A/T: Hey everyone! I'm so glad you're sticking with me on this one!
To Braeca: Wow. Your review meant to world to my ego! –laughs- It even kicked my muse off the couch and back to her desk (where she ought to have been the entire time!) But hell, it's fanfic, it drives the plot, so in the scheme of things who gives a crap? Ah, what lovely words. I've never written a case before and I'm not too hip to the latest regulations regarding bombs and so forth, but I figured that if there was a strong enough possibility of passengers being in danger, then I could hopefully get away with shutting down the entire airport. I'm so pleased you found the plot to be engaging and the characters likable; even better, your view on the tiny supernatural elements had me absolutely glowing. (And just between you and me, no hunting will be necessary.)
To Onigami Nanashi: Thank you for your wonderful support. You happen to be the little voice in the back of my head, encouraging/bribing/blackmailing me into writing the next chapter. Where would I be without you? So glad you're writing your own stuff too, because it's so good.
Disclaimer: I do not –and let me repeat: do not- own CSI. Le sigh.
Out With It
Act 11: The Journey Forwards
My door has not been opened once today, but what my heart palpitated. There were moments when I feared to hear your voice, and then I was disconsolate that it was not your voice. So many contradictions, so many contrary movements are true, and can be explained in three words: I love you.
-Julie de L'Espinasse to Comte Hippolyte de Guibert, 1774
Excerpt from Ellie Jenkins's diary:
December 24th, 2003
It's so hard to choose one over the other: my family or myself? Chris is my only family now, but I can't help but wonder what my parents would think if they were sill alive. Everyone at work says I should go for it- leave Chris and Las Vegas behind and start some place new, plant my roots in a city that might love me more than this one.
Wouldn't that be something? A life of my own?
Maybe if Chris would stop hitting me, I wouldn't be so eager to steal away into my rocky future. My friend Mr. Kellsie says everything is connected and that maybe my future is part of something much bigger. Perhaps I'll meet a woman and we can be happy together.
But I can't help but feel that my life won't turn out the way it's supposed to.
…
"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," Greg began, taking a theatrical leap into the break room and thus startling those who inhabited it. "Prepare to be amazed and astounded!"
David Hodges rolled his eyes at the younger man's words before taking another sip of his beloved (and stolen, but Greg didn't need to know that) coffee. He glanced at Ryan; the younger man was currently staring at his boyfriend with traces of confusion on his face. David couldn't help himself when he wondered whether Ryan had truly adjusted to Greg's eccentricities or if he just happened to be very patient regarding Greg's personality.
"He always adds a prelude to whatever news he plans to blows us away with," David calmly explained, taking another sip of coffee. "You'll get used to it eventually."
"Or go insane trying," Sara helpfully added, finishing off the last of her sandwich and Coke. She tossed the remaining trash into the garbage can a few feet away, flashing a triumphant smile when she scored the basket. She turned back to the young CSI standing in the middle of the room; Sara never seemed to show much emotion, but she appeared amused at his silly antics. "So what's the latest? You look kind of eager to tell us something."
"Wait, don't tell me," David deadpanned. "You finally got some fashion sense and an intelligence higher than that of a rock. That would be astounding."
"Oh, ha ha," Greg replied, sauntering over to their table and hiding something behind his back as he did so. "There's nothing really exciting. Unless, of course, you want to include the fact that our humble team made the…" He inserted a dramatic pause before whipping out the daily newspaper before them, laying it on the table with an animated grin. "Front page of the Las Vegas Sun!"
"Oh my goodness! Are you joking?" Calleigh asked, quickly snatching the paper to examine its contents before anyone could get a word in edgewise.
"I never joke about publicity," Greg solemnly replied. David, Sara, and Ryan scrambled up to get a glance over Calleigh's shoulder. Indeed, the nightmarish scene from the evening before was plastered all over the font page while big black headlines screamed 'terrorism', 'heroism', and everything in between. The picture was taken from the ground; a lucky snapshot that someone had caught from behind the tape. The photo showed Calleigh walking to the left, away from the wreckage. Ryan and Greg were in the center, arms wound around each other while Nick was with Warrick and Catherine, Eric with Horatio and Yelina, and David standing to the side, looking worn.
"Look at my hair," Calleigh groaned, laying her head on the table in resignation and handing the paper to whomever happened to grab it first. "Of course the day we finally get some hype is the day we look like we did the Tango with a pack of wolverines."
"My hair looks amazing, as always," Greg cheekily replied. Calleigh looked up and gave the young man a dark glare, although her dark glares were questionable at best. Besides, she didn't really care what anyone thought of her hair or clothes; she wasn't vain or self-absorbed. She merely wanted a tiny bit of normalcy and she could occasionally find it in when dressing like a typical woman, one who wasn't forced to encounter death every day.
"You keep telling yourself that," she dryly retorted. "But until proved otherwise, I still think that's an alien life form on your head."
David took another glance to his left, where a suspiciously silent Ryan was taking in the photo with a pale complexion. "You look like you're about to show us what you had for breakfast," David muttered. Ryan was indeed looking nauseous as he absorbed the paper's front-page shot, not having spoken since Greg had announced his arrival. Ryan blinked and tried to articulate a few words; he even opened his mouth with every intention of saying something, anything.
