Disclaimer: I own nothing belonging to CSI: Miami or Lenny Bruce, but he believed in free speech so I think he'd be ok with it. Chapter title comes from the Duke Ellington song of the same name.

Author's Note: Clearly, this is pretty AU as Ryan and Valera have never been a couple (as far as we know). But, I can picture Ryan as a Lenny Bruce fan especially since Jonathan Togo has said he plays the character as someone who is probably really good with numbers but has no tact. Other than that I guess I am playing fast and loose with the characters, but isn't that the point of fan fiction?

Evenings with Lenny

Chapter 1: Mood Indigo

"Let me tell you the truth. The truth is what is. And what should be is a fantasy, a terrible, terrible lie that someone gave to the people long ago."

"Miami Beach is where neon goes to die."

-Lenny Bruce 1925-1966

Ryan Wolfe sighed for the fifth time in five minutes, and stared at the blinking display on his alarm clock. 4:00am…4:01am…4:02am…4:03am…4:04am…4:05am. He had startled awake at four am each morning for the last two months. Ever since he'd been fired from the Miami Dade Crime Lab and told to hand over his gun and badge. Every night when he lay down Ryan prayed it wouldn't happen again, that he'd have some peace for the few hours he managed to sleep these days. But it seemed, as it had for many months now, that fate, the world and everybody in it was against him, because there he was, awake and panicked. It always happened the same way. Sometime after midnight he'd lie down and fall into a fitful sleep. Then, at precisely four am his eyes would open, and it would feel like someone had knocked the wind out of his lungs.

Ryan usually spent the first minute wondering where the hell he was, what was going on, and why he was awake. At 4:01 reality would set in faster than an infestation, and he'd sigh loudly followed by a groan. At 4:02 he would relive instantaneously, and in great detail, every unpleasant moment of his professional life thus far. Calleigh bawling him out at the TV studio figured prominently in this montage from Hell. As did the moment Horatio cornered him and uttered the name Michael Lipton. From 4:03 to 4:04 he'd think about Valera and their relationship, or former relationship. Gambling hadn't only cost him his job; it had also ruined things between him and Valera. Then from 4:05 till the moment he fell back to sleep, or his alarm went off, whichever came first, Ryan would torture himself with wondering if he'd ever work again in his chosen field, if his parents would ever forgive him for losing his job, and if his friends and co-workers would ever respect him again.

Ryan rolled onto his back, rubbed his eyes, and tried to decide what he was going to anxiously fixate on first. He chose his parents and their disappointment first, mostly because they did not know the full extent of his shame, and this made them easier to think about. They knew he'd been fired because the Under Sheriff and Internal Affairs thought he had conducted himself unprofessionally, they just didn't know the nature of his transgression. Ryan knew his parents did not truly understand what it was he did for a living. Obfuscation engendered hope. He had just thrown a bunch of forensic terms at them, made it sound like he'd gone too far in trying to get a conviction, and was quick to mention that his peers thought his dismissal was ridiculous. It was a lie to be sure, but Ryan was convinced it was better this way. Royally fucking up an investigation or compromising evidence he could recover from in their eyes. Gambling addiction was another thing entirely. He was sure his father would drop dead of disappointment if he ever found out his only son had lost his job over poker.

Of course this clever ruse would only continue to work if he got reinstated soon. Otherwise his parents would start to wonder just how he managed to permanently lose his job for being overzealous, yet careless. Ryan could tell his sister Rachel, (insert his mother's voice cooing, "The lawyer of the family", here) was starting to smell something wrong in the broth. He'd plead nondisclosure with her, and made up another lie; that the nature of the investigation he botched was ongoing and sensitive so he couldn't explain any of the details to her for fear of getting in more trouble. Rachel had been placated at first but was becoming less docile by the day. She teetered between trying to catch him in his lie and offering her legal assistance if this really was a case of wrongful dismissal.

Rachel also had questions about Valera, or rather, Maxine. Rachel and Maxine got along, Rachel liked Maxine. Rachel didn't really understand how Maxine could break up with him at a time like this. Ryan hadn't expected his sister to become friends with his girlfriend. He figured that living in one of the most southern states while his family continued to reside in Boston and New York would save him from that whole racket. This was not the case, as evidently women could bond over the phone without ever having laid eyes on each other. Whatever had transpired in the few times Valera had answered his phone when Ryan was not available was enough to convince Rachel that "Maxine would not just up and leave you because you lost your job under unfair circumstances Ry-an. Give her, and me, some credit". Rachel's phone calls were all beginning to boil down to the same thing; what did you really do this time Ry-an?

