Title: Don't Panic
By: Caster
Pairing: Ryan/Speed
Rating: PG
A/N: In the attempt to get my brain going for my Greg/Ryan fic, I fear I may have accidentally unleashed something else entirely. I didn't mean to! It's like being in a nuclear lab. There's this big, red, shiny button that says DO NOT PUSH! But it's big and red and shiny. So I do push it. That's why no one lets me into nuclear labs anymore.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue. Everyone's happy. The song used in this work is called Don't Panic by Coldplay. You can find it on their record Parachutes, which I highly recommend.
Summary: Common sense and historic reasoning, laws and Bibles. Feelings, chemicals, distance, secrets. Gray skies, cold bones, light reflecting off of invisible men. Ryan was once a normal, sane scientist... until he met Tim Speedle.

***

Bones, sinking like stones

Outside his window, the world was beating in the steady rhythm it has always known. It beat like a heart, ticked like a clock; ever since the beginning, the world has acknowledged a strange pulse. Maybe it was God, maybe it was the amazing fusion of molecules and atoms, maybe it was both, but it has always been there. He could always feel it.

Palm tree leaves were waving in a breeze, fast cars and beautiful people milled around outside. Ryan Wolfe, ever the observer, could see them from his second story window in the Miami-Dade crime lab. Clouds, thick and white, were floating across the big blue sky, a sky that hosted a bright yellow sun to shine down on the city.

The city, a world in itself, beat like a heart as well. It wasn't always a compassionate one, because there was more violence and hatred than Ryan first believed there to be. Maybe it was the job that made the crime and greed more prominent in his view of the world, or maybe that's how it actually was. Either option was a frightening one, and for one cowardly second, Ryan was glad he could hide in the silence of the second story while watching the rest of the city move back and forth, likes waves in the harsh, unforgiving sea.

Beyond his window, the world ticked. Time was passing because time was the only thing that never died, the only thing that he had ever known to be constant, whether he wanted it to be or not.

And below him, he could see That Man again.

That Man hung around the crime lab too often and Ryan didn't like it; it was suspicious, and frankly, Ryan would have arrested him long ago if he were one of the officers protecting this place. But this guy just kept loafing around, as if he were waiting for something, looking for someone, as if he had all the time the beating Earth had to offer.

Ryan had seen him several times before. That was the problem.

He would catch a glimpse of That Man's face: weary dark eyes, unruly hair, a stony and tired expression. But a glimpse was all Ryan could ever seem to get- once spotted, That Man seemed to disappear into thin air and logically speaking, such an act was impossible until science could prove otherwise.

But every time Ryan saw That Man, the world seemed to pause and there was no pulse, no time, no movement. The sky seemed to grow darker, losing its blue tint in favor for gray and with one quick look outside, Ryan found this to be true. Indeed, the sky was gray now but the weather hadn't called for rain.

Ryan turned from the window to catch an elevator in the hall, but he had a feeling that when he reached ground floor, That Man would be missing and the sky would be blue again.

He wasn't surprised when he found himself to be right.

All that we fought for

"Have you ever seen that guy who hangs around here all the time?"

Eric looked up for a moment, his concentration breaking from the DNA printout he was currently holding. Ryan glanced at the paper before briefly wondering whom the samples belonged to, what bits and pieces the body had left behind. Hair, blood, skin? Logically speaking, the body consisted of nothing except matter, which meant chemical balances were the only variable responsible for emotions. Emotion was a common reason for murder, so which parts of Fate and Destiny and Chaos and God had interrupted this person's life enough to take them away from the world again?

It was complicated, but sometimes the Miami sun and its light made it so that it didn't matter.

"Guy?" Eric asked, giving Ryan a strange look. "What guy?"

"That guy that's always loafing around. Isn't that strange to you?"

Eric gave him a small, thoughtful frown. "Have you reported it to a guard?"

"Several times. They think I'm out of my mind."

"Are you?"

Was he? Ryan didn't respond. Lately, he had been asking that question himself. No one else had seen That Man; maybe he hadn't seen him either. Insanity was just another level of consciousness, wasn't it?

"I'm not sure."

Eric was surprised by the answer. He gave him another look, eyes observing the younger CSI. Eyes. Eyes that could see because light existed, light that hit things so our eyes could see it, eyes that told our brain that there something in the way or words to be read or a moment to be witnessed.

