A/T: I just finished watching the season premiere of CSI. What'd you guys think? I love that Wallace Langham is a permanent cast member and his thing about iron had me in stitches. And Greg's first "taste" of decomp? Gourmet! -laughs-

Also, thanks for all your wonderful reviews. I had a surprising amount of people ask, "What took you so long?" Frankly, my last couple of chapters generated so few reviews that I didn't think anyone was really reading this story, so I put it on the back burner in favor of some fics that seemed to meet a more enthused audience. I'm sorry I thought this way, because chapter 9 seemed to bring in more comments than I could hope for. (It's not that I refuse to write because I don't think I'll get reviews… I just want to make sure I'm spending my time on something that people will read. Dig?) I hope you enjoy how this moves along; I'm so horrid at writing murder cases! -is embarrassed- There are so many technicalities that I didn't think of beforehand, but as a college student with a limited amount of time in which to work, I'm still kinda proud of this. It's a labor of love, at least.

Once again, you have my apologies for this short chapter. Sometimes, you just have to cut off at a certain point, but I hope you like it anyway.

Disclaimer: Heavens, no!

Out With It
Chapter 10: Every Other Route

To-day is a new sunrise for me; everything lives, everything is animated, everything seems to speak to me of my passion, everything invites me to cherish it.
Ninon de L'Enclos to Marquis de Sevigny, late 1600's

Ryan could vaguely hear the voice of Nick Stokes calling his name through the ash and flames, clear desperation altering his usual calm, assured self. What… what had just happened? Ryan's eyelids slowly fluttered open and he found himself looking up at the ceiling of the airport, trying to blink and clear his dry eyes of the smoke that was surrounding him, billowing like the black, chiffon dress Calleigh once wore. He heard Nick call out to him again, but the ringing in his ears was distorting the words and he was in too much shock to really understand what was going on anyway.

He was lying on his back, having rolled over from his right side, trying to get his startled mind moving. One glance around told him that a bomb had just gone off in their primary crime scene and said scene was burning down at a speedy rate. This was all familiar somehow; where had this happened before? He licked his lips and blinked again, the temperature slowly rising. His untimely bout of déjà-vu didn't matter; all that mattered was that he and… who else was there? Calleigh? Nick? Warrick! Warrick was the one he had forgotten; then again, his memory wasn't exactly serving him at the moment. His body was rigid and he would have preferred to simply close his eyes and sleep, overtaken by a sudden spell of drowsiness, but the flames were relentlessly consuming the walls and ceiling. It was move or die.

He blinked once more before slowly moving his legs and arms, assessing to see if anything was broken or if he had sustained any burns. His entire body seemed to pulse with a dull ache, but he felt no actual pain, merely the ringing in his ears and the taste of ash on his arid tongue.

"Ryan!"

Nick's voiced carried through the disaster area. Ryan raised his right hand and covered his nose and mouth, the smoke so thick that he could barely speak. His mouth was parched and his vision was blurry, but he shakily clambered onto his hands and knees anyway, ignoring the dizzying head rush it gave him. God, he was just so tired and disoriented. He was shaking and his body was betraying him, making his elbows weak so that he collapsed and was forced to use every bit of strength he possessed to push himself back up again. He knew he had to get with the program and his thoughts immediately returned to the other three. Nick was obviously okay, but Warrick and Calleigh… His heart hit his stomach at the thought of Calleigh getting the smallest scratch, the tiniest bruise. Where were they? And his evidence- where was his evidence? He couldn't leave without it.

He sent a hazy prayer up to the heavens in hopes that Calleigh and Warrick had also escaped harm's way before he blindly began groping the floor around him, unable to really shake off his shocked stupor. He was looking for a plastic bag that held his one piece of proof: a camera phone. He hated himself; a bomb had just blown half of their crime scene to smithereens while his friends were in danger and all he could think about was finding his missing evidence.

