A/N: I love early Ryan, but I can't change the fact that he's growing up. Getting some muscles. Gettin' tough. So I'm going to try and write "now Ryan," even if I have to include some questionable jackets. Also, my promise of quick updates? Dashed. School's kicking my behind and now we have some new kittens to care for, so I'll be writing… but I can't promise methodic updates. Sorry! (Please forgive me! -flails-)

Recondite Whisper
Part 1: Shut Your Eyes and Think of Somewhere

rec·on·dite, adj. 1. Not easily understood; abstruse.
2. Concerned with or treating something abstruse or obscure.
3. Concealed; hidden.

"Tonight's the night, boys!" Jacqui happily announced as she all but bounced into the break room, a giant grin lighting up her face. "Ryan's coming in and Catherine might actually be able to breathe beneath the workload. This, of course, means she won't be shooting me looks of utter hatred every time I bring her a sample. Milky Ways are on the house!"

"Free candy bars? David, you should hire techs more often," Archie said, genuinely surprised as he turned towards his boss. "Rare are the nights Jacqui shares the Milky Ways."

"That's because they're sacred," she promptly replied, glaring from her spot by the vending machine. "I only share in times of great joy and triumph. Mere mortals like you don't really deserve them, but I'm feeling generous."

"I didn't say I was complaining. And forgive me for asking, but are you wearing make up?"

"You like it?" came her hopeful response. "I bought new mascara and lip gloss. Did you know Cover Girl wants seven bucks for some basic mascara? I couldn't believe it."

"I was outraged," Bobby solemnly agreed. Archie snorted with laughter as Jacqui hurled a Milky Way towards Bobby's head. It bounced off his messy hair and onto the table he was leaning against. He sent her a thankful smile before peeling the wrapper open and taking a languorous bite.

David watched the exchange with well-hidden amusement before diving back into several open files that were splayed out before him. He would have used the desk in his office if only it weren't covered with so many other work-related documents. As someone who appreciated cleanliness, his own desk made his skin crawl. Being head of shift had its perks, sure, but he wouldn't mind a few nights in Greg or Wendy's shoes. They were Level Ones, which meant they didn't have an entire shift to keep an eye on, and they didn't have to butt heads with Ecklie or the Sheriff either.

He was startled when a small package was dropped in front of him with a crinkly plop. He immediately recognized it as a Milky Way and, as sad as it was, began to practically drool. Why didn't he ever have the time for a real meal? His fellow CSIs would occasionally stop by Frank's Diner down the street, but he was usually too busy to join them. As his right hand woman, Jacqui would try to help with the endless paperwork, but it was really a one-person job. After all, most of the lab's information was cataloged in David's head, and until she developed ESP, there was no way she could assist.

"Thanks Jacq," he said, ripping it open. "You bought me breakfast. How sweet."

"One day I'm going to purposely infect you with germs," she replied around her own caramel and chocolate bite. "That way you'll have to call in sick and then I could fix you something more than a candy bar."

"I eat," he defended. Ronnie's eyebrows hit his hairline at the blatant lie.

"Since when?" he asked, not believing a word of it. "I doubt you even remember how to use a fork anymore."

"He's on the Coffee and Sarcasm diet," came Archie's playful retort. "It's all the rage these days."

"Is that the secret to your skinniness?" Jacqui inquired. "I'll have to try it out for myself."

"Jacqui, you don't need a diet," Bobby argued, shooting his supervisor an apologetic smile. "And besides, he isn't skinny. He's… lithe."

"Right, just like Mrs. Claus is voluptuous. It's a question of connotation and you, my darling David, are starting to put beanpoles to shame."

"Jacq, this candy bar has more carbs than I'd care to think about," David said around a mouthful. "You can't say I'm a beanpole when I'm stuffing myself with junk food."

"You have a great metabolism."

"I'll lose it when I get over the hill," David reminded. "Until then, I'm fine."

"Ahem."

