A/T: I'm not dead, I swear. And even if I was, I'd come back from the grave to finish this. Thanks for all your wonderful comments and feedback! I haven't had any death threats and someone actually recommended my story. For that, I give cookies to everyone.

P.S. I began writing this story when Ryan and Eric seemed to be getting along. Remember that episode with the shower and dead prostitute and evil judge? They were calling each other by their first names and joking around. It's different now, but I still think they'll be friends in the end and that's how I intend to write them.

P.P.S. I didn't realize Brass's daughter was named Ellie until I saw Hollywood Brass and by then it was way too late. I've always just liked that name; she and the victim of this piece have no relation.

Disclaimer: This is the hardest part of every fic: a witty disclaimer. Oh, well. 2 outta 3 ain't bad. :) I own nothing. I do this because I love writing and (Shh! Don't tell anyone!) I have no social life. Here's to the rest of us - we're computer/crime drama geeks and we're damn proud of it!

Out With It
Act 7: Circumstance's Location

I was full of the tenderness with which you have inspired me, when I was in the company of my friends. It shone in my eyes; it spoke in my tongue; it governed every motion; it showed itself in everything. I must have appeared very strange to them; extraordinarily inspired; divine!
-Dennis Diderot to Sophie Voland, 1759

It had been a good day.

Clarify that: it had been a great day. It was just as Ryan promised it would be, and Ryan was usually right about the parts of life Eric hadn't been in touch with for a very long time. A day with Nick wasn't awkward and it wasn't weird. He didn't take him to loud and tacky tourist spots; there were millions of little corners in Las Vegas that everyone seemed to miss. Nick had been there a long time; he knew the roads that were often overgrown with history and he knew the people that made Eric feel right at home.

They had been occupying a booth in the back of a restaurant that served real food; they were engaged in conversations about Speed, about work, about all the things they hadn't spoken of in a while. It was there that Nick suddenly became quiet and still like stone, like glass, like steel.

It was then that Eric knew there was a problem.

People screamed when they saw the gun.

(My name is Ellie Jenkins, and this wasn't how life used to be.)

…

Two minutes later found them hurdling through a crowded plaza brimming with tourists and residents alike.

"HEY!"

Neither CSI turned to respond to the bellowed call. The gunmen were definitely gaining speed and trying to flag them down; they couldn't afford to lose time. The men had guns while Nick and Eric did not. Their voices shot through the air and found the ears of their intended victims.

"Hey, fellas, we just wanna talk!"

As a general rule, those were never good words.

The two men doing the chasing resembled Cruella DeVille's henchmen. One was tall and lean, the other was short and a little round about the middle. They were in civilian clothes and the taller one was wearing a cap with the Las Vegas 51's baseball logo on the front. The shorter one was wearing glasses.

"We officially have a problem," Eric muttered as they sped through the crowds, attracting the attention of just about everyone. "Not that I've ever been chased down before, but we need a car or a weapon."

"And we're around all these people. A big chance for collateral damage," Nick responded as they made a mad dash around the corner towards a crowded street filled with both cars and pedestrians. They didn't pay attention to the lights; red, green, it was all elementary. The only thing they needed was to get away.

"HEY! Slow down!" Another warning from their two pursuers pushed both Nick and Eric towards a faster run. When they heard the screams and then a gunshot, they knew the situation was quickly getting out of their hands.

"Taxi?" Nick asked as they made a break across the street even through the moving traffic. The two men followed them anyway, a chorus of angry beeping cars protesting their pursuit.

"Not enough time," Eric replied between breaths.

Beside Nick was a tourist cart overflowing with cheap products and knockoff sunglasses. He quickly grabbed it and swung it around in front of them, blocking their followers before giving it a rough shove towards them.

"Neither of us have a gun," admitted Eric as he quickly began looking for another means of weaponry. "Guess we'll have to improvise."

"I call dibs on the metal pole," Nick said, quickly grabbing a gate pole from the fire escape above them.

"I call this guy's cell phone," Eric replied. The man is question wasn't politely asked or even informed of the situation; his cell was ripped from his hand. He opened his mouth in protest, giving the Cuban an offended look, but Eric cut him off by saying, "If you know what's good for you, you'll start running."

The man, not stupid by any means, took the advice and headed for the hills while Eric made good use of his electronic find. He frantically cleared the last call and dialed Jim Brass' number directly.

"Yeah, Brass, this is Delko. We're on Flamingo Road and Eastern Avenue. We need backup ASAP." Nick bought Eric twelve precious seconds worth of time; he heaved the metal pole straight towards one of their pursuers and knocked him right between the eyes.

There was another angry shot; Nick and Eric turned quickly and began toward the opposite direction as fast as their legs could move.

"Hear that? Hurry the hell up!" Eric yelled into the phone. "We're heading East. Two suspects carrying weapons in pursuit of two unarmed CSIs. Now would be fucking great!"

"Any more ideas?" Nick asked breathlessly as they instantaneously turned a left and began running again, Eric shoving the phone in his pocket.

"No, that was about it. You?"

"Staying alive sounds pretty good right about now."

They made a break for it across four lanes of traffic, this time blessedly still. They needed a way to defend themselves and they needed it in a hurry. It would take –what?- three minutes if dispatch was nearby.

"YO! Don't make us shoot again!"

It was the voices of the two armed men; they sounded out of breath, but so were Nick and Eric.

They continued down their path, making sure not to make any wrong turns into dead end alleys. The minutes they spent running felt like days before the blessed sirens wailed.

There was cursing. There was the frantic turn of two cowardly gunmen. There was the pursuit that followed.

There was a shot.

They were captured.

Eric fell to the ground, exhausted. Nick fell as well.

And Nick kissed him.

He was crying.

…

The room was still and silent.

Ryan and Greg's calm and methodical breathing was the only movement throughout the entire house, save the ticking of clock hands and the lazy swimming of Greg's fish. Their breaths were in and out, their arms intertwined around each other, sheets rumpled and clothes scattered about the place, draped over chairs and pooled on carpet. The blackout curtains were certainly doing their job properly, because Greg's room was dark, making it as if the sun didn't even exist.

It was serene.

It was perfect.

And then the phone rang.

Because Ryan Wolfe was a sworn creature of habit, his first impulse was to reach out and answer it, thus ceasing the shrill sound. They had been in a deep sleep; coma like, almost, dreaming and being part of worlds not fully realized in the land of the living. Their subconscious's told them stories of yellow crime scene tape, music, glass, smoke; even though it was a frighteningly familiar dream, one that haunted them both while they slept, the fact remained that they were still peaceful with each other for a single day. They were both comfortable and at ease for the first time in a long while, and it was understandable that Ryan would want to eradicate the source of sound as soon as possible.

So he answered it.

