Author's Notes:
Like previous chapters, canon timeline is totally twisted.
Also, in my universe, Rick Stetler is still head of I.A.B.
June 3, 2009
Face unreadable, Horatio watches the interrogation through a one-way mirror. His body is perfectly still, but inside his blood is boiling. One of his own not only betrayed the lab, but was heartless enough to leave a fellow officer, injured and unconscious on a public street.
He's thankful for the diligent work of Detective Adams, who recanvassed the neighborhood, where Ryan had been found, and had also gone back to the Maricopa to search for anyone, who might have heard the conversation between Samantha Owens and Ryan the night of May 8. Adams' efforts paid off, as damning witnesses were found against Owens.
The grilling is almost over, and Rick Stetler, head of I.A.B leaves the interrogation room and walks over to where Horatio is watching. "As you probably know, there are still more formalities, but she's going to be shown the door," he tells H. "That's a certainty."
"Rick." Horatio doesn't turn to face the man but continues to observe. Samantha Owens is seated on one side of the table with her union rep and lawyer, and facing her are Detective Adams and an I.A.B officer. "Has the District Attorney been notified? Because I want her charged with accessory after the fact of attempted murder of a police officer."
A flash of surprise flickers across Stetler's face, but it's momentary. "Coming down hard on one of your own? That's unlike you. But attempted murder is a stretch. It doesn't sound like she had anything to do with the attack on Ryan. Obstruction of justice, hindering a investigation, and maybe, just maybe, depraved indifference."
"She left him out on the street," Horatio says, his voice raising in pitch.
"Yes, I know," Stetler says sympathetically. For once, he and Horatio are in agreement. "Cold of her not to even anonymously call 911. But it's up to the DA to decide what she'll be charged with. You know that."
"Yes, I do." Horatio finally turns to face Stetler. "I would like to be there, when you speak to the DA."
"Fine," Stetler agrees. "Unusual for you to be so gung-ho about prosecuting a officer of yours. Is Ryan really that bad?" he asks. He had heard different rumors about Wolfe and is curious.
"First off, Ms. Owens was not hired by me, nor had she worked long under my command. And I did have her suspended, but then you, you had her reinstated." Horatio stares straight at Stetler.
"Well, at the time, we had nothing on her," Stetler pauses, and then asks again. "How is Wolfe?"
"Mr. Wolfe suffered significant head trauma and is under the care of a neurologist."
"I heard a psychiatrist," Stetler continues to fish for information, but gets nothing more because at that moment, Detective Adams interrupts.
"With what she gave us, and the evidence we already have, I think there's enough for a search warrant for ASA Avery's house. I going to file one with a judge right now." Adams looks first at Horatio, and then sensing tension, looks at Stetler. "Did I interrupt something?"
"No, detective, you did not," Horatio says. "When you have the warrant, see CSI Duquesne. She'll get a team together. . . ."
"We're searching an Assistant State Attorney's home, trying to get dirt on him and perhaps a police officer," Adam interrupts. "You need to be there, Lieutenant."
Horatio doesn't reply; he'd like nothing more. But Ryan's session with Dr. Simmons is almost over, and he refuses to let his charge out of sight, except during the times with the psychiatrist. His greatest fear is that there will be another breakdown like that in the hospital and will result in institutionalization. And guardianship, lawyers, or court hearings will not give Ryan back to him.
Adams immediately picks up on his hesitation. "Listen, if you're worried about Wolfe, then bring him along. In fact, he may be of help to us. Perhaps a visit to Avery's will jog his memory. Avery claims that Wolfe was never in his house, but if he can tell us what room or rooms he was in, what he touched, where the lamp was. . . ," he trails off, looking at Horatio expectantly.
Adams' idea isn't bad. Ryan could, if anything, give them leads on where to start looking for evidence. Horatio considers before answering. "I'll get back to you on that, detective. In the meantime, get your warrant. Rick." He gives the I.A.B Sergeant a nod. "Let me know where and when you meet with the DA. Gentlemen," Horatio gives them a farewell as he heads for his car.
"Ryan." Dr. Simmons gives me an earnest look. "Why are you being so hard on yourself? You suffered an almost deadly attack and were badly injured; a cerebral contusion is very serious matter. You need to give yourself time to heal, both physically and emotionally."
Simmons' words don't surprise me, in fact, I expected that he would say as much. But hearing them doesn't help; I feel powerless and desperate. I'm to the point where I wish I was still in the psych ward, drugged up.
"How are the headaches?" Simmons asks, noting that I had put my hand to my head several times since I arrived.
"Sometimes they're so bad, I can't see straight."
"You're on pain meds, prescribed by Dr. Torres. Are you taking them?"
"Some," I say, "but between them and all the other pills I'm taking, I walk around in a fog. I hate it!"
"When are you seeing Dr. Torres again?" Between the psych ward and the neurologist Simmons is trying to keep track of who did what to me and when.
"I have an appointment; it's, it's. . . ." Damn, I blow out a breath. I can't remember.
Simmons quickly reassures me, "it's okay, Ryan, as I'm sure you know, memory loss goes hand in hand with a brain injury, unfortunately." He stares me in the eye. "I know you're getting tired of hearing this, but it will get better. Horatio knows when it is, correct?"