The group looked towards the doorway to see a none-too-pleased Wendy Simms standing with her arms crossed over her chest. That was never good. She, like Greg, had a sparkling personality, but was known to try too hard and work too much in an attempt to prove herself. David knew exactly what was coming and inwardly winced. He could never seem to avoid a woman's rant. Jacqui, Wendy, Sara, or Catherine always found him at the wrong time and wrong place, usually in a location without an escape route.

"So there I was," she began, striding towards them (graciously accepting the offered candy bar from Jacqui as she made her way towards David's table), "Just standing at my locker, getting ready for shift when Greg begins going on about last night's scene. At first I think, 'Is he mad? I was in bed last night and I know David would have called me in if there was a new scene.' And then I think, 'Wait, no he wouldn't.' Why? I'm not sure. I was hoping you would explain it to me."

"Wendy, I only needed a couple of guys. I figured you could use the sleep."

"Sleep? I'm trying to become a respected CSI and you decline to call? That's mean, boss man. That's just plain mean."

"Tell that to Jacqui. Do you know how many times she's been called out in the middle of her night off?" David asked. "We're lucky she gets out of bed at all, much less brushes her teeth or bothers to wear a bra."

Jacqui, for good measure, stopped chewing and shot David an unappreciative glare. "That," she muttered, "Is that last time I ever buy food for you. You can starve for all I care."

Wendy, like Greg, was not to be deterred. "Last time you had me dumpster diving! I smelled like cat litter, rotten cow and decomp for three days. There's no amount of citrus fruit that's going to get rid of the odor," she continued, using wild hand gestures for emphasis. "I can collect evidence. I can!"

"I know you can, Wendy."

"Just because I'm the youngest doesn't mean you can only use me to do the dirty work."

"I'm aware of that."

There was a pause in the conversation as Wendy opened the candy bar wrapper. "Was it bad?" she finally asked. No one had to question what she was referring to; she meant the scene from the night before, the one with the hair and semen and broken little girl.

The resulting silence was the only thing she needed to hear.

Ryan Wolfe took a deep, calming breath as he stared up at the Las Vegas crime lab. The building wasn't architecturally intimidating or anything, but what lay beyond the front door -the uncertainty- scared him out of his mind. He ground his teeth. Between the exhausting plane ride, a car stuffed with suitcases, and getting lost three times before finally locating the lab, he felt as though his nerves were shot. He bit his lip and straightened his coat, resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair again. Everyone had first day jitters, but he refused to be terrified. He wasn't going to let a bad night and a few strangers get the best of him.

Of course, he needed to actually go inside to meet said strangers.

He rolled his eyes at himself and, after smoothing out some nonexistent wrinkles, pulled the glass door open.

His hesitation returned immediately.

He was met with an energized hum that Miami had somehow lacked. The lobby was buzzing with activity while ringing phones littered the background with noise. Bodies hustled and bustled around while uniforms shot him a sidelong glance, giving him a once over to make sure he wasn't wearing a ski mask and hauling in a semi-automatic. There was the faint scent of coffee and chemicals while voices intermingled, prancing through his ears as he tried to grasp his surroundings.

He allowed the door to close behind him before approaching the front desk, sidestepping several lawyers who didn't even waste their time with a dirty look.

"Excuse me?" he began as a small, curly haired woman glanced up from her place at the desk. Dark rimmed glasses balanced on a dainty nose as she held up a slim forefinger, indicating for him to wait a moment. There was a phone attached to her ear and it appeared as though she was trying to juggle several calls at once. Ryan struggled to hide his trepidation; it was frantic here, and he wasn't sure how well he could work in such a rushed environment.

He took this moment to observe his new work place. The floor was white tile and most of the walls were glass; the constant flow of people and motion was dizzying. It was clean, he'd give them that. Even the transparent and unforgiving walls showed few fingerprints. The lab coats were crisp and dark blue while lights from the city gave the entire lab an odd glow. He knew he'd have to adjust to the night shift if he ever hoped to succeed; hot Miami days were going to be replaced by humid (and sometimes cold, he heard) Las Vegas nights. Both cities were flashy, but Las Vegas at dusk had a strikingly different atmosphere than a Miami morning.