He blindly stretched out his right hand towards the bed stand, rummaging around for the wicked device and using only his ability to touch and feel to do so. In spite of everything, opening his eyes to look for it didn't seem probable at the moment; it was too dark and he was just too tired to even try. A few seconds and another ring later, he finally felt the cord and then the phone itself; he grabbed it, silencing the piercing ring. This victory, however, was not nearly rewarding enough. A much more satisfying scenario would have the caller at the hands of a shooting squad.

But there were no shooting squads and absolutely no way of avoiding duty and the bitter hours of reality. With a tired groan and small sigh, he put the phone to his ear, eyes still shut and wishing the world could just be normal for a few more hours with no crime scenes and no preempted deaths.

"Wolfe," he said, his voice gravely with sleep and displacement. The only thing he truly recognized and welcomed was the warm pair of arms around his waist that tightened in protest at the interruption.

There was silence at the end of the line. For one brief and joyous moment, the thought of escaping real life graced Ryan's mind. What if it was just some annoying telemarketer or electronic message? He and Greg could ignore it and act as if they hadn't lost a minute of slumber. They could sleep until they were actually rested, make breakfast, shower, and get the day off they so rightfully deserved.

"Hello?" he asked again, ready and willing to hang up.

There was another brief pause before the silence disappeared into nothing, replaced by Nick's unmistakable voice.

"Ryan?" His voice held a hint of uncertainty before he spoke again. "Is that you?"

Oops.

Ryan's heart painfully hit the bottom of his stomach the moment he detected that Texan accent. What was Nick calling for? Had there been a break in the case? Was someone hurt? The numerous and grim possibilities began running frantic laps around in his head. More than anything, however, was the panic of being caught in a most compromising situation.

"Nick?" the Floridian asked, his voice sounding similar to that of a mouse's squeak before catching at the end. Even if he hadn't been captured by Greg's embrace, he wouldn't have been able to move due to the sheer horror of the situation anyway. CSIs weren't stupid by any means. How could they be? Ryan could only guess that Nick had already figured it out; after all, what would Ryan be doing at Greg's apartment during sleeping hours other than sleeping after some admittedly exhausting activities?

"Yeah, it's me. I… is Greg there?" the other man asked, fumbling slightly over his words. It was evident, even in Ryan's sleep deprived state of mind, that Ryan himself wasn't the only one uncomfortable by their current dilemma.

"I- yeah, I mean… he's here, he's just… hold on, would you?"

Ryan quickly sat up, covering the receiver with his right hand. His heart was thudding painfully against his chest and he was sure he looked as if he'd just run a marathon.

"Greg!" he whispered, a tone of trepidation to his voice. "Greg, wake up!" He shook the other man's shoulder for emphasis and, to his relief, met a bewildered pair of brown eyes a few seconds later.

"Ryan? What is it?" He sounded concerned and, understandably, displaced. He sat up, glancing around for the time before meeting Ryan's flustered gaze.

"It's Nick. He's on the phone."

Greg suddenly stilled, reality quickly setting in. Even without a cup of his infamous Blue Hawaiian coffee, Greg was certainly grasping the problem if the little frown on his lips was any indication.

Ryan handed him the phone uncertainly.

Greg took it, giving him a small, reassuring smile. He held the phone with one hand and clutched Ryan's left hand with his other, giving it an encouraging squeeze. Ryan felt himself slightly relax. But then, Greg had the particular and uncanny ability to do that.

"Hey Nick," Greg greeted, his voice even, as if to say Ryan just answered my phone at two in the afternoon. But don't make anything of it, because you and I both know that there's nothing to be awkward about. "What's going on?"

Nick, along with Ryan and Greg, was a scientist. He went through situations, thought them over, and came up with a logical conclusion. This was certainly a situation and he would do the same as he always did. His conclusion was that Ryan was indeed answering Greg's phone at telltale hours in the day, and unless Ryan had just fallen asleep there, it was pretty obvious what had happened. But Nick was nothing if not a good friend. He wasn't going to make a big deal out of it because there was no reason to; if Greg and Ryan could be happy, even for just a few weeks, then he certainly wasn't going to stop them.

"I'm really sorry to call, but Eric and I were just pursued by two pretty enthusiastic gunmen."

Greg's eyes flew open and he clutched both the phone and Ryan's hand harder. "Oh my God! Are you guys okay?" Ryan quickly shot Greg a concerned look, obviously worried by the question.

"Yeah man, we're fine. They're in custody, but now we've got a ton of trace to deal with. We have their car and clothes and we're hoping it might lead us to Ellie Jenkins's killer. I'd give it to Hodges, but he's got cases stacked to the roof." There was an apologetic pause before the inevitable struck with brute and unforgiving strength: "I really don't want to ask this, but would you and Ryan mind-''

"We'll be there in half in hour," Greg interrupted. "I just can't believe that happened. What were you guys doing anyway?"

"Don't worry about us. You can get the details later," Nick replied, alleviating Greg's concern while, coincidentally, avoiding the question. "Just make sure you let Ryan borrow some of your clothes or something. For the love of God, though, not one of those bad shirts."

"Nick!" Greg protested, turning a slight shade of red despite the fact he was still in his own home.

"Okay, okay," Nick relented, amused at Greg's rare show of embarrassment. "You've guys got half an hour before Grissom starts sniffing you out like a bloodhound."

"Got it. See you then."

They quickly said their good-byes before Greg hung up the phone. Ryan turned an anxious eye towards him.

"What is it? What happened?"

Greg took a breath, still trying to process the information himself. "Apparently," he began, hoping to word it properly and keep Ryan's alarm down to a minimum, "Nick and Eric were chased down by two men with… weapons. They think it was about the Miami murder."

"Guns?" Ryan asked, incredulous. Although Greg hadn't specified the particular weapon, Ryan jumped to the most logical and correct conclusion. "They were chased down by guys with guns?"

Greg and Ryan had spent a fair amount of time with each other and Greg had a good idea as to how Ryan would react to the news: he'd worry excessively. And a mere few seconds later, Greg was proven correct. Ryan's beautiful brown eyes grew the size of saucers before he combusted, metaphorically speaking.

"They were what?" His voice was filled with a frantic fear. "What happened? Where were they?"

Most of the time, both Greg and Ryan were calm and rational. Whilst Greg was more eccentric and prone to sparse but emotional outbursts of the "I have to prove myself" variety, Ryan's panic attacks usually revolved around his friends and affected him on a much deeper level. He was shaking his head as if he couldn't believe it, ready to form words but unable to speak. Within his eyes Greg could see the wheels of his mind turning over these facts, observing them from every angle, trying to connect them together.

"Ryan-'' Greg began, attempting to calm him down.

Ryan didn't seem to hear the other man. "Are you sure they're okay? If anything happened to Eric-''

"Ryan, sweetie," Greg interrupted, softly. "They're both perfectly fine. There's nothing to worry about."