"Yeah, yeah." I fold my hands between my knees and look away. Discussing Horatio with the doctor is a difficult task. "He's been watching me like a mother hen with her chick. During the day, I have to lie on the couch, so he can see me, doesn't want me in the bedroom."
"Does that bother you, that you can't be in the bedroom?"
I frown. "No, no, I just think it's weird. The bedroom is right there, after all. What bothers me," I pause, deciding I'm finally going to admit something. "That he has all this extra work and expense because of me. It's humiliating."
"Okay." Simmons tugs his ear. "Well, let me ask you this, why do you think Horatio is doing all of this for you?"
"Guilt," I say the first thing that pops in my head.
"Guilt?" Simmons is surprised at my answer. "What makes you think that?"
"He said so himself. He feels partly responsible for that whole Russian incident." I had started therapy with Simmons back in March after H had finally dug out the truth about what Andrei had done to me, so the doc was one of two people, who knew that I had been tortured and raped.
"So he's doing all this because he owes you?" Simmons seeks clarification.
"That's what he said," I repeat myself.
"And do you think he's responsible for what Andrei did to you?"
I think for a moment. "I did, but I don't anymore. He didn't know, so, so. . . ," I trail off, not sure what I want to say next.
"You suffered a horrific assault, physically, emotionally, and mentally that day. And despite the fact that your brain is telling you that it's no one's fault except for the attacker, I can only imagine how you felt toward Horatio and your other co-workers. You were acting like everything was normal, but inside you were screaming. And they didn't hear, none of them. It had to have hurt."
"It did," I croak out, stunned that Dr. Simmons expressed exactly how I had felt that day and after. "How did you figure that out?"
"Oh, you know" Simmons waves his hand back and forth. "I did pick up a few things in psychiatry school."
He smiles gently at me, and I manage a small smile back. The doc is probably the kindest man I've ever met, and along with his great intelligence, he is a very good crazy doctor, as I like to think of him. Funny though, one would never guess that by his appearance. A couple inches taller than me, he's brawny in built, and with his bald head, and tattoos, he looks more like a felon than a medical doctor.
"So how do I get passed this feeling of betrayal?" I ask.
"I think you already have. You've accepted it rationally; now you just have to let your emotional side catch up."
"And that take's time, right?" I heave a sigh. "Everything is just going to take time."
Simmons doesn't respond, just smiles. "So, let's recap, the reason you feel that Horatio is helping is because of guilt?"
I nod.
"That's it? Nothing more?"
I shrug, not knowing what else to say.
"You don't think there's more than just guilt motivating him?"
I say nothing. The one secret I kept from Simmons is the fact that H and I had a sexual relationship. Granted, it was only once, but it's something I won't talk about to anyone, partly because I'm still confused by it, and also, I know if word got out, it could spell trouble for both me and him. Perhaps him more, MDPD wouldn't like a lieutenant sleeping with a subordinate.
"Have you ever asked him why he's doing so much for you?"
"Yes," I admit, "he said because he cared."
"Do you believe him?"
"Of course. He cares for a lot of people; family, friends, colleagues, victims," I list off, wishing that Simmons would stop talking about Horatio.
"I going to end this session on a positive note for you." Simmons shifts in his chair a bit. "Yes, Horatio is helping you because he cares, so much so, that I believe, his biggest fear is that he'll lose you. So that's why you have the mother hen act," he refers to my earlier statement.
I'm not sure what to think of Simmons' pronouncement. Did Horatio tell him something? I'm saved from making a response by a knock on the door.
"Dr. Simmons, it's Horatio. I'd like to speak to you and Ryan."
"Come in, Lieutenant." Simmons swivels his chair around toward the door. "We were just wrapping up here."
Stepping into the room, Horatio gets right to the point. "We're in the process of obtaining a search warrant for ASA, Josh Avery. I would like to be there, and I would also like," he pauses, staring over at me, "you to accompany me. But only if you feel up to it, and if, you. . . ." He looks over his shoulder at the doc. "Think that it's okay."
I speak immediately. "Yes, I'll go." Despite my headaches and general tiredness, I want so much to be able to do something useful for a change.
"Doctor?" Horatio asks.
Simmons ponders a moment, weighing the pros and cons. "It would be a good exercise, to give Ryan something worthwhile to do. But it most likely will stir up some bad memories, which could exacerbate his night behavior. I can up his nightly meds for. . . ."
"Unacceptable," Horatio interjects before the doctor finishes his thought. "The goal is to get Ryan off all the pills he's on. I don't want him taking more. So, if going to Avery's house is going to have a harmful effect, then it's out of the question."
I can't help but do a small eye roll, which I'm sure Dr. Simmons sees because his mouth twitches. If H saw it, he shows no sign that he did.
"Alright, Lieutenant, how about this solution? We were decreasing Ryan's meds slowly, so how about for today, he stays on the same dosage. Tomorrow, I'll see you." He turns to me. "And we can see how things went. If you're okay, then no harm, no foul. If you're feeling more anxiety because of going back to the scene of the crime, then you can stay on the same dosage through the weekend."
