AN: Disclaimer same as before. For more info, see chap. 1. Sorry this chapter took so long; FFN was down. To extend the disclaimer, I do not own the city of Chicago (I only reside there), nor do I own the Hyatt-Regency hotel. Oh, and we here really do refer to it as "Chi-town". True Story. In any case…

Chapter 2

"Get a load of me, get a load of you"

Ryan sighed loudly as he waited for his last suitcase to make its way over to him. He grabbed it off the carousel, then turned and ran straight into a blond guy listening to headphones. A very hot blond guy listening to headphones. He was so busy staring at the man that he didn't notice for a second that his suitcase had opened, spilling a bunch of his clothes on the ground.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry," said the blond, instantly kneeling to help him pick up the clothes.

"No, I'm sorry, it was my fault," said Ryan, kneeling as well, grabbing the clothes and stuffing them back in the suitcase. "I wasn't looking where I was going, and--"

"Dude, what is this?" asked the blond, amusement evident in his voice.

Ryan looked up and blushed. "Er…that's the sweater my great-aunt Edna knitted for me," he muttered, well aware of his crimson face. Mentally, he swore. Of course, the hottest guy he had met in a long while just had to notice the most hideous thing in his wardrobe.

"Dude, it's awesome. Do you mind if I borrow it? It's freaking cold here."

Ryan looked up and noticed that the man was shivering. "Uh, sure, but only if you promise to burn it once you're done with it," he said with a grin.

The blond grinned as well before sticking out his hand for Ryan to shake. "Greg Sanders."

"Ryan Wolfe," said Ryan, shaking Greg's hand before picking up his now-closed suitcase. "And you really don't have to wear that sweater. I have other ones that you can borrow."

"No, man, it's cool. I like this one. It's my color, don't you think?" asked Greg, striking a pose that made Ryan laugh out loud. "And besides, God knows you may need those other sweaters in the middle of September."

Ryan narrowed his eyes. "Hey, you're cold, aren't you? Besides, I figure better safe than sorry. I'm from Miami, so I have no idea what Chicago weather is like."

Greg nodded understandingly. "I feel your pain. I'm from Vegas, so at this time of year, the word 'cold' is not in my vocabulary." He gave Ryan a slow grin. "We're both a long way from home, huh? What brings you to Chi-town?"

Ryan blinked incredulously at Greg. "Did you just refer to it as 'Chi-town'?" he asked.

"Heck yes, I did. I have it on good authority that that's what the natives refer to it as."

Ryan just smirked. "I'll take your word on that. Either way, I'm here for a forensics conference."

"No way!" exclaimed Greg excitedly. "Me too! I'm a CSI level one, LVPD."

"CSI level two, Miami-Dade Police Department," said Ryan, smiling slightly at Greg's enthusiasm. "You got roped into coming too, huh?"

"Roped in? I practically volunteered to come, just to get away from work for a week."

"Las Vegas treating you badly?" asked Ryan as the two found the shuttle to the Hyatt-Regency, where they were staying.

"No, man, it's not like that. I just need some time."

"Yeah, no, I read you." The two sat down together on the bus, not an easy feat to accomplish, what with Ryan's excessive baggage. He glanced at Greg, and read what Greg had written on his hand out loud. "'Break up with Kristi.' So you've got a girlfriend?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too disappointed.

"Not for long," snorted Greg. "I was going to break up with her before I left, but, well, you see how far I got with that."

"Yeah, well, she may break up with you if she hears you were wearing a sweater that hideous."

"Maybe, but I'm not the one who brought it with me to Chicago."

The two continued their playful banter all the way to the hotel, and even as they waited to check in. Ryan went first for check-in.

"Ryan Wolfe," he told the harried-looking clerk. "I'm here for the forensics conference."

She nodded, briskly typing on the computer. "Alright, Mr. Wolfe. I'm afraid to inform you that due to a lack of rooms, you're going to have to share with someone. Do you have someone in mind that you'd like to share with, or should we assign it randomly?"

"I'll room with him," interrupted Greg. He flashed the clerk a grin. "Greg Sanders. I'm here for the same conference."

"That'll be fine. Let me just get you two a room," she said, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"You don't mind, do you?" asked Greg in undertones to Ryan. "I'd rather room with you than someone I've never met before."

"Oh, don't worry, it's fine," Ryan assured him, trying not to grin like an idiot at the fact that he got to share a room with Greg.

"Here you are," said the clerk, handing them each a room key. "You'll be in room 1532. Enjoy your stay."

"Oh, we will, ma'am. Thank you," said Greg, flashing her another grin. The clerk blushed and ducked her head.

"Geez, Sanders, flirt much?" asked Ryan sarcastically as they boarded the elevator. "I'm surprised she didn't ask for your number or something."

"I'm not. I'm just hoping she'll actually decide to leave her husband."

Ryan gave Greg a quizzical look. "How do you know she was going to leave her husband?"

"She kept playing with her ring. You know, twisting it, taking it off and putting it back on. Besides, there were fading bruises on her arms. Signs of domestic abuse. That, and she liked the fact that I was flirting with her. Not too many happily-married women appreciate that." Greg snorted and grinned wickedly at Ryan. "And you call yourself a CSI."

"Hey, I'm used to observing evidence, not people," said Ryan defensively, following Greg off the elevator and down the hall to their room. "Besides, I just meant that you didn't need to flirt that much."

"Why Wolfe? You jealous?" smirked Greg.

Ryan's heart almost stopped beating. "What?" he squeaked. "I am not…" He stopped as Greg opened the door to their room, revealing a simple suite with a door leading to the bedroom…with only one bed. "There's only one bed," pointed out Ryan, rather stupidly.

"Wow, Ryan, your CSI skills are amazing," said Greg with another smirk. He tossed his duffel bag on one side of the bed. "I claim this side."

"But that means we have to share the bed," said Ryan, still not believing it.

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock," said Greg sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at Ryan. "Unless you would rather take the couch. Cuz, see, I would, but I need my beauty sleep."

Ryan snorted. "No one ever accused you of being a gentleman." He took a deep breath then said, in what he hoped was a calm, controlled voice, "No, sleeping with you will be fine. I mean," he stammered, blushing furiously when he realized what he had insinuated, "sleeping in here will be fine."

"Freudian slip, eh?" remarked Greg as he settled on to "his" side of the bed.

"No!" said Ryan, his face still the color of a fire truck. "I just…oh, never mind. If you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower."

"Why would I mind?" asked Greg casually, pulling off his shoes. "Unless you're extending an invitation…then I'd be a little offended. I mean, I don't think we're at that stage of our relationship yet."

"I am not…" started Ryan hotly, but then he paused, realizing Greg was just trying to get a rise out of him. A slow grin spread over his face. "Greg, you're incorrigible." He shook his head, still grinning, then announced, "I'm taking a shower. Alone." He headed toward the bathroom, only stopping when he heard Greg speak.

"Oh, and Ryan? That down there was hardly flirting. If you thought that was flirting, then you ain't seen nothing yet."

Ryan just grinned as he went into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.