But no words seemed to come.
How could he verbalize what he was feeling? His nervousness, his worry; there he and Greg were, their arms wrapped around each other… and all of Las Vegas knew about it. It was in the papers, on the news channels, and it just so happened to be some of the hottest gossip the lab ever had. As a matter of fact, he and Greg hadn't been able to do much of anything without being under the scrutinizing gaze of a random stranger.
He quickly glanced up, realizing that everyone's eyes were trained on him. "It's just…" he began, struggling for the appropriate response and wishing he didn't feel like one of Grissom's bugs, like some winged creature stuck under a microscope to be observed. "It's the front page and all. I guess I'm just surprised."
"Everyone in Las Vegas knows you're officially involved with Sanders," David stated, voicing Ryan's silent realization. "It's a little late to be having second thoughts."
"I'm not having second thoughts," Ryan quickly replied, absolutely adamant. There was no way he was ever going back on Greg and he didn't care if the entire country knew about it. Hell, that picture might even be on the President's desk, but he honestly couldn't bring himself to care. Greg was everything to him and Ryan was glad he could show his boyfriend how much he truly believed in their relationship. "It's just that I've never really been 'out' before. It's so… sudden and wide scale."
"You're the poster boys for gay law enforcement everywhere. Should I ask for your autograph now or later?"
"Come on, Hodges," Sara chided. "Can't you make this simple for them? I know being nice goes against everything you are, but give them a break."
"You must have me confused with someone else," David replied, his voice dripping with faux sincerity. "Since when have I ever made anything easy on Sanders?"
"You've got a point there," Greg quipped, grinning wolfishly. "As a matter of fact, I bet the only thing easy in here is you."
David's eyes grew wide at the comment before he took his half-eaten cup of yogurt and threw it at the young CSI, the strawberry-flavored remnants splattering across Greg's chest. Greg let out an offended "Hey!" before ducking behind Ryan, using his boyfriend as a shield from whatever else David had in his arsenal.
"Get from behind him and take your demise like a man, Sanders," David ordered. "I don't want to have to coat him with food as well."
"You wouldn't!" Ryan protested, quickly forgetting the picture in favor of doing a mental roadmap of the city and trying to remember if he'd seen a dry-cleaners on any route he'd traveled so far.
"Depends on how badly Sanders deserves it. I wouldn't want to, because I find you to be a somewhat decent human being."
"But nothing will stop you in your quest for vengeance. I understand that completely, but I just bought this shirt last month."
"You sound just like Sanders. You've either been spending too much time with him or you're a match made in heaven."
Ryan opened his mouth to reply, but was saved the agonizing threat of smelling like strawberry Yoplait by Catherine's entrance. They hadn't seen her approaching, even with the glass walls that surrounded them. Ryan rolled his eyes at himself; what sort of CSIs were they if they didn't even notice their boss coming? Once the fairly lighthearted group caught sight of her, however, they couldn't help but notice the dark smudges beneath her eyes and rumpled clothes replacing her usual sultry, natural beauty. Her worry for Warrick had been blindingly apparent throughout the evening and her shabby, exhausted appearance only reiterated it.
"Hey boss," David said, forfeiting his need for payback when he caught sight of her pathetic form.
"Hello Hodges," she greeted, not even bothering to look in David's direction. The technician rolled his eyes, but being brushed off was just another fact of his life. He caught Ryan's benevolent look and shrugged in silent response; what did David care? He was used to it anyway.
She seemed to be in no mood for pleasantries or small talk as she ambled towards the coffee maker and asked, "What've we got on the case so far?" The question offered anyone the chance to reply; rest assured, they would have loved to give her something new, a piece of evidence to lift the cloud hanging above her head, but there was absolutely nothing to report with. The only person who could really help was Greg, who quickly shot up from his crouched position and ushered her towards a seat, offering his coffee-making services.
"In a nutshell," Sara began, watching as her friend flopped onto one of the plastic chairs, "We have those two guys who chased down Nick and Eric in custody and Brass picked up Christopher last night. Our problem is that none of them are talking."
"An interview with Brass and they still won't crack," Catherine surmised, her expression miserable. Sara frowned at the red head's apparent fatigue but nodded in agreement.
"Maybe a few days behind bars will change their minds," she suggested, hoping to give Catherine the burst of optimism she so obviously needed.
"Maybe," the older woman replied, her voice void of the confidence she usually possessed. "We've got all of our suspects and none of them will confess. Warrick's in the hospital and Yelina's out her partner. The surveillance tapes are useless, Jacqui hasn't found a print match, and now our lab is all over the news."
The smell of fresh brewing coffee began to fill the room; Greg had made good time, aware of how badly Catherine needed the pick-me-up. Her list of downsides seemed endless, but Ryan couldn't blame her. She looked so drained; between the media and the strain of a difficult case, anyone would be at their wit's end. However, he had never seen her so… desolate.
"How's Warrick?" Calleigh asked, her concern genuine while hoping to give Catherine something to be grateful for. "Horatio told me he was doing fine, but I figured you would know first hand."