Ryan moaned again and tried to block out the sound of his sister's voice in his head. He dearly loved her, and he couldn't fault her too much, he was after all lying to her and his parents. It was just that the snottier Rachel got, the more Jewish Mother she sounded. Ryan already had one of those. One was plenty, but he'd learned long ago that calling Rachel on it would get him a lecture about being a self-hating Jew. Ryan laughed to himself at this last thought. How little the people we love actually know us. If Rachel really knew him she'd know that at the moment he disliked himself for things a lot bigger and smaller than religion. In fact, Ryan was having a hard time remembering when he had last liked the person he saw in the mirror. He'd always been cynical, but he was getting to be too much of a downer for even his own tastes.

And that, he mused, might have been the reason things went wrong with Valera and his job in the first place. Valera. Ryan heaved a sigh and looked at his bedside clock. It was now 4:30 am. He'd spent the requisite half hour worrying about his family, now it was apparently time to move onto Valera. This would be the more gut-wrenching part of his nightly ruminations, given that Valera did know the full extent of his problems. She probably knew more than anyone else. And that was why he'd ended it, not her. Just one more lie he'd told his parents and his sister. Things between them hadn't been great just before he lost his job, and they were certainly worse after. Valera had been pissed as it was over how much time he'd spent playing poker online. When she found out he'd started doing it for real, in person, with as it turned out, criminals, she'd lost it.

She'd also gone to Calleigh, Eric and finally Horatio, and told them the extent of his problem. This had pushed Ryan over the edge. Getting caught gambling on work time had got him fired, and taught him a lesson. He'd told Valera that and promised he'd get help. All he had asked was for her discretion and support. As far as his friends and his boss knew he'd only gotten himself mixed up in one bad poker game. Ryan didn't think they needed to know about the online poker, the resulting credit card debt, or Valera's intuition that "something just wasn't right" with him these days. First Calleigh and Eric had confronted him, and then Horatio had given him a life talk that involved the older man calling him "son" a lot. With each concerned look from his supervisor Ryan had felt his chances of getting reinstated slipping further and further away. Afterwards, Ryan had driven straight to Valera's apartment and demanded to know why she had betrayed him. He could still see the disbelief in her eyes, and hear the anger in her voice.

xxXxx

"Betray you? You think I betrayed you! Ryan I am trying to help you!" Valera was standing in the middle of her living room, arms crossed and eyes fierce.

Ryan's stance was no less aggressive and his words were clipped with anger. "Help me? How does implying I'm a gambling addict to my supervisor and co-workers equal helping me Maxine?"

Valera moved closer to him, got up in his face and he could see the unshed tears in her eyes. "Because Ryan, your supervisor and your co-workers are also your friends. My friends too. They aren't blind or deaf, they knew something was up."

"What they knew was that I'd played a bad hand of poker in a high stakes game. Now they're acting like this is an episode of Intervention!" Ryan retorted.

Maxine's reply was to roll her eyes and shake her head. She turned away from him to try and bring herself under control. Ryan was having none of it. He walked forward and spun her around by the arms to look at him.

"Do you understand what you've done Maxine? Do you?" he resisted the urge to shake her, but only just. "It's bad enough you involved Horatio, but if this gets around the department…you've completely jeopardized my chances of reinstatement."

Valera's tears finally fell then, and she slumped in his hold. She placed her hands on Ryan's shoulders and pushed him back to look him in the eye. "No Ryan. You did that all on your own." The words were whispers, barely audible, but they tore him apart.

"I told you. I told you I was sorry. I know I messed up Maxine. I told you I'd get help, but I asked you keep the rest of it between us. I thought you understood that."

This statement only made her cry harder, and she balled her fists in his shirt. "I can't. I can't anymore," she said between sobs.

"Can't what? Can't what Maxine?" Ryan moved his hands from her arms to her face, she let go of his shirt to push him away.