"You aren't crazy. Lots of weirdos hang out around here. I'm sure he'll go away soon enough."

Homes, places we've grown

That Man didn't go away.

At lunch, he'd see him through the glass windows. In the parking lot, his shadow came to haunt him. Everywhere, bits and pieces of him came through and surely he was going crazy. He didn't mention it to Eric again, because he wasn't quite sure That Man existed and maybe the officers had a perfectly good reason to tell him he was out of his mind.

But one day, one bright, sunny day in Miami, Ryan's shift ended and he collected his books and files and said goodbye to Calleigh and Eric and left the building. He hadn't seen That Man in nearly two days. Maybe his consciousness was returning to its normal state. The world was still beating as it always did and the palm tree leaves were still blowing in the breeze.

Things felt normal.

Things felt right.

And then the sky turned gray.

He was making his way down the steps, towards the parking lot. It had been bright blue since the sun broke out that morning, and instinctively Ryan looked around, because the sky only turned gray when That Man was present and for once, for once, Ryan could see him sitting on the bottom step, no elevators or walls between them.

Ryan didn't blink. Literally. He had to make sure That Man didn't pull one of those disappearing stunts again and if not blinking was one way to do it, he would certainly try. He walked calmly down the stairs, careful not to startle him, making sure he didn't disappear as he always did.

"What are you doing here?"

At first, That Man didn't answer. He just continued looking towards the road; to something distant that Ryan couldn't see.

"Did you hear me? Why are you always here?"

That Man looked up; his tired brown eyes were full of slight surprise. He glanced around, as if unsure Ryan was speaking to him. Ryan felt himself grow impatient. Was this a game to him? Was it funny? This guy had been haunting the Miami-Dade CSI building for three months now and this cat-and-mouse match was really beginning to wear on Ryan's 20/20 perception of what was logical and what wasn't.

"Are you talking to me?" The voice was thick, stunned.

"Who else would I be talking to?" Ryan hadn't meant to sound harsh, but honestly, whom else would he be talking to? There were dozens of lawyers, suspects, officers, techs on the stairs at any given moment, constantly moving around, a never ending press of movement, but Ryan was standing about three feet from That Man and one would have to be deaf not to understand that he was addressing him.

That Man didn't reply; merely rose from his stoop on the stair. Ryan tried not to look intimidated. That Man was a few good inches taller than him and it wasn't a fair fight, but Ryan had started it and Ryan would finish it. Besides, That Man's face was familiar from somewhere. A picture in the newspaper? A photo on a desk? Or maybe Ryan had never seen his face before; instead, his mind was linking together parts of memories, convincing his conscious self that he and That Man knew each other.

"You can see me?" Tim sounded surprised and people like that were usually under the influence of something. Just because he was high didn't mean he was anything more than flesh and faith and DNA strands. That's what everyone else amounted to and no one was given anything more.

"Of course I can see you. Are you intoxicated?"

As soon as Ryan asked the question, he began to get the distinct feeling that everyone else thought he was the drunken one. Why were they looking at him so strangely? Why were they whispering, acting concerned? Ryan tried to ignore the questioning stares. Instead, he continued their conversation.

"What's your name?" After all, this guy, whoever he was, had been dubbed "That Man" in his mind for a while now. It seemed only logical to get a name and then move on from there.

That Man seemed to weigh his answer, pausing for a moment to observe Ryan from behind his unemotional expression. Ryan met his questioning eyes. He didn't want to and felt terrified doing it, but it was eat or be eaten and he certainly wouldn't let That Man get the best of him. Finally, after many long seconds (for one moment, Ryan lost the rhythm of the world, the one he always felt) That Man replied, "Tim. Are you the replacement for the lab?"

Ryan gave him a stern look, his jaw set and eyes hard. He was so tired of that question but Tim couldn't possibly know his frustration. He tried not to lose his temper, because he so rarely did.

"I'm not a replacement."

"Oh, that's right. You're the new guy. What are you, twelve?"

"I'm not twelve, all right? Who do you think you are hanging around this place anyway?"

"You're the only one complaining. You got a problem with me?"

"I have a problem with people who act suspicious and take up space while they do it. What's your full name?"

"Why should I tell you?"

