Author: Shadowfax27
Fandom: CSI: Miami
Pairing: Eric/Ryan
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Me no own. You no sue. Okay?
Beta: Mistakes make me human…
A/N: Lyrics taken from Gerri Halliwell's "Mi Chico Latino."
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Chapter 8 – The Gray Between
Yo no se, yo no se (I don't know, I don't know)
Pero no es un cuento (But this is not a story)
Mi corazon con tormento (My heart (is) with torment)
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He sat up and leaned against the seat, taking in another tremulous breath as he opened his eyes to stare at Ryan's door intently. He was still doubting himself, still having second thoughts in his mind, even as his heart pounded with vigor in his chest, and the two little voices inside his head began to debate with each other about whether or not he should get out of his car and knock.
It was at that moment that he wished that his friend, Speed, were there to guide him, to give him a swift kick in the ass, to tell him exactly what he needed to do, and to yell at the voices in his head to shut the hell up.
He missed him, now more than ever, and he could only imagine how much Ryan must be missing him too.
"Damn it, Speed… where are you?" he found himself asking amidst the heavy and humid silence. "Tell me…"
What would Speed do?
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Ryan Wolfe was running.
Ryan Wolfe was in limbo.
Ryan Wolfe had been running, running, running in limbo… and there seemed to be no end in sight.
He had been there before… everyday, in fact, for over a month now. And with each dream, with each passing night, he seemed to get further and further into the web of visions, advancing the plot, so to speak. The nebulous space he was currently occupying had become all too familiar to him, even though every single time, he was just as lost as before.
And now, he was running again, running non-stop, searching for something… or someone.
He wasn't sure if he was already dead.
He couldn't confirm if he was still alive.
All he knew was that he was still in that indeterminate state, somewhere between the black of death and the white of life. He was in the gray, in that dividing line between reality and the supernatural.
And he was lost.
Running…
But lost.
He heard a faint voice calling out to him, and he stopped dead in his tracks, struggling to calm his breath down enough so that he could hear it again, his ears straining to make out the direction from whence the mysterious but somewhat familiar voice had come from.
"Ryan…" he heard his name.
He turned somewhere to his right and took off running again, the voice his only guide within the homogenous gray. He was running blindly, he knew. He couldn't even tell whether he was running straight or in careless circles, but he couldn't afford to lose the voice.
And so, he closed his eyes and kept running, focusing all of his attention on following its echo, wherever it might lead him, and hoped that somewhere within the indefinable haze, that he was actually getting somewhere and that he'd finally find what he had been looking for.
Moments later, he felt a strange yet incredibly light sensation, as if he were almost flying, soaring, or running on a cloud. Puzzled, he dared a peek and looked down, his eyes widening with fear and shock as he watched the gray 'floor' slowly disappear underneath him. And yet stranger still, he did not fall.
His legs were still running of their own volition, moving as if they were on autopilot, taking him to wherever the unseen force wanted him to go. The syrupy gray now faded steadily before him, and in a flash, almost like a scene from the 'Matrix,' his surroundings quickly shifted, changing right before his eyes.
Large mirrored walls suddenly appeared on either side of him, falling ahead in a rush of two long, clamorous lines, transforming the once vacuous space into something resembling an elongated mirrored hallway with a proverbial speck of a door somewhere at the end.
His legs started to feel weak, heavy like the gelatinous pall that had blanketed him just a moment ago. And soon enough, the mirrors began to reach out to him, liquid hands enticing him to take a look. And although the mirrored walls themselves were inexplicably solid, out of the corner of his eye, he could see them somehow shifting, moving like the flow of unhurried waters streaming down to their destination, to their own end.
He was tempted to indulge them, to spare a fleeting glance, but he resisted with all the self-control he could muster. He had never given in before, never attempted to look into one either. And yet deep down, he already knew what would happen if he did give in, if he did take that one look.
He couldn't explain it, and he didn't want to chance it.
But somehow, he just knew…
He knew what looking into these crystal fluids would do, what being enveloped in their transparent arms and fingers would reveal. And he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to see what he really looked like as a man, what he was really made out of now, what he had allowed himself to become: empty, withering, wasting away at the prime of his life, wilting like a pale rose parched for some warmth and liquid deliverance.