Ryan heard the consoling words before they actually meant anything to him. He took a deep breath, trying to imagine what it was Nick had said over the phone. He seemed to sound okay, not frightened or nervous. Greg didn't seem to be worried about it either, although he often took things with stride. Coupled together, the facts seemed to present themselves: Nick and Eric, though maybe just a bit shaken, weren't threatened or harmed in the least. They were still good to go.

It was another crisis diverted.

"And you're sure they're okay?" he asked uncertainly. "Because if they're not-''

Greg nodded in response. "I'm positive. I would never lie about it."

Ryan took another deep breath before sighing, completely aware that Greg was right. "I know you wouldn't," he replied. "I'm sorry I freaked out. It's just… Horatio can't lose another guy. Calleigh wouldn't be able to handle it either."

"I know. You don't have to apologize, Ryan."

"Did he call from the lab?"

"Yeah." Greg smiled before rolling his eyes. "Probably mooching off my coffee, too. I'll let them slide just this once." It was evident he was trying to be upbeat, but the absence of sleep was already beginning to show. He closed his eyes tiredly, too exhausted to worry about his stolen coffee before resting his head in the crook of Ryan's shoulder. "It's early," he muttered. "You're probably tired."

"A little," Ryan admitted, smiling despite himself before tracing lazy patterns up Greg's arm. "We both are."

"Only because we fell asleep way past my usual bedtime," Greg replied, his voice muffled. Even though Ryan couldn't see Greg's face, he could tell that he was grinning like the cat that caught the canary. "If you recall."

Ryan laughed before shaking his head and running his fingers through his shaggy dark hair, trying to tame it the best he could. "I certainly recall, Mr. Sanders." Greg looked up from his resting place just in time to receive a shy smile. "But I don't have any clean clothes. Or a toothbrush."

Greg gave him a once over, as if he hadn't discovered every part of him hours before. "You look about my size and I've got some normal clothes to spare. Plus," he said, grinning, "I've got some extra toothbrushes."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "And why would you have those?"

"Well, I could say that I've been planning your seduction for days and bought extra in case I was actually successful," he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. "But the truth is, I accidentally dropped mine in the toilet a few months ago and bought extra just in case I got clumsy again."

Ryan laughed and shook his head. "You never stop surprising me."

"Well, if we had the time, I'd make you force the truth out of me by any means you could dream up," Greg admitted, giving Ryan a suggestive grin. Ryan blushed in return, smiling nonetheless.

"Okay, Mr. Romance. Where's your shower?"

"End of the hall. It's the room with the sink and toilet."

Ryan ignored the sarcasm, preferring to fish for his boxers instead. He finally found them kicked under Greg's bed, having hastily been discarded hours ago. He grabbed them and made a move to put them on before he felt Greg's eyes watching him. He turned rather uncertainly.

"Aren't you going to turn around?" he asked, a note of genuine puzzlement in his voice.

"Turn around?" Greg echoed, genuine puzzlement in his as well. "Why? I think we've crossed all lines of decency, don't you?"

"Oh. Well, I just thought…" Ryan began, searching for the appropriate words and pulling a blank.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, then I'll be a gentlemen. It goes against everything I am, of course," Greg said, quickly turning to face the other direction and allowing Ryan to slip into his boxers. "And I hope you know that you're denying me a perfectly good chance to check you out."

Ryan laughed and his voice echoed from the doorway, where he was making his way towards the bathroom. "Sure. Me, all pale and skinny. You're not missing much."

Greg heard the words and frowned at their meaning as he rose and pulled on his own boxers and T-shirt before searching for something appropriate enough for the other man to wear. Ryan didn't seem much for loud colors; instead, he seemed like a classic guy. Greg began sliding hangers down the rack, glancing at the article of clothing every hanger offered before moving on. Amnesty International T-shirt? Too worn. Theory of a Dead Man t-shirt? It was obviously Greg's and everyone in the lab knew it. Red plaid button-down? Good Lord, hadn't he given that away yet?

After much searching, a white button down was discovered in the darkest recesses of his closet, in the I-Might-Need-It-Someday section. He could never really know when something important would pop up and he'd need something halfway decent to wear, so he stocked up on acceptable ties and jackets; after all, fancy dinners had dress codes and he was pretty sure those codes didn't allow for any sort of color besides black, white, and neutral. Everyone had seen him wear this sort of shirt, but it was so generic that it would go unnoticed.

He quickly uncovered his ironing board (which was being used as a make-shift table of sorts) before beginning the strangely domestic task of ironing both his and Ryan's attire.

He heard the running water of a shower. Although they had debated sharing one, both knew it wouldn't exactly save any time. For one, they wouldn't be able to keep their hands off each other and, secondly, the logistics of sharing a shower were complicated. There was water (higher chances of slipping) and not much room to spare. Both being scientists, they understood the complications of a shared shower and, to Greg's relief, Ryan didn't think it was that romantic anyway.

A few minutes passed as Greg continued his housewife duty. The water in the bathroom shut off and Greg could hear the rummaging of a man in search of spare toothbrushes. Greg smiled in spite of himself. It was so odd; it was as if they had been doing this forever. There didn't seem to be any awkwardness between them except for Ryan's self-conscious image.

What had Ryan meant a few minutes before? Did he honestly believe he wasn't good looking? Did he genuinely believe that Greg didn't find him to be the most beautiful man in Las Vegas? Even then, Greg wasn't referring to looks. Ryan was so kind and truly concerned for people. It was refreshing and Greg loved every quirk and flaw of Ryan's character.

As he unplugged the iron and returned the board to its rightful place (covering it once more with papers and junk) he heard the bathroom door open and Ryan stepped out, bundled up in one of Greg's bathrobes. Ryan walked over, his hair damp and flat for the most part. He glanced at the two selections of clothing lying out before pointing to the white button down and said, "This had better be mine or I'm not leaving this apartment."

"Aw. Don't you like my style?" Greg asked, mock hurt in his voice.

"From what I've been told, you're the only one who likes your style. However," he conceded, "If it's part of you, I'll always like it. Just not much."

"So that means you'll wear it, right?"

Ryan laughed and shook his head before he took the shirt and headed for Greg's bedroom, giving Greg a quick kiss before he did so. "I'm going to get dressed. I think I saved enough hot water for you to get by on."

Greg was going to let him go. Honestly, he was. They were running short on time, but his mind kept pestering him to speak. Very rarely did he listen to himself; most instances, he just managed to dig his grave deeper. However, his mouth and brain often worked independently from each other and that afternoon was no exception.

"Hey, Ryan," Greg said before the other man could leave. "You don't… you don't think you're attractive?" he softly asked.

Ryan leaned against the doorway of the hall and smiled uncertainly. "I don't know. Never really thought about it, I guess. I'm not what you'd call masculine or anything."