Ryan didn't have a good answer for that. What he wanted was to get an officer to take care of it for him. He would do it himself –this guy was really pissing him off- but he couldn't legally arrest anyone anymore.

"Listen, I don't want any trouble with you. I'm just saying that this isn't a clubhouse for civilians. It's a crime lab."

"I know what this place is."

"Then why-?"

"Look, kid, I'll see you around."

"I'm not a kid!"

"You act like one."

Tim, no longer "That Man", turned and walked up the steps and into the crime lab. Ryan felt his poise and what little confidence he had fall away in favor of anger and hurt and embarrassment. He was still new at this job and to have some weirdo off the street walk around like he owned the place was… was…

Ryan turned and walked down the steps to the sidewalk. He wanted to run, wanted to piece together what little dignity he had to begin with, but he couldn't, because people were watching and he wouldn't run. He wouldn't.

He would never run.

All of us are done for.

It had been almost sixteen hours since that terrible episode in the front of the CSI building. Sixteen hours of restless sleep and a war in his stomach, but shift had to start again sometime. He had perfectly pressed his clothes and reorganized his notebooks; he even bought another stock of pens for his backpack. He didn't need them, but it made him feel like his usual logic-driven self, and that was certainly what he preferred at the moment.

He drove up to the CSI building with as much composure as he could muster. Sure, there would be quiet whispers (They'd never say it to his face, but "Hey, isn't that the freak who talks to invisible people?" was the general gist of the conversation.) There would be weird looks (Only Calleigh, Eric, and Horatio would make the effort of being inconspicuous.) That guard might even questions Ryan's sanity again. Again.

Ryan was really beginning to regret confronting Tim at all. That was a stupid, stupid thing to do, but he couldn't undo the past. He would just have to let it run its course.

He was in the middle of a DNA trace sample when he saw Calleigh through the door; she met his eyes and turned towards him. He wanted to duck or find a really good excuse for not having time to talk in about two seconds, but ducking was a little obvious and no good excuses were revealing themselves.

"Hey Ryan."

She was trying to make it sound casual. Great.

"Hi Calleigh."

"Listen, I was thinking we could take lunch together. You like delis?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I brought my own lunch today." A blatant lie; he tried to ignore the gnawing guilt that piled itself on with the embarrassment, paranoia, and exhaustion. He'd never wanted to lie to Calleigh before and it felt terrible.

"Hm." She gave him a small smile, an innocent look to her eyes. "Or maybe you'll grab some grub with the invisible man?"

He didn't respond, merely pursed his lips. He could tell she was only concerned and didn't want to irritate him, but so many had already pushed and pushed until a small part of him, the one that barely made itself known, decided to push back.

"There was a man on the stairs in front of the building, okay? I'd seen him before and I told him this wasn't a hangout for just anyone off the street."

"Ryan, I believe you. It's just all the people passing by said that you were talking to nothing but air."

"He was there. He was tall and had dark hair and wrinkled clothes."

"Ryan, Horatio can get a counselor or psychiatrist if you need some sort of help. Are you sure you're-"

"I'm fine."

She believed him, as well she should. Because Ryan was fine, and that presented a problem. Issue-free persons don't get into arguments with invisible people.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The rhythm of the world went on.

We live in a beautiful world

Lunch hour wasn't usually a lonely affair. Ryan and Calleigh and Eric would take it together if their caseloads weren't too heavy. They would joke and laugh and try not to dwell on all the things they had encountered that morning, but no matter how long you worked the job, the cases were always quietly horrifying.

But Ryan didn't want to face them today. Maybe he was a coward, but he couldn't manage to gather the strength to face Calleigh and Eric and their attempts to ignore Ryan's obvious insanity.

So he patiently waited for them to finish their lunch break without him. He had declined their invitation earlier under the pretense of being too busy to eat. Once they were finished, he took his homemade lunch, a sandwich and pretzels that he wasn't really hungry for, and found a seat in the corner of the break room. He ignored the looks. Ryan was the outsider now, which was the farthest thing he had been reaching for. He had wanted so badly to fit in; all the trying, the attempts, the "I'm not a replacement" wars were a lost cause.

He was the odd one out.

He wished he could be surprised.

But in the midst of his inner ramblings, in the middle of shredding up the geeky brown paper bag he brought his lunch in, he felt it: the rhythm stopped. Things went slightly gray. The world outside slowed.