Hands on hips, fingers drumming, H considers what Simmons proposed. His body language says it all. I know him, know when he's just about to veto an idea. "Horatio, let me do this. I want to help. Avery is an assistant state attorney. He's already gotten away with tampering with evidence. We know he's corrupt. We need to take him down."
"And I intend to." Horatio's tone holds no doubt. "But not this way. Not at the expense of your health. We'll find another approach."
"Lieutenant," Simmons breaks in, "despite the negative, I think Ryan should be allowed to participate in helping find evidence in a crime that was committed against him. It would be very cathartic."
"Alright," Horatio agrees reluctantly while looking over at me. "But if I get one hint that it's affecting you negatively, I'm pulling you out."
"Yes, sir," I say meekly. I just want in on the search.
As I get to my feet, the doc also stands. Putting a hand on my shoulder, he gives it a small squeeze. "Good luck to you, Ryan. And we'll meet tomorrow morning at ten."
Leaving Simmons' office, I insist on walking myself to the front door. I'm done with wheelchairs. Reaching the main entrance, I'm thankful that H used valet parking, as my legs are wobbly, and I'm out of breath.
I have no chance to speak with him, as he is busy on the phone, assembling a team to search Avery's house. He's very specific with what team members should come, which surprises me, because it's usually done on a rotation basis. But I'm happy to hear that he's calling in Walter, Natalia, and Calleigh. Eric and some new guy are not included.
It's a short trip to Avery's house, and neither Horatio nor I say anything. I'm trying to conserve my strength and hype myself for the ordeal ahead, and H seems to be lost in thought. Pulling up to the house, I see that the team has already arrived, along with Detective Sergeant Frank Tripp, and Detective Adams from narcotics. Avery is standing just outside his front door, and even from inside the car I can hear him yelling that no one is going to step foot into his house until his lawyer gets here.
"Hey, Horatio." Tripp walks over to us, as H parks on the street. "Man's throwing a hissy-fit, so we decided to wait for you. He called that slime-bag attorney, Darren Vogel. Says we can't enter until he's here, but isn't Avery a lawyer? Can't he read a search warrant for himself?"
"He is, Frank." Horatio steps out of the car, hands on hips, staring over at Avery, who immediately starts shouting at him.
"I know this is your doing, Caine, and not only am I going to be suing the MDPD, but you personally for harassment." He continues to yell, but smartly stays on his front pouch, knowing that approaching any us could be construed as aggressive behavior.
"Man, does he have diarrhea of the mouth," Tripp remarks, much to our amusement.
Opening the car, I slide out, hanging on the door for balance. Walter, Nat, and Calleigh immediately notice and rush over to me.
"Hey, Wolfe, glad you could make it." Walter grabs me by the arm and holds me up.
"Ryan!" Both Natalia and Calleigh greet me with huge smiles. Their warm welcome gives me a happy shot, and the dark cloud that is always over me, dissipates just slightly.
"Are you here to give us some good leads?" Natalia asks, giving me a big hug.
The hugging isn't over, as Calleigh also embraces me, remarking, "it's so good to see you. You look. . . ." She steps back to give me the once over.
"I know; I look awful," I say before anyone can comment on my appearance. My stay in the psych ward has taken over twenty pounds, so my clothes hang baggily on me, my face is gaunt and my eyes sunken-in. Also, when they stitched up my head, they had to shave it. The hair had grown back some, but is still quite short, giving me a skeletal look.
"The first time I looked in the mirror after I got out of the hospital, I scared myself."
They grin at my joke, and Calleigh pulls me in for another hug. "We just need to tell H to feed you more."
"Does H cook?" Walter can't help but ask.
"He's quite a good cook, but he does lean toward only the healthy," I say.
"He's not a vegetarian or vegan, is he?" Walter is curious about Horatio.
"No, but it's mostly fish and lean poultry, red meat for him is rare."
"Man." Walter shakes his head. "That's not going to fatten you up any, gotta come out and eat with me."
Our conversation is interrupted by Avery's shouting which has now gotten louder. H, Tripp, and Adams are standing in front of him. It's a sight to see, since Avery is a tall man, well over 6 feet, but both Adams and Tripp beat him out in the height department. Now all that's needed is for Walter to join the group, and we'd have a basketball team.
Adams makes some smart-ass remark to Avery, which causes him to lose control. He takes a swing at the three officers, which both Tripp and Adams, because of their height, have to step back to avoid. But H, the shortest of the four men, easily ducks under the blow and body-blocks Avery against the front wall of his house, hard. I notice that it winds him and seeing the man get roughed up gives me a tiny bit of satisfaction.
In one smooth move, Horatio jerks him around and has both arms restrained behind his back. "Not too smart, Counselor," he whispers in Avery's ear, "that just got you a charge for assaulting police officers." Giving him a small push toward Tripp and Adams, who grab on to him, H continues, "let him call his lawyer to tell him to meet him at MDPD and then hook him up."
"My pleasure," Tripp answers, pulling Avery toward his car, while H gestures us toward the house.
Both Natalia and Calleigh immediately take one of my arms, and support me as we approach the house, telling Walter to carry their kits. Adams steps toward our group and greets me with a, "hey Wolfe, hope there's no hard feelings between us."
