In a rare moment of lightheartedness, Eric was actually laughing. Ryan was seated across from him, dealing cards at the side table in the hospital room and being atypically disclosing about his latest romantic faux pas. They'd always had a little friendly competition going on when it came to women, so Eric knew he must've been feeling overly sympathetic towards him if he was openly admitting his losses. As nice as it was, Eric still had no problem fully taking advantage of it.

"So wait," he began, an entertained smile dancing across his lips, "you actually forgot to text her the next day?" He chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "Come on, Wolfe. Calling I can maybe understand, but texting takes thirty seconds."

"Or five minutes, if you're t9 illiterate," Ryan countered, eyeing him accusingly over the spread of cards in his hand.

"Hey, that was a very confusing phone," Eric defended as he swapped the middle card onto the end, organizing his hand. "Even the sales rep said so."

"Anyway." Ryan drew a card, frowned, and discarded it. "Speaking of tangled relationships, what's with you and Calleigh?"

"Smooth lead-in," Eric sarcastically complimented. Taking his turn, he drew a card, set down another, and matched Ryan's bet in chips that would mean nothing at the end of the game. "What about me and Calleigh?" The ease with which the question rolled off his lips surprised him because she hadn't left his thoughts even though she hadn't entered his vision in days.

"You guys were all, y'know." He gestured, bringing his hands together. "And now you barely speak."

"You knew?"

"You didn't know I knew?"

Eric shook his head as though searching. "I don't remember…"

Ryan frowned for a moment, wondering just how much time he'd lost and studying him with honest but masked sympathy. And then, as he thought of all the looks they thought had been discreet and the "hidden" coffee deliveries, the corners of his lips rose just a bit. "You guys thought you had some big secret."

Smiling despite himself, Eric asked, "Was it that obvious?" It was going to hurt, but he wanted – no, needed – to know more.

"Maybe not to the techs and stuff," Ryan admitted as he drew a card, discarded another, and threw in more chips. "But to me and Nat?" He smiled, idly spinning a chip and remembering the way Calleigh's shoulders would always relax whenever Eric stepped into the room. "Yeah, pretty obvious."

Sighing at the loss, Eric wondered how much he should divulge. Professionally, his memory was his saving grace and he had very little of it; the fewer people who knew he remembered nothing about the Russians, the better things would go for him.

"One week Calleigh's car was parked outside the lab for three nights straight." Ryan laughed a little, pushing his hand of cards into a stack and tapping it against the table. "You started repeating outfits."

Making light of it, Eric simply smiled. "Okay, I get it. Clearly I was very smooth," he said sarcastically, meeting his friend's gaze with a bit more light in his eyes than Ryan had seen lately. And then, as he took his turn, he remembered the distance and distrust in Calleigh's eyes when she'd left him. Swallowing hard, he tried to be nonchalant as he asked, "How is she?"

"Calleigh?" Ryan countered pointlessly, receiving a solid, expectant gaze in response. He sighed heavily, focusing on the cards as he gathered his thoughts. "How do you think?" he questioned with as much sympathy as accusation. "You came barreling out of a warehouse full of criminals, driving straight for us. You put her in a position where she had to shoot at you. None of us know what to think."

Eric froze in his chair, pieces of a puzzle he wasn't sure he wanted to solve anymore finally fitting together. Had he gotten in the middle of things with the Russians? Had he gone too far? He had no idea, and all he could do was study Ryan's features for clues and attempt to pretend he remembered this all.

They'd finally addressed the elephant in the room and Ryan shook his head, shrugging as he attempted to answer the original question. He hadn't wanted to do this, hadn't wanted to address any of it. He'd just wanted to visit Eric, boost his morale and help him get better faster, but he'd asked… "She's different. Guarded, quiet."

Eric swallowed again. "She was guarded before."

Ryan smiled sadly, no humor in his features. "I know, and the last thing she needed was someone she couldn't trust." By the look in Eric's eyes, Ryan knew he'd followed that implication and he bowed his head regretfully. "Look, we've worked together a while. I know you'd never get into anything dirty, but you can't say you haven't crossed lines for family in the past…"

Somewhat defensive now, Eric narrowed his eyes slightly on Ryan. "Sharova isn't family."

Ryan nodded, understanding, and studied him with more than just a hint of concern. He was confused and conflicted, a little lost, but the look in his eyes completely changed a moment later. Following Eric's gaze, Ryan turned around to find Calleigh hesitating at the doorway.

"Hey," she greeted, eyes nervously dancing between them. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"No, you're good," Eric assured, briefly taking in her work attire of black pants, heels, a dressy purple tank, and a suit blazer. It was a far cry from the curve-hugging jeans and white tee he'd seen her in last. He preferred the latter for a number of reasons, though right now he was focused on how the suit made her seem all down to business. And he was pretty sure she was, given her previous absence; something told him she wouldn't be here if she didn't have to be. "Come on in."