Catherine smiled at the blonde's words, his name brightening her spirits a notch. "He's fine. He hates being holed up in the hospital and wants to get back on the case pronto, even if it's just pushing paper. And Nick can't seem to leave, so I sent Eric up there to get him home."
"They'll both bounce back in no time," Calleigh replied, her tone one of absolute certainty. "He and Nick are like brothers."
"I know he will," Catherine murmured. "I'm just… I'm afraid that this case won't pan out."
"Of course it will," Sara interjected. "We have our main suspects in custody and the best CSIs on the job. There's no way we won't get the guy who did this."
"We know Christopher rigged up the airport," Calleigh supplied, as if trying to catalog the positive aspects of their case. "And he knows who killed his sister. We'll get the truth."
"Yeah. Today's just a bad day, but tomorrow will be better," Greg added, placing a speedily made mug of coffee before Catherine, complete with two creams and two sugars, just the way she liked it.
"Have any scotch for this stuff?" she asked, trying to crack a joke and failing. Greg merely smiled sympathetically and shook his head in response. She took a sip and sighed anyway, obviously enjoying the Greg Sanders Coffee Experience.
"Thanks Greg. You make the best joe."
"I know I do," Greg replied, faking a snobby air. "It's a gift. You're lucky to have me."
She smiled and shook her head as she rose from the chair, still clutching her mug, and made her way towards the door. "I'm going to go help Yelina do something. Probably non-productive and worthless, but it's all we have right now."
"We can wait for Christopher and his two henchmen to break," Calleigh replied, trying to be helpful. "Sometimes that's all it takes."
"And you should buck up, boss," David added. Catherine turned towards the technician and arched a delicate eyebrow, silently demanding him to finish his nearly suicidal thought. It wasn't particularly wise to speak like that to ones superior, but David (who was so rarely nervous) didn't even flinch under her stare.
"Warrick doesn't like when you mope," he supplied, shrugging when Greg and Sara's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Just because he's holed up in Desert Palms doesn't mean you should give up."
Catherine's eyebrows rose even higher. Greg cringed, expecting her to whip out her pistol within the moment, but instead she tossed her red hair back with a flip of her hand, stood a little bit taller, and strode out of the break room with a more purposeful step. Sara's expression was one of shock as she gazed at her boss, the sudden personality change surprising her. David's words had obviously done something to Catherine to kick her off her sulky road and back on track. Maybe it was the reminder that Warrick was perfectly all right in the hospital or that they had a murderer to catch, but damn if anyone was going to stop her now.
Sara, still startled by her sudden change, shook her head and rose from her seat as well. "I guess I'll go see about those bomb fragments," she announced, watching as the older woman disappeared down the hall. "Maybe our guy slipped up and left a print."
"Sounds like a plan," Greg replied. "Jacqui's battering the evidence as we speak. If that bomb knows something, she'll have the info in no time."
With a laugh and a farewell, Sara exited the room and marched down the hall opposite of Catherine. Greg and David gravitated towards the doorway themselves, taking part in the new energy that seemed to be buzzing around. Greg had, by then, managed to wipe away most of the yogurt, although he still looked ridiculous.
"You coming?" Greg asked, turning from the threshold. Ryan nodded, sending his boyfriend a smile from across the room. "In a second. I've got to pry some information out of Cal first."
Greg frowned, glancing at Calleigh and apparently wanting to know what Ryan could share with her that he couldn't share with him. However, he played it off and sent a sneaky look in David's direction instead, choosing not to pry. He wasn't possessive and there were some things you simply couldn't disclose with your lovers. If Ryan wanted him to know something, he'd reveal it in due time. "Okay. I'll be with Dave, annoying the hell out of him."
"There's a shocker," David replied, rolling his eyes. "Is there a day you don't annoy the hell out of me?"
"David, that hurts."
"I'm sure it does, you freak."
Ryan and Calleigh watched as the technician and CSI walked out of the room, their ability to aggravate each other coming full circle. Greg was purposely being touch-feely, irritating David in the process. He was poking David's shoulder, looking as if he were saying something. David made a swipe for him, but Greg ducked, laughed, and they more or less shoved each other towards the trace lab.
Calleigh let out an amused "hm" as she watched the duo barely make their way down the hall before turning to the man in front of her.
"Pry some information?" she questioned, mirroring Catherine's previous action by arching a perfect eyebrow. "Should I ask or are you going to tell me?"
"I know it's going to sound crazy, but I… I just need to make sure of something," Ryan replied, taking a deep breath. He didn't want to talk about the night before (much less force Calleigh to remember it) but he simply couldn't help himself. He had to know the truth.
"Okay," she agreed, motioning for Ryan to take a seat next to her. "Tell me what's up. We haven't had our usual time to talk the last few days anyway."
"No," Ryan agreed, pleased that Calleigh seemed to miss their usual discussions. "But this isn't gossip related."
"Is it about Greg? Your relationship?"
"Greg and I are fine."
"A lot of my friends would probably agree," she said, laughing at Ryan's exasperated sigh. She knew he didn't enjoy being on center stage of anything, particularly romance, but she couldn't help but tease. If someone found him attractive, he'd ignore it or try and play it off as politely as possible. The strange thing was that Ryan had taken to Greg so quickly; he didn't try and ignore the advances as he usually did and that was both surprising and unwise, particularly in their current situation.