"You know what I understand Ryan?" She was standing taller now, wiping her nose with her fist. "I understand that I have lied for you, and too myself for too long. I knew you were playing too much poker. I watched you sit at your laptop day and night, whenever you had a moment to spare. I understand that I have dealt with your shitty attitude towards everything since you started losing. I understand I have lied to our friends about why you flake on plans with them, and why you're always broke lately. And the whole time I kept telling myself that because I love you it can't be that bad. Because I didn't want to face that my boyfriend is an addict."

"Jesus Maxine, you make it sound like I'm shooting up in alleyways while pimping you for drug money. And I promise you I am getting help."

"You promise do you?" Her voice was cold and collected now. "Just like when you maxed all your credit cards out and lost all your savings on the online stuff you promised to stop playing poker. When all you did was stop playing it in front of me. You went and lost $10,000 to a criminal Ryan!"

Valera took a deep breath and continued. "I can't trust you when you say you promise anymore. And I couldn't keep watching you dig yourself into a deeper hole. So yes, I went to our friends and I told them the truth. If it forces you to confront just how much trouble you're in, and the pain it's causing you, and consequently me, it's worth it."

"So that's it then. I'm an addict, and you don't trust me, and I obviously don't deserve the chance to redeem myself because you've ensured I won't do that any time soon at work." Ryan mumbled running a hand through his hair.

"Ryan I didn't say you don't deserve a chance. I'm trying to give you that chance by getting you help. I want…"

"No, no Maxine you're right." He backed away from her towards the door. "We can't keep doing this. I mean, I thought, I trusted you with my, I'm sorry I can't do this right now. I'm gonna leave."

"No Ryan!" She'd grabbed his coat then. "Don't leave, please, I'm worried about you."

He looked down at her. She looked desperately afraid. At first he considered staying, thinking she really did not want to end what was between them. Then he looked harder and her eyes told a different story. Her fear wasn't of losing him, it was for him. He recognized the emotions in her eyes as the same ones he'd seen in Horatio's earlier; sadness, disappointment and fear that he was beyond the reach of a helping hand. He'd been angry but accepting of Horatio's reaction to his situation, but he'd expected more from Valera. He'd hoped she'd be his support through the tough times that lay ahead.

Ryan was ashamed that he had apparently put her through hell already, and devastated that she wasn't able to bank on him to make it right.

Ryan pushed her hands away. "It's okay Max, I'll be fine. I'm sorry I hurt you, and dragged you through this with me. But I'm going to make things right. And I can do it on my own. You don't have to worry or lie anymore."

Ryan backed away with his hands in the air as if to surrender.

Valera ignored his signals and made to embrace him. "But, but that's just it Ryan. You don't have to do this alone, no one does. Don't you see that's why I involved Horatio and the others? You need support and-

"What I need is to leave. I'll handle this Max." Ryan moved further from her grasp.

"What are you saying? I know I was mean earlier Ryan, but it was only the truth. I just want to help you. We can work through this together."

"No Maxine, we can't."

She was shaking her head now. "Don't say that."

"We're not a good idea right now Max. We can't do this without trust. I, I understand your concern. But I'll deal with this from here."

He left her then. She called him for hours afterwards, but he didn't pick up. She'd shown up at his apartment, spare key in hand to plead with him. She wouldn't leave so he did. When he returned in the wee hours of the morning she was gone, and the key was sitting alone on his kitchen counter. Part of him was disappointed that she'd given in so easily, but another part, the bigger part was relieved.

xxXxx

Ryan paused in reliving the end of him and Valera as a couple long enough to check the clock again. It was now 5:00 am, and daylight would soon break over Miami and fight its way through the cracks in his blinds. There was no sense in going back to sleep even if he didn't have to be at the gun range until nine. But if he got up he'd have to find something to do with the next four hours. Ryan considered moving on to the next part of his early morning routine. Usually after he fixated on everything that was wrong with his life he tried to formulate plans to set it all to right. He dismissed this as an option because he was not in the mood for it. His urge to redress his life situation had been fierce the first few weeks of his dismissal, but the gun range, scraping to make a living and his own despondence were combining to create apathy within him. Ryan knew that he couldn't afford to not be proactive, but he also couldn't face lying there for next two hours thinking about nothing but his screw ups. So he chose to be active, but in a way that had nothing to do with his worries. He'd go for a run. It was active, it was calming and it sure beat lying in bed being miserable.

