This is a work of fanfiction and none of the characters are mine. Darn it. My thanks to Gooniegirl3333 for beta-reading and CSIMiamiFAN, Margie, and The flying Arya for your comments. I appreciate it. :)
Ryan Wolfe sat alone in his darkened apartment, thankful beyond measure that his court appearance had been brief. He'd clocked out as soon as he and Horatio had returned to the lab. After working a double followed by a court date, he finally had some time off. Absently, he rubbed his right temple and squinted at the TV. The midday news had been replaced by a soap opera, but Ryan didn't really care. It was just on for background noise anyway. He grabbed the pill bottle next to the couch and extracted four ibuprofen gel caps. Swallowing them with a swig of water, Ryan groaned and lay down on the sofa. Shivering, he pulled the afghan that his bubbe had crocheted for him up and over his body.
The banging started fifteen minutes later. Ryan buried himself deeper into the couch cushions and tried to ignore it.
"Wolfe! You in there?"
It was Eric's angry voice, and Ryan wondered what he'd done now to trigger it. The Cuban hadn't been too happy when Ryan had backed the Hummer into his car the day before yesterday. Ryan shook his head. There'd been no damage that he could see and Delko had agreed. So why was the man at his door in the middle of the day?
"Ryan, open up, man."
That was Walter's voice, and now Ryan was worried. Eric and Walter still weren't on the best of terms due to Eric's brief stint as a spy for the DA's office. If they were here together, that didn't bode well. Something was wrong. Ryan's tired mind tried - and failed - to come up with a reason for the two men to be on his door step. He sighed and stood up, feeling a sudden burst of nausea. Damn migraine, he thought.
He walked slowly to the door, fighting a wave of vertigo. I've gotta get some sleep. Flipping the deadbolt, he opened the door to find two very concerned CSIs standing on his porch.
"Hey," he greeted, rubbing his right temple. He shielded his eyes as he tried to adjust to the sunlight streaming into his apartment. "What's up?"
"Wolfe, you look terrible," Walter said. Ryan's skin was blotchy and his bloodshot eyes were red-rimmed.
Ryan narrowed his gaze and folded his arms across his threadbare gray T-shirt. "I was sleeping, Walter. People do that after they've worked two days straight."
"You're sick, Ryan. We're here to take you to the doctor." Delko had his arms crossed and fixed Ryan with the same look that he gave criminals before throwing them in lock-up.
The younger man shook his head and frowned. "I'm fine, Delko. I just need some sleep." He rubbed his right eye and glared at his co-workers. "Don't you have criminals to catch, or something?"
A look of concern passed between the two men before Walter spoke up. "You need to go to the eye doctor, Ryan."
Ryan dropped his hand from his eye self-consciously. He peered up at the big man. "What're you talking about?"
"I've already called Dr. Medby," Eric added. "She'll fit you in whenever we get there."
"You did WHAT?" Ryan could feel his hands curling into fists.
Walter stepped closer and put a big hand on his smaller friend's shoulder. "Ry, have you looked in a mirror today?"
Ryan tried to ignore the chills coursing through his body at that question as he ran to the bathroom. Fighting nausea, he gripped the sink and peered in the mirror. His face was blurry and distorted, but his eye didn't look that bad to him. At least, it wasn't bright red or grotesquely swollen. He splashed some water on his face and went back out into the hallway. His co-workers were now standing in the entry area, looking tense.
Ryan tried to defuse the situation. "Look, guys, I appreciate your concern, I really do, but I'm fine. I just need a good night's sleep." He stifled a cough and rubbed his right temple again.
Eric gave Walter a look that Ryan interpreted as exasperation. Walter nodded and said, "How long have you had that headache?"
Ryan's eyes flicked to Walter's face, a guilty look crossing his own. "I get migraines sometimes, Walter. You know that." Ryan folded his arms.
"You backed into my car two days ago," Eric said, frowning.
"Hey, Eric, I told you. I'm sorry about that."
"Wolfe, you mistook a riding crop for a snake when you were out in the field with Sam," Walter said, gently.
Ryan dropped his arms to his sides and looked at the floor, seething. Why did she have to tell everyone?
"What if you made the opposite mistake?" Eric pushed. "What if you thought a snake was a riding crop? Sam could have been in danger."
Ryan's fists were now balled at his sides. "That did not happen, Delko. Sam was never in any danger."
"Except when you were driving, right?"
Ryan took a deep breath and reminded himself that punching Delko was not going to help anything. The guy was relentless when he wanted something. "I let her drive," Ryan admitted.
"So, you know you've got a problem then," Walter stated. "Either that or you've really got it bad for Sam-" Ryan blushed, "-because I've never seen you willingly give up a chance to drive a Hummer."
Ryan lifted his head and looked each of his co-workers square in the eyes, barely containing his frustration. "I'm fine."
Eric shook his head. "No, you're not. I'm not letting you do this, Ryan. You're not gonna go blind on my watch." Before Ryan could protest, he added, "Just do this for me, okay? Let us take you to the doctor."
As Walter frowned, Eric turned to him. "It's my fault his eye's messed up to begin with. It was my call-out. Ryan never should have been at that trailer." His words were pained and tinged with old guilt.
Ryan sighed, defeated. If Eric had resorted to begging, he must be very worried indeed. "Fine. Let me grab a jacket first."