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."