Ryan sat up in bed and surveyed his bedroom. His sneakers were nowhere to be seen, and given his OCD if he couldn't spot them from the bed, they weren't in his small, yet immaculate bedroom. Some people dealt with stress by letting stuff go. First their living space would become chaos, then their appearance dowdy, followed by the inevitable decline of their personal relationships. This was not Ryan's M.O. He might have royally messed up his personal relationships, but his apartment was spotless and his record collection alphabetized. He'd even been running every morning since the second week after he'd been terminated. His home and his ass looked better than ever. Before, heavy case loads, long nights and lack of time had meant he'd had to relax his usually uptight standards of cleanliness and physical conditioning. Unemployment, and the free wheeling lack of control that came with it, had ramped up Ryan's compulsive tendencies. He might not be able to get his job, girlfriend or parent's respect back, but he could organize and exercise. And he'd been doing both with a gusto.

Ryan rolled out of bed and walked into his living room. He could remember taking his sneakers off last night by the couch, but they were not there now. He thought back then sighed, and went to the closet by his front door. Inside he found his sneakers, along with every other pair of shoes he owned, lined up by color and use. All of the shoes looked as if they had been cleaned recently, and thoroughly. He had cleaned and arranged them all the night before while talking to Rachel on the phone. One minute he'd been arguing with her about holiday plans, the next he was holding a dirty cloth and all his shoes where looking suspiciously clean. He removed his runners from the line up, shut the closet door behind him, and took three deep breaths remembering that his OCD was only as strong as he let it be. There would always be times he fell down, especially during stressful periods in his life.

Ryan dropped his sneakers in the middle of the living room floor, a small act of defiance against his condition and walked back into his bedroom. Once there he changed into his running clothes before returning to the living room. Ryan kicked his running shoes to one side and sat down on the floor Indian style. He stretched out his legs, and then sat up on his knees. After one deep breath, and a brief snicker at what his buddies from college would think if they could see him now, Ryan moved into one of the yoga stances Valera had taught him.

He'd never planned to learn yoga. In fact, he had taken great pleasure in mocking anyone who did yoga loudly, and at length. It was during one of his many rants on the subject that Valera finally snapped and told him to put his money where his mouth was. If he'd never done yoga, he couldn't mock yoga, end of story. She'd offered to teach him some basic poses which she claimed would change his mind on the subject forever. Ryan's initial reaction was a scoff, but he reconsidered when he remembered how nice the view from his treadmill at the gym was when the women only yoga class was in session. He'd agreed to let Valera try and teach him some moves. It would mean he could get back to openly proclaiming his dislike of shiny, happy people behavior, and he'd get to watch Valera arch her back.

He'd been a reluctant student to say the least, even if he loved the sight of Valera in her yoga pants, and the first ten minutes had been nothing but wise cracks. Since being Ryan's girlfriend meant taking sarcasm in stride, Valera had simply done her best to ignore him as she began her routine. He had rolled his eyes and half-heartedly attempted to follow her lead. At first he'd felt like an uncoordinated dunce, then, as he concentrated on watching Valera so he could get it right he'd just felt horny. She kept sticking her ass in his face while breathing heavily, and though he knew that was all part of the lesson, it was one hell of a turn on. The lesson had ended with them having sex on her dining room floor, and Ryan being no further ahead in the practice of yoga.

But Valera had not let that one lesson end as a one off. She'd needled him for days afterwards about how he wasn't actually against yoga, he was anti-anything he wasn't immediately good at or suspected he might look foolish doing. Ryan had taken that as a challenge. Just because something might make him look less than cool didn't mean he wouldn't do it, and do it well. Hell, he'd been on the Math team in high school and played in the brass section of the marching band. If anything, he didn't need anymore hobbies that were guaranteed not to slay the ladies. But Valera had ensured him that she, and many other ladies found men who practiced yoga a turn on. This didn't spell the end of his skepticism, but it did make him agree to try.