He had been so nervous coming here. Two long months were what it took for him to decide to make the jump. Of course, if his uncle hadn't insisted on moving, Ryan probably wouldn't have ever left Florida. He knew his uncle, the last of his family, could barely take care of himself. His mind didn't work like everyone else's; it twisted and turned, a confusing roller coaster that sometimes spiraled and sometimes froze. A few more strokes and he'd be gone. Ryan swallowed at the thought.

"How may I help you?"

Ryan was brought back to the beehive-like atmosphere and turned to face the curly haired woman behind the desk. He gave her a nod. Here went nothing.

"My name's Ryan Wolfe," he said, keeping his voice calm and even. "It's my first night here and I was-''

"You're Ryan Wolfe?" she interrupted, a smile growing on her pleasant face. "Catherine's going to be so excited to hear this! Give me one second."

The woman –Judy, as her nametag read- quickly picked up the phone, dialed with experienced fingers, and placed the receiver against her ear. She gave Ryan another smile before someone answered on the other end of the line.

"Catherine!" Judy began, perking up at the responding voice. "Your cavalry's arrived! He's at the front desk."

Although Ryan could only hear half of the conversation, the mysterious Catherine was obviously thrilled to hear this news. Judy laughed and then indicated for Ryan to turn around.

Ryan, slightly baffled, turned just in time to see a strawberry-blonde and a tall African American stride through the halls, the glass walls giving Ryan a clear view. The woman still had her cell affixed to her ear as she bypassed several of her colleges, all of whom ignored her determined pace. Ryan was fairly certain such hasty behavior was of the norm when it came to the graveyard shift.

"Ryan Wolfe? It's a pleasure to meet you," Catherine said, stepping up to him and holding out her right hand while shutting the phone with her left. Ryan hurriedly shook it, barely able to complete the gesture before her male companion stuck out his own hand as well. Ryan, ignoring his mind's endless mantra of germs! germs!, quickly pressed his palm against the stranger's, clasping his fingers and gripping with a masculine force.

"Likewise," Ryan replied, nodding to his two new co-workers. "It's great to finally be here."

"Let's forgo the pleasantries and get you in a lab," Catherine suggested, giving Judy a small wave in silent thanks. She then indicated for Ryan to follow her.

"My name's Catherine Willows," the woman began as they made their way through a busy corridor. She walked on Ryan's left while the other man walked on his right. Ryan felt sandwiched. "Call me Catherine, not Cat. Technically, I'm your superior, but none of that matters if you know what the hell you're doing." Ryan felt himself relax slightly. She was quick and to the point, and he could definitely handle that after working with Frank for so long.

"I'm Warrick Brown," the man introduced; Ryan ignored the compulsive feeling to shake hands again.

"He's got a gambling problem-''

"Had a gambling problem-''

"So don't tempt him."

"Thanks for that flattering introduction, Cath."

"Just doing you a favor," she replied, fighting a small smile that threatened to break out. "Over to the left is DNA, where you and I'll be working. To the right is A/V."

"That's my lab," Warrick cut in. "Surveillance, home movies, web sites, digital cameras. Past A/V is trace."

"Sara Sidle runs it, so don't be offended if she doesn't walk over with a friendly hug."

"She's married to her job."

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Ah. See this? It's our basis for survival," Warrick noted, grabbing Ryan's shoulder and steering him towards what appeared to be the break room. There were several tables and chairs, one of which was being occupied by an older gentleman in the corner. He had graying temples and wore glasses, but made no acknowledgement of Catherine or Warrick's presence when they entered. He seemed rather preoccupied with something else, and Ryan was going to take a closer look when Catherine's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"You seem like a nice enough guy," she observed as he returned his attention to where she stood by the counter. "So I'll let you in on a little secret: the Folgers is just there as a ploy. If you want some real coffee, all you have to do is check behind the refrigerator. It's Greg's, but he loves us enough to let us steal it."

