[Fic] Comprehension 2/2, PG-13 Empire Records/CSI Miami

[kat-songs.livejournal.com]

Title: Comprehension
Author: kat_songs
Rating: PG-13 for drunk people
Pairing: Ryan/Eric preslash
A/N: Two posts now merged since I've solved the problem with the extra spaces.

Part Two: Eric Delko and Calleigh Duquesne Deny That They Followed Ryan Wolfe Anywhere

Ten months and several ups and downs later, Eric still barely knew anything about Ryan, though he’d be the first to admit (if drunk, with anyone but Wolfe) that he was starting to think of the other man as a friend.  He’d almost reconciled himself to the fact that Ryan Wolfe might always be something of a mystery to him.  However, Calleigh Duquesne was bound and determined to give their unproductive fact-finding mission one more attempt, and after he’d mentioned to her last year that Ryan and his friends were holding a wake for someone any day now, she’d immediately decided for the both of them that they’d just have to find out where they were going to be so they could accidentally, coincidentally, go to the same place at the same time to see Ryan’s friends for their own eyes.

That led to where he was now, thanks to the persuasive argument his charming best friend had thrown at him earlier in the week – standing outside the break room once again, pretending to be invisible, (not) eavesdropping on Ryan’s conversation.
 
“Are you bringing Chelsea?” Ryan was saying hopefully.  “Don’t tell me she’s on tour with Berko and Gina again.”

He paused.  “Germany?” he exclaimed.  “Jesus.  Alright, I can see how Germany might be more interesting than visiting her uncle.”  Ryan laughed at Deb’s reply.

“Yeah,” he said.  “I’m pretty sure everyone else is coming.  You remember how to get to Scully’s from the hotel?”

Eric chanced a peek around the door and was surprised to see Ryan slouched bonelessly in one of the chairs in the break room, an enormous grin on his face.  He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to thank these mysterious friends of Ryan’s.  He hadn’t thought anything could make the uptight CSI unwind.

“Seven-thirty it is,” Ryan said.  “We’ll see you tonight.”

Eric pulled his head back as soon as he saw Ryan start to look up.  He had a very simple philosophy about overhearing other people’s private conversations: the only thing worse than (not) eavesdropping was being caught.  He decided he’s pushed his luck enough for one day and strode off to find Calleigh.  She’d be ecstatic that their plans to accidentally bump into Ryan now had a time and place.

The rest of his shift passed at a crawl, and he couldn’t help sneaking glances at his watch every few minutes.  Calleigh was uncharacteristically fidgety for the remainder of the day.  Eric had to suppress an amused snicker at the conspiratorial looks she gave him behind Ryan’s back as the three of them processed clothing from the several potential suspects they’d interviewed at the scene earlier in the day.

As soon as their shift was over, the three of them took off for the locker room at what would, in less professional people, be considered a run.

“Have big plans or something, guys?” Ryan asked them in wry amusement.  Apparently he’d finally noticed that they were just as eager to leave as he was.

Eric exchanged an anticipatory look with Calleigh.  “We’re meeting our friend’s old friends,” he told Ryan, smirking just a little.  “We’ve been trying to for a while, so yeah, I guess this is pretty big.”

Ryan looked at them oddly – if Eric were a paranoid person, he’d have labeled Ryan’s expression as knowing.  “Sounds like it should be a fun night for you,” he said.  He hung his lab coat on a wooden hanger, smoothing out the creases at the elbow, before hanging it in his locker and slamming the faulty door shut with his shoulder.

“I’ll see you guys later,” he said, grinning, and sauntered away, hands in his pockets.

Calleigh closed her locker and smoothed her hair nervously.  “Do you think he suspects?” she asked Eric.

He thought about it for a second and shook his head.  “No.  We were pretty careful.”

She looked reassured for a moment, then frowned.  “Do you think he’s going to be upset with us?”

“Why would he be?” Eric pointed out.  “We’re not following him.  We’re just going for drinks at the same place he’s meeting his friends.”

“Good point.”  Calleigh smiled mischievously.  “Amazing coincidence, though, wouldn’t you agree?  Of course, we were bound to run into each other outside of work eventually.”

“Of course,” he agreed.  “I’m sure Wolfe would see it that way, too.”

“I’m driving,” she insisted cheerily, bouncing on the balls of her feet.  “Oh, this is going to be great.”