Now he could move lithely and efficiently through the basic routine Valera had taught him. And while he would never admit it out loud, especially in Eric's presence, yoga did make him feel better. It allowed him to stop thinking and focus. He'd never lacked focus given the compulsions that plagued him, but yoga allowed him to concentrate in a less obsessive manner. And he appreciated the immediate relaxing effect it had on his tired nerves. The only downside to yoga was how much it reminded him of Valera and her absence. But this was a small price to pay for a shield against his personal demons.

Ryan finished his routine, stuck his feet in his runners and went in search of his MP3 player. He discovered it tangled amongst his bed sheets where it had been abandoned the night before. These days sleep did not come easy, and music was the only thing that relaxed him enough to drift off. Ryan stuck the two little buds in his ears and clipped the player to his waistband. He searched the play lists he had created until a suitable one appeared and then he left his apartment. After jogging down three flights of stairs Ryan left his building, and hit the pavement running. He had slacked off on his fitness over the last year, and it had shown when he first began running again. But, he knew enough about biology to know that the body remembers fitness. Once the initial shock of activity after slothfulness had been shook off he'd slipped into a routine he hadn't managed since working at Patrol.

Once he made it to the end of the street he resided on he decided to head towards the beach. There were some great running paths along the boardwalks that Calleigh had shown him when he'd first arrived at the crime lab. When he'd been in the Academy he and the other recruits had used the university gym, and once he was in Patrol a few of them had continued to work out there as a group. When he'd turned in his uniform to be a criminalist he had lost his gym privileges, along with most of his free time. He'd complained about this so much at the break room table during his first month that Calleigh had offered to take him running with her. Ryan had accepted with a little trepidation, he was unsure how Calleigh felt about him given his first case had been one that involved her father. But his fears had been for nothing, as Calleigh had been genuine in her offer and enjoyable to run with. In fact he liked her company so much he had felt it was a shame their schedules prevented them from running together with any regularity after that first day.

Ten minutes later when Ryan reached the board walk his thoughts inevitably returned to Calleigh again, and as the old adage says, "Speak of the devil…". Ryan looked into the distance and saw a petite woman running his way. The high blonde ponytail and the determined stride were a dead giveaway as to the runner's identity. Ryan faltered momentarily. Should he continue on his path which would bring him face to face with Calleigh, or turn around and run the other way while hoping she was not as familiar with his ass from a distance as he was with hers? He missed the team, he missed the lab and he missed Calleigh. He just wasn't sure he could handle small talk right now. He also suspected Calleigh would veer any conversation they shared towards big talk, and the prospect of this scared him shitless.

He was glad his former teammates were no longer treating him like a leper, but he still wasn't entirely comfortable with being around them. He had The Program to thank for that. Despite his promise to Valera that he'd get help, Ryan had assumed he could quit gambling cold turkey and all would be forgotten. He'd also figured he'd change as a person, turn over a new leaf and never fall down again. But then money had gotten tight, he was running out of options and he'd agreed to testify against Natalia's evidence. Gambling on the job had caused them to distrust him as a cop, messing with Natalia had made them question him as a friend. If Natalia had implied he didn't deserve his job back he might have been able to withstand her ire. But she'd simply looked at him, much the same as Valera had on their last night together, and said, "Some friend you are". He couldn't take it, and the next day he'd called the Gambler's Anonymous hotline he'd found in the phone book.

Ryan didn't regret joining the support group, and he was more than thankful to the man who'd been assigned as his sponsor. But, he also hadn't realized how involved the whole thing would be. Meetings were alright, changing his own personal actions and cognitive behavior was cool too, but facing his friends and family about the suffering his gambling may have caused them was terrifying. The fear of such confessions is what had kept him from seeking help for so long. Facing Calleigh, Eric, Natalia and Horatio would imply that they were more than just colleagues to him, and Ryan had never been sure they saw him in the same light. Valera he knew cared about him above and beyond the bonds of shared duty. The others he was not so sure about, and as such he wasn't keen to drag them into his personal drama.

Ironically, Calleigh had been the first one he had reached out to. His sponsor Mark had suggested it after they'd discussed his co-workers and Ryan's reluctance to involve them in his recovery. Mark reasoned that from what Ryan had related about Calleigh's father she might actually have more understanding than most about addiction. So Ryan had called her, and explained that he was seeking help for his problem and asked her to meet with him for coffee. She'd agreed to his offer, and during their discussion she'd displayed more compassion than he could have imagined her capable of. Afterwards she had offered to arrange for him to sit down with Eric and Natalia and try and work things out.