I look over at him, shaking my head. "No, you were right," I say, referring to our meeting in the psych ward.
"Need a hand," he offers, but both Natalia and Calleigh turn him down.
"We've got him," Nat tell him.
"Nice welcome back." He gives me a wolfish grin. "Being escorted by two beautiful colleagues to your first crime scene."
H holds the front door open, and we step into Avery's home. Standing in the middle of his living room, I study my surroundings. It feels familiar. Pulling myself away from Calleigh and Natalia, I take a walk around. Pieces of memory flash through my head.
"I was here in this room," I finally say. "I quarreled with Avery in this very room."
"Is this where the lamp broke?" Calleigh asks.
"Yes, and I don't think. . . ." I look around again, just to be certain. "I don't think I was anywhere else in the house." I can almost see my colleagues doing a mental high five. Now they don't have to search the entire 3500 square foot house for their speck of evidence.
"Do you remember where the lamp was?" Calleigh takes charge in her usual fashion.
I force my brain to think back to that night, and I can see myself arguing with Avery and then giving his shoulder a couple of shoves. He shoves me back, pushing me into a lamp, and. . .I automatically raise my hand and look at the burn mark which is now fading.
"It was there." I point to a spot. "I had my back to it."
"Man, even though he's cleaned, there's has to be bits of broken glass around here somewhere." Walter already has his flashlight on and is scanning the area.
"Let's pull up the rug." Calleigh bends down and begins folding up the large area rug that is placed centrally in the room.
"Ryan," Horatio speaks to me softly. "Do you happen to remember what kind of shoes he was wearing?"
I don't even have to think about what H is asking me, since I'm not in the habit of looking at other men's footwear. I shake my head in the negative.
"What if we went and checked them out?" Natalia asks hopefully.
I know what they're angling for. Any clothes Avery was wearing that night are no good to us now, so late after the fact. They've been either cleaned or thrown out. But shoes, shoes are a different matter; he might not have noticed trace evidence on them, and they've most likely haven't been cleaned either. I don't hold out much hope that looking at them will help, but then, it couldn't hurt.
"Sure," I say, agreeable to anything.
The bedrooms are on the second floor, and half-way up the stairs, my legs start to give out, but fortunately H notices immediately. Putting an arm around my waist, he literally hauls me up to the top of the staircase. I'm so weak and out of shape, it's pitiful.
Avery has a huge walk-in closet, filled with clothes and accessories. "Boy, the ASA certainly is a clothes horse," I comment as I look around.
"No kidding." Natalia can only agree with me. "His closet rivals any woman."
I study the rows of shoes, but of course, nothing looks familiar. I can only shake my head, but I force myself to look closely at each and every pair.
"Can we take all of them?" Natalia asks Horatio. "Even if we don't find anything, it would be fun to inconvenience him by leaving him shoeless."
H immediately rejects her idea. "Fishing for evidence is not allowed, and I don't want to give him and Vogel any ammunition to throw at us. He's already claiming harassment."
I've given Avery's shoes a thorough inspection and am going over them once more, when it hits me. A flash of memory. "His feet!" I say. "I remember seeing his feet, so he either was barefoot or had on some type of beach footwear."
Natalia smiles widely. "Can I take all his sandals and flip-flops?"
"You do remember seeing his feet?" Horatio asks. He's being cautious, not wanting any evidence to be thrown out in court by the slick Attorney Vogel.
"Yes, sir," I respond.
"Then you may, Ms. Boa Vista. Even if he wasn't wearing shoes during the altercation, he probably slipped some on, when he carried. . . ," Horatio stops himself, not wanting to voice the gory details of the attack."
"When he threw me out in the street," I finish his thought. "And if that's the case, there could be blood, or bits of glass, or both on the shoes."
Something fleeting crosses H's face but is quickly gone. "Bag 'em up, Ms. Boa Vista." He then turns to me. "Mr. Wolfe, I think it's time I take you home. But you did good work, I don't know what we would have done without you."
I nod, happy that I was of some use.
Natalia gives me a good-bye hug, whispering, "I so glad you're alright, or," she pauses, as she squeezes my ribs ever so slightly, "kind of alright. You're sort of skinny."
"Food in the psych ward was awful, and the meds they have me on kills my appetite."
Natalia is sympathetic. "Get better, and I will see you at work soon."
H takes me by the shoulders to lead me away with a parting order to Nat. "Just find something, Ms. Boa Vista."
Lying on the couch, cheeseburger in one hand and milkshake on the coffee table, I find that even my favorite foods are hard to choke down. I take one bite of the sandwich, and my stomach is turning.
"You're not going to gain any weight, eating like that," Walter comments, as he polishes off his food in a couple of bites. "Thought you'd be swallowing it whole after hospital food and H's healthy cooking."
"Fricking meds," I complain, "they kill my appetite, and make me feel nauseous all the time."
"How many meds they got you on?" Walter asks, as he settles back in his chair, drinking a coke.
"I don't know." I put my cheeseburger on the coffee table next to the milkshake; I can't eat anymore. "Too many to count. H keeps track of them for me."