Their hearts were going to be broken.
She couldn't bear to think about it.
"It's about last night," Ryan began, unsure how to approach the sensitive topic and unaware of Calleigh's inner turmoil. "After the bombs went off, while we were still stuck inside… I thought I saw you in the corner. In the office, where we found the door."
"Corner?" she echoed, clearly perplexed at his words and forgetting her inner monologue for the moment. "I was upfront with Nick."
"But you were there in that corner, right? I mean, at some point in time? Because I…"
He trailed off, feeling uncomfortable at both Calleigh's concerned stare and his own questionable sanity. He had seen someone over there, no doubt about it; he never would have thought to look in the office otherwise. It wasn't like Nick looked anything like Calleigh and happened to be waiting in a corner, staring at Ryan, as if trying to get his attention. Who else could it of been?
"But you have blonde hair," he feebly argued. He wasn't crazy.
"Ryan, I can promise you that I wasn't even near that part of the building. If I were, I would have called you guys over and not waited." She paused for a moment and he steeled himself for the next inevitable question: Are you sure you're okay?
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," he reassured, his stomach knotting as he winced at the uncanny predictability. Was he okay? Had it just been his imagination? Either way, he didn't want to bother Calleigh with it. "I think… it was probably my concussion playing tricks with me."
"Positive? The doctor said it was mild and you can work and all, but if you think you need some more help, I'll be glad to take you to Desert Palms."
Ryan smiled. "I'm positive, Cal. It was probably just a mix of the smoke and shock."
"Good. I'd hate for Alexx to kill me because I let you hurt yourself whilst in my care."
"It'd be amusing to see, though."
Calleigh rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. "The words of a true friend. Remind me to thank you later."
"Anytime," Ryan replied, sending her a smile and a two-fingered wave over his left shoulder as he rose from his seat and headed for the door. "See you in a few hours."
"You bet. And I better not hear that you've been eating more Skittles!" she called, her voice motherly even as he exited the room. "You'll get cavities!"
Ryan didn't turn back but shook his head nonetheless, Calleigh never failing to amaze him. She and Alexx were a motherly force to be reckoned with; Alexx would reprimand him if he didn't wear a jacket on cold days (not that Miami had many) or if she heard he'd been losing sleep. Too often, she'd ask if he was all right or if he needed to "talk about something." Calleigh was the same, almost notoriously so. Even Eric joined in if he knew it would humiliate the younger man; Ryan was the baby of the team and wasn't allowed to forget it. He had been holding his breath, waiting for a newbie to join the lab, desperate to get their attention on someone else. However, his prayers had yet to be answered and he was still a bit overprotected and worried over. What abou-
His thoughts veered off track when he felt himself run straight into another person. He recoiled at the impact and staggered back a few steps, trying to regain his footing while simultaneously attempting to see who he'd nearly run over. He quickly looked up, hoping it was Greg or David and not a stranger. Unfortunately, luck wasn't on his side; he had never seen the man before and wondered how important he was and how he could have possibly missed his looming presence in the hallway.
"Excuse me," Ryan apologized, quickly bending to retrieve the files the man had dropped. When had he become so clumsy? Perhaps it was the case or thoughts of home; speaking of which, memories of his home weren't particularly fond. As a matter of fact, he felt he could easily fit into Las Vegas just as well as Miami. The only thing he would miss was Alexx, Calleigh, and Eric; he wasn't sure he could do his job without them.
Ryan tried to clear his head, the frank question of "Who are you?" startling him back to reality. Ryan gathered the fallen papers before looking up to meet the gaze of a tall, imposing, slightly balding man. He bled neither empathy nor mystery; he was more or less a normal guy, void of Gil's calculating gaze or genius intelligence. However, he dressed sharply and had an important air about him. Lawyer? Administrator?
"Ryan Wolfe," the Floridian replied, quickly sticking out his hand in a polite gesture. "From Miami."
The man quirked an eyebrow and accepted the hand, their shake friendly. "Conrad Ecklie, assistant director for the lab."
Ryan instantly froze. How many horror stories had he heard about this man? Between David's cursing of the dayshift technicians and Greg's warning to "just keep a lookout," Ryan was at a loss as to how to act. Although Ryan doubted the man in front of him was actually going to bite his head off in the literal sense, he couldn't help but wonder if he had any intention of making the case any more difficult than it already was.
"So you're part of Horatio's team?" Conrad asked, taking his files back from Ryan's dazed grasp.
"O- yes, I am," Ryan awkwardly replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Working the Ellie Jenkins case."
"And you're partnered with…?"
"Greg Sanders. And David Hodges, now that I think about it."
"Hodges." It wasn't a question, merely a statement portraying Conrad's obvious distaste towards the other man. Ryan inwardly winced. What exactly had David done to deserve that kind of reaction?
"I think he's nice and an excellent technician," he defended, hoping he didn't sound like a petulant child. But could he allow someone bash his friend, especially one who (although derisive at times) was a loyal partner and comrade?
"So I gather. I suspected that you and Sanders were already… partners," Conrad retorted, holding up the daily issue of the Las Vegas Sun. Their now-infamous picture was staring right back at him, glaringly obvious in its context. "I don't suppose you understand the implications of this photo?"