He learned that day that there was a Cop Calleigh and a Civilian Calleigh. Civilian Calleigh was endearing, forgiving and a fiercely loyal friend.

It was Civilian Calleigh who was now only fifty feet away from him and waving both her arms in greeting. "Ryan? Ryan is that you?" She was hollering in the way only Southern people can.

He was wearing headphones, and The Beastie Boys were fighting for their right to party on his MP3 player, but he'd have to be blind and deaf to miss her. He stopped running, pulled the little buds from his ears and gave Calleigh a tentative wave back.

"Yeah it's me!" he yelled back.

A smile broke over her face. "I thought so! Are you starting or finishing your run?" The distance between them was still wide enough to warrant raised voices.

"Starting!" he called back.

"Darn! I'm on the home stretch!"

Even from a distance Ryan could see her pout and it warmed him. "Come here Cal! I'll go you're way, I've got the time!"

She only caught the last few words. "What?"

Ryan cupped his hands around his mouth. "I said-

Calleigh rolled her eyes. What were they doing? At any point in the last few minutes one of them could have closed the distance between them, instead they were clearly having a mad scientist moment. As Ryan continued to yell his garbled reply at her Calleigh broke into a run and headed towards him. His hands were still cupped around his mouth, and his sentence was unfinished when she made it to where he was standing and threw her arms around him. Ryan nearly lost his footing from the force of her embrace.

She pulled away and looked up at him. "I haven't seen you in soooo long!"

"Hey Cal," he allowed her to hug him quickly one more time. "I miss you too."

"Really?" She arched one of her perfect eyebrows at him. "You've got a funny way of showing it. You don't return very many social calls."

He stared at the sand and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. It's just still weird you know?"

"I guess." She kicked at the sand in front of her and tried to get him to meet her eyes. "But you know the only way to move forward is to reject being stagnant."

Ryan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You've got the recovery lingo down pat Cal."

"Yeah, well." It was her turn to look at the sand now. "Being an Al-anon member since you were fifteen will do that to a person."

Ryan immediately regretted his words. He'd momentarily forgotten about her father and what he'd put her through. "I'm sorry Calleigh. I didn't mean to make light of your situation or anything."

She smiled up at him. "I know. Don't worry about it. In fact, let's get moving if we're going to."

"Yeah, okay." It amazed him how fast her walls could go up. "But you know Cal anytime you wanna talk about that stuff I'm here. It's the least I can do."

She gave him her sweetest smile, the one that lit up her face and everything around her, but she didn't acknowledge his offer. Instead she began to jog at a light pace leaving him to stare after her. She was The Sphinx again, guarding her secrets.

"Come on slow poke!" she called back at him, turning around to jog backwards.

Ryan shrugged and took off after her. For the first ten minutes neither of them spoke. They just concentrated on establishing a pace and rhythm that worked. Once they cleared the beach and had started towards Calleigh's neighborhood she broke the silence.

"So how's work?" Her words came out in puffs as she ran.

"Don't call it work." His reply was equally labored.

"Whatever it takes Ryan." She paused for several seconds to get more air. "Whatever pays the bills."

"It doesn't."

"It's temporary."

"It better be." He smiled at her to ensure the following statement was taken too seriously. "Or else you and Delko will be working my suicide scene."

"That's not funny." Her tone was flat and scolding.

"Sorry. Morbid sense of humor. Like Lenny Bruce."

She glanced up at him. "Who?"

"Lenny Bruce." Ryan puffed out. "You must know about him."

"Nope. Don't think so."

"Comedian. Jewish. Big in the fifties and early sixties. Got arrested all the time." Ryan was aware of how little justice his description, while perfectly accurate, did the man in question.

The look on Calleigh's face told him he hadn't yet triggered any awareness on her part. So he tried again. "He was arrested for obscenity. Was a landmark case for free speech. Dustin Hoffman played him in '74."

"Oh wait." Something floated up from Calleigh's memory. "Didn't Woody Allen have something do to with it?"

Ryan laughed. "Sort of. Allen and lots of others supported him through the trials. Paul Newman, Liz Taylor, Gore Vidal."

"Wow, someone's got a crush."