Greg shook his head before letting out an over-exaggerated sigh. "I see the cruel conformities of American society have brainwashed you into believing you need to fit the ideal masculine role."

Ryan gave him a curious look. "Why? Wouldn't you want to fit in?"

"Not if I had to sacrifice who I was," Greg replied. "Besides, it took a long while for people to look past my hair and bad clothing. They saw I was a good CSI and left it at that."

"I see a good CSI too."

"Ryan…"

"I'm not some middle-school girl with body issues. I'm just… I guess I've always thought Eric was more ideal."

"Ideal for Nick, maybe. We all have our ideal person in mind and they're all different. You, for example, are my ideal partner. It's just personal preference. Not to mention you look totally hot all wet like that."

Ryan laughed and shook his head, genuinely amused and surprised. "Greg Sanders, you were getting deep and ideological. Then you go and say something like that."

Greg grinned. "I like keeping my audience on their toes."

"Would you just go clean yourself up already?" Ryan asked, not nearly as upset as he should have been.

Greg did exactly that. He quickly finished putting his ensemble together before grabbing a glass to brush his teeth with. He did what he always did: run brush under running water, apply toothpaste, and then run it under the water again. But something was different somehow; it was better and he felt alive. He gazed into the mirror, toothbrush hanging halfway out of his mouth. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, do you? Of course he didn't, but he couldn't seem to make himself regret their night together. He rinsed and then opened his bottle of Listerine. Hygiene was everything.

He was about to get into the shower before he was ambushed by the irresistible urge to do one other thing before he officially began his day.

He walked out of the bathroom and towards his bedroom; he didn't bother knocking. Instead, he merely opened the door and was greeted by Ryan dressing in clothes that weren't even his and looked perfect on him all the same.

Ryan quirked an eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to be in the shower?" he asked as he began to button up his shirt and tucking it beneath the waist of the slacks.

Greg didn't reply. Instead, he walked over, pressed the Floridian against the wall, and kissed him. It wasn't hot and insistent; it wasn't "I'm going to tear your lungs out" or "I want you here and now." It was sweet and when Greg broke it off, he met Ryan's startled eyes before he whispered, "I think you're beautiful. You should never consider yourself anything less."

Ryan smiled almost shyly, a furious blush beginning to tint his cheeks. "We're going to be late," he whispered in return. It wasn't much of an argument on his part; his hands had slipped around Greg's waist, pulling him closer. They would have given a week's pay to have a few extra hours with each other, but that didn't seem like a request Grissom was likely to grant.

Greg sighed and gave him one last peck on the lips. "Yes, we are. Catherine will kill us both."

He turned quickly and ran towards the bathroom, hurriedly stripping down and turning on the water. Ryan could still hear him talking to himself, muttering things about stupid henchmen and how they ruin a perfectly good afternoon.

Ryan laughed before he finished dressing and began the ominous task of going through Greg's refrigerator in hopes of making a decent breakfast. Or, more appropriately, lunch.

…

"Eric!"

Ryan couldn't keep the sheer delight of seeing his best friend unharmed out of his voice and, to be truthful, he really didn't want to. Eric was the one who was always there; who knew nearly every harsh and unforgiving truth about Ryan and stayed by his side despite it. Eric was his support and his constant reminder that Ryan had no reason to ever give up. The younger man hated those gunmen with everything he had and if they had managed to hurt Eric in any way, Ryan wasn't quite sure what he would have done in his sorrow-induced retaliation. Either way, it would have been regrettable. And permanent.

But the fact remained that Eric was perfectly safe with no war wounds to speak of. Ryan hurried over before throwing his arms around him in a celebratory hug. CSIs and officers alike lived a life that often skated on the brink of fatality. Why suppress joy? It was too precious to merely hide away.

"Whoa, whoa, Ryan. You gotta be cool, man," Eric said, laughing and returning the hug all the same.

"Cool?" Ryan asked as they broke away. He gave Eric a mother-hen glare. "Cool? You were almost shot today and you want me to be cool about it?"

"Didn't Nick tell you I was okay?"

"Yeah," Ryan admitted, giving Eric a relieved smile. "But I just wanted to see for myself."

"And does it meet your requirements? I don't even have a scratch."

Ryan frowned at the thought, but didn't reminisce the fact that Eric had been two seconds away from the end of everything.

"Hey," Calleigh protested, crossing her arms. "Don't I even get a hello?"

Ryan had seen her sitting there with Eric before his attack on his best friend. He had every intention of letting her know how much she was missed; after all, he'd barely been able to see her the past few days, but they had all been so busy that the days and nights were blurring together to form one long, continual moment.

Ryan leaned against the wall casually, as if he were considering it. He shrugged before giving her a teasing smile. "You didn't nearly die, but I guess I could acknowledge your presence."

Calleigh rolled her eyes before smiling as well. "Thanks," she replied. "And there's no reason to fuss over Eric. Horatio and Yelina did enough of that for the both of us."

"Still, I should have been here."

"You couldn't have known," she said. When Calleigh said it, it was often reassuring. She was so peaceful and calm. How did she ever achieve that sort of mind set? Ryan was constantly worrying, moving, predicting the worst-case scenarios in his head. "Even then," she continued, "I looked and couldn't find you anywhere. Were you off with Greg again? Because if you went out to eat yesterday morning, I'll have you know I was starving and you didn't even offer to pick anything up for me."

Eric laughed and Ryan felt his heart hit the bottom of his stomach. "Someone was with Greg last night," the older man said. "They answered the phone at two in the afternoon."

Calleigh shot Eric a curious look, her mind quickly running through a list of possible suspects. She glanced towards a stonily quiet Ryan before looking back, as if certain there was no way Ryan would take that sort of chance.

"Who?" she asked, finally breaking. "I have to know. There's been too much work and not enough gossip."

"Well," Eric said, grinning rather evilly. "He's in this room, and it certainly wasn't me."

Calleigh snapped her head back towards Ryan who gave Eric a panicked look, as if to ask What are you trying to do to me? Obviously, Eric's brush with death made him a bit braver and a lot mouthier.

"What?" Her question nearly cracked the glass around them and both Eric and Ryan visibly winced at the pitch.

Ryan felt her heat ray vision begin to sear his skin and the inevitable barrage of question beginning to formulate in her mind. This was it. This was, essentially, the end of his self-respect and dignity as he knew it. He would henceforth be the living shell of Ryan Wolfe, a man rumored to have no morals and the keen inability to look people in the eye.

"You answered the phone? Why in the world would you- oh my God, did you two-? This is just so bizarre! I mean, it's you we're talking about-''

"Calleigh, calm down," he began, hoping to stop her before she really got on a roll. "It's not that big of a deal."

