Thanks for the kind reviews everyone!
Disclaimer in Part One.
If you want to put this story somewhere, please get my permission first.
******
Ryan's breathing was quick and unsteady as he pressed a hand to his stomach. "H--" he gasped.
"You're going to be all right, Mr. Wolfe." Horatio said quietly. "I'll make sure of that, but I'm going to need you to stay calm for me. Can you do that?"
Wolfe nodded, resting the back of his head against the wall. It took a lot of concentration, but he managed to regulate his breathing down to something that felt close to normal. "I'm fine," he murmured. "I'll be okay, but you should," he winced, "finish processing the scene." His gaze went over to the man Horatio had shot. "You don't wanna lose the evidence." Ryan winced, trying to stretch his legs into a more comfortable position, but gave up at the pain that surged up in his torso.
"Take it easy, Ryan," Horatio said quickly. "The scene can wait."
"It can't," Ryan licked his lips, trying to stay focused and detached, but that was kind of hard when you were suddenly part of the crime scene. "'s not bleeding a lot. I think.... don't think it hit any arteries." He turned his hand over, wincing at the blood, but trying to focus his thoughts; arterial blood was very bright, was that bright enough?
"Mr. Wolfe, I need you to keep your hand there for me, okay?" Caine placed the other man's hand against the wound.
"You really think I'm gonna make it out of here, H?" Ryan asked tightly, gritting his teeth as he stared up at the ceiling."
"Mr. Wolfe, I don't think," Horatio said. "I know."
Ryan gritted his teeth. "Then you should process the rest of the scene."
If the situation hadn't been so dire, Horatio would have smiled. "All right, Mr. Wolfe, but I need you to do something for me." He gestured upward. "I need you to count those tiles in the ceiling for me. It's very important for you to tell me how many there are and you have to count loud so I can hear you. Can you do that?"
Ryan nodded, understanding the motivation behind his request. "Sure."
"All right, Mr. Wolfe," Horatio said as he stood up and began to get to work. "Remember, I need to hear you."
******
Eric slammed his phone shut in disgust.
"What's wrong?" Calleigh asked. "When is the safe cracker getting here?"
Eric snorted. "It's going to take a half hour for the guy to get here and at least another six for him to cut through. Hell, by that time, the safe will open on its own."
"You've got to be kidding me." Calleigh ran a hand through her hair. "There's got to be some kind of emergency procedure in place for a situation like this."
"No, because nobody ever expected this kind of thing to happen." Eric slapped the wall, as if it was the source of his frustration. "I can't just sit here; there's gotta be something I can do."
Calleigh was silent for a moment. "You can drop the evidence off at the lab." She spoke quickly, before he could object. "Look, it's like you said, we can't do anything else right now. It'll stay here and let you know if anything changes."
The sound of Wolfe's soft, yet shaky counting filled the air as Delko debated his options. "I'll be right back. You call me if anything happens, okay?" He didn't wait for a response before he grabbed their kits and headed for the door.
******
"One f-forty eight," Ryan shifted his hand a little bit, then hissed in pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the sting to fade.
Horatio took the last sample and placed it in the evidence bag. He looked over his shoulder. "Are you all right, Mr. Wolfe?" He packed the bag away and returned to the other man's side once again. The bloody stain on Ryan's shirt had grown noticeably wider and his hands were coated in blood. Wolfe's eyes were open, but his head tilted upward, as if he was trying to avoid looking at the wound. "Ryan," he said softly, but firmly. 'Ryan, I need you to look at me."
"H," Ryan murmured through tightly clenched teeth. "If I don't... if I can't... you gotta explain to Eric and Calleigh. You have to tell them why I--"
"Ryan," Horatio said firmly. "Ryan, look at me." It took nearly a minute for Wolfe to focus on him. "Mr. Wolfe, I'm not going to tell them anything, because you are going to tell them yourself. Do you understand?"
Wolfe nodded, then gasped loudly, his knuckles clenching convulsively.
Out of the corner of his eye, Horatio spotted a patch of color. It was Ryan's discarded sport jacket. "All right, Mr. Wolfe, here's what we're going to do. We are going to press your coat around the wound to try and slow the bleeding." He stood up and retrieved the jacket. "This is going to hurt a little."
"Not as much, ow," Ryan swallowed, then licked his lips. "N-not as much as the dry cleaning bill."
Horatio smiled thinly, then tore one of the sleeves off the jacket. He pried Wolfe's hands aside, then worked carefully to lift Ryan's shirt upward so he could get a better look at what he was dealing with. His brows drew together into a deep frown as he caught sight of the deep contusions on the other man's ribcage. "Ryan..."
******
Eric, having returned a few minutes ago, had just handed Calleigh a coffee when his attention was drawn to the monitor. "What the hell?" Though the picture quality wasn't great, it was easy to see the mass of dark purple and black bruising that mottled Wolfe's stomach and ribcage. "There's no way the knife did all that! Those bruises are at least a couple of days old. What the hell happened to him?"
Calleigh nodded in response, carefully analyzing the data being presented to them. Eric was right; those bruises were far too dark and prominent to have been caused by the knife wound. No, Ryan had walked into the bank already sporting those bruises. He hadn't mentioned anything out of the ordinary and there was only one thing they hadn't talked about. And suddenly she knew.
******
Ryan rushed to speak before Horatio could say anything else. "It's not as bad as it looks, really. I was going to the doctor's tomorrow. 'm fine." He took a deep, hitching breath, then blinked a few times to clear his vision. "What time is it?"
"It's midnight."
For the first time, Wolfe looked down at himself, really looked. The sleeve hid the wound, but the fabric itself was already soaked with his blood. One thought persisted in his mind. Four hours. Four hours. Four hours to go.
******
TBC.
