The Stupidest Thing

Disclaimer: I don't own them... pity. Not making any money either. So please don't sue me.

Spoilers/Warnings: Well I mention a certain someone is dead and gone but I think we all know that now. Other then that there's little m/m kiss… if you don't like that what ARE you doing here?

Author's Notes: This was quickly edited by myself and Keikimo but very possible there's still a few typos running around. Someday I'll remember how to write long stories I swear I will.


In retrospect it was probably the stupidest thing he'd even done. Ryan didn't have a clue what he'd been thinking. Actually he hadn't been thinking it had been the tequila. The damn tequila of which he'd obviously had way too much.

They'd wrapped up a horrific case that day. By far the worst in the short time he'd been part of the team. They'd all worked on it bit by bit until they figured it out. He couldn't decide if he'd just had the bad luck to get the trickiest evidence that took the longest or if he just really wasn't good enough. Twice when people had come to ask him for his results and he'd had to say he wasn't finished he'd caught "That Look" on their face. He'd seen it enough to have named it. It was the look people got when they were comparing him with his predecessor. Comparing him and finding him lacking. He'd come to realize very early on that he would never be able to fill Tim Speedle's shoes. It wouldn't matter if he were the perfect CSI. Speed was a Saint. Saint Speed… who evidently could do anything in no time at all.

He'd dropped his head into his hands. He'd known he shouldn't think that way… it wasn't Speed's fault that everyone remembered him that way and there was no reason they shouldn't. The man was a hero after all. Fallen in the line of duty. But on a day when Ryan just knew he wasn't making the grade in most people's eyes he couldn't help but resent Tim Speedle. He'd scrubbed his face a few times with his hands before he just sat there with his face buried in his hands. He didn't know how much later that the locker room door had opened.

It was Horatio who'd found him. His boss efficiently gathered up the young man and his things and took him out of the PD and to a small quiet bar. H ordered the drinks and let him drink. When he'd had enough to relax, enough to be a little buzzed, and a lot more ready to listen, the other man started talking. In that slow calm voice. Telling him first that it had been an awful case and he'd done a good job. Then continuing saying he didn't want Ryan to replace Tim Speedle. That he wanted him to make his own place. The Ghost of Speed would always be there, but he shouldn't try to compete with it. You just can't compete with memories.

He'd nodded, kept drinking what was put in front of him and eventually began to talk about his worries and his fears. Not just about living up to Speed's illustrious memory. But about actually not being good enough. For the job, the team. All of it. The other man's only reassurance to his was that if he wasn't good enough he wouldn't still have his job.

Eventually when he was good and drunk Horatio dragged him home. Cajoled him into drinking several glasses of water to ease the hangover that was sure to follow ingesting this much alcohol, then told him to go to bed.

Ryan had felt himself nod, leaning on the other man a little more then was strictly necessary, looking at his boss up close. Then without a thought he leaned in close, pressing their lips together.

It wasn't much of a kiss. He hadn't really thought much beyond the first motion. But then Horatio had kissed him back. Their lips moving together, finally parting and the older man's tongue slipping in to his mouth for a briefest second. Then he stilled and withdrew. He was pushed back to arms length. Horatio looked at him for a long moment then turned him around and gave him a gentle shove towards his bedroom. "Go to bed Ryan. Sleep it off." He paused. "If you still want to do that once you're sober. Then we'll talk."


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