Walter gives me a curious look. "H? What? Has he become your mother now?" Before the words are barely out of his mouth, Walter realizes how rude they are. "Oh, my god! Sorry, Wolfe. Didn't mean. . .didn't mean. . .I mean; I know you were gravely injured. Geez, with your head trauma, I'm surprised you remember your own name."
"It's okay," I immediately reassure him. "I feel strange about this whole situation. The man is not only taking care of me but probably will be supporting me soon too. They've denied my workman's comp, so as soon as my sick and vacation time is used up, that's it."
"Jeez!" Walter shakes his head in sympathy. "I've got some vacation time, maybe I can donate it to you. I could check with H.R."
"No, no! I wouldn't ask you to do that." I'm touched by his offer though. "H is looking into having it reinstated."
"Well, if it isn't, my offer still stands," he pauses a moment. "You don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but there's a rumor going around that H is your guardian. Is that true?"
Walter and I are more than just co-workers; we're also good friends, so I decide that perhaps he should know some truths about my situation. "Yeah, he's my guardian, full-fledged guardian, he controls everything."
"Really? Doesn't that only happen, when the courts find a person totally incapacitated?"
"Yes, that's me," I say with a small smile. "Incapacitated, incompetent Ryan Wolfe."
"Aw, man." Walter's expression is that of pure regret. "Then my comment before was really out-of-line. So, so sorry!"
"I told you forget it." I decide it's time for a subject change. "Anyway, before at the crime scene, when H and I were about to leave, he got that phone call. It sounded like he was talking to Rick Stetler. What's up with that? Who's in trouble with I.A.B?"
A funny look crosses Walter's face. "Ahh, yeah," he hesitates for a moment, but finally tells me. "It's Owens; they're firing her."
"Why? Do they say that it was her fault that the evidence was compromised? Because I'm sure she had nothing to do with that. It was that slime bag boyfriend of hers."
"No, no that's not it." This time Walter's hesitation is moments long. "Okay, Wolfe, I'll tell you, but you have to promise me that you won't go nuts. If you go crazy on my watch again, H will have my head."
"Yeah, sure," I say with a frown of curiosity. Now he really has my interest.
"I'm serious, Wolfe." Walter gives me a stern look. "After what happened in the hospital, I had to answer to Horatio. And you don't know what that's like." He stands, hands on hips, doing an imitation of H. "Tell me Mr. Simmons, why exactly did you leave the room, when I specifically told you to stay with him?"
I snicker loudly. That's why I love Walter, I can always count on him for a good laugh.
"It ain't funny, bro," Walter chastises me. "I'd rather confront a mass murderer armed with a uzi than a pissed-off H."
"Actually I do understand. I've had to face him on numerous occasions, when I've done things I shouldn't have."
"Really? I didn't know, but if figures. I always got the vibe off the day-shift that you were the trouble-maker. Calleigh, of course, is second-in-command, Eric is teacher's pet, and Natalia is the good girl. That leaves you as the. . . ."
"Okay, I get it," I break-in. Walter isn't wrong, but it always has been a bit of a sore spot with me that I'm kind of like the problematic step-child of the group. "So, anyway, getting back to Sam. Why was she fired?"
Throwing himself back into the chair, Walter heaves a huge sigh. I can see that he's stalling. "We uncovered evidence that Owens arrived at Avery's house not long after you did. At the very least, she knew about the attack and did nothing. At the most, she was involved in it."
The amusement from Walter's impression of H quickly dies, as I feel my stomach drop. "That can't be," I say in disbelief. "The evidence must be faulty."
"GPS doesn't lie." Walter looks at me with pity in his eyes. "Detective Adams found a neighbor, who said he remembered seeing two cars in Avery's driveway that night. That gave us enough for a warrant to check the GPS on Owen's car. You arrived at Avery's house at 10:07 pm, and she arrived there at 10:33 pm."
"Oh my god!" I try to harden my heart, but this news on top of everything else is too much. Tears begin welling up in my eyes. I close them, so Walter can't see. I feel like I've been gut-punched, hard. It's difficult to understand how a colleague could just leave me there, possibly to die.
Nothing is said for a few minutes. I sense that Walter is watching me closely. Finally, he says, "guess Nat was right. Owens is a cold-hearted bitch, and it's tough for me to swallow that. I knew and worked with Sam on the night shift for over a year."
I shake my head, still not trusting myself to speak. More moments of silence, and then I say, "the irony of it is that I went to see Avery that night to defend Sam. I liked her, wanted to play the knight-in-shining-armor."
"Jesus!" Walter exclaims. "I'm so. . . ," he breaks off in anger and sympathy. Another moment or two passes as he gathers his thoughts. "Anyway, she's been fired, and I guess Horatio and Stetler are meeting with DA to figure out what they're going to charge her with. The rumor is that H wants to throw the book at her, accessory after the fact to assault and attempted murder of a police officer."
"Do you really think she had any part in the attack?" I ask, shielding my face with my hand.
"Truth?" he asks, "I don't think so. Think she's basically just guilty of having bad taste in men. Avery must have her wrapped around his finger; thus, her failure to help you. Still doesn't excuse what she did or didn't do."