**

When Calleigh first came up with the idea, she and Eric had immediately decided that the best way to go about pulling it off was to arrive at the bar before Ryan got there.  That way, even if Ryan got suspicious, they’d be able to say in all honesty that they were there first and (less honestly) that he might have followed them for all they knew.  However, a fender-bender on Sunset choked traffic for several minutes, and by the time they finally arrived at Scully’s Tavern, it was a quarter to eight.

They hovered in the doorway, nerves suddenly failing them, and they peered around the crowded tavern, hoping to spot Ryan.

“There!” Calleigh exclaimed suddenly, pointing at a booth against the wall.

Eric looked in the direction her finger was aimed.  Sure enough, Ryan Wolfe was there, sitting wedged between the wall and a smirking, darkly pretty woman who bore a strong resemblance to him.  He had his head thrown back in laughter at something one of his friends had just said.  Across the table from Ryan and the woman Eric could only assume was Deb was a shapely brunette woman, identifiable as the designated driver by the can of Dr. Pepper she was sipping from.  A lanky man with dark hair that flopped into his eyes joined the table as Eric watched, handing Ryan and Deb large glasses of stout.

“Ahem.”  Eric and Calleigh turned to look behind them at the sound of someone clearing their throat, and stopped, stunned.

Mark McConnell – the lead singer of Marc – was standing there, grinning at them manically.  “You’re blocking the doorway,” he told them.  He seemed to barely be holding back laughter.  At Calleigh’s stuttered apologies, he did laugh, going on tiptoes to yell across the room.

“Hey, Ryan!”

“Mark!” Wolfe shouted back.  He met Eric’s eyes and, looking supremely unsurprised, continued, “You’re late, Delko!  What took you?”

Eric stood there like a lump, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t sound completely idiotic.  Mark clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a slight shove into the room.

“Come on, CSI guy,” he said eagerly.  “I hear they have great beer here.”

Eric gave a mental shrug and walked over to the booth.  He definitely hadn’t given Ryan enough credit for his observational skills.

“Sit down,” Ryan invited.  When the three newcomers had squeezed themselves into the booth, he asked again, “Seriously, what kept you?  Traffic?”

Calleigh answered for them both, making a very visible attempt to regain her normal poised confidence.  “We got stuck behind a fender-bender,” she said airily.  “Sorry for the holdup.”

“No problem,” Ryan said.

Deb rolled her eyes and elbowed him hard.  “Are you going to introduce us, or do I need to do the honors myself?”

“Oh, right,” Ryan said sheepishly.  “Uh, Calleigh, Delko, meet Deb, Corey, A.J., and Mark,” he said, pointing to each person in turn.

Eric nodded.  “Nice to meet you,” he said distractedly.  He was still mentally stuck on the fact that Ryan Wolfe of all people was friends with a famous rock star.

“It’s great to finally meet your friends, Ryan,” Calleigh said.

A.J. laughed.  “Whenever we’re in town we try to get him to invite you two along, but he’s never gone for it before.”

Ryan shrugged.  “I figured Delko was having too much fun eavesdropping to go and spoil the mystery for him.”

“I don’t eavesdrop,” Eric said flatly.

“Okay, okay, you don’t eavesdrop.”  Ryan raised his hands in mock surrender, and twisted in his seat to flag down a server.  “What do you guys want to drink?”

“I’ll have a Smithwick’s draught,” Calleigh told the waiter, who had hurried over to hover nervously as soon as he’d spotted Mark.

“I think a Black and Tan sounds good,” Mark added.

Eric hesitated.  They obviously had a well-stocked bar, but an Irish pub wasn’t likely to carry La Tropical.  “Boston Ale for me, thanks.”  The waiter hurried off, and Eric turned back to the table to study Ryan’s friends.

They all appeared to be a few years older than Wolfe, and interacted with each other in a way that only old friends could.  A.J. and Corey were snuggling together at the end of the booth, Mark and Deb were flicking pieces of paper napkins across the table at each other, and Ryan was leaning back in his seat and watching them all with a large smile on his face.

He was startled out of his observation by a pointy elbow to the ribs.

“Hey!” Deb said, sounding slightly annoyed.  Eric realized she’d been trying to capture his attention for a while, and his face reddened in embarrassment.