They had been in the airport for no more than two minutes when Ryan discovered a camera phone that had been taped to the bottom of a row of chairs. He idly remembered Greg telling him about a case –something about Sherlock- where he had found a gun hanging inside the fireplace, completely invisible from any point in the room. The phone was a similar scenario, but while Greg had found Sherlock's gun with his skills and reasoning alone, Ryan had merely dropped some film canisters. He had been setting the film out for Greg (knowing that the other man had most certainly forgotten his own at the lab) when he had dropped a canister and it rolled underneath the seats. Ryan had bent to retrieve it and found himself staring at a black cell phone held to the bottom of a chair by masking tape. It was no act of investigative brilliance; it was sheer dumb luck no matter which way you looked at it. However, Ryan was never one to turn his nose at the possibility of an ironclad case, regardless of how the facts were found.

He had tried to turn the phone on, immediately suspicious –who taped a cell phone under a chair in an airport?- but the battery had been dead. That was the last thing he remembered before the entire building rocked and he was suddenly thrown down, waking in the midst of a deadly situation. He was still in a daze of sorts, as if he was in a dream and waiting to wake up in bed with Greg next to him. He slowly shook his head in an attempt to get his mind to recharge. What was he looking for again? The phone. He blindly stuck his hand out, crawling on the floor, trying to locate his lost bag. He had put it in an evidence sack, sealed it, initialed it- a sudden, jolting thought shook him from his trance. God, what if it was destroyed? What if Christopher really did get away with it? His bit his dry lip, desperately trying to remember what he had been doing before the bombs had gone off.

"Ryan! Where are you?"

Ryan heard Nick's voice again, his consciousness beginning to reacquaint itself with reality. He tried to take in a breath to respond, but ended up inhaling smoke instead, resulting in a hacking cough. This noise drew an ash-covered Nick in his direction; although his eyes watered at the ruthless smoke that enfolded them, Ryan could still make out the worried expression on Nick's face.

"RYAN!"

Ryan coughed again, frantically feeling around for the bag. Nick's large, looming figure quickly approached through the smoke and he knelt down, attempting to speak and barely able to do so.

"Are you okay?" Nick managed to gasp out, covering his own nose and mouth with his dust-coated palms.

Ryan nodded, neither looking at the man nor ceasing his search. He had to find it; after all, he couldn't let Horatio or Greg down. He couldn't let Ellie down.

"This place is collapsing," Nick said, grabbing Ryan's veering wrist as it went back and forth across the floor, running over shards of glass and Ryan not caring. The smoke and sudden mountains of rubble didn't allow for much visual aid; he could rely on touch alone and if slicing his hand to pieces was one way to find something, then so be it. "We've gotta get out of here. Rick and Cal are upfront."

"The phone-''

Ryan was stopped short by an ominous snapping sound; both men froze in apprehension and fear as one of the ceiling's supporting beams came crashing down, colliding onto the ground about ten yards away from where they were crouching. The new danger –falling debris- presented itself in a menacing way and Nick quickly turned to Ryan, trying to communicate over the blaze.

"The roof's falling in! I don't care what it is you're looking for- we have to go!"

Ryan wanted nothing more than to join Calleigh and Warrick, but he was positive that the cursed phone was somewhere close by. He couldn't run off without it; not after so long and after so much work, not as their thin case against Christopher skated close to the line of 'circumstantial at best'.

"I have to get-''

"Ryan!" Nick protested as he grabbed the back of Ryan's shirt, forcefully yanking him in his direction. The younger man had no other choice but to follow, not strong enough or of sound enough mind to fight back. Another threatening cracking noise was heard; he knew as well as Nick did that another beam was rapidly breaking away from its place in the ceiling and the entire roof would soon follow suit.

Ryan's mind rashly tried to calculate all of the variables; he knew he had a mere second to discover the whereabouts of his evidence before Nick dragged him away. He desperately tried to consider his position before the bomb. The bag has been in his left hand; if the blast had forced him down and onto his right side, then it would have slid a few feet in which direction? He felt like he was in high school again, his mathematics professor droning on and on about capricious chances and the numbers that said chances involved. Only they weren't in a classroom groaning about some pop quiz; they were two seconds from dying with an entire caseload weighing down on their shoulders.