I ponder what he said, and deep inside me, I find I have to agree. "So, she really shouldn't be charged with accessory after the fact?"
Walter shrugs. "Sometimes it's hard to put a penalty on a person's offense, but Stetler is saying that she should probably be charged with obstruction of justice and depraved indifference."
I nod in agreement, saying, "that sounds about right." I sigh heavily. I'm in control of myself, but I still have a heavy heart. "Guess, in the end it won't matter what Stetler or Horatio thinks, it's the DA, who will decide."
"Uh huh." Walter nods his head in agreement, then asks. "You okay, Wolfe?"
"Yeah, was on a high, cause today I went out and helped in an investigation, and now my high has just been blown out of the water. Right now, I'm dead tired, and my head is killing me."
"You should take a nap then." Walter jumps up to put a pillow behind my head and pull a sheet over me.
"Now, who's being my mother?" I joke, realizing that I wasn't being untruthful. I feel beat. Lying back, I close my eyes, trying not to think about Samantha Owens or Josh Avery.
"Before you nod off, are there any guns laying around, that I should know about?" Walter asks. About four months ago, there had been an incident when I pulled a gun on him during one of my episodes.
"No." I yawn loudly, "H installed a fancy-ass biometric safe, and all guns and amo are locked up. He's even locks up the knives in the kitchen, only unlocks them when's he's cooking. But of course. . . ." I open one eye and stare at the gun on Walter's hip. "There's your gun. Think I could take it off you?"
"I'm not taking any chances, going to secure it in my car right now. So . . . ." He points a finger at me. "Don't go to sleep yet." He rushes out to the hummer and is back in record time.
"Feel better now, big guy?" I tease. "Cause you wouldn't want it to get around MDPD that a short guy like me took away your gun?"
"Shut-up and go to sleep." Walter settles himself back into his chair. "I'm just not taking any chances of something going wrong and having H on my ass. Take a snooze, and I'll see you in a few."
Driving home after a meeting with the D.A., Sargeant Stetler, and a Deputy Chief, Horatio is not afraid to step on the gas. The meeting went longer than expected, and although he trusts Mr. Simmons to care for Ryan, his trust is limited, especially after what happened in the hospital. He places no blame, but does wonder if Walter had been there to restrain Ryan, would the result have been different?
Arriving home in good time, he pulls into the garage. Entering his house, his mouth curls into a small smile at the sight of the 6'6" mountain of a man, sitting vigil over Ryan.
"Mr. Simmons, when I said watch over him, I don't mean that you literally have to sit and watch him. You could have turned the TV on. Mr. Wolfe is used to noise and can pretty much sleep through anything if he's tired."
"Hey, H." Walter immediately junps up in greeting. "Actually, Ryan just fell asleep about fifteen minutes ago. We passed the time talking."
"Everything go okay?" Horatio asks, cocking his head.
"More-or-less," Walter hedges, "didn't eat much." He points to the untouched milk shake, and the burger with one bite taken out of it. "Said he felt too sick to eat."
Horatio inclines his head in acknowledgement, deciding that he would have to bring this up to one of Ryan's doctors, but because there are three, it is always a question of which one.
"And," Walter continues, wondering just how angry H is going to be with him, "I also told him about Owens. He overheard you talking with Stetler and asked me point blank. I couldn't lie, so I gave him the whole story."
"Ye-ah." Horatio sucks in a quick breath, his empathy kicking in. He hadn't wanted Ryan to know about her this soon. "How did he take it?"
Walter shrugs. "He felt bad, real bad. He liked her, and," he stops himself, wondering if telling H that Ryan had romantic feelings toward Owen is the right move.
"But he didn't become violent, try to hurt himself or you?"
"No, no, nothing like that," Walter says quickly.
"Fine, Mr. Simmons, I'll talk to him about that situation, when he awakes. In the meantime, I was informed that a boat title was found in Avery's name. I would like you to go there now and assist Detective Adams in a search." Horatio hands Walter a slip of paper with the address of the pier and the name of the boat.
Walter can't help it; his eyes light up in excitement. He has just been given a prime assignment. "You know H." He immediately wonders if it's compensation for taking care of Ryan. "You don't have to give me any kind of special treatment for watching him." He waves a hand in Ryan's direction. "Ryan is a good friend, in fact, I would like to offer my services when I'm not working. Maybe, you want to go out or do something?"
"That's very generous of you, Mr. Simmons. Perhaps, on one of your days off, you can give me a couple of hours. I could go into the lab, and. . . ."
"Before work, after work, and on both of my days off," Walter breaks in, "I'm at your disposal."
"Thank-you, I appreciate the offer." Horatio is truly grateful. "I'll keep that in mind. But for now, go and meet Adams, and Mr. Simmons," he adds, as Walter starts for the door, "do not miss anything."
A couple of hours later, Horatio is sitting at his dining table, which he now uses as an office, elbow deep in paperwork. He hadn't accomplished much lately because of Ryan and the investigation, and now the price is being paid.
The doorbell rings, and his first instinct is to check if it woke Ryan, but his assessment to Walter had been correct; Ryan was capable of sleeping through most anything. Checking who it is, he's surprised to see Eric Delko standing on his front porch.