"What made you go out on a limb like that? Did you guys go drinking?" Suddenly, her eyes went dark and she rose, marching purposefully towards him like a woman on a mission. "Did he force you? Because you never even date, much less jump in the sack-''

"Calleigh, please. We're at work."

"Are you sure you wanted to?"

"Am I-? Lord, Calleigh, I'm sure. You're lucky this is an empty room, but if you go out there like a woman on fire, someone's going to notice. I'm begging you to calm down."

"Calm down?" she echoed, as if not understanding the concept. She took a few steps back and let out a deep breath. "Okay, fine. I'm calm. Honest."

"And you won't mention it to Greg, right?"

"Of course. Secret's safe."

"Great. You on the other hand," Ryan began, giving Eric a cool look, "Had better not say a word, got it? I'm used to public humiliation, but Greg-''

Eric held up to hands in surrender. "I just wanted to see the look on Calleigh's face," he confessed. "No one else will hear it from me."

Ryan put his hand on his hip. "And was her face worth it?"

"Priceless," Eric confirmed. "Now if you'll excuse me, there are some reports in dire need of filing."

Ryan shot him an annoyed look. "You can expect to pay for this later," he warned as Eric laughed and exited the room, leaving only Calleigh and Ryan to occupy the space. His fear of being alone with her stemmed from several others, one of which was that she'd never let up; she'd squeeze every detail out of him that she could. He supposed he owed her that much; after all, she was an endless amount of support and only wanted the best for him. But when she approached, her smile wasn't sneaky or predatory, like some gossip columnist trying to get the dirt on the latest story. It was happy and genuine. She knew of his fear and the fact that he'd overcome it made her proud.

"Is it like a fairy tale?" she whispered, tucking strands of blonde hair behind her ear. "True love and fighting off dragons?"

"Minus the dragons," Ryan replied, smiling slightly at the thought. Calleigh gave his shoulder a small squeeze.

"Love does wonders for you. You've never looked so alive," she admitted, smiling even wider. "You're kind of glowing."

"Thanks." Ryan grinned nervously at the thought, looking down at the table before meeting her eyes. "He's great."

"From that look on your face, he's more than just great."

Ryan laughed again, running his fingers through his hair. It was just a week ago that he could barely bring up the subject of his attraction to other men before completely losing it; now… now, it was different. Something had changed and this feeling was almost one of pride, of unreserved happiness.

"Yeah. He's a lot more than that," he conceded. "Funny. Talented. He's just about everything."

She gave him a wink. "And how talented is he in bed?"

"Calleigh!" This time, his entire face practically turned fuchsia. She raised her eyebrows, ginning slyly, her eyes filled with amusement.

"What?" she asked, innocently. "It was only a question."

"Cal, I swear-''

"Oh, Ryan, relax." He shot her an embarrassed glare when she began laughing even harder. "I was just curious."

"Calleigh-''

He followed her and her laughter out of the room.

…

"Hey Hodges," Sara greeted as she entered through the doorway of his trace lab.

David Hodges looked up warily. Sara Sidle was rarely as sweet as she was today and it was never towards him anyway. No, their battles were rude, crude, and sometimes just plain nasty; her civility was a red flag, as was the man who followed in behind her.

"Sara," David greeted in return, a sarcastic remark at the tip of his tongue. He cast his eyes over to the stranger shadowing her. Where had he seen him before? Ah, yes. He and Sanders were joined at the hip and were obviously so enthralled with each other that they wouldn't notice an exploding bomb unless it somehow managed to physically tear them apart.

David just hoped he could keep his breakfast down at the mere thought.

"Hello Miami Guy," David continued pointedly; no one seemed to want to introduce him. The guest gave David a look that was a mix of both curiosity and amusement, two things David hadn't exactly been aiming for.

"Hodges, this is Ryan Wolfe, Miami CSI. The airport just called and they need someone there ASAP. The tellers who worked the night of Ellie Jenkins' death need to be interviewed."

"An interesting story, Sidle. I don't care."

Sara rolled her eyes before crossing her arms and shooting David a look that would make the average man fear for his life. "They've been stuck in this building for almost a week. They haven't had time to learn their way around town yet."

"So you want me to chauffeur him around? Do I look like a taxi service to you?"

"Bitch and moan all you'd like, Hodges. He needs a ride and we can't spare anyone else."

"Sara-''

"It was Grissom's call. I was just given the amusing task of telling you."

"I'm a lab rat. I didn't get a Masters in chemistry so I could bus the tourists."

Their words were fast and furious and Ryan could sense the need to cut in before it escalated to an all-out war. He hadn't intended to upset someone about it; he could just as easily hail a taxi as he could hitch a ride from an upset tech who was probably more dangerous behind the wheel than any taxi driver he'd ever rode with. He hurriedly turned to Sara.

"I could catch a cab," he offered. "It's how I've been getting around anyway."

She gave him a small smile. "Don't worry. Hodges just has some anger issues."

"About driving?"

"About life. Don't let him scare you off. He's an idiot," she replied, giving David a pointed look.

"An idiot with a Master's in chemistry," David reiterated. "Not an idiot who happens to know how to get to the airport."

"You're an idiot either way," Sara clarified before making her way to the door. "Drive him. He needs help and you're the one who's going to do it. I'd ask Greg, but he's got so much backlog from those two creeps who tried to gun down Nick and Eric that he won't see the sun for days."

"My heart's breaking. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly taking a vacation here. I've got cases-''

"My heart's breaking," Sara parroted back. "Now get him there."

At that, she exited. Ryan wished deeply that Greg could take him or that he could at least call a cab; hell, he'd prefer to walk if that was what it would take to escape the evil glare of David Hodges. He hadn't known the man longer than ninety seconds, but he could already tell that it was going to be a rocky relationship.

David let out a sigh before rolling his eyes and, after giving Ryan a cool look, slipped out of his lab coat and grabbed his keys.

"So. To the airport, Robin?"

Very, very rocky.

…

"Oh my God."

It was the first thing either man had said during the entire ride over to the airport. It had been stony at first, so Ryan merely looked out the passenger window, absorbing the locals and running the case through his mind again and again, trying to find the exact point that needed to be observed. Did the airport really have anything to do with it? Ryan had the suspicion that it did; although it was just a feeling in his gut, it was that feeling that was leading him back to the last place Ellie Jenkins stopped in Las Vegas.

His driver had hardly spoken unless Ryan asked him a question. When he did speak, every word was soaked with sarcasm. Most would have been intimidated and Ryan was close to it, but he had walked the beat for a while and had seen it all. The fact was that David Hodges just wasn't that easy to talk to and Ryan wasn't feeling particularly suicidal, so the drive had been pretty quiet.

But even Hodges had the right to be surprised occasionally; the sight before them wasn't only surprising, it was cause for alarm, especially for those in charge of a murder case.

It was a protest.

Moreover, it was a terrorist protest.

At a crime scene.