"Who's- okay, sure-'' Ryan tried to reply. He was confident, certainly, but Warrick and Catherine were a never-ending stream of words, and he didn't have the chance to really say anything. He only barely noticed the innocent can of Folgers sitting next to a worn coffee maker before his concentration was diverted once more.

"Now the vending machine is a completely different story," Catherine continued, Warrick nodding with her. "You can't just punch in the buttons. You have to grab it at the top-'' To illustrate this point, Warrick calmly clutched the top of the machine. "-tilt it back-'' Warrick, following Catherine's instruction, pushed the hulking machine with one arm. "-and then punch in the numbers."

"Uh, okay," he agreed. The vending machines would probably prove to be vital down the line, but shouldn't he be getting a locker or a lab or something?

"See this fridge?" Warrick asked, pointing towards a blameless white refrigerator that stood against the wall. Catherine made a knowing 'hm' of agreement as she and Ryan walked towards it. "Never eat anything out of it unless you know it's yours. And just ignore the blood."

Ryan felt his heart nearly stop. They couldn't be serious. How many health hazards were involved with storing bodily fluids in a non-designated space, especially when consumable foods stayed in there with it? The Floridian's fingers twitched. This had to be some sort of hazing. No one kept actual blood in there. Surely. "Blood? Isn't that-?"

"Gil, how many times have I told you to put those things in a cage?"

Ryan stopped his questioning as the irritated query cut through the air. Who had spoken? Who was Gil? And why were cages included? He, Warrick, and Catherine turned to see what had prompted such frustration and Ryan felt a little disheartened when Catherine simply gave another 'hm' while Warrick chuckled beside her. It was as though they knew exactly what was about to happen.

A tall man with dark hair and blue eyes strode from across the hallway and into the opposite break room door, entering from the back. He was glaring at the older man who Ryan had first noticed when Catherine had begun her tour of the lounge. Despite the annoyed question that had been thrown his way, the man was still calmly occupying a table, not even bothering to look up or acknowledge his interrogator. Of course, Ryan wasn't even sure why he should. After all, the gentleman didn't seem to be doing anything particularly obnoxious, but- oh. Oh.

"Is that a tarantula?" Ryan asked, taking a step back despite the fact they were at least fifteen yards away.

"You bet. It's probably Tweedle-Dee," Catherine muttered as she rolled her eyes while the original speaker advanced towards Gil, a frown firmly in place.

"Care to elaborate?" Ryan asked, thankful that they were on the other side of the room. Maybe Gil and his visitor wouldn't notice their presence.

"Gil's our anthropologist," Warrick murmured in reply, equally as interested to see how the encounter was going to unfold. "He collects pickled pigs and all, but his interest in entomology gives David a heart attack. It wouldn't be so bad if Gil would just keep 'em in the box."

"David?"

"Your boss."

"And that's him?" Ryan asked, referring to the tall, blue-eyed man who had stormed in only moments ago.

"Yup. I swear he's two seconds away from burnout."

"Right. And Tweedle-Dee?"

"The tarantula. Or maybe it's Tweedle-Dum. Gil has two and they're siblings."

"That's… not natural."

"This is Gil we're talking about," Catherine replied as David began citing a long list of reasons why tarantulas shouldn't be in the general public area. Ryan observed the man with intent; Warrick's warning of burnout seemed to have a good basis. David appeared frazzled as well as exasperated. It was as though he had given this speech numerous times before and was well aware that Gil wouldn't listen. True to Ryan's observation, Gil was barely paying attention as he continued to feed either Tweedle-Dee or Tweedle-Dum. As a matter of fact, the entomologist looked as if he were in his own little world.

"Are you even listening?" David asked again, and Gil glanced up and nodded.

"'He who listens gathers the knowledge of life.'"

"Let me guess. Hamlet?"

"Fortune cookie."

"Of course. If I see one of those things out again, I'm going to get a can of Raid and make good use of it."