Ryan shoved her a little. "He was an American icon. Like Kerouac. A trailblazer."

"I believe you."

"He lived here in Miami for awhile." Ryan wasn't sure why he was giving Calleigh a history lesson on one of his personal heroes, but it was fun nevertheless.

"And he had a morbid sense of humor?" Calleigh asked.

"No more than anyone else. He just admitted to it." Ryan took a few more deep breaths before continuing. "That was his genius. Lenny never held back. He said what we thought, but won't say. They called him sick."

Calleigh smirked. "Well. Not hard to see why you relate."

"I take that as a compliment."

That seemed to be all that was needed to be said, and they abandoned conversation after Ryan had the final word. Thirty minutes later they came to a halt in front of Calleigh's home, a two-story colonial.

"Do you want some water before you go on your way?" Calleigh asked.

Ryan considered the offer. "Yeah actually, and I should probably use the bathroom if you don't mind. I've got a trek ahead of me. I mean technically as a man the world is my toilet, but this is nice neighborhood and I wouldn't want to scare any soccer moms getting the kids off to gymboree."

Calleigh just laughed. "And that is another example of your warped humor. How the heck do you know what gymboree is?"

Ryan made a face of mock indignation. "What? I know people with kids. Also I, like everyone at MDPD, have been trapped into listening to Julie from Booking discuss her children in great detail."

Calleigh shook her head and led the way inside her house. "Well come on in before you go in my rose bushes."

When Ryan returned from the bathroom Calleigh was waiting for him in the kitchen with two large glasses of water. She handed him one while taking a long drag from the other.

"Thanks Cal." He clinked his glass against hers. "It was really good to see you."

"Same here." She took another sip and wondered how to broach the subject she'd most wanted to discuss before he started regaling her with the legend of Lenny Bruce. "Speaking of seeing, have you contacted Maxine recently?"

The way his face fell told her she had not been as smooth as she hoped.

"It couldn't be just a run hey Cal?" He was staring into the glass of water like it was going to reveal the secrets of the universe.

"I'm sorry." She busied herself with rinsing out her glass. "I'm not trying to push you Ryan, but think about how she must feel. She has to know you've made an effort with the rest of us."

"She's not the rest of you." Ryan answered flatly.

"I know."

He dragged his gaze from the glass to meet Calleigh's eyes. "I haven't spoken with my parents about anything either."

Calleigh searched his face. "In what sense?"

"They don't know anything. Well, they know I was fired. They don't know about the gambling, or um, the program." Ryan glanced at the clock. It was going for seven am. She had work in an hour, and he was expected at the gun range at nine. Now was not the time for heavy conversation, but he couldn't stop himself.

"I see."

"I know I have to talk to them. And Maxine. But it's harder than with you guys. Not because you aren't important." He was running out of words. "It's just different."

"Ryan." She started and stopped. She had to weigh her words carefully. "I learned a long time ago you can't help people who don't want to help themselves. I think you've made great strides, and no one expects you to do it all in one day, or even one week. That said, I think you need to seriously consider having a talk with Maxine and letting your parents in on the truth."

"Is that it?"

She wasn't sure if he wanted that to be all or if he was searching for more guidance. "Yes that's all. I can't do more than encourage you Ryan. You're the one who has to take responsibility for you recovery. If you don't there's nothing anyone else can do."

"I know, I know." He glanced again at the clock. "Listen Cal I should go. You've got to get ready for work and I've got a forty minute run ahead of me back to my apartment."

"I could drop you of at your place if you're willing to wait for me to get ready." Calleigh felt it was the least she could do after grilling him about Maxine.

"No, no." He made his way to her door. "I'll use the time to think about what you said."

"Ryan." She grabbed his arm. "Stay in touch okay?"

"I will." He said reaching for her door. The look on her face caused him to pause. "Cal, I promise, I will."

She smiled at him again. "Okay." But as she watched him jog out of sight she couldn't help feeling like he was running away.

Hope you enjoyed…TBC, but I apologize ahead of time if it takes time in between postings, I like Ryan am under-employed at the moment and am working a shift job, but trying to hustle into something better, so that means lots of time away from the computer and out volunteering and shaking hands and going to super demoralizing interviews conducted by guys I hated on in uni. Never grow up kids, it sucks.