought of Nick was really becoming ridiculous.

"Hey Nick. What's up?"

"Actually, nothing. Tomorrow's Saturday and Grissom wants us to take a day off. Let the day shift take a little of the load."

"Oo, tempting. Guess that means I'll be sleeping in, huh?"

There was a pause at the end of the line, and Eric wondered what he could have possibly said to make Nick go quiet like that. Finally, after a slight silence, he could hear Nick speak. He almost sounded… nervous, which seemed a little out of character. Nick gave Eric the impression of being a take charge, accept-no-prisoners kind of guy.

"Actually, I was thinking I could take you to lunch."

"Me?"

"You and Ryan and whoever," Nick replied, his words rushing together and sounding slightly nervous.

"I think Ryan'll be hanging out with Greg. I might be the only one to take you up on your offer."

"That's fine. You need some real food anyway."

"Are you sure you're not going out of your way?"

"I'm sure, unless I consider Reno-911 reruns to be the highlight of my one day off."

"Which you don't?"

"That's the point I'm trying to make."

"Then I accept," Eric replied, trying not to grin stupidly in the middle of a hotel doorway.

"Cool. I'll pick you up. You've gotta see Las Vegas, man."

"I'm looking forward to it."

Eric made his way to the familiar elevator and rode up and unlocked his hotel door, trying to wipe the huge, idiotic grin off of his face. He idly wondered if Ryan was there but wouldn't be surprised if he weren't. It occurred to him that he himself was a little late to arrive back, something he'd been teasing Ryan about endlessly for the last four or so days. If he were to be caught, not only would it be embarrassing, but it would be blatantly hypocritical to Ryan as well, and that wasn't exactly a battle he was armed to win right now.

Slowly and quietly, he pushed the door open. The lights in the room were out. Ryan was probably gone and he could-

Suddenly and without warning, light filled the room and Ryan Wolfe stood there next to the lamp, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

Eric knew he would never, ever live this down.

Ryan grinned.

"So."

TBC.

…

A/T: I think I hear a choir of angels singing. "Hallelujah!" Please read and review- tell me what you think! Your comments are my fuel. (Did that sound desperate? Good. Mission: accomplished.) Next chapter: Greg and Ryan progress! Do you feel the electricity in the air? Even if this story is going slowly, it's just the way it's writing itself. How can I complain? At least it's getting written.

I hope any grammatical mistakes were kept to a minimum (and even if they weren't, please don't be brutal!). I'm brainstorming the case as we speak, and if you must know, Eric and Nick are so much harder to write than I ever thought. No kidding here, folks. If you don't believe me, I challenge you to try it!