Which was, essentially, a recipe for disaster.

There were dozens of people; young and old, black and white, it didn't matter. The moment Ryan caught sight of their signs and posters, he knew it had hit the fan. Before he could even panic about the fact that demonstrators tended to get rowdy and ruin evidence, he and David had to actually make it through the parking lot and to the front door, a feat even Goliath would have had difficulty accomplishing.

"I wasn't aware this case had anything to do with terrorism," David muttered as the crowd quickly spotted their vehicle and began shouting even louder. It was to the point that his car could only inch forward, as the protesters had surrounded it and began banging on the windows and hood. Ryan was aghast and couldn't even manage to reply. Where the hell had this all come from?

They finally managed to make it to a parking space close to the door. As they unbuckled themselves, two officers quickly jogged from the main lobby of the airport to escort them inside. Ryan only barely managed to grab his field kit before an officer practically yanked him from an angry man who was ready and willing to give Ryan a piece of his mind using bitter words and possibly even fists.

"What the hell's going on?" It was the question Ryan wanted to ask but wasn't quite sure how to phrase. He knew it wasn't the officer's fault; someone had to have spread a rumor of some sort. It was David who angrily asked the officer once they got inside the safe confines of the airport. "This is a crime scene! What's the protest for?"

The officer could only shrug hopelessly. "They're arriving in droves but they aren't breaking the law. Technically, they're not actually on the scene."

"You can't get them to leave?" Ryan asked, taking a quick glance outside and noting the growing crowd.

"Like I said, they're not breaking any laws. They have the right to protest."

"Protest what? Terrorism has nothing to do with this case," Ryan noted, shooting the officer a quizzical look.

The officer could only shake his head helplessly. "It was all over the news last night. The local channels said someone called in, claiming we've taped it off because we found a bomb, not a body."

Ryan massaged his temples, the workings of a colossal migraine beginning to form. "This just got a lot harder," he sighed. He was certain Grissom and Horatio would have come themselves if they knew about the mess escalating just outside their still-active crime scene.

And he had to be honest: he was a Level 1 CSI. That's it. He rubbed his eyes, trying to straighten out his thoughts. He was a Level 1 CSI at scene by himself with an angry crowd and no idea as to what he could possibly do about it. Where did he even begin? All he had were some officers, a field kit, and… well, a lab tech that had no hope of ever getting out now. No, the entry way was pretty much off limits to anyone who valued their life.

He sent David an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I had no idea it was going to be like this."

David rolled his eyes. "You've got to stop apologizing if you want any respect around here. But if anyone out there hurts my car, there's going to be hell to pay."

"I have no doubt there will be."

"You have any extra powder in that box?" David asked, casting his glance towards Ryan's field kit. Ryan didn't have to think twice about it; he opened it up and there were doubles of everything. He heard a whistle and couldn't stop the embarrassed blush that began creeping across his cheeks.

"Sanders was right. You've got some serious OCD issues."

"That's really rude," Ryan said, shooting him annoyed look even as he began gathering his supplies.

"Trust me, it's not rude at all. It's me making small talk."

Ryan had the distinct feeling that this was David Hodges' most polite state of self; besides, it wasn't the OCD comment that was bothering him.

"Greg talks about me?" he asked, hoping to be as nonchalant as possible. David gave him a look that clearly told him there was nothing casual about that question; he was as conspicuous as a fly on a wedding dress.

"Your hopefulness is almost as obvious as those clothes."

Ryan froze as still as stone. To freeze was to be obvious; however, that seemed to be his body's natural reaction and he almost couldn't move for a few horrifying moments. He turned slowly. "I beg your pardon?"

David rolled his eyes. "The clothes? Not yours. That little tag on the sleeve is Pressner and Phillips, a Las Vegas-only business."

Doom. That was all Ryan could his foresee in his future: complete and utter doom. The end of his life as he knew it. Even worse, the end of Greg's. He had heard David wasn't Greg's biggest fan and armed with hurtful knowledge was one way to make Greg's already difficult career a much harder path to follow. And although he had never been much of a liar, he had to at least try.

"I ordered them online," he muttered, turning away and gathering the supplies they would need.

"Wolfe, there are two people who run that company. They're in their seventies. A mentally challenged chimpanzee has a better chance of navigating the Internet than those two do."

Ryan's jaw set. He began tugging unconsciously at the hem of his shirt. This was rapidly beginning to present a problem.

David sighed before rolling his eyes. "Don't worry. No one's noticed."

Ryan let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. David didn't seem to think it was that big of a deal; maybe he wouldn't blab after all. "Are you sure?"

"Does Greg Sanders have bad taste in music?"

Ryan couldn't help the silly smile that spread across his face. He didn't need to speak for David to properly read the signs; it was disgusting, wretch-inducing puppy dog love.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Ryan was prepared to respond with something just as sharp until he noticed the small gathering in the corner of the room. It was the tellers waiting for their interview. Ryan took a breath, Eric's reminder sifting through his thoughts until they were clear: you were born to do this job. And if he wasn't, he had a lab tech for backup.

"You know how to fingerprint?" Ryan asked as he handed David an inkpad and papers.

"With a blindfold," he confirmed.

"Good. For the next two hours, you're going to be a CSI."

"That's almost insulting, Wolfe."

However, David didn't argue. He took the supplies offered to him and they began towards the small congregation. It was a rather rag-tag assembly; there were working parents, elderly, and pierced teenagers who didn't look as if they could tell up from down.

"Good afternoon," Ryan began, quickly grabbing their attention. He tried to give them the most charming smile he could muster. "Thanks for coming. My name is Ryan Wolfe and this is David Hodges. We're in charge of a case concerning this airport." He took a calming breath. He had never been one for public speaking, especially when the audience was completely fixated on what he was saying. Besides, he and David weren't in charge per se, but what the audience didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

"You were all working the night of March twenty-second. David is going to take a photo and fingerprints and I'm going to ask you a series of questions in reference to that evening," he continued. "Don't be nervous. None of you are responsible for what happened. All we need for you to do is try and recall anything strange or unusual you might remember from that night."

Two hours later, the afternoon had settled into dusk. They had nineteen sets of fingerprints and eighteen similar responses from eighteen ticketers: they didn't see anything and they didn't hear anything. David finished the last set of prints. He gave Ryan a concerned look from a few feet away and Ryan shrugged his shoulders helplessly, giving him a halfhearted smile, as if to say We've got to cover all the bases. This is going to pay off eventually.

"Hello, ma'am," Ryan said, smearing a fake smile on for the elderly woman who approached. There were no more tellers left except for her; the protesting crowd had pretty much dispersed, but Ryan had the sinking feeling that they would return ten fold the next morning, ready to set the world on fire.

"Hello Mr. Wolfe. My name is Leslie Price." The woman wore glasses and had white, curly hair. Her dress was understated and her voice was even and calm.