"Well, sir," Ryan replied, feeling rather irritated and flustered at his current predicament. "It looks to me like we're happy to be alive."
"I'm not implying anything," Conrad countered. "This speaks for himself. I'm only saying-''
"Conrad!"
The two men turned towards the familiar voice and Ryan felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw Doc Robbins shuffling their way. Conrad didn't seem as pleased to see the M.E. and shot the older man an impatient look. With a sigh, the dayshift supervisor waited for Robbins to join them, unhappy at being interrupted.
"Hi Doctor Robbins," Ryan greeted, genuinely happy to see the older man. Perhaps it was because Robbins seemed truly concerned on how well Ryan was fitting in and how the case was going, but the Floridian felt like he had a real ally watching his back.
"Ryan, what's it going to take for you to call me Al?"
"A loaded pistol and some of Greg's ramen."
"In other words…"
"Death."
"Then you should probably keep calling me Doctor Robbins," Robbins replied, giving Ryan a small, quirky smile before turning to Conrad. "I see you're tormenting an innocent young man," the M.E. observed, his tone one of disapproval. It wasn't as if Robbins had any power over Conrad, but Conrad still bristled at the allegation.
"Tormenting? Whatever gave you that idea?"
"Conrad, Ryan's a good CSI. Gil would hate to know you've been bullying a guest."
Conrad rolled his eyes and handed the newspaper to the younger man. "There's no need for either of you to get defensive. I'm just saying that for the sake of your own well-being, Wolfe, you should keep yourself out of the public eye for a few days."
Ryan knew that, despite Conrad's outward personality, he was honestly looking out for his and Greg's best interest. Las Vegas and its crime lab were generally accepting, mainly in the middle of the city, but there were still those who weren't very tolerant of homosexuality.
"Good to hear," Robbins replied, seemingly content at Conrad's response. "Anyway, I've got the results on your Bailey case."
Conrad, motivated by these words, quickly nodded. Robbins gave Ryan a wave of farewell before following Conrad down the hallway, their destination most certainly work-related in one way or another. Ryan couldn't help but smile to himself, watching as the two men made begin speaking about Conrad's case. Ryan could understand where everyone's opinion of Conrad stemmed from; the man didn't seem easy to know, but his heart was pretty much in the right place.
And between the good Doc Robbins and Alexx back home, it was hard to find a cooler group of people than M.Es.
…
Eric had never liked hospitals. He had been in so many to interview victims that he sometimes felt that the stark, white walls were closing in and that he'd never get the smell of sanitizer and antiseptic off of his skin. He would rather have been anywhere than where he was at the moment, which was riding the elevator up to the third floor where Warrick was staying.
Nick had been there for almost the entire night and following morning, and it was time someone either convinced him to leave or dragged him out kicking and screaming. Neither option was particularly appealing to Eric; he wasn't sure why Horatio, Gil, and Catherine even sent him. He would have thought that Sara or Greg would have a better chance of getting the Texan home; Nick knew them a lot better than he knew Eric and the probability of them convincing him to leave seemed much larger.
But both Sara and Greg were adamant about his going. Catherine was busy and so were Ryan and Calleigh; if he didn't know better, he'd venture to guess that they were more or less forcing him to interact with Nick and clear the air. But Eric didn't want to clear the air. Eric wanted to stay as far away as he could, he wanted Nick to not hate him for his cowardly approach on relationships and, more than anything, he wanted a bag of Skittles.
It was a good thing he'd grabbed one before Calleigh and Ryan practically chased him away from the lab, threatening bodily harm and matchmaking if he didn't either 1) confess, or 2) confess. He grimaced; they weren't exactly giving him a wide array of choices.
He tore open the red bag as the elevator doors 'dinged' opened and he stepped out into the main hallway of the third floor. Eric progressed down the hall, searching for room 327 and the man he was ordered to bring back. 323, 325… aha. There room 327 stood in all its glory. Eric peered in, catching sight of Warrick, whose leg was doctored up with several mechanisms. He glanced around, craning to peer through the rest of the room before rolling his eyes at himself. Warrick was sleeping and it wasn't as if he was barred from going inside. With a small sigh and a nervous breath, he pushed the door open.
And there he was. Nick sat in the corner, slouched against an uncomfortable chair, looking tired and worried.
"Nick?"
The Texan looked up at the voice. His hair was disheveled, his glasses were crooked, and his clothes were a mess, but he was certainly beautiful in his sincerity.
"Hey Eric."
Eric smiled and nodded towards the hallway. "Shouldn't we talk out here?"
"Nah. They've got 'Rick higher than a kite. But there's an extra chair here, if you're interested."
Eric nodded and closed the door before taking the seat next to him. "I've been sent with a message from the lab. They want you to rest without making a scene."
"Me? Make scenes? You must be thinking of someone else."
"Catherine warned me you wouldn't want to leave, so I'm telling you that I'll use force if I have to."
"Forgive me if I'm less than terrified."
Eric laughed and Nick grinned, visibly relaxing his tense shoulders. "I expected that," Eric replied. "I think they expect it too, but I refuse to let you live on hospital food and sleep in a chair. Why don't you come and at least get something to eat?"