"Ryan…"
He heard his name reverberate through the long passageway, and he found himself picking up his pace, fearing that the leaden weight in his legs would cause him to sink if he didn't fight it, snatch him down helplessly while the undercurrents dragged him away and forced him to see the vanishing man he had unfortunately become.
"Ryan…"
He was close, so close to the door, so close to his answer… just a few hundred feet more.
"Ryan…"
The voice was starting to sound all too familiar, and his heart instinctively reacted, aching in recognition as he realized whose voice it belonged to.
"Speed?" the name escaped his lips like a dying breath, and he found himself dashing the last hundred feet madly, pausing just long enough to yank the door open before charging into the other side of the unknown.
Suddenly, he found himself surrounded by a sea of unopened caskets, the door behind him instantly vaporizing into thin air as soon as he had shut it, and his heart caught in his throat as he tried to make sense of what was happening before him.
"Ryan!"
He heard his name again, muffled and almost frantic, and he was startled to hear something akin to a banging noise, as if a worn hand was beating desperately against the surface of a dead wood. And all at once, panic gripped him like the greedy clutches of death.
What if something was wrong?
What if Speed wasn't dead?
What if he was trapped?
"What if he's trapped, and I can't save him? What if I fail him and he dies?" his heart began to pound incessantly as the voices in his head hammered him with a range of emotions from doubt and fear to helplessness and guilt. "What if I fail him again?"
It was the question he had been dreading all along – the question he had been afraid to ask himself ever since the day Speed had lost his life. He knew that the CSI's death wasn't his fault to begin with… it never was. Still, however, he couldn't help but feel guilty that just maybe, he hadn't done enough to ensure that Speed would survive. And no one would ever know how much he had blamed himself and was still blaming himself partly for Speed's demise.
If only he had nagged his stubborn friend a little more about cleaning his guns.
If only he had checked the older man's weapons to ensure that they would work properly.
If only he had done this…
If only he had done that…
If only… if only… if only…
If only he had been a better friend…
Maybe Speed would still be alive.
He was snapped out of his self-judgment when he heard that banging sound again. And without thinking or coming up with an ordered plan, he rushed up to the nearest coffin and threw open the lid.
"Speed!" he called as he looked in.
But the casket was empty.
A bewildered frown graced his face before he found himself mindlessly rushing to the next one and the next one and the next one after that, hurriedly opening each one of the caskets and swiftly looking inside to see if the beloved CSI could be found lying within. But each time he moved on to the next and with each coffer he had opened, he was becoming more and more panicked and disheartened.
Empty…
Vacant…
Unoccupied…
The unopened coffins were beginning to dwindle in number, and still, he wasn't getting any closer to finding the right one.
"Ryan!"
He heard his name, followed by some more frantic knocking again, and Ryan found himself intensifying his efforts, throwing his compulsions and all caution to the wind, not caring if he did things without regard to any proper or particular order or whether he injured himself in the process.
"Speed! Speed!" he called out to his friend frantically. "Speed, where are you? Tell me where you are!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, hoping the former CSI could hear him through his horizontal prison.
And then all at once, the coffins around him disappeared in a frightening instant, vanishing into thin air like a puff of cold breath… all except one. The room's atmosphere altered once again, and the grayish fog that had enveloped him before, now seeped in and swathed the room again. Only this time, the graying shroud had a tint of blue and wasn't nearly as substantial as before.
From somewhere above the ghostly mist, a beam of whitish-yellow light penetrated its way down and settled on a lone coffin just a few yards to his left, illuminating it like a spotlight on a stage.
Ryan swallowed hard and cautiously approached the lidded bed. Then with shaky hands, he reached for the dark mahogany wood and flipped open the cover. His heart sank yet again at the sight that greeted him.
Empty.
Just like all the rest.
Just like his life?
A cynical laugh escaped his lips, a laugh that was soon muddled up by stinging tears and ironic sobs of pain, emptiness, guilt, and loss.
Was this just another cruel joke?
Would he always look for his fallen friend, only to find out each and every time that he wasn't there, that 'he' would elude him time and again?
Was it his destiny to always come so close, to see a fool's hope within his grasp, within his line of sight, only to have the former CSI disappear again, before he could even fathom a comforting touch?
Ryan didn't know what all of this meant, but it had finally become too heavy, too heartlessly blank, too much for him to bear any longer. He sank to his knees and didn't bother to contain his welling emotions anymore, burying his face in his hands as he allowed himself to break down into tears and wail out his heart's hidden and overdue cry.