"Thanks for coming, Ms. Price. I know it's taken us a while."

"I'm sure it's an important case. Ask anything you'd like."

Ryan did exactly that. It was the same line of questioning the other eighteen had received and he got the same reply as he had previously. He was about to write her off; there was nothing she had to offer that was of any use. He sighed and pulled out a photo.

"Did you see this woman that night?"

It took only one glance before she replied. "I certainly did. I sold her a ticket."

Ryan stilled and David looked up at the answer. Ryan's mouth went dry and he gave her another look, one of renewed interest.

"Are you sure this is the woman you saw?"

"Absolutely. She was wearing a showgirl's dress. I thought it was rather odd myself, but this is Las Vegas. I've seen stranger things in my time."

Ryan resisted the urge to break into a celebratory song. Finally, they had found one person who might have seen something.

"And did anyone follow her? Was she running?"

Ms. Price bit her lip, looking thoughtful. Ryan was now a huge spark of life; it had to be the hope that was giving him the sudden energy. He was anxiously rocking on the heels of his feet, praying for answers, for a lead in some direction.

"Well," Ms. Price finally began, agonizingly slow. "She did seem rather flushed. As if she had been running, understand? She bought her ticket and I continued down the line until a rather rude young man cut to the front."

"Did you get his name?"

"No, but he held up a photo similar to yours. He asked if I just sold her a ticket."

"And what did you say?"

"I said yes, of course. He demanded I sell him a ticket right then. I told him he'd have to go to the back of the line."

"Did he?"

"He did once I threatened to call security."

"Was he either of these two men?"

Ryan pulled out two photos of the gunmen who had chased Nick and Eric down earlier. Ms. Price observed them carefully before shaking her head.

"No, it wasn't those two. It was someone else. He almost looked like her."

"What do you mean by that?"

"He had the same face shape. He just reminded me of her is all."

Ryan and David exchanged a look; they knew it was time to track down Ellie Jenkins's family. Most particularly her cousins and brothers.

Which meant he had to find Sara and Calleigh.

…

"David, what about those two gunmen? Did you get anything off their clothes?"

David shook his head as he drove them from the airport back to the crime lab. It was dark out and the traffic was forgiving, so they were making decent time with little distraction. Ryan was somewhat relieved to see that there wouldn't be such an uncomfortable silence as there was when they first set out a few hours earlier. "I gave the rest to Mia, but I don't think we're going to be able to trace anything. Brass said they wouldn't give the name of who hired them either."

"At least they'll be charged."

"Do you think that woman's story is going to help any?"

Ryan frowned. "I'm not sure. But at least we're not standing still anymore, so I think we'll make some headway." He paused a moment before speaking once more, as if he had forgotten to add his last thought. "Hey, thanks for helping with the case today. It really saved some time."

"If you're getting mushy on me, I swear I'll drop you off in the desert."

Ryan laughed. "It's not sentimentality. It's just a thank you."

"I would have left your sorry ass there if I could have actually left in the first place."

"I have no doubt that you would have."

David pulled into the parking lot of the crime lab. It usually always busy; cops, suspects, detectives, CSIs, janitors. However, Ryan immediately spotted one person he recognized. Ryan had decided the moment he first met Al Robbins five days ago that he was a pretty cool guy. He had a good personality for a man who spent most his time with the dead. He was quick, intelligent, and supportive of lost Miami CSIs who had no idea what they were doing there. Plus, he wasn't afraid to go to battle against those of sharp and thorny wit.

"Hello Doctor Robbins," Ryan said as he emerged from David's vehicle, clutching his field kit with one hand and extending the other. "It's nice to see you again."

The doctor extended his hand as well and they shook. "I see you're managing to get around these days. I'm sure David Hodges' taxi service was a pleasant experience."

Ryan gave a small laugh and David rolled his eyes. "He's not irreparably scarred, is he? I think I deserve some credit."

"It wasn't totally horrible," Ryan admitted. "I'll live to see tomorrow anyway. What about you? Dropping off files?"

"All part of the job," Robbins sighed. "That's what I'm supposed to have assistants for, but thanks to the latest round of budget cuts I'll be doing my own legwork for a while. Speaking of which, how's it going with Greg? He driven you crazy yet?"

"Greg?" Ryan asked, smiling at the question. There was certainly no way he could go into detail about it, but he wouldn't be lying if he said that they were doing perfectly well. "He's fantastic. I'm really glad I was paired with him."

"You finding your way around the lab all right?"

"Didn't take long."

"Good to hear. How are you taking to Vegas?"

Ryan had to pause a minute on that. Did he really like Las Vegas? It felt like home and yet something wasn't quite right about it. Was it the ghosts? It's history? The lights and crowds? Or the endless desert that surrounded it?

"He can't navigate his way around town if that's what you're asking," David Hodges replied, shooting the mortician an annoyed look. "How long are we going to engage in pleasantries before we get to the point?"

"For however long it pisses you off," Robbins replied casually, not even bothering to look in David's direction. David pursed his lips furiously as Ryan struggled to hide his laughter.

"Laugh now, traitor," David muttered and almost –almost- smiled.

…

"You got stuck with Hodges?" Even if Ryan hadn't heard the words, the mere look on Greg's face would have portrayed his disgust perfectly. It wasn't shock and it wasn't pity; it was genuine and unabashed horror. Greg actually stopped setting the table in favor of simply staring at Ryan in awe, almost reverence. "And you survived?"

In most instances, Ryan would have brushed it off and not made a big deal out of it. After all, no one had the perfect personality. So what if someone had an extra bit of hostility or impatience? That was understandable, especially if one was working long hours in a crime lab.

"It was kind of uncomfortable at first," he admitted. "He's not really easy to talk to."

"Not easy to talk to?" Greg incredulously repeated as he began laying out the silverware. "The man's a bitter brick wall! He's rude and inconsiderate. Hell, I'm surprised you didn't shoot him." Greg was shaking his head now, muttering about whether Grissom was secretly trying to shorten Ryan's life expectancy. "If you would have told me, I would have been more than happy to give you a ride."

"I know. I offered to take a taxi but Sara said Grissom was pretty set on Hodges driving me there. There wasn't much room for argument."

"I don't imagine so. Still, stuck in a confined space with Hodges longer than sixty seconds is more than most people can bear. I'm glad he returned you in one piece."

Ryan laughed. "I'm glad he did too. He's really not that bad of a guy, though. We actually got a long as the day went on. Doc Robbins knew how to handle him."

"Yeah, Al's pretty cool. The man never seems to let up about my spelling mistakes though. He seriously needs a hobby besides storing dead people in freezers."

"I'm sure spending eight hours a day in a lab gives you a perfect ten on the coolness scale."

"My coolness doesn't need a scale. I'm coolness personified."

