My thanks to Gooniegirl3333 for beta-reading this for me. Any remaining errors are mine. I'm calling this story complete for now, but I might add more if the muse strikes. Thanks for reading! And a special shout-out to CSIMiamiFAN and Paula Galtarocha for your comments on chapter 1. :)

Ryan sat on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, his head resting on the toilet seat. The urge to find the pine cleaner and scour away any remaining mess wasn't quite as strong as his desire not to wake Eric, so he remained motionless, exhausted and miserable.

The older man had returned late that morning as promised, a duffel bag in one hand and several sacks of groceries in the other. Alexx had turned over Ryan's care with a list of instructions and a warning about when a visit to the ER might be warranted. Ryan knew that Eric had been keeping track of how often - and in what way - he had been sick.

Could there be anything more humiliating? he wondered. I just want to die in peace.

Ryan had managed to choke down a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a bottle of Gatorade that afternoon, and he had even slept some in his bedroom while Eric had sprawled out on the living room sofa to watch a baseball game. Eric had fallen asleep before the seventh inning stretch, and if Ryan hadn't been feeling so lousy, he might have teased him about it. But then, Eric had spent a lot of time recently caring for his older sister, Marisol, who was battling cancer. Ryan wondered about that, too.

Shouldn't Eric be with Marisol, instead of me? I need to get him out of here.

Before Ryan could act on his plan to ditch his babysitter, his digestive troubles had flared up again with a vengeance, leaving him weak and light-headed. The last thing he wanted was for Eric to wake up now and add another set of tally marks on his checklist of Ryan's illness. He knew he was perilously close to a ride to the ER as it was.

"Wolfe?"

Damn it, Ryan thought. He rose to standing on unsteady feet, clutching the sink. "In here," he managed.

"You all right?" Eric's voice was closer now, just outside the bathroom door.

"Fine," he lied. He turned on the tap, swished some water in his mouth and spat, then splashed cold water on his face, trying to force some color into his bloodless cheeks. He opened the bathroom door carefully and attempted to stagger toward his bedroom unnoticed.

Eric stopped him with a hand on his arm and a hard look on his face. "You were sick again."

Ryan averted his eyes and pushed feebly against Eric's arm. "I'm a lot better. You should head home, get some sleep." He ventured a quick glance at the older man's face. "Looks like you need some."

With narrowed eyes, Eric frowned at Ryan. "Wolfe, Alexx said if we can't get this thing under control, I need to bring you in."

"I don't need your help." Ryan's words would have been more effective if he hadn't chosen that moment to lean heavily against the wall.

"That's what Mari always says too," Eric mumbled under his breath. He sighed and looked down at Ryan. "Come on, let me help you back to bed. If you can keep some fluids down, maybe we can avoid the hospital." Eric rubbed his eyes before throwing a shoulder around Ryan as he propelled him down the hall.

Ryan squinted up at his guide. "You okay?" The Cuban seemed exhausted and distracted, a far cry from his usual alert self.

Shaking his head, Eric's words didn't quite match his posture. "It's nothing."

Ryan dropped on the bed and looked up at his co-worker. "Come on, Eric. Look at me. It's not like I'm in a position to make any judgements here. I've got you keeping track of my digestive habits like I'm a toddler. Now spill it."

Eric crossed his arms, leaned against the wall, and regarded Ryan. "It's Mari."

Ryan felt the temperature in the room drop a degree. "Her cancer's worse?"

The other man cracked a half-smile. "No, that's not the problem." He scuffed the floor with the toe of his shoe.

"Her cancer's better?" Ryan's voice was incredulous. He stifled a yawn and slid under the quilt.

"That's not it either." Eric slipped into the hall, calling back over his shoulder, "Forget I said anything." He reappeared a few minutes later carrying a can of soda with a drinking straw sticking out. He bent the straw to make it easy for Ryan to sip while lying flat. "Here, drink some of this."

Ryan pushed the straw away. "Not until you tell me what's bothering you."

"Don't be stupid." Eric guided the straw toward him again.

"I'm not ... drinking anything ... until you talk," Ryan argued, wincing.

Eric caught his expression and frowned. Setting the can down on the nightstand, his eyebrows knotted as he studied Ryan shivering under a quilt. Throwing a hand against Ryan's forehead, he asked, "You gettin' those cramps again?"

The man in the bed shrugged. "A few. I really am feeling better, though." From the set of Eric's jaw, Ryan could tell that the older man didn't quite believe him. He sighed. "Come on, hand me that Sprite." Ryan pushed himself to a seated position, grabbed the can at his bedside with Eric's help, and took a few hearty sips.

The look on Eric's face was hard to interpret. "You'd let me know if something was really wrong, wouldn't you?" he asked softly.

Ryan paused to consider. Probably not, he thought to himself. He shrugged. "I'm okay for now." He looked at Eric then - really looked at him - taking in the partially shaven face, the bags under his eyes, the defeated slant to his shoulders. Something had definitely shaken the other man's world. "What's bothering you about your sister?" He held his breath, wondering if Eric would answer.

"She's datin' H."

Ryan's mouth twisted into a wry smile and he nodded. He'd heard a few rumors to that effect, but had never actually had them confirmed. "Are you okay with that?"

"I gotta be, right?" Eric raised a set of haunted eyes to Ryan before he crossed his arms and resumed staring at the floor.

Realization set in for Ryan. "He's with her tonight, isn't he?" His words held a touch of compassion.

Eric nodded slowly before his pent-up thoughts began to tumble out. "I've been with her every step of this cancer thing, you know, treatments and doctor appointments, and I've always been there for her to talk to. Whenever she's needed me, I'm there. Only now it's all about him and she's shuttin' me out." He sighed, frustration evident in his tone. "I've put my life on hold to get her well. Even when it meant I missed a few call-outs." He locked his gaze on Ryan. "I'm sorry about your eye."

Ryan bit his lip and looked away. The nail gun injury was still too fragile a topic for him to discuss, so he tried to redirect the conversation. "Let me get this straight. You're worried about Marisol, but she's busy with H, so you've decided to take care of me instead." The words came out with a touch of bitterness, and he glanced up to find Eric staring at him.

"I'm worried about both of you right now," the man replied, dropping his arms to his sides. "But Marisol's in good hands." He gave Ryan a small smile. "Which leaves you."

Weakly, Ryan smiled back. There was a long silence between the two men before Ryan admitted, "It's good to have you here, Eric."

The dark-haired man gave him a slight nod. "You up for some soup?"

"Yeah, I think I am."