Ryan broke away from Nick's clutch and made one last, reckless reach around; he sent a plea, a wish to whatever deity was tuning in. Don't tell me you drug me halfway across the United States to die in a fire without even retrieving the evidence I came for. Don't tell me I'm not ever going to see Greg again, either. You had better get us out aliv-

There. There! His fingertips brushed a smooth, pliable object; it was the plastic evidence bag, having tried to conceal itself it the wake of Ryan's suddenly horrible vision. He lunged for it, feeling the warm plastic against his palm and fingers. He held onto it like a man possessed, swearing only rabid wolves could tear it away from him, and even then he'd fight any animal on the planet to keep it in his care. With his newly acquired treasure, he turned to Nick, the both of them abandoning their spot on the floor and bolting towards where Warrick and Calleigh were.

"Are they okay?" Ryan managed to ask, aware that Nick was going to give him a good screaming when they finally got out. But could he, in their current predicament, bring himself to care? Their first concern was escaping with their lives. Then he had to see Greg- he just had to see him, and then Nick could yell to his heart's content. About Ryan risking his life for a phone, for staying longer than necessary, for an entire bucket of code violations he probably committed in the one minute he resisted Nick's pleas to get the hell out of dodge.

Nick merely led Ryan onwards and Ryan had the sinking feeling that one of them had not escaped unharmed. He was proven correct when they hurriedly approached the pair, Calleigh leaning over Warrick and tearing a strip of cloth from his shirt before placing it over his nose and mouth. The older man was still conscious but his teeth were gritted in pain as he clutched his left leg.

Ryan didn't need to ask; Calleigh looked up from her position next to a downed Warrick with both worry and determination on her blacked face. "Part of the wall snapped his leg!" she yelled, trying to be heard over the commotion that surrounded them. "We've got to get him out of here, but he can't walk on his own!"

"The rugs?" Nick immediately asked, hoping to find a means of transporting Warrick out as soon as possible. Their plans were dashed when she shook her head.

"They're all burning!" she replied, bending her head and trying to cough out the fire's dust from her lungs.

"A chair?"

"There aren't any!" she replied, covering her own nose and mouth, trying to inhale some clean air. The chairs were attached to walls or to each other in rows; it would be impossible to try and carry one, especially in their current dilemma.

"You guys get out, please," Warrick begged, tears of pain beginning to form in the corner of his dust-flecked eyes.

"Like hell!" Nick instantly replied, looking horrified at Warrick's request.

There was a charged pause, the four of them trying to find the means for a makeshift stretcher in the midst of a burning building. There were no rugs, chairs, or benches to get Warrick out on, but the option of leaving him in the blaze wasn't open for discussion and even if it was, Ryan wouldn't; he'd drag him along the floor first. They didn't have to speak the silent rule because it was already understood: they would never leave each other behind, no matter the disaster.

Ryan felt the temperature beginning to rise even faster than before and he was suddenly aware of the sweat that was beading on every part of his body, but his discomfort was the last thing on his mind. They had one mission: getting Warrick out of this hell. But what? What could they use? Ryan's mind raced before his eyes, presenting portions of his memory as if it were on a videotape that someone was fast forwarding and rewinding at random. If Ellie were here… if Greg were here… what would they say? The thought of either blonde sent his emotions spiraling. He had first seen Greg through a glass wall and he remembered opening the door, the action inadvertently filling the rest of the building with music and-

"A door!"

Ryan found himself shouting out the suggestion the millisecond the concept came to mind. Calleigh shot her head up and Nick let out a strangled "Yeah!" before the two men instantly began looking for a door that was still intact. They didn't have much time –two or three minutes at most- before the entire place would buckle on top of them. Once more, Ryan's conscious took him back to his mathematics instructor. If they knew where the bombs had been planted, then they could find the furthest point of the blast and thus find some doors that were still unbroken. It was all about numbers and probabilities.

Several frenzied seconds passed as they looked for a large piece of wall or door in which to transport Warrick to safety. The problem that was rapidly presenting itself was that they couldn't seem to find anything large or long enough to support his height and weight. Ryan looked further into the smoke, trying to find anything that would do the job. His panic was beginning to mount; they had to get Warrick out, no matter what. But where-?