“Hey,” she said again.  She looked him up and down and smirked.  “So you’d be the guy who’s been giving my little brother grief.  I was wondering when I’d get to meet you.”  She smiled, and the shark like expression did nothing to allay his nervousness.

He took a large gulp of his beer to stall for time, surprised he hadn’t noticed the waiter’s return.  “We’re getting along now,” he said defensively.

“Relax, would you?” she said.  “I don’t bite.”  She smiled wider, showing off a pair of very pointy looking canines.  “He mentioned you guys were, oh, how did he put it? – kind of friends these days.”  Her sharp eyes pinned him in place, and Eric felt compelled to say something to redeem himself.  He wasn’t the type to bare his soul to someone he’d just met, but this was his teammate’s sister, and he knew from experience with Marisol that an angry older sister was nothing to scoff at.

“He started working for the lab less than a month after my best friend died,” Eric told her.  He absently traced lines in the condensation on his glass, working up the nerve to give her a complete answer.  “I know Ryan’s a good guy, but Speed – I guess I was just kind of territorial about someone trying to fill Speed’s shoes.”

Mark looked up at that, sitting up straight in his seat.  “To Lucas!” he bellowed, draining his glass and slamming it down on the table.

Ryan, Deb, and A.J. quickly followed suit.  “To Lucas!” they echoed loudly.

Corey burst into a fit of giggles at the startled looks on Calleigh and Eric’s faces.

“Who’s Lucas?” Calleigh asked.  The only reply she got was a tableful of laughter.

A.J. shook his head in helpless amusement.  “I’ve got the next round,” he said, shoulders shaking from repressed laughter.  He caught the eye of the waiter and raised his empty glass.

“We’re going to need it,” Ryan said.  His face was flushed, and his eyes shone with merriment.  “Who’s Lucas?” he said to himself, chuckling again.

Eric sighed internally and took another drink.  It seemed like it would be a while before he and Calleigh got the answers they were looking for.

Three rounds of drinks later, Eric and Calleigh were having the time of their lives.  Eric decided about two beers in that he’d been wrong about Ryan’s friends.  They weren’t annoying at all – they were great fun.  Mark had gotten up at some point during a debate A.J. and Ryan were having about the relative merits of Led Zeppelin versus Pink Floyd, and was dancing by himself next to the jukebox.  He’d set it to play five AC/DC songs over and over, and was currently playing the air guitar to “If You Want Blood.”
 
Deb had excused herself as well, going outside to field a phone call from her daughter.  If Eric craned his neck he could just barely see her on the bench outside the window, her free hand gesturing wildly as she spoke.

He turned his attention back to the table.  Corey and A.J. were regaling Calleigh with stories of their adolescence.  All their anecdotes prominently featured a store called Empire Records and Lucas, who was still a complete mystery to Eric.
 
“So we gave him a nametag and hired him on the spot,” Corey said, wrapping up her story.  “Someone who’s so desperate to work at a record store that they would stage a holdup was exactly the kind of crazy we wanted.”

“That’s just bizarre,” Calleigh exclaimed.  She turned to Ryan.  “Were you there for this?”

He shook his head.  “No, but we had homeroom together that year.  We were freshmen, I think.”  He looked at Corey for confirmation, and she nodded.  He grinned.  “I guess Sam just got tired of listening to me talk about how great the Empire was.” 

“You mean Warren,” A.J. corrected.  “Warren Beatty.” 

“I mean Warren,” Ryan agreed. 

Calleigh laughed lightly.  “Sounds like you guys were crazy growing up.” 

“Crazy doesn’t begin to cover it,” Corey said.  She rolled her eyes.  “Lucas was the craziest out of all of us.  Around the time he turned sixteen, he decided that he wanted to be called by his middle name for some weird reason –” 

“He said it helped him tap into his subconscious by not being called by his first name,” A.J. interjected. 

“That’s what it was.  Anyway, he started acting like a modern day Confucius, and he designated himself as the Empire’s philosopher and prophet.  It wasn’t until he went to college and fell into law enforcement that he went back to his first name.” 

Ryan smiled nostalgically.  “To Lucas,” he said for what seemed to Eric to be the hundredth time, and Corey and A.J. raised their glasses in acknowledgement. 

Emboldened by the easygoing mood at the table and the four cups of beer in his body, Eric gave the question another shot.  “Seriously guys.  Who’s Lucas?” 

A.J. looked across the table, wordlessly seeking permission from Ryan. 