"Ryan…"
He heard Speed's voice again, gentle in its sympathy and understanding this time, but he dared not look up, fearing disappointment at seeing nobody there. But then again, the voice sounded so close, almost as if it were echoing through his head, invading the very nexus of his troubled thoughts.
He wondered for an instant whether he was beginning to imagine things. Perhaps it was simply his wishful thinking that he thought he might've heard the voice of his dearly-missed friend, the voice of the one who had guided him into becoming a CSI – the voice of a man who had sustained him like a true ally, even after his death… at least up until a few weeks ago.
Or perhaps he really was going crazy.
But then the voice echoed in his head once more. And this time, it did more than just call out to him.
"Ryan…"
"Speed…" he replied finally, sobbing out his friend's name as he found himself responding audibly to the voice in his head, his lips seemingly responding of their own accord.
"You can't keep looking for me, Ryan," came Speed's concerned voice. "There's nothing you could do to bring me back. And there's nothing you could've done to prevent what had happened."
"That's not true," Ryan countered easily. "I could've checked your weapons for you. I could've cleaned it myself and made sure that it would work."
"But that wasn't your responsibility, Ryan," Speed reminded him easily. "It was mine… alone."
"But I still could have done it, Speed," Ryan replied stubbornly. "I still could've made sure… Maybe then your gun wouldn't have malfunctioned. Maybe then you wouldn't have had to look at your weapon during the shootout," Ryan listed self-deprecatingly. "And maybe then you'd still be alive."
"You can't keep blaming yourself for something that was out of your hands."
"Was it really out of my hands, Speed? Was it really out of my control?" Ryan queried through tears. "Was there nothing I could've done to keep you here?"
There was an audible pause before he heard the older man reply sadly, "Yes, Ryan… it really was." Then another pause before he added, "And, no… there was nothing you could've done."
But Ryan only shook his head in willful denial, "No… I should've been there for you, Speed. I should've been a better friend."
"Don't say that, Ryan," Speed reprimanded him gently. "You were a better friend than what you give yourself credit for," Speed reassured him. "And don't you forget that."
Taking a trembling breath, Ryan replied in earnest, "God, I miss you, Speed! I wish you were still here."
"I know… but you can't let my death dictate how you're gonna live your life," Speed reminded him yet again. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Ryan."
"I know…" was all the younger man could say, and he sounded so worn, so crestfallen and defeated.
He could hear Speed sighing in his head, "Do you remember the last time I spoke to you?"
"How could I forget?" Ryan replied, his heart aching even more at the memory. "You told me that I was ready to move on… that I don't need you anymore," he sobbed.
"You are…" Speed confirmed kindly. "And you don't."
"But I'm not," Ryan replied stubbornly through his tears. "And I still do."
He could hear Speed sighing again, "Ryan…"
"Why did you leave me, Speed?" the question came out earnestly, and it shot through his friend like a bolt of hot misery.
"I already told you."
"I know… but I – "Ryan started to say, but this time, he was cut off.
"You can't keep holding onto me, Ryan," Speed told him softly. "You have to move on."
"Speed…" Ryan cut in, trying to reason with his friend.
But Speed would have none of it, "You have to let me go, Ryan."
"Speed, no…" Ryan began to panic once more, and he quickly jumped to his feet, opening his eyes to his ghostly surroundings, yet seeing nothing but the misty blue-gray. "Please, don't leave me alone," he found himself begging his friend once more.
"You have to let me go."
"I can't…" Ryan began to sob again. "I don't know how."
"Ryan…"
Even in his mind's eye, Ryan still couldn't see his friend, not even his ghostly silhouette. But remarkably, it felt as if Speed's voice had wrapped itself around him, cloaking him from all fear and anxiety, sheathing him in the tender warmth of their eternal friendship, encircling him with a gentle veil of reassurance and encouragement.
He could almost feel the older man smirking too, even though he couldn't see his face. And strangely enough, that reassured him and freed him from all worry and anxiety, if only for that vapor of a moment.
He closed his eyes once more, trying to hold onto that feeling of comfort and camaraderie amidst the bluish gray haze, trying to delay the inevitable heartbreak of such a sorrowful parting, trying to bask as much as he could in his friend's familiar and heartening presence.