In the corner of his eye, Ryan could have sworn his entire bank account that he saw Calleigh simply standing in a far off corner of the burning airport lobby. Why a corner? And why stand, unmoving, in the middle of a catastrophe? He saw the blonde hair immediately, but when he turned to call to her, to tell her to start moving before she was caught under falling debris, it wasn't Calleigh standing there. As a matter of fact, no one was occupying the corner at all. However, with his attention now focused on that one part of the room, he realized that the lobby led to a small office and while the office was in a state of irreparable disarray, it still had a closet.

A closet that had a door.

A door that was still in one piece.

"This one!" he yelled, turning to see Nick and Calleigh trying to knock out a large piece of wall. "I've found one!"

The two rushed forward and followed him into the destroyed office, Calleigh nearly in tears at the sight of it. The Texan quickly grabbed his pistol and shot the hinges, freeing it from the doorframe. With a strength Ryan didn't know she had, Calleigh hoisted the door up with Nick and sped over to the injured Warrick, their operation miraculously beginning to progress.

"Sit up," Nick ordered; Warrick complied and grunted with the effort. Nick frowned, but spoke again.

"Bite a bullet, 'cause this is gonna hurt like hell."

Calleigh and Ryan grabbed Warrick's arms while Nick took his good leg; in any of circumstance, they would have let him drag himself onto their makeshift stretcher and make it as comfortable as possible, but time wasn't on their side. They unapologetically yanked him onto the door as he gave out a choked cry of pain, his left leg twisted in a sickening, unnatural direction.

"He's on," Calleigh hastily confirmed, nodding her approval. Ryan took one side of the door while Nick took the other; Calleigh grabbed their kits and headed their train, rubble and wreckage now beginning to crumble and block their path. She glanced around before quickly grabbing an intact two-by-four, smashing it against things that blocked their way, destroying burning debris as she treaded her warpath, as brave and beautiful as Ryan had ever seen her. In the back of his mind, he wanted to try and remember to ask why in the world she had been standing that corner, but that particular question was on the bottom of his list. There were more important things going on, like the fact Warrick was safe, that Calleigh was making sure they were protected, and that Ryan and Nick would live to see the men they loved once again.

They were getting out of there, heading into the Las Vegas night.

Ryan couldn't help but count the seconds.

…

Greg wasn't sure how long he sobbed on David's shoulder; it felt like hours, but it couldn't have been more than three or four minutes at the very most. Beside him, Eric was unmoving and colder than stone, his face dark as he watched the fire consume the walls of the airport, his eyes betraying his true, heart wrenching fear. Grissom was hiding his panic under a cool exterior while Horatio was silently horrified; he had always been so protective of his team, making sure they were safe every step of the way. And now? Now, he didn't have control over the slightest thing. Next to him, Yelina was still.

Greg could barely see this through tear-blinded eyes; instead, his mind constantly repeated the same four names: Ryan. Nick. Warrick. Calleigh. It was all too much, too fast, too frantic. Within his mind flashed images of their faces, their expressions, the color of their eyes. Bits and pieces of their broken memory danced around in his head, making it nearly impossible for him to breathe, to think. David wasn't moving and Greg was glad, because he couldn't bear to look at the inferno that was devouring the structure. He could barely even support his weight or trust himself to stand; it felt like his knees were Jello, not nearly strong enough to keep him upright.

Nick and Warrick. They were his best friends, his supporters. Six years he had known them and they saw each other through everything: stalkers, explosions, gambling, being buried alive, and all of the bad relationships and difficult days in between.

Calleigh was like some sort of goddess; beautiful, bright, and one of a kind. She was the sort of woman who could have a serious conversation and then con Jim Brass into a high-five. Her laughter was contagious and her smile was like sunshine and it felt revoltingly poetic that she should perish in the glow of a fire.

Ryan. Even at the sound of his name, Greg felt his unprofessional sobs grow worse. Ryan, who he had known for a week. Ryan, who he had fallen in love with. Ryan, who was shy and funny and brilliant and talented and… and meant for him. Ryan, who he wasn't sure he could live without. Not without Nick and Warrick to support his loss.

But no one could do anything until the fire department arrived.