Nick sighed, not meeting Eric's eyes, his gaze trained on a silent Warrick. "I don't know. He might come around soon."
"Nicky, it's a broken leg. We've all had one," Eric replied, his voice soft. "He'll be fine. He'll wake up and demand a nurse get him in some decent clothes and back in the lab."
Nick laughed, his voice heavy and tired. "Yeah, I can just imagine 'Rick doing that."
"And he wouldn't want you worrying yourself either. If anything, he wants us to solve this case."
"The case," Nick echoed, the words seeming to remind him of his profession as he finally tore his eyes away from his friend and to Eric. "How is it at the lab? Has anyone stumbled on anything case breaking or we still stuck?"
"First of all, we aren't stuck. Second of all, no. But we've got three main suspects and Brass is trying to crack them as we speak."
"Brass, huh? Well, if he can't do it…"
Nick trailed off, his words silent but understood. If they couldn't get the guilty to talk, Ellie would just be another cold case stored away on a shelf somewhere. It was so wrong; she had been such a bright girl, someone who wanted to change things and make them better. She wasn't sick or twisted… she didn't deserve it. She was merely a victim of chance and it was unfair. She had the right to live out her life and although Nick was never one of sugar coat the issue or idealize a victim, the case still got beneath his skin. How could she and Christopher even be related? A human rights activist and a damn Neo Nazi couldn't possibly share the same blood.
There was a silence between he and Eric before Nick spoke again, a small smile twisting his lips upward. "I bet you weren't too thrilled to come here."
"Well, I can't say I'm a big fan of hospitals. The smells nearly kill me," Eric replied, wrinkling his nose and he chewed on a few red Skittles. "After you've been in so many, you prefer to just steer clear if you can."
"But there's no steering clear for you, huh?"
"Nick, I didn't mind coming here. I'm worried just like they are. But you put your heart into everything and… I don't know. It doesn't seem healthy," Eric said, letting out a small sigh. "Although I'm sure people really fall for that heart of yours."
"You didn't," Nick stated. Eric froze at that, allowing the words to sink in. They had tiptoed around the matter, glossed it over until it was something else completely, but the fact remained that Nick had tried everything in order to make Eric understand how he felt. He had been pushing so hard to open Eric up, to make him talk and express his feelings. But he, like so many others, was failing at the task. Eric couldn't help but want him to keep trying, but it was stupid to think anyone would waste their time on the impossible.
"I've been chasing you pretty hard," Nick whispered, averting his eyes and even in the shadowy recesses of the room, Eric could see the small coloring on Nick's face.
"Yeah," Eric replied, smiling despite himself. "I kind of noticed."
"I'm sorry," Nick replied, his voice holding a trace of forfeit. Eric's heart plummeted at the tone. "I should have known when to back off. I've been thinking about it… probably too much, but I just want you to know that I won't…" Nick trailed off, struggling for words. "Say anything else about it. My pushiness has probably been really obnoxious and I just got so ahead of myself."
Eric wanted to smile, wanted to support Nick's new resolution, but his throat was closing up and an embarrassing stinging made its way to his eyes. Why was he always trying to dissuade suitors who were interested in more than just sex? He and Ryan had the same problem, but for different reasons. Ryan wanted a real relationship with substance and not just sex, while Eric wanted the complete opposite, but they were both scared of getting close to someone; Eric had been close to Speed and had him violently ripped away. He wasn't sure if he could handle something like that again.
But he was so tired of lying.
And fighting.
And being alone.
"I used to date anyone," he whispered, unsure as to why he was confessing and not really caring. He needed to say this; moreover, he wanted to. "I'd go to clubs for the sole purpose of taking someone home. After Speed died, I was so screwed up." He took a shuddering breath and paused a moment before continuing on. "If we were in Miami," he continued, his voice just barely above a murmur. "I wouldn't take you home. I'd ask you out for coffee or dinner because I wouldn't want to mess this up. I like you too much to just screw the possibility over."
"But we aren't in Miami," Nick finished, Eric confirming the fact with a nod. "That means…?"
"That means I can admire you all I want, but I can't make a move. Long distance never works and you're worth a lot more than just a romp in the bedroom."
Eric was already aware of how close they were and he felt dizzy when Nick leaned in even closer. "Why don't you let me decide what I'm worth?" the Texan whispered, his words holding hope and pleading simultaneously. Eric shook his head, trying to both say 'no' and clear his thoughts.
"Nick, this isn't a good idea."
"Why not?"
That was a good question. Eric certainly couldn't think of a reason, and Nick was making his brain short-circuit anyway. And if Ryan could do it; Ryan, who was so straight-laced and controlled by rules, then why couldn't Eric? Speed, his best friend in the entire world, wouldn't want him walled off to potential happiness. He wouldn't want him to punish himself by distancing his emotions from all of those around him. And Nick was so close anyway, his breath ghosting against Eric's lips that his defenses were crumbling into a useless pile of rubble. What would Horatio or Gil say, or how will it affect his friends, or how he was supposed to give Nick up when it was over?
They were all important questions.
And at the moment, they simply didn't matter.