"He's not poisonous."

"Tell that to our lawsuit department. Cage, Gil. Acquaint yourself with one or prepare for a tarantula-sized coffin."

Gil, although reluctant, nodded before gathering up his eight-legged friend, heading through the door, and disappearing down the hall moments later. David watched him go, shaking his head and muttering something beneath his breath. Ryan had to smile at that; he was sure the words David was using were quite colorful. However, his smile quickly vanished when David turned his attention towards the trio in the corner.

"Catherine," David politely nodded, brushing past her and towards the coffee maker. Ryan had a feeling that it was one of the most used appliances within the entire lab. "I assume the terrified man next to you is Ryan Wolfe?"

"You remembered?" Catherine asked, a hint of surprise lacing her question. "Is the world ending?"

"Ha ha," David dryly retorted as he stuck his hand behind the refrigerator and extracted a gold bag of coffee. "Jacqui reminded me."

"What would you do without that woman? She's like a human Blackberry," Warrick mused. David shot him a half smile.

"Probably go insane, but don't let her know I said that. By the way, make sure to get his blood before morning," David ordered, indicating Ryan with a lazy point of his index finger. "Gil's going to want some, and I'd rather keep him happy than have him hunt this guy down himself."

"Consider it done, boss man," Warrick replied. Ryan, on the other hand, wasn't as calm as the others seemed to be. Was blood letting a routine practice around the lab? Was that healthy? Wasn't some sort of government department supposed to check the place out every once in a while? They certainly wouldn't approve of blood being stored with food or employees giving away blood of their own.

Ryan wanted to voice this concern but wasn't sure how. He settled on watching as David expertly measured out some coffee and then added water before placing the pot beneath the spout and flipping the switch on.

The younger man sighed. Maybe this place wasn't meant for him either. Surely, though, he could fit in? Catherine and Warrick seemed to like him well enough, and despite the questionable sanitary practices, the lab was a nice place. His boss wasn't Horatio, but he wasn't bad. He appeared to genuinely care for his team, his employees, and the cases he worked. No one adjusted to something in one night, and Ryan knew all he needed was a little time to get it together and start making friends. Besides, his uncle Ron seemed to love Las Vegas and was settling in nicely. Who was Ryan to take that joy from him?

He heartened at the thought of his uncle. The man was… eccentric, that was for sure. He'd done everything, been everywhere, and his idea of a peaceful retirement was smack dab in one of the most bustling cities in America. Ryan had tried convincing him of some small place in Georgia or Rhode Island, but Ron had been bent on coming to Sin City. Why, Ryan would never know, but he did know his uncle needed more help than he thought. Ryan was just glad Ron had accepted his offer to move with him.

"You guys here for coffee?" David asked, leaning against the counter with his hip while the coffee maker hissed and brewed something delicious smelling.

"Nah, we're just showing the newbie around," Warrick easily responded. "Lemme guess… you want us to start working?"

"It's a thought. And hey, make sure this guy's thoroughly traumatized by the time he clocks out," David deadpanned, referring to Ryan with a nod of his head. "I don't consider it a good night unless someone cries."

"Will do."

"Solve me some cases while you're at it."

"Don't we always?"

Four hours later, Ryan was finally beginning to relax. Catherine had showed him his new lab and then introduced the rest of the CSIs as well as Sara, Al Robbins, David Philips, and Jim Brass. Ryan felt laughter bubble inside of him when he first saw Jim; he and Frank Tripp's personalities were almost exactly the same. They both possessed a dry sense of humor, a blunt vocabulary, and a "newbies no need apply" attitude. The only person left to meet was some guy named Greg Sanders. After that, Ryan felt sure that he'd have most of the LVCL's nightshift workforce down pat.

In his lab, Ryan worked the evidence methodically. That was one thing he enjoyed about being a technician rather than an investigator: procedure. It was the exact same thing over and over, almost guaranteed to give you the right answer. Ryan's OCD demanded an orderly house and a systematic job, so to have a lab all to himself, equipment that was nearly brand new, and the space to organize his tools was a dream come true. He might not have felt totally comfortable in the craziness outside the glass walls, but he knew he could adjust if this was what an average night consisted of.