With his back to the fire and his arms around David's neck, all he could really see were the camera crews and the crime scene tape they were still forced to stay behind. In some twisted way, the vivid shade of yellow and the stark black words that read 'Crime Scene- Do Not Cross' reminded him of his boyfriend; wasn't it only five minutes ago that Ryan was standing next to that tape, forcing a reporter back and offering Greg film? Greg grimaced at the word 'reminded'; the only reason anyone would need to remember a person was because said person was gone. There was no proof that Ryan was gone or dead yet; he refused to believe it. Instead, Greg tried to numb his mind as he stared at the reporters who were covering the sudden calamity; most of the women's hair had fallen loose and the men looked disheveled. The blonde's tired eyes swept over the growing crowd; he wasn't looking for anything in particular and he had been too sick with anxiety to really notice the multitude of people that seemed to emerge from the sand. However, even in his current state, he couldn't help but become aware of something that didn't seem to blend into their situation at all: a smile.

It was a journalist; the same one Ryan had driven away. He was smiling. He was fucking smiling! Greg felt a wave of rage wash over him and he gripped David's shoulders, wondering what the lab's liability would be if he were to beat a man to death.

However, his fury melted into something lighter when he saw the journalist grab the attention of the woman next to him, pointing towards the airport, shouting in an attempt to make people understand what he was trying to say.

Greg couldn't discern the words, but he knew the expression of relief when he saw it. Inside Greg's heart rose an optimism he had never felt before; the force of it made him weak, the possibility so against the odds that he told himself was not to get his hopes up. However, the thankful applause and bellows of those witnessing the event behind him made his his heart beat a million times a second. He looked up at the man holding him; on David's face was a smile and, right next to him, Eric was blinking back his tears.

Greg turned to face the airport once more.

And out of the smoke emerged three figures.

Calleigh's hair was dark and flat, her once pristine white blouse now irreparably stained with ash. She carried four crime kits and was leading them out of hell, clutching a two-by-four and looking like an exhausted angel guiding soldiers away from battle. Beside her was Nick, sweat and dust making his skin appear darker, almost black. The Texan was clutching the short end of what appeared to be a door. The man lying on the door was Warrick, clearly in pain but grateful to be alive. Greg's eyes drank this all in, his panicked sobs morphing into tears of utter and absolute relief and thankfulness, because the other man helping Nick haul the patient was-

"RYAN!"

Greg's relieved shout was heard over any other noise on the property.

The three continued on; David allowed Greg to break away and the blonde took this opportunity to practically fly to the four CSIs. His first urge was to tackle Ryan and make sure this wasn't some hysteria-induced hallucination, but his worry for Warrick and his professionalism took hold of him as well. As long as Ryan was there, next to him, he could wait a good two minutes before wrestling the Floridian to the ground in sheer joy. He quickly grabbed hold of a long side of the door, taking some of the weight for Nick and Ryan but careful not to tip it over, and helped them to where the other six were anxiously waiting.

The paramedics quickly took over Warrick's situation, promptly getting him on a real stretcher although it was clear that Nick, Calleigh and Ryan weren't thrilled at giving him up, wanting to be with him every step of the way. But Catherine quickly quelled these concerns; she worried over the three of them before going to where Warrick was, clutching his hand and allowing her tears of relief to trickle down her face. They knew there was no chance she was going to let anything happen to him while they were away and they felt, for the first time, that they could leave his side. Horatio and Yelina took hold of Calleigh, Yelina mothering her like an old woman, going so far as to brush her hair and wipe off her face once the paramedics had made sure her hearing and eyes were in ideal condition.

But even in the center of all the disorder and chaos, Ryan and Greg couldn't manage to part from one another. Once Ryan had made sure that Warrick was safe, that Calleigh was resting, and that Nick was well, he turned to find Greg standing timidly before him, staring more at his feet than anything else. Ryan wasn't sure how he expected Greg to react to it all, but Greg was usually so vibrant and unapologetically expressive that if felt odd to see the blonde standing with his fingers curled around the cuffs of his jacket sleeves, as if trying to resist the natural urge to touch Ryan. Ryan shot him a quizzical look; they were standing about five feet away from each other and it was like Greg had shut down and transformed into a cold, stone statue, a shell of his natural self.