Nick's lips were warm and slightly chapped, but they felt so good. It wasn't only day's worth of pent up energy that was flowing out, but their unwavering stance on this final decision. It was satisfying and resolute; satisfying because Nick not only wanted him, but also felt for him, craving not just sex but intellectual contact. He wanted to feed the emotional bond that had somehow held them together despite Eric's continuing denial. It was resolute in the fact that neither man was breaking away to excuse their actions or stuttering their way out the door, but determined to see it through. Not just the kiss, or the day after, but all of it.
"C'mon guys," Warrick complained, his voice rough with sleep but laced with humor. "Can't you go get a room?"
They quickly broke away, Eric looking appropriately embarrassed but Nick grinning widely. When had he woken up? How long had they been lip-locked in his conscious state? "Hey 'Rick. We were just-''
"Trying to see what each other's tonsils taste like? Yeah, I got you," the other man replied, grinning when Nick rolled his eyes at the expression. "At least you aren't moping around anymore."
"Moping around? I never moped," Nick defended.
Warrick shot a pointed look at Eric. "Eric, man, this guy totally moped. Glad you two got over whatever was stopping you. One more day of 'Why doesn't Eric like me?' and I would have shot myself."
"I never asked why Eric didn't like me!" Nick quickly retorted, shooting his wounded friend a 'you'll pay for that later' glare. "I merely wondered what… I mean, I was just curious as to why we couldn't seem to…" He trailed off, struggling for words. Eric, taking pity on him, smiled before placing his hands on the sides of Nick's face, silencing the other man with a kiss.
Warrick covered his head with the bed's blanket and muttered something under his breath.
…
Hours had passed, and evening had melted into midnight, which birthed the morning. Another night had slipped away and the team had made little headway in the case. However, the stress of the job seemed to dissolve whenever Ryan went home. Home, of course, wasn't his hotel room, which only Eric had occupied the past week or so. Home was with Greg, trying to cook or feeding the fish or listening to a CD that Greg always insisted Ryan would like and, surprisingly, he was right most of the time. Ryan did enjoy most of Greg's music, but his taste was often deterred by frightening Black Flag and Marilyn Manson covers. Those were the bands he'd wait to listen to, like on the day he went deaf.
But more than anything, home was when they were curled up together. Making love was always an amazing experience, but sometimes just being still, just talking and breathing and being together was what he wanted the most. A prime example of this strangely intimate act was occurring that very moment; they were both lying in Greg's bed, clothes still on, the only light streaming in from the open blinds. Ryan's head was resting on the other man's chest while Greg's fingers played with the Floridian's hair. His left hand was resting on Greg's chest and he could feel the rhythmic beating of Greg's heart against his palm. This was what he meant when he told Calleigh where he was going after work; she had asked that evening as they packed up their things, flipping her hair and inquiring if he'd be at the hotel. He had shook his head and replied that he'd be going home and then Greg had stuck his head in, informing Ryan that he was ready to go.
She had merely smiled and nodded.
Ryan closed his eyes, focusing only on the way Greg's heart beat under his hand. Above him, Greg couldn't seem to stop meddling with Ryan's dark hair, memorizing the way it felt against his fingertips. He had a feeling the case would be wrapping up soon and while it would be another victory for the crime lab, another criminal put behind bars, it would also be the end of their relationship as they knew it. Ryan's responsibilities were in Miami; Greg knew this, but the thought of Ryan leaving made him sick. His apartment would be strangely empty; none of Ryan's clothes would be hanging in his closet anymore and there would only be one toothbrush in his bathroom. Somehow, that wasn't right at all. He needed Ryan's health food in his refrigerator and his body to fill up the other half of his bed. He'd never thought he'd like sharing a bed with someone; he always wanted to sprawl and twist the blankets to his liking, but Ryan's presence was as natural as breathing. He couldn't live without breathing. Did that mean he couldn't live without Ryan?
"Greg?" Ryan asked, shifting to face his lover, unaccustomed to Greg's silence. Greg supposed he had been uncharacteristically quiet; he could rarely go five minutes without saying something unless he was absolutely beat. Ryan knew their day hadn't been particularly hard and there was little reason for Greg's sudden hush.
Greg met Ryan's eyes before he smiled, hoping to alleviate Ryan's concerns while simultaneously burn into his memory the way Ryan looked in Greg's room, the way he fit on his bed. Had they been living some sort of dream? Greg's life had been so full, so complete while Ryan had been there and it was going to be over so soon.
"I was just thinking," Greg answered, smiling at Ryan's obvious unease. "I do that sometimes, too. It's not just a Grissom thing."
It had been a joke, but Ryan knew Greg well enough to see through some of his more transparent lies. He adjusted himself from his previous position, flipping onto his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows. "Can I ask what you're thinking about? If it's about how great Calleigh looked today, I'm leaving."
That was also intended to be a joke, but Greg merely smiled again before speaking. Ryan frowned; Greg's usually bright expression had taken a leave of absence, replaced by the shell of what it had once been. It didn't even reach the blonde's eyes.
"Do you think if we lived in the same place," Greg began, gently touching Ryan's cheek with his fingertips, "We could be together?"
Ryan clasped his hand over Greg's, moving so that he was sitting up and able to see Greg fully. He couldn't deny that he'd been thinking the same thing, but what brought this on? He felt his breath hitch and his heart thump painfully.