Ryan laughed as he began to retrieve their dinner from the oven. They were eating dinner together, a surprisingly domestic act. Still, they were hungry and what better way to eat than eat with each other?

Ryan quickly set the pan next to their plates. "Our gourmet delight. Rubber noodles with artificially colored and flavored sauce, complete with tiny, freeze dried vegetables."

"Put it that way," Greg said, draping his arm over Ryan's shoulders as they both stood to observe the unappealing blob that was cleverly disguised as lasagna. "And I'm tempted to just skip eating all together."

"Oh yeah?" Ryan asked, crossing his arms and raising a curious eyebrow. "What would you do then?"

Greg grinned innocently. "Oh, whose to say? I could read a good book or watch an informative show on the Discovery Channel."

"Both attractive options. Whichever will you choose?"

Greg smiled before leaning in to capture a kiss.

Despite both being hungry, the lasagna was forgotten.

…

"So how are you holding up?"

Eric was brought out of his reverie by a voice he'd gotten quite used to over the past days. He looked up and smiled at Nick who grinned tiredly in return. Eric hadn't realized that he'd been sitting in the DNA lab, staring at a computer monitor that wasn't even on. One glance at the clock told him he'd been there for at least fifteen minutes, looking at a blank screen and thinking about nothing in particular except that he'd almost died and he really needed to get some sleep if he ever hoped to get up the next night.

It had been a long day. He wasn't even sure if he could summon the energy to drag himself to a street corner and hail a cab.

"Me? I'm doing fine. How about you?"

Nick let out a small, tired laugh before sinking onto a barstool across from Eric, putting his weight against the lab's counter. "I'm sure Sara can tell you I've definitely had my share of guns pointed in my direction." He paused before smiling ruefully and running his fingers through his black hair. "It's the only part of the job that I can never get used to."

"You don't say," Eric replied, slightly amused. "I've been in tense situations before, but those guys were pretty strung out. You think we'll get anything out of them?"

Nick shrugged. "I have no idea. The only thing we CSIs can ever count on is evidence, I guess. Brass said he'd handle those two. We can head on home. Speaking of which," Nick continued, glancing around before turning back to the Floridian, "I guess Ryan won't be coming back to the hotel, huh?"

Eric ginned slyly. "I seriously doubt it. He's so love struck that he can barely remember his own name."

"He was really worried about you."

"I know, but I don't want to break his concentration. I told him I was fine and to stop worrying himself over it. He seemed to believe it."

"And are you fine?"

"Just need some sleep."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

There was a lull in their conversation before Nick spoke once more. "It's the same for Greg. He's pretty focused on Ryan right now. I just… I guess when this case wraps up, there's going to be some problems." Nick frowned before he and Eric's eyes met. They both knew Ryan and Greg understood, but it didn't seem to stop them from entering into a relationship that could only bring pain in the end.

The mere mention of the inevitable dilemma sent Eric's heart slamming to the floor. He looked up, giving Nick a once over, hoping to burn the image into his mind permanently.

Because that's as far as he was going to allow himself to get involved.

"You want a ride?" Nick asked, patting his jacket down for his keys.

"Ride?" Eric echoed before realizing that Nick had, in fact, been his ride the entire day. It would only make sense even if hailing a taxi might have been wiser.

"Yeah, sure."

…

The ride had been in comfortable silence despite the circumstances. Eric gazed out the window, taking in the city so famous for its glamour and lights. To him, it was nothing; just another city where people could lose everything and often did. He wasn't sure he could ever live there and hoped he never had a reason for needing to.

When they finally pulled up to the hotel, Nick shut the engine off and it was quiet. There were noises outside; the beeping of car horns, the talk of tourists, the whispers of ghosts, but mostly it was just the two of them and their beating hearts and soft breathing.

"I'm sorry this day turned out to be so screwed up," Nick finally said, sending an apologetic smile Eric's way.

Eric laughed slightly in return before shaking his head. "Not your fault. If it weren't for the guns and insane henchmen, I'd say it turned out pretty well. We're making way on the case."

"Yeah. I've gotta agree that the absence of guns would have made it better."

Another silence fell, one that was charged with words. The two men knew what they wanted to say but couldn't bear to broach the subject. Nick would return to his dark and lonely home; Eric would open the door to his empty and impersonal hotel room, complete with Miami Vice reruns. It would be as it always was but it would also be safe; you had to take one or the other, but you couldn't have both.

They had kissed.

That morning, they had kissed in a relieved, hysterical moment. The kiss had been charged with energy, relief, despair, thankfulness, desperation; it had been a kiss long since been coming and yet neither could seem to bring it up. It desperately needed to be addressed but the two couldn't seem to speak.

However, neither could sit there all morning. Not in a silent car where a heavy cloud hung between them, making their current situation foggy and their emotions even worse. There had to be air.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," Eric finally said, gathering his coat and moving to open the car door. "Thanks for showing me around today. It was great to have real food."

Nick looked away for a moment, as if waging a war in his head before coming to some sort of conclusion. He quickly leaned, grabbing Eric's wrist. Time. Time was everything. He couldn't let it slip away.

"Wait," he whispered, his voice sounding strangled and unsure. He truly and honestly had no idea what the hell he was doing, what he was willing to get himself into. But more than anything, he wanted to try.

Eric stopped his motions immediately. His skin burned from where Nick's skin was on his and he shot Nick a surprised look.

"What is it?"

Nick quickly let go of Eric's wrist before taking a deep breath, hesitant to speak. "I… I'm not really sure how to say this. I mean, I've never done anything like this before and it's… strange, I guess."

Nick glanced up at the other man before laughing at his own stupidity. "I'm making no sense, am I?"

Eric grinned. "Hate to say it, Nick, but no. I need single syllable words. I've never been good at reading people."

Nick laughed again, not truly able to meet Eric's eyes before he said the words he knew would change things permanently without any way out. Move lips, make sounds, form words. But that was how people changed the courses of their lives: by speaking and acting. And he had to, no matter what anyone else might have thought; Grissom or his parents or his friends were irrelevant. It was his life now and he didn't want to live it only halfway.

"What I'm trying to say is that I'm really attracted to you."

Eric never thought he would hear those words and he gave Nick a stricken look. Nick smiled helplessly before shaking his head and almost laughing. "But I guess you know that already."

TBC.

…

A/T: Whew! This took a lot of willpower, friends. It was one of those "I know what I want to say, I just don't know how to go about writing it" chapters. It's taken a while, hasn't it? I hope you aren't getting bored and I hope this still makes sense! It'll speed up eventually. I just wanted to add a few cute, domestic moments to fill that cavity.

Be prepared! Chapter 8 includes romance, a suspect (finally!), and Ryan taking David's advice: it's time to take a stand. Also, I'm forced to tackle this Nick/Eric pairing that I never should have unleashed!