"Greg?" he asked, his voice carrying over to his boyfriend, similar to that of a small wind in the middle of a hurricane.

"Are you okay? Are you burned?" the blonde inquired, but his voice cracked and wavered, as if he were forcing himself to keep his words hushed. Ryan slowly nodded in response and felt his heart nearly crack in half when Greg quietly asked, "Can I hug you?"

Ryan nodded again, curious and worried about Greg's sudden shyness, his sensitivity to their surroundings. Greg slowly trudged up to him and awkwardly placed his arms around Ryan's waist.

"Are you okay?" Ryan whispered, Greg shivering at simply hearing his voice. The blonde sniffled, trying to put on a brave face and failing miserably.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Greg asked, his words muffled as he rested in the crook of Ryan's neck.

"I don't know," Ryan replied, rather uncertain. "You look a little frazzled."

"If you're implying that I'm hysterical, then you're right."

"Is it-''

"Because you were in there? Yes, it was. So were Nick and Warrick and Calleigh. And I…" He trailed off, his throat closing up and sobs threatening to break out once more. Ryan felt this shift and gently broke away from Greg's embrace, wanting to meet the blonde's eyes. Greg didn't fight the change in position, although he seemed almost ashamed that his emotions were roller-coasting every which way.

"Greg…"

"I know you have this public affection thing and that's fine, but God, I-I saw the explosion and Jesus Christ, I'd never been so scared and you're alive," Greg said, tears beginning to brim in his eyes and spill onto his cheeks. "When I heard the explosion, I thought you were- God, I thought you were dead but you're here and you're so beautiful and I'm trying to hide my concern for you because I know you want to be professional and I- I just don't want to embarrass you, but I was just going crazy."

Greg's skin was fair and white while Ryan's was damp and encrusted with the debris of the fire. But Ryan was crying as well, grinning and shaking his head at Greg's relieved rambling. The Floridian felt so selfish; Greg was silently breaking into pieces while trying to appear composed, all for the sake of Ryan's comfort.

"Public affection, huh?" Ryan managed to ask through his tears. Greg nodded quickly, unable to rip his eyes away from Ryan's face, unable to remove his grip from Ryan's arms. He had to know it was real, that he wasn't imagining this in his rattled mind.

"I just thought… God, the thought of you in there- I was going crazy and Hodges wouldn't let me-''

Ryan shook his head, wordlessly cutting Greg off. He had so graciously been given a second chance. Was he going to carelessly throw it away? And besides, he couldn't remember what he had been so frightened of anyway. He remembered flying into Las Vegas with Eric asleep on his shoulder, trying to keep his nerves from taking over his body. He had been so anxious to impress everyone, to prove he belonged with his team and that he could do his job that he never considered the weight of the sacrifices he made for his career. Greg was worth more than a paycheck or whatever superficial reputation he may have garnered in Nevada.

He found his fingertips brushing affectionately across Greg's tearstained cheeks, his ash caked fingernails stark against Greg's skin. Greg allowed his vexed prattle to trail off and they were both silent, the commotion around them seeming to fade away, allowing them to become the only two there.

He didn't have to think about, to consider the pros and cons and repercussions of his actions; he just did it. He bent and captured Greg's lip in a kiss and Greg shyly reciprocated it, as if unsure whether it was what Ryan really wanted. At the insistence of Ryan's tongue, however, Greg's confidence began to return and he became a much more active participant in their battle, each ignoring the fact that seventeen different news crews had cameras rolling and they were capturing this particular moment on film. Not only that, but his entire team was about twenty yards away, watching and fretting and crumpling in relief.

They had the evidence. But more importantly, they had their lives.

They were going to get Christopher Jenkins for his crime.

Even as the paramedics drug Ryan away to make sure there was no ringing in his ears; even as Horatio came over and calmly congratulated him on retrieving their key evidence, Greg couldn't forget the moment he saw them emerge from the fiery building and the sheer gratitude and relief he felt when he saw Ryan's brown eyes and heard his voice. When he felt his lips and saw his smile.

When Ryan whispered, "I love you" in his ear.

(You will not destroy us.)

TBC.