"What do you mean?" It was a stupid question and Ryan knew it. He always asked that when he wanted to avoid a topic, although that was a rare quality for him. He usually tackled issues head on and got them out of the way, but things that truly hurt him –like this, for instance- were things he'd try to evade at all costs.
"I mean you can't leave me."
Ryan sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and squeezing Greg's hand tighter. They had both known this going in, but that seemed like such a long time ago.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, opening his eyes to meet Greg's. "I don't want this to end either."
"Then let's do something about it. You can stay here with me. I won't even charge you for tenant costs."
"Isn't that nice of you?" Ryan laughed, but the humor was short lived. His smile fell and his voice treacherously portrayed his swirling emotions. "You know I can't. My entire life is in Miami."
"Aren't I part of your life?" Greg asked, blinking quickly, almost as if he were trying to fight back some tears.
"Of course you are," Ryan urgently replied. "Absolutely. I just… I have an apartment and a job and friends. I can't… I mean, could you? Could you give up everything here and follow me across the country?"
Greg sat up. "We only have a few more days together," he whispered. "I just… I don't know what to do or how to act. I wish I could just let you go without a second thought. But I've never felt like this and I don't want to lose you."
Ryan's heart hit the bottom of his stomach. This was the moment he had been warning himself about, because with the laughter and nights beneath the sheets came the inevitable heartbreak and loneliness and pain. He swallowed back a sob, managing only to whisper a broken, "C'mere," before pressing his lips against Greg's, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to erase Greg's sorrowful expression.
Their kisses were slow, sensual, each trying to make it last for as long as time would allow. Ryan pushed Greg back to his former position; that is, laying flat on his back. Ryan climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and deepening the kiss even further. He just wanted to forget about Christopher and the airport and the media; his only desire was to be with Greg. No more questions and detectives and mysteries, either. It was draining him and those around him of their spirit, their confidence. And definitely, definitely no more bombs. Las Vegas could keep them and their now-demolished airport.
Suddenly, Ryan froze.
He opened his eyes to meet those of the man beneath him, Greg obviously confused as to why Ryan would want to cease their inevitable path to satiation. Ryan hadn't mean to, of course, but he couldn't stop his obnoxiously persistent thoughts. In most circumstances, he was completely lost in Greg's lips and hands and skin, but there was something in the back of his mind that wouldn't stop bothering him, an idea that hadn't occurred to him until just then.
"Ryan? What is it?"
Ryan couldn't speak at first, his thoughts still running circles around in his head. Airport. Bombs. Something inside of him clicked. The time line had been sitting in front of them for days and days, the answer right under their nose. How had they missed it? He supposed it didn't matter just so long as they got to the bottom of the case, no matter how long it took.
"Greg, how did Christopher think he was going to get the bombs past security?"
Greg quirked an eyebrow. "You're thinking about the case while we're ten seconds from being nak-'' He suddenly stopped, his previous words dead on his lips. His brown eyes grew a size larger and Ryan could practically hear the wheels of his mind turning. It was a question that had been bothering Ryan for quite a while, although he hadn't realized it until a few moments ago. It had been the issue that irked him since the beginning but he hadn't been able to zero in on the specifics or to identify the problem because he couldn't put words to it.
How did Christopher plan to get bombs past airport security?
"It's one thing for Christopher to plan out a bombing like that," he continued, allowing his mind to take him down the path and towards the answer. "But those bombs blew half of that place apart. It's hard to get anything explosive in an airport post nine eleven. I mean, when you think about it, the only people who can get past security…"
"Are the security guards themselves," Greg finished, sitting up, eyes wide and hair sticking up in every which way. "I mean, especially one who knows the place inside out. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"I'm thinking that one of the airport guards was helping Christopher."
"Then we're definitely on the same page. I'll call Grissom," Greg said, snatching his cell phone. "You'll call Horatio?"
Ryan nodded, quickly seizing his own phone. His mind was racing at a million miles an hour, bits and pieces of the case surfacing through his subconscious and the inaccuracies making themselves known. Details of the murder seemed to play before his eyes, as if he were watching a movie. The Emerald Isle Motel roof in Miami, the unmatched fingernail scrapings from under Ellie's nails, the way Ellie Jenkins's blonde hair splayed out around her head in a pool of her dried blood.
Blonde hair.
He halted, completely immobile as his cell completed the call to Horatio. It rang once, twice, not that Ryan was counting. As a matter of fact, his conscious had traveled into a completely different universe. 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. Even as he heard Horatio answer his cell with an admittedly tired voice, Ryan couldn't seem to form words. Standing in the middle of Greg's bedroom, he couldn't help but realize that Warrick would have died without that door… all four of them might have perished and the only reason Ryan had even found the door was because he thought he saw someone standing in the corner. It was an odd, creepy feeling that made his voice waver.
"H? It's… it's Ryan. I just had this thought and I was wondering if you could help me out."
…
Excerpt from Ellie Jenkins's diary:
March 9th, 2005
I have to get away from Chris. He's planning something and I know people are going to get hurt.
TBC.
Next chapter: The case begins to unwind and the answers are discovered! Stay tuned for the almost-conclusion!