And when Ryan looked up, Tim was sitting in a chair across from his own, wearing the same thing he had worn the day before.

He would have been surprised but he found that he wasn't. Things always took on a strange atmosphere when Tim was around; at least, Ryan was aware of it. Didn't anyone else notice the way the room dropped a few degrees?

Ryan wanted to give Tim the cold shoulder. He wanted to demand an explanation in the rudest tone he could manage. He wanted to humiliate Tim the way he had been humiliated; wanted Tim to be the one subject to gossip and weird looks. But the fact remained that Ryan wasn't a cruel person, not even close. So instead of asking Tim anything, he sat in silence, waiting for the other man to speak instead.

Finally, after a stretched pause, Tim decided to talk.

"I think we might have started out on the wrong foot," he muttered, as if he weren't used to admitting that he was in the wrong. He didn't meet Ryan's eyes; he opted to stare at the door. He nervously tapped his index finger on the tabletop and Ryan almost felt… flattered. Obviously, this guy either didn't care what other people thought of him or was too proud to admit when he had made a mistake. Whatever prompted him to confess his error was a force to be reckoned with.

"Maybe," agreed Ryan, not exactly ready to just forget everything and become best friends with a complete stranger.

"Look, are you going to make me apologize?" he asked, rolling his eyes. Somehow, though, Ryan could tell he wasn't as tough as he wanted to appear. He seemed uptight, anxious, and a little frightened.

"Depends. Tell me what's going on and I might let you off easy."

"I'm sorry I called you a kid."

"I'd rather an explanation than an apology."

"Sure. Whatever."

Ryan sighed and balled up his paper bag. "I just want to make sure you're not an extremist trying to destroy our labs. I know it's weird, but a lot of people do a lot of stupid things for no reason. If someone hangs around here but isn't actually employed by this office, it's just a little suspicious. I didn't mean to offend you."

Tim shot him a grim smile, and from Ryan's point of view, the older man was almost… beautiful.

"I'm not trying to destroy anything. A friend of mine works here."

"You know, that's all you had to say yesterday," said Ryan, giving him a crooked half smile, one that was unsure and hesitant. "That would have saved us a whole lot of trouble."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry about that. So are we okay here?"

Tim seemed like a no-apologies, crass sort of guy and Ryan knew the "sorry" he received would be the most he'd ever get. Still, Tim seemed rather lonely and Ryan knew that feeling all too well.

"We're fine."

Yeah we do, yeah we do

It had become custom –almost a ritual- to find Tim in the back of the break room on Ryan's lunch break. How could he explain it? It was a strange thing they had going on, whatever it was. Were they friends? Just two lonely guys hanging out? Mere acquaintances? No, they were more than that. But somehow, there was this broken bridge that Ryan couldn't seem to cross in terms of Tim. They'd broach his family and he'd reveal a little each time, but when it came to his job, it was almost as if he were making it up as he went along.

When Eric finally posed the question of why Ryan didn't have lunch with he and Calleigh anymore, Ryan turned a little –God forbid it- pink. Calleigh, all knowing when it came to potential love interests, was quick to grab hold of that small detail. They were CSIs, after all, and details were their specialty.

"Oo. Is that a blush you're sporting?" A teasing tilt to her voice, a curious look in her eyes; could she know?

"No. No, there's no blush," Ryan sputtered, his mind going a million miles an hour. What would he say? What would they think? Wasn't he a freak enough already without having a male love interest?

"When Cal gets it in her mind that someone's got a significant other, she won't let it drop until she finds out who. And we are the only people you hang out with," said Eric, the same joking tone to his voice, a laughter to his words. "If your secret girlfriend doesn't meet our standards, she'll never last."

She. She. She. Suddenly, Ryan wanted to scream.

Bones, sinking like stones

"You can tell me what the matter is."

They were at their table by lunchtime. Ryan had hardly spoken and considering Tim was never one to babble on incessantly, their conversation was nearly nonexistent. But Tim surprised the younger CSI by being so sincere in his concern regarding Ryan's unusual silence.

"Nothing's wrong. Just some tough cases, I guess."

Tim didn't reply. He wasn't eating, as usual. Every day, Ryan offered to buy him lunch or at least share his own, but Tim always declined the offer, insisting that he wasn't hungry.

