Title: Blue
Author: Shadowfax27
Fandom: CSI: Vegas/CSI: Miami
Pairing: Greg Sanders/Ryan Wolfe
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Why the angst in this ficlet? Because sadly, I don't own them!
Summary: Blue. It's more than just a mere shade in the light's spectrum. And it's not a color you'd like to remember when you think about Miami... when you think about him.
For: its_not_wrong - Thanks for the prompt!

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Blue.

It's not a color you see often in Las Vegas.

At least not in a majestic expanse kind of way... unless you count the color of the sky, cloudless and cool on a clear September morning.

Blue...

It's not the color of the water in Miami either.

That one's more of a deep aquamarine, at least in the more shallow parts... more teal than blue in its consistency, until you reach the edge of the cliff where the drop off can no longer be seen or felt, and you know you've reached the unwelcoming deep because the water cools, darkening to a forbidding shade.

Blue...

It's not a color you'd like to remember when you think about Miami.

Miami is so much more vibrant than that... more reds and yellows and oranges and wild colors that scream out "CARPE DIEM!" in big, bright, bold letters.

You took that proverb seriously enough. You seized the day and ran with it; never once looked back. You're on a week long vacation, damn it! Devil be damned with the consequences!

Only... you didn't count on meeting him.

You didn't count on falling in love.

Blue...

It's not the color of those oracles that you found so captivating when your curious eyes first laid upon them that first Miami morning.

No. Those were hazel. Magnificent, gorgeous hazels - green and brown that shift and blend beautifully from one to the other, as fast as the rush of emotions that flicker in his telling eyes.

They still haunt you so vividly whenever your lids droop down to a close.

Blue...

It's not the color you'll remember him by, even though he does look sexy in those hip hugging, low rise, boot-cut jeans he so obviously favors wearing.

You don't think you'll ever look at blue jeans the same way again.

Blue...

It's not a color you'd miss when reality wrenches you apart, and you're finally forced to say good-bye.

It's your last day of vacation. You're at the airport, getting ready to board the plane bound back to the city that never sleeps.

The day is beautiful. The sky is clear. Even Miami's waters seem to transform collectively into a deeper blue than the simple aquamarine.

Blue...

It's still not the color that will stick out in your mind when you look back and think about Miami.

Miami will always be reds and yellows and oranges, all bleeding together in a crazy, kaleidoscopic whirlwind of a life underneath the "SEIZE THE DAY!" sun.

Miami will almost always be hot and humid and burning with the city's underground pulse.

Miami's waters will always be aquamarine, not blue.

And Miami will always have Ryan Wolfe.

Blue...

It's not the color you'd rather dwell on when your mind reaches back to think about him.

In your mind's eye, Ryan Wolfe will always be a beautifully complex shade of hazel green. He will always be an intricate quilt of fond and heart-wrenching memories, of profound emotions and peculiar reservations of order and neatness and OCD.

He will always be a perfectly ironic man, whose individual hypersensitivities burn in intensely flawless harmony with his surprisingly passionate side - a synthesis that leaves you seeing both red and white in an explosion of fiery desire.

You look out your small window and see him standing solemnly by the tall glass panes. He's watching you intently, waiting for the plane to take off and carry you away. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his blue jeans, his shoulders slightly slumped, his face a careful blank.

And yet his eyes...

You sigh miserably and hold his gaze for as long as you can.

Because you know that his eyes cannot lie.

Blue...

It's not just a color anymore, not a mere shade in the light's spectrum.

It's the color of emotions so tremendously painful.

It's the color one feels when his heart's about to splinter into a million piercing little pieces.

It's the color of one's hidden tears, one's secreted heartbreak.

It's the color of saying good-bye.

Blue...

It's not a color or a feeling that you want to take back with you to Las Vegas.

You'd rather leave it here if you can. But it's exactly what has seized your mind right now and won't let go. You can't shake it off. You can't let it go. And you know you're going to be feeling it for a long time.

You're torn. Desperately helpless. Helplessly desperate. You can feel it as you fight to hold the tears back, blinking your eyes to keep them from spilling, even as your face reddens and burns with restrained sorrow.

And you can see it mirrored in the person standing by the window when you look at him. Every bit of his being, no matter how hard he tries to hide it, screams of the same color, the same emotion you don't want to remember.

And that's why you feel like the one color you'd rather forget...

Blue.

Because it's so damn easy to fall in love when you least expect it.

But it's so devastatingly difficult to say good-bye.

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THE END

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