"Open the door, Ryan…" he heard Speed say.
Before Ryan could even register which door his friend was talking about, the hovering haze suddenly faded around him in a vaporous whisper, and in his mind's eye, he found himself standing in what he could only assume was his living room, the front door just a few paces ahead of him.
Startled, he called out to his friend in bewilderment, "Speed?"
He heard a loud knock on his front door, and he froze instantly, his feet planting themselves like a weed on the spot, his eyes transfixed on the wooden portal separating him from whatever was making the ruckus on the other side.
"Open the door…" came the quiet command.
"Wh- Why?" Ryan found himself asking, even as he didn't move a muscle. "What would I find behind the door?" he dared to ask, the tremble in his voice betraying the fear and uncertainty he felt gnawing at him.
"The answer you've been looking for."
"The answer?" Ryan asked, frowning in confusion.
He could almost imagine Speed nodding, "Yes… the answer to everything you want is standing beyond that door – the answer to everything you'll ever need to finally move on and let me go."
"No, Speed… Please, I can't…" Ryan protested weakly, tiredly. "Don't do this… Please… I don't want to let you go."
"Don't be afraid, Ryan," Speed's soft voice resonated in his ears again, except it sounded as if it was beginning to fade away as well, "You have to move on. You have to let me go."
"I don't know if I can," Ryan replied, shaking his head.
"Promise me that you will, Ryan," Speed's voice pleaded with him in earnest. "Promise me that you'll stop blaming yourself for my death and that you'll be happy. Please, Ryan… for me?"
"Speed…" Ryan tried to protest one last time.
"Let go of me, Ryan…" Speed told him once more. "Please, just let go…"
"How? What do I need to do?" Ryan found himself asking, even as he felt the sobs building back up in his chest and his heart prepared to die all over again.
He could feel Speed smiling encouragingly this time, "Just open the door, Ryan…"
And like a flame that was about to be snuffed out completely, he heard the cool rush of the thinning wind as the rest of his surroundings, except the door, melted into nothingness and just as a second series of frantic poundings hit the vertical piece of wood again……Startled, Ryan finally opened his eyes.
He woke up in a daze and shook his head in stunned confusion as he found himself standing in his living, facing the front door, just like in his dream. Not surprisingly, it wasn't a second later before his mind began to whir at a maddeningly furious pace, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened.
Had he been dreaming about the whole thing?
If so, then how the hell did he come to be standing in his living room, in the exact same spot he was standing in during his dream, no less?
Or had he been sleepwalking all along?
Another loud banging noise startled him out of his frenzied reverie once more, followed by an extremely frantic call from a male voice on the other side.
"Ryan! Wolfe!" he heard the now-familiar voice holler from beyond the threshold, followed by some even louder and more persistent hammerings against the piece of wood.
It was then that Speed's voice reverberated like a fading echo in his mind, reminding him once more of what he needed to do, "Open the door, Ryan…"
"Ryan!" he heard his name being called again, snatching him back into reality. "Ryan!"
He shook his head vigorously and blinked several times, trying to shake off the lingering haze. Then he walked the few slow steps over to the wooden entrance and hesitated, just as another series of desperate knocks battered against its surface.
"Ryan!"
"Just open the door…" came the last of Speed's fading voice, and he took a deep breath and swallowed hard before lifting a trembling hand and reaching for the handle.
"Ryan!" Eric's voice sounded worried, maybe even upset. "Open the damn door!"
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TBCThe penguins are hungry. I'm broke. So, what should I do? --lightbulb goes off-- I know!
--holds up a sign--- "WILL UPDATE FOR REVIEWS!" Hehehehe…
A/N: Mwahahahaha! The evil plot penguins have struck! But they want me to tell you that they only ended the chapter here because they're extremely underfed and starved for affection (though they seriously hope that you guys understood what was happening in Ryan's dream and how the line between his dreams and reality had been steadily blurring up to this point). But no worries… because now, we have finally arrived at the threshold of one of my favorite parts of the story. And if you want to read what it is… well, then you're going to have to meet the penguins' simple demands and feed them with some juicy fishes, ehrrr… feedback. So, for the love of the Hardy Boys and for my sanity's sake (as well as the penguin's insatiable appetites), please be kind and feed my penguins.