"That's a little transparent, but I won't push."

Ryan didn't respond for a moment. There were so many things he wanted to ask this man, so many bits and pieces of the puzzle that didn't really make sense. He didn't know Tim at all, and yet he was attracted to him? How could that be? He was befriending a complete stranger and that was a stupid, reckless, careless thing to do.

"Would you…" Ryan began, but his common sense practically forced him to stop. That was a little late, of course, considering Tim was already looking at him expectantly, waiting for the rest of the question.

"Would I what?"

"Like to go… uh, see a movie or something? Sometime?" The words were coming out choked and nervous. In other words, he was completely transparent, but it was too late. Time was constant, never ending; it stopped for no one's clumsy mistake.

"A movie?" Tim asked, surprise laced with his words. "You're asking me to a movie?"

Ryan's worry was replaced by curiosity, and he finally managed to look up and meet Tim's face. Brown yes, pale skin, his five o'clock shadow. Didn't Tim do anything fun? It seemed that he did was hang around the crime lab.

"Or- or dinner, if you don't like the theater. Or… anything. What do you do other than work?"

Tim laughed a little. "My life is my work. I don't do much of anything else."

"So is that a yes?"

Tim looked tempted. He gave Ryan a long look but smiled apologetically and Ryan felt sick with disappointment. "I can't," he said, as if that explained it all.

"Oh." Ryan tried not to let his shy discomfort show, but it must have been obvious on his face. "That's fine."

"I'm sorry."

Ryan smiled. "There's nothing to be sorry for. It's just a movie. Maybe we can go some other time."

Tim looked away and Ryan knew they would never be anywhere together except here, at their table in the break room. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to know. Every fiber inside of him, every cell, every strand of DNA itched fiercely to know this man's secrets.

Tim seemed as if he wanted to go; what was stopping him? Something wasn't right and Ryan shivered, because it was cold again and the sky outside the break room window looked like tarnished silver.

All that we fought for

"So," said Eric quietly, sliding next to Ryan. "How's your mystery date woman going? If Calleigh's not discussing a case, she's talking about you and brainstorming ways to get your secrets. You should probably tell her before she combusts or something."

The trace lab was empty except for them. The building itself had fallen into a welcome lull; no insane cases, no heavy work loads. For once, the murder rate in Miami seemed small.

Ryan laughed and shook his head. "She's really unbelievable. She can always find a way to dive deeper."

"That's our Cal."

"I guess. But really, there's no woman. I don't know where you guys even got the idea."

"So there's a man?"

Eric's matter-of-fact tone and no-surprise-there expression might have made Ryan nervous, anxious, frantic, insane with fear that others might discover his secret. But there was a man. What was he hiding it for anyway? Why should he hide it? He was ashamed in high school and college and his early twenties, but he had passed all that. He was in the real world now and he was sick of being the quiet one.

If he were going to be labeled a freak, he would at least make it worthwhile. He liked Tim, much more than he should. There was no explaining it, mapping it out for outsiders to observe; it just… happened. A month of lunches and talking about everything and nothing; it all began building and creating something between them. There weren't any rules or boundaries.

No science could explain it. No textbook had indexed answers. It was a mix of chemicals and God; atoms and molecules and all the things humans will never fully grasp.

"There might be someone," admitted Ryan, softly, almost as his words might shatter the walls.

"Hm. And does this person know?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"What's stopping you from telling them?"

Common sense and historic reasoning, laws and Bibles. Feelings, chemicals, distance, secrets. Gray skies, cold bones, light reflecting off invisible men. The rhythm of the world, the constant beat, reminding Ryan that he was once a normal, sane scientist.

Everything was stopping him.

He never saw palm tree leaves sway in warm breezes anymore.

Homes, places we've grown

The front steps were relatively empty that night, compared to the usual hustle and bustle that was the CSI crime lab. Eric's words echoed in Ryan's mind, along with many other voices that weren't Ryan's own. What was stopping him from telling Tim how he felt? He tried the movie, but maybe he hadn't got his point across. Maybe Tim didn't need subtleties. Maybe he needed Ryan to be frank so he could really know what was going on between them. Maybe Ryan needed Ryan to know what was going on between them.

Ryan knew that if he waited, Tim would appear one way or another. Somehow, he always knew where Ryan was when he wanted to talk.