"Eric," he greets his subordinate and former brother-in-law. "This is an unexpected surprise."
"Hey, H." Eric steps into the house. "I wanted to update you on our progress today, so I thought I'd stop by."
"You could have called." Horatio cocks his head with a questioning stare.
"Yeah, well, I heard that Wolfe was at Avery's house today, gave us some helpful leads. Just wanted to see and give him the news, good news. We found pieces of glass, and we matched them to the ones in his head. We're still working on the shoes. But," he pauses with a wide smile, "Walter and Adams found twenty kilos of meth on his boat. Guess our ASA moonlights as a drug dealer, and with that evidence he's going down, one way or another. And Ryan?" Eric glances searchingly around H's house.
"He's asleep." Horatio inclines his head toward the couch, not showing any surprise at Eric's news. After his last encounter with Avery, he knew the man was a bad one. "But if you would like to wait until he awakes, you're welcome to a beer."
"Sold," Eric says, as he follows H into the kitchenette. "Also," he clears his throat, "I heard that Ryan is doing better but not great. So, I guess I just wanted to. . .I don't know." He shrugs, unsure of himself. He and Ryan had always had a rather contentious relationship, but he certainly never wished him ill. "Tell him to get well."
"I'm sure he'll appreciate that." Horatio is fully aware of the tension between them. "Eric, would you mind keeping an eye on Ryan for a few? I need a shower."
"Sure," Eric immediately agrees but can't help but give H a funny look. "You have to watch him constantly?"
"For now," Horatio says, "but he'll get better; he did before."
"O-kay." Eric finds it hard to believe that Ryan is so incapacitated that he has to be taken care of 24/7. "Calleigh mentioned something about night terrors. Is that what. . .is that why. . . ?"
"Yes," Horatio interrupts. "And in most of his nightmares he's being chased, so my biggest worry is that one day he'll run right through the patio doors." He waves a hand in their direction. "I had them barred, but even so, he could end up cutting himself up pretty badly. Anyway, if he awakes, and starts talking nonsense, restrain him, and give me a yell. I'll come right out."
"O-kay," Eric says again, still baffled, but decides not to ask any more questions.
"Remote's right there." Horatio points to the TV controller on an end table. "Make yourself comfortable. I shouldn't be more than fifteen, twenty minutes."
Settling himself in the same chair that Walter had vacated hours earlier, Eric switches the TV on and begins to channel surf. He bypasses a couple of news programs because after all, as a criminalist in MDPD his work is the news. He stops on a channel that's showing a rerun of a Seinfeld episode, light and humorous, perfect after an especially grueling day at work. He and Cardoza had been called to the crime scene at Avery's house after Walter had been pulled to see Wolfe home, and then to assist Detective Adams on the search of Avery's boat. Finding evidence to convict an assistant state attorney, one who is suspected of assault on one of your own colleagues is not typical, even for the crime lab.
Chuckling softly to the insane plot of four friends betting on who'll be the master of their domain, he doesn't immediately notice that Ryan has awoken. It's movement that catches Eric's attention, as out of the corner of his eye he sees the other man sit up.
"Wolfe." He turns to Ryan. "Hey, it's good to see you. I heard you helped us out today, and," he stops, as Ryan doesn't respond to him, but is muttering to himself about finding something. "What's missing?" he asks, getting up from his chair to follow Ryan, who is stumbling toward the kitchen.
"Wolfe, I think," he starts and then stops, as Ryan begins opening all the kitchen drawers and throwing their contents on the floor. "Ahh, Wolfe, I don't think you should be doing that." Ryan's odd behavior has thrown Eric for a loop momentarily, but he catches on fast that something is wrong, very wrong. Remembering H's instructions, he grabs Ryan around the shoulders, while yelling for Horatio. But Ryan takes exception to be touched and immediately spins out of Eric's grip and gives him a hard push.
"No, no!" he yells loudly, and then turns and sprints for the front door with Eric right on his heels.
"Wolfe, Wolfe, it's me, Delko! And you can't go out!" He makes a fast grab for Ryan, who is trying to open the front door, but again, Ryan takes exception to being touched and tries to pull away. The combination of grabbing and pulling has the two men tumbling to the ground. They hit the tile floor hard, which winds Eric, but he still manages to roll and jump to his feet in one effortless move. But Ryan, unfortunately does not get up, as he lies prone, gasping and choking for air.
"Oh, Jesus!" Eric pats his pants for his cell phone; he needs to call 911. "H, H," he yells, as he realizes that his cell phone is sitting on the end table. "Thank god, H!" He sighs with relief as Horatio rushes out of his bedroom, still damp from his shower, dressed only in a pair of jeans. "He was trying to get out the front door. I grabbed him, he resisted, and we fell to the floor. I'll call for a bus right now," he says, snatching his cell phone off the table.
"Hang on, Eric." Horatio puts a hand up, signaling to wait a moment. "Ryan," he commands, his tone loud and harsh. "Ryan, wake-up!"
As usual it's his voice that pulls me from the abyss back into the light. "Ryan, wake-up!"