He was about to run a few swab heads when a bout of laughter forced his concentration elsewhere. He glanced up just in time to see two men have a conversation right outside the lab. The first was Archie Johnson, a likeable CSI 2 with dark, ruffled hair and almond shaped eyes. The other was…

Wow.

Ryan blinked. The other man had blonde streaked hair, deep chocolate eyes, and a smile that would knock your socks off. His clothes were a little baggy and his ears stuck out, but he was still oddly incredible; his body motions were so animated as he illustrated his chat with unconscious hand gestures. He had a long, straight nose and his face was peppered with a few perfectly placed moles. For once, Ryan forgot his work and merely watched the two men interact. The blonde wasn't wearing a lab coat, which meant he was probably a lower-level CSI, considering how young he looked. In fact, he was about Ryan's age. They were both holding onto manila folders, and Ryan had the strange suspicion they were probably supposed to be doing something more important, but he couldn't blame them for wanting to try and break the gruesome tedium with a joke or two.

Ryan's gloved hands still held one swab and a pair of specialty scissors, but they hadn't moved since he caught sight of the stranger. Then again, was he expected to actually work now? The man outside was so sparkling and beautiful; how was Ryan supposed to concentrate? He felt surprised and a little alarmed. He hadn't been attracted to anyone since… well, college. Maybe. It was so long ago that he couldn't even remember.

"His name's Greg."

The voice came from nowhere; Ryan gave a slight jump and spun around, a bit flustered to be caught staring. "I'm sorry?" he asked, keeping his voice even while trying to hide his embarrassment. Catherine gave a knowing smile as she leaned against the lab doorframe.

"The guy you're laser beaming with your eyes? His name's Greg Sanders, CSI Level one."

"I wasn't laser beaming," Ryan muttered in response, turning back towards his work, not daring to look up and see whether Greg had already left his line of vision. Well, at least he knew everyone on nightshift now.

"Ryan?"

"Yes, Catherine?" he ground out. He had no desire to discus his sexuality with an almost complete stranger, especially considering it was his first night working there. He needed friends, damnit, not people who pushed him around. He remembered Miami and how accepting Calleigh and, eventually, Eric had been about who Ryan was most attracted to, although he never acted on it. He couldn't have these people know his preference if they were going to be hateful or taunting about it.

"We accept everyone here. Frankly, we don't give a flip who you date," she informed, sauntering up to his worktable.

"I don't date."

"Not at all?"

"Catherine, you seem like a nice person," he finally said, looking towards the older woman and frowning. "But my personal life really isn't anyone's business except mine. Leave it alone."

Catherine's eyebrows rose and she raised her hands in a non-confrontational manner, taking a few steps back to give Ryan some space. "I understand completely. But can I share a secret with you?" Ryan shot her an expectant look, indicating that he was listening. She grinned and leaned in with a conspiracy-like manner.

"I know I'm kind of… challenging at the beginning. I just wanted to make sure you were ready for this job."

"And?"

She grinned again and nodded. "So far, you've done great. We lab rats are a tight knit group and you're going to fit in just fine."

"That wasn't my top concern."

"Honey, that's everyone's top concern. Besides, you and me? We're going to be friends. I can tell."

Ryan shot her a relieved smile. "I hope so," he admitted. "I'm sorry if I… I know what it's like to be gay and work law enforcement. I was in patrol before this, and it isn't pleasant."

"This'll just stay between us," she assured him, draping her right arm over his shoulders in a comforting manner. He could already tell she was a mother figure and he honestly didn't mind. If anything, he needed someone to lean on, considering his uncle leaned on him. "Now c'mon, you've been slaving away for hours. It's time for some coffee."

Ryan nodded in agreement as he finished up the original test and followed a friendly Catherine out the door, Greg's laughter still ringing in his ears.

TBC!