Ryan found the step where Tim had been sitting the day they first met and sat down, his backpack filled with pens and organized notebooks by his side. He waited patiently, content with watching fast cars and beautiful people pass by, each one prey to Fate and Destiny and Time.

Perhaps one of those cars would crash; one of those beautiful people would be victim to a stray bullet. The fact remained that one person was at one place as a result of everything they have ever done; who knows when their end of the line is up? That was how pandemonium worked. Everything is victim except the pandemonium.

When Ryan felt the chill on his arms, he didn't have to look to know that Tim was sitting right beside him.

All of us are done for.

"You like sitting around for no particular reason?"

"That seems a little hypocritical coming from you," replied Ryan, smiling slightly, looking into the Miami sunset, watching the colors change from vibrant pink to purple dusk. Tim and Ryan weren't in any hurry, and neither was the sunset.

There was a pause between them before Ryan, still not looking at Tim out of both fear and anxiety, spoke. That was what he had been waiting to do and he couldn't keep going on like this.

"I like you."

Tim let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "Thanks. You might be the only one who does."

"I mean that I like you much more than I should."

Tim's smile faded quickly and Ryan found it within himself to look away from the sky and towards the other man.

"What?" Tim asked, meeting Ryan's eyes. Ryan wondered where he found that sort of courage.

"I like you more than just a friend," he said, his words low and a barely discernable.

"Oh."

It was then that Ryan began to consider that perhaps he had made a colossal mistake. He should have never said anything. He should have gotten in his car and headed to his empty apartment, complete with books and movies and CDs in alphabetical order; mailbox with nothing but bills, a shell of a life with no one to share it with except Pandemonium.

"I'm sorry," Ryan blurted, grabbing his backpack and quickly heading towards the parking lot, unable to even look in Tim's general direction. "I'm so sorry. Forget I said anything."

He had just ruined everything.

His Plan B was to get home, call in sick tomorrow, and lie in bed, hating himself for the mess he had just created. That was his master strategy until Tim's hand came in contact with his arm in an attempt to stop Ryan's very enthusiastic trek towards a place that wasn't the crime lab.

Tim's touch was chilling. Ryan couldn't stop his involuntary shiver as he looked up with curious eyes to meet Tim's own sorrowful gaze. This was yet another part of the riddle that Ryan couldn't quite grasp.

Tim immediately broke contact with the younger man, realizing how physically uncomfortable it was for him. He tried to ignore Ryan's questioning gaze; questioning because he was concerned and concerned because he cared.

"It's okay. I'm not… this isn't a rejection."

"Not a harsh one," Ryan supplied, giving Tim a repentant glance. "At least you're letting me down easy."

"Ryan, I'm not letting you down. Well, I am, but…" Tim looked away momentarily, back towards the sky, searching for the words he needed.

Finally, "You're gorgeous. You're smart, you're funny, you're a lot of things and I'm definitely flattered and very tempted."

"Let me guess," Ryan whispered. "You can't."

"I can't," Tim agreed. In his eyes swam regret and sorrow and eternity.

"Why?"

"Please don't ask that. Just believe me."

Ryan closed his eyes, wished he could touch the other man. Instead he did as he was asked and didn't argue or push.

"Okay."

"Okay," echoed the taller man. "I'm sorry."

"So am I."

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

"As long as there are cases to be solved."

So Ryan gave him one last, brave smile before turning and walking towards his car. The sun had set and there were no more colors and very few stars.

When he looked back, Tim wasn't there.

We live in a beautiful world

Thump.

Yeah we do, yeah we do

Thump.

We live in a beautiful world

Thump.

Oh, all that I know

Outside his window, the world was beating in the steady rhythm it has always known. It beat like a heart, ticked like a clock; ever since the beginning, the world has acknowledged a strange pulse. Maybe it was God, maybe it was the amazing fusion of molecules and atoms, maybe it was both, but it has always been there.

He could always feel it.

"So," whispered Eric, his breath on Ryan's ear, "How did it go with you and the mystery guy?"

In a perfect world, Ryan would tell Eric that they had both felt the same, they ended up together, and they would lead a long and happy life with one another complete with a house and a dog and a white picket fence. But life, along with Fate and Destiny and Time and Pandemonium, didn't often work out that way.

"I told him," Ryan replied.

"And?"