I'd answer him, but I'm drowning; my head is being held forcibly underwater. I can hear myself gasping for air, as I finally manage to rasp out, "can't breathe."
"You can breathe, buddy. Just take a breath."
"No, no, can't."
"Ryan, listen to me. Just take a breath. You're okay."
Slowly, I drag myself back to reality, and realize that I'm not submerged, and my lungs aren't filling with water. I can hear an emotional voice in the distance. "H, shouldn't we call a bus? He can't breathe."
"He can breathe, simply having a nightmare."
Opening my eyes, I see that the distant voice belongs to Eric, who's kneeling on the floor in front of me with alarm in his eyes. Horatio has pulled me up to a semi-sitting position with his arms around me. I'm terribly cold, and the feeling of drowning still has me wrapped in its clutches, as I cough hard, trying to expel imaginary water.
"When you fell, did he hit his head?" I hear Horatio ask, as he gently runs fingers over my skull, looking for bumps or bruises. I understand his concern, another head injury so soon after the last one could be disastrous.
Eric has to think a moment or two and then shakes his head in the negative. "No, I think he half fell on me."
"That's good, but to be on the safe side, I'll call his neurologist. He should probably be checked out. Can you grab my phone? It's in the kitchen, and bring a bottle of water for Ryan."
I see Eric jump up and hurry to the kitchen, as I let out one more dry cough. I feel exhausted, even though I just woke-up. Still trembling with fear and panic, I lean into H, not caring if it makes me look weak. I am weak. His skin is slightly wet, and he smells like soap.
"Here." Eric is back, handing H's cell phone to him and a bottle of water to me. I'm shaking so much, that my hand won't grasp the bottle, and it falls from my limp fingers. Eric instantly picks it up and unscrews the top, but it's H, who holds it to my lips so I can take a drink.
"Sips, Ryan, sips," he orders, cell phone to his ear. "This is Horatio Caine," he speaks into the phone. He requests that Dr. Torres see me today, although, his request sounds more like a command. Always the Lieutenant.
"He can see us in thirty," he says, snapping the phone shut. 'We need to get ready. Ryan." He looks down at me. "Can you stand?"
Eric immediately reaches out to assist me, but I push his helping hand away and grab on to H. Now I'm entering the realm of being really pathethic, but I'm past caring. All the bad that has happened to me this past year has taken its toll.
"It's okay, pal," H reassures me, while gradually standing, bringing me up with him. "We're going to take things slow."
We get to our feet, and again Eric reaches for me, and this time I allow him to take my arm.
Lying in bed, I look around at Horatio's bedroom renovation. He had pushed the bed up against one wall and then slid the highboy to the bottom. I, of course, am stuck against the wall, effectively hemmed in, so I can't get up at night, wander around and fall on my head. I sigh in frustration. My life is just one big, barrel of monkeys.
"This is ridiculous," I say to H, when he enters the room. "If I have to get up to go to the bathroom, I'm supposed to just what, climb over you? There's more chance of falling on my head from that, then. . . ."
"You have two other options," he interrupts me. "You can wear padded headgear, which is what Dr. Torres is advocating or be tied down. You already said you didn't want the headgear, and I don't want you tied down, so this. . . ." He waves his hand at the bed and chest of drawers. "Is the only solution. Ryan, Dr. Torres was quite concerned, another injury to your head could mean permanent brain damage. It's something you should be taking seriously."
"But H," I protest," it's like stting in a window seat in an airplane. You figure you can bother the other two people to let you out one time. So, about half way through the flight, you have everyone get up, so you can go to the bathroom."
H is looking at me intently with a I-have-no-idea-what-you're-talking-about-but-I'm-listening expression.
"You return to your seat, hopefully good for the rest of the flight. Well, you're not, because knowing, just knowing that you can't simply get up and go to the bathroom, has shrunk your bladder to the size of a pea. Ten minutes later, you gotta go again. That's what's going to happen to me, if I'm stuck here at night. My bladder will shrink down to the size of a. . . ."
Horatio's burst of laughter stops the rest of my explanation, and I can only look at him in surprise for a moment. He never was a smiley guy, but since the death of his wife, he rarely, if ever, smiles or laughs. So, his gust of merriment has me staring at him.
"Ryan, how many times do I have to say it?" He lies down next to me. "It's okay. You can wake me every five minutes if you have to, sooner or later you'll run out of water."
"Fine," I say with a pretense of exasperation, as I fold my arms across my chest, but secretly I'm elated that I made H happy for a moment, even if it is for only a moment. "But be prepared for having a crappy night's sleep from now on."
"I think I can handle it," he says with a chuckle, as he stretches for the lamp to shut the light off. "And Ryan, I haven't given up on you, so don't give up on yourself."
I'm still on my back, when he reaches for me, and I'm pulled into his arms. I don't resist but lie my head on his chest. The thumping of his heart lulls me to sleep, and I don't awake until the next morning.
With CSI Miami's cancellation, I don't have any new material to draw on, so I'm guessing that there's just one more chapter in me. sob Yeah, during its run, writing hurt/confort fics with Ryan in them was easy, since they usually had at least one episode with him getting tortured, beat-up or blown away. Too bad. P'al Kwai