“Go ahead,” Ryan said.  He gestured to Eric and Calleigh with his half full glass of Guinness, the motion the broad and careless swing of someone edging from buzzed to pleasantly drunk.  “They’re going to find out someday,” he added.  “May as well be when none of us are sober.” 

A.J. nodded in agreement.  “Very wise of you,” he said dryly.  He turned back to Calleigh and Eric.  “Our old buddy Lucas was a guy better known to most as Tim.” 

“Tim?” Calleigh said faintly. 

“Tim Speedle,” Corey confirmed.
 

Eric grabbed the edge of the table for stability as his whole world took a sharp turn in a different direction.  “What?” he said dumbly.  He shook his head.  Perhaps he’d had too much to drink and hadn’t heard that correctly.  He mentally tallied up the number of drinks he’d had.  No, he hadn’t had nearly enough alcohol to affect his hearing (though he was starting to think he hadn’t had enough to drink, period). 

“Timothy Lucas Speedle,” Ryan said slowly, enunciating every syllable.  Eric was suddenly reminded of why he still thought Ryan was a bit of a dick. 

“Don’t be a dick, Ryan,” Corey scolded.  “You knew Lucas never told them anything about his life back in New York.” 

“Speed always said he hated New York,” Eric said. 

“The city, yeah, but not the Empire,” A.J. told him. 

Eric looked across the table at Calleigh.  She looked just as stunned as he felt.  He thought vaguely that Ryan’s earlier call for more alcohol before discussing Speed was quite possibly the best idea his friend had ever had.  He tried to muster up some righteous indignation at Ryan for keeping something so big from him and Calleigh for so long, but one glance in Ryan’s direction and any anger he felt melted away. 

Ryan leveled a look at him that, even through eyes hazy with intoxication, told him everything he needed to know.  The amusement (bet you didn’t see that coming), sympathy (you had your own grief to deal with), and defensiveness (you would’ve kept your mouth shut too) written across his face spoke volumes.  Ryan was normally impossible to read, and Eric decided then and there that if alcohol made Ryan easier to understand, then it was the best thing humankind had ever invented. 

“We good?” Ryan asked, looking from him to Calleigh and back. 

“We’re just fine,” Calleigh reassured him.  She still looked unnerved, but her voice held nothing but understanding. 

Eric nodded.  “Yeah, Wolfe.  We’re good.” 

They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Eric raised his glass in a toast.  “To Speed.” 

“To Speed,” the others echoed. 

Corey pushed aside her drink, yawning.  “Ryan, I hate to do this to you, but I’m exhausted.” 

“Whenever you’re ready to go,” he replied.  “How many people can you fit in the car?” 

“Two besides me and A.J.,” she informed him.  She turned to Eric.  “Do you need me to call you and Calleigh a cab, or do you want to ride in back with Ryan?” 

His mind immediately conjured up an image of a drunken and tired Ryan sprawled across him in the back seat of a little car.  No, things might be better between the two of them, but there was no need to test that theory with an awkward situation. 

“I’ll take a cab with Calleigh,” he decided.  Was it his imagination (it had to be) that Ryan looked slightly disappointed at his words?  He chanced a small smile at his friend and was relieved to get a bigger, brighter smile in return. 

He leaned back against the booth and closed his eyes.  Tomorrow, he told himself, when he was sober, he’d have more time to think about everything that had happened tonight.  Ryan’s head dropped onto his shoulder, and he cracked his eyes open slightly to peer down at the drowsing man using him as a pillow.  Ryan’s body was going lax, his strong, slightly stocky body rapidly becoming dead weight against Eric’s side. 

He settled into a position that would be more comfortable for Ryan and, valiantly ignoring Calleigh’s knowing smirk, said to Corey, “On second thought, I’d better take you up on your offer.”  He felt, rather than saw, the sleepy smile Ryan made against his shoulder. 

He closed his eyes again.  He might have to think everything through tomorrow, but it wasn’t midnight yet, and life, as far as he could tell, was pretty good.

Comments

[aguynamedgoo.livejournal.com]

Please properly tag your entry.

[kat-songs.livejournal.com]

I keep trying to add "empire records" to the tag, but it doesn't take since it's not a fandom in your list of tags. I'll give it another shot, though.

[aguynamedgoo.livejournal.com]

The rules state, in bold print what to do if we don't have the tag you need.