The younger CSI sighed. Even before then, Eric could tell by Ryan's tone of voice that it didn't go quite as well as he had hoped.

"And he said he was flattered. And tempted. But he couldn't."

"He couldn't?" asked Eric, as if he had never heard of the word. "Is he straight? A criminal? Engaged?"

Ryan shook his head. "No. He just… couldn't. That's all he could tell me."

"Sounds to me like he's hiding a secret wife and baby from you," muttered Eric, still in a small state of disbelief. "I mean, it's you. How could he resist?"

"Beats me," replied Ryan, laughing a little. "God knows people are tripping over themselves left and right for my number."

"Yeah, well, don't worry. I'm sure he'll come to his senses soon. What's his name?"

Ryan felt his mouth tug to form a small smile. He realized that he didn't even know Tim's last name or his birthday or his favorite color. So many things that he didn't understand, so many parts that didn't fit together.

"Tim," he replied.

Eric was silent. Ryan looked up to see that the Cuban's eyes were wet. Ryan frowned before panicking slightly; what had he done now?

"Eric? What is it? What's the matter?"

Outside his window, the sky grew dreary and the clouds became darker. It was going to rain, even though the weather had called for sun the entire week through. Ryan knew in his frozen bones that Tim was around here somewhere and something just wasn't right.

Eric shook his head, not meeting Ryan's eyes. "It's nothing. I'd better get these bullet files to Calleigh." Words strewn together, muttered, broken at a God forsaken memory that Ryan had inadvertently brought to the surface of Eric's conscious.

What did I say? Tim? His name? Tim. Files. Bullets. Guns.

And then, only then, in the silence of the second story, the window displaying a tarnished world, Ryan realized that the sky was as gray as newspapers.

Newspaper.

Tim became more familiar than ever.

There's nothing here to run from

Ryan didn't bother with the elevator; instead, he took the stairs. His footsteps echoed off the walls as he scrambled down towards the first floor, towards the file room, where newspapers and articles were kept, where bits and pieces of information irrelevant to cases were stored. He busted through the door. Some tried to ask where he was going, some even tried to get him to slow down, but Ryan had had enough.

Because somewhere inside of him, where that sixth sense those experts couldn't explain lay silent, he had always known.

This time, he would run. Now he had a purpose, though, now there was a destination worth getting to.

He ignored the looks, the stares, someone even right out laughed at his determined pace. He was the geek, the lost one, the little kid who replaced a man that everyone in the Miami-Dade crime lab respected, adored, loved like a brother or son. But he had never personally met the one who lost their life in that jewelry store; he barely even heard his name whispered. How could Ryan not have known? Not recognized the face?

The man who he knew so well but didn't know at all was resting in the silence of a grave.

He found the unlocked file room door and threw it open. He passed the older cabinets and headed towards the back where a drawer labeled 2004 was slightly open with one small file was sticking out. Ryan pulled it out all the way. He already knew what it would be.

Speedle, Tim

Papers made from trees were tucked in a file; pictures of a man with weary dark eyes, pale skin, a five o'clock shadow were crinkled. Screaming headlines, dark inks on stormy sheets, the story of a man's demise as told by numerous reporters in Miami. Tim Speedle was shot in a jewelry store. There was mention of ransom, money, kidnap; Speedle was victim to the ruthless human nature and what appeared to be a faulty gun.

But more than that, he was victim to Fate and Destiny, God and Pandemonium. He was in that jewelry store at that very moment as a result of all the choices he had ever made. All things were unwinding, the pieces and puzzles were fitting together, everything that had been unbalanced was beginning to recreate themselves to form an illogical but correct answer.

He clutched the papers as he turned to leave. Past the break room, beyond the trace lab, onwards past those who hated him or those whose sympathy touched him very little because they offered so little in the first place. He reached the doors. Glass doors; the sun wasn't shining because it was pouring; it poured heavily on the steps. Literal steps where they first met and figurative steps that they needed to take.

Tim was standing there. Waiting. He wasn't wet in the rain.

Ryan left the building to where Tim stood.

"You figured it out. I knew you would eventually."

His voice, heavy and smooth; tired and sad. Regretful.

"You're supposed to be dead. Why are you still here?" Ryan thought he would be scared, but he was more fretful for Tim than anything else.

"I don't know. I know I was shot at but I got up and went to work the next day. No one paid attention to me and everyone was crying."

"Did you know?"

"It didn't take long."

"How come only I can see you?"

Tim paused a moment, the sky growing just a little lighter and the rain relenting ever so slowly.

"I don't know."

"Did you choose me?"

"I didn't even know who you were. You just came up and told me to piss off."

Ryan gave a small laugh despite the circumstances; met Tim's eyes and knew that this could never last. Not in a million years. Not in an eternity.

"You have to go, Tim. I have twenty newspaper clippings that said you're buried in a cemetery somewhere and you can't be happy haunting this place."

"I'm buried somewhere," agreed Tim, looking away towards the sky. It was growing lighter every passing second, revealing the beginning of a sunset. "But no one gave me a map after I died, so I just hung around here. I don't know where I'm supposed to go."

"Maybe you do."

There was something wet in Tim's eyes, but it wasn't rain.

"Don't expect me say anything sappy," he muttered.

"I'd have a heart attack if you did."

Ryan smiled and he never felt such an ache before in his life. His heart was an organ; no feelings to speak of, really. He wondered if those emotional chemicals were mixing up again to form this pain, the one that would result in Tim's being gone, never to return to this place. The young CSI took a brave step forward.

"But since I'm the sappier one of the both of us, I can say that I might miss you and our lunches."

Tim's face conveyed the same thing. Why did it have to be like this? "You're making this a lot harder than it has to be."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not."

Tim leaned down, those few intimidating inches, and brushed his lips across Ryan's. They were cold but Ryan didn't mind, because there was warmth radiating from the both of them, the combination and majesty of everything they were. The kiss grew deeper, more meaningful, everything that they felt being forced into one fleeting moment.

Ryan's hand brushed Tim's cheek. It was warm and it was almost as if Tim was human. "I'm going to miss you," he whispered and he realized he was crying, sobbing silently, rain being traded for tears.

"I know." Tim, never one to admit his feelings openly, expressed his regret through one last kiss.

Ryan broke away to take a breath. Tim was gone when he opened his eyes.

From the door, the entire Miami-Dade crime lab was watching, gawking. Calleigh was sobbing. Eric looked like stone.

The rain stopped.

And yeah, everybody here's

Tim had been awake beyond the grave. But he was made of nothing; nothing physical that they could touch, nothing their printed fingertips could actually feel. He was everything that was left; the flesh was dead but the faith and strong consciousness remained intact.

Ghosts were something else entirely, something the microscopes and textbooks could never explain.

Maybe ghost's matter was a result of God or the twisted, eerie minds of atoms and molecules. Feelings, chemicals, distance, secrets. Creation, matter, faith, ruthlessness. Everything was connected and everything was part of something else. Everything and everyone mattered.

Ryan wondered idly where the circle ended, where eternity began, if indeed it existed at all. Which parts of life were the dreams of humans and doctrine of religion? Which parts were truly real? So many people put their hopes in eternity, promises of a God rumored to be true. Apocalyptic visions and the souls returned from beyond the world; wars, famine, suffering. It made Ryan ill. Too many thoughts and too much to consider, too many of those he could never help.

He hoped Tim was happy. Because here on Earth, Ryan was still struggling. But that was a part of life, wasn't it? Some struggles were much harder than others, and he was still fighting the laughs and trying to find his own stepping stones, trying to make it to the top, where he could one day rest. And his heart still hurt when he thought of Speed. Eric's eyes were still haunted, Calleigh's smile never quite as bright as it once was. But they would move past that with time. Because time was always constant.

Outside, the sun was shining. The sky didn't turn gray anymore. But then, Ryan knew it wouldn't. His love for Tim buried itself inside and he never forgot it, because that was part of him now. Whatever was in the future was in the future, but he would always have the memory of Tim's eyes, lips, voice. No matter what, he was part of Fate and Destiny, God and Pandemonium.

He watched palm tree leaves sway in breeze from the second story.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

And if he was silent then he could hear the wind that was the breath of the entire world and a clock that was ticking somewhere far away.

Got somebody to lean on.

Ryan closed his eyes and sent one thought to the heavens, spiraling up through clouds and atmosphere, towards the never-ending universe of stars. I miss you. But I'll see you again someday and we can be happy.

He knew Tim heard it.

FIN.