Ryan instinctively stood, silently fumbling for an out that wouldn't seem awkward. "I should probably get going." Grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, he slipped it on over his dress shirt. "Finish this some other time soon?"

It took Eric a moment, still reeling from their conversation, but he finally nodded. "Yeah, another time," he answered, collecting the cards as Ryan began to leave. "Since you won't be having any second dates anytime soon." He received a dismissive wave in response and had to grin a little despite the weight now looming over him with Calleigh standing there.

"Ryan having girl troubles?" She smiled uncomfortably, thankful for an icebreaker, and stepped in closer to grip the back of the now empty chair.

"Yeah, you could say that." Unable to take his eyes off her already, he gestured to the chair. "Go ahead and make yourself at home," he said, attempting lightheartedness. "I have crackers, and lumpy pudding if you want me to take advantage of the middle-age nurse who thinks I'm charming."

She pursed her lips at that, fighting a smile as she took the seat across from him. "Think I'll have to pass. I like the new room, though. No more ICU."

Her eyes flickered across his features just once and she noted that most of his color had returned to his caramel skin. His eyes held a bit more life and he had his own clothes on – the worn charcoal grey t-shirt and dark denim jeans she'd brought him. "And you seem better," she said, trying to hide the depth of relief behind her words.

"I am." His mouth tightened as he held her gaze for a moment, the confusion in her eyes far too reminiscent of the last time he'd seen her.

"That's good."

"You aren't."

Her brows furrowed briefly and she looked downward. Resting her hands on the table, she distractedly weaved her fingers together and focused her eyes there.

Too personal. As though sensing the emotions she was fighting, he leveled with her. "I know you're probably here because of work… They starting the investigation?"

"No, I don't think so." She sighed, watching her thumb slide along the side of her palm before she finally met his eyes. "The protection detail Horatio requested for you was denied," she told him regretfully. "At least until the internal investigation clears you."

He could tell there was more to her words and he studied her, waiting. "If they clear me," he finally added for her.

She bit her lip and then breathed in deeply. "Yeah."

His involvement was still a mystery to him, and so the whole protection thing seemed a little extreme. He shrugged, oblivious to the extent of the situation. "So I'll lay low at home for a while and back off Sharova."

He had no idea how involved this had become, how involved he had become, and it worried her. Sharova's words drifted into her mind for the hundredth time in the past few days.

By now, they have a hit on him again.

How could he go home under such a misconception? How could he go home at all, alone with the complications of brain surgery?

They'll find his house and wait for him.

He couldn't; she knew that, and her gut reaction to it troubled her. Swallowing hard, she bit back the onslaught of need and distrust stirring within her. "It's a bit more involved than that," she admitted, focused on her hands again. "There's a green light on you again. They think you know too much."

In watching her, it sunk in. He was in danger again, as evidenced by her regretful words and her desperate hold on her emotions. She was almost too collected on the surface, but struggling underneath as they sat in a heavy silence.

"When are they discharging you?" she asked softly.

"Tomorrow, I think," he began, "with lots and lots of pain meds, and follow-up appointments, and therapy recommendations." He shook his head slowly and blinked, overwhelmed by it all – and by having to do it again. "So what should I do, sleep at MDPD?"

She smiled sadly at his sarcasm, need taking over and words flowing from her of their own accord. "No, you should let me go home with you." The deep, steadying breath she sucked in next had him wondering if she meant it.

"No," he insisted, his brows weaving together in concern. She hadn't even been able to remain in the same room as him – with good reason, evidently. "Calleigh, I'll be fine. I'm a cop; I have a gun, and training. I've dealt with them before."

"Not like this." She shook her head knowingly, Sharova's threats still running through her mind. "And not while recovering from brain surgery. You'll need some help anyway."

"I can't ask you to do this, Cal." This was wrong for a number of reasons, and he couldn't even fathom having her back in his home when he never remembered her being there in the first place. He watched her carefully, noting the telltale nervous press and roll of her lips as she let his words sink in.

"Then it's good you're not asking." The intimate nickname had hit her hard, made her remember the feel of his fingertips against her skin, but she steeled herself. She was good at that. "Because I don't know what you were into, but I'm tired of waiting. I waited for this to blow over, and when it did the complete opposite it was five hours before I even knew if you were alive. And after all that waiting, I still don't have answers…but I'm not going to just stand back, wait some more, and hope you don't get killed this time. I can't do that."

Her eyes met his, a part of her unguarded for a brief moment, and for once he could feel the depth with which she cared – or had cared – for him. It hit him hard, made him want to touch her like in the snippets of memories or dreams that kept haunting him. He needed to know if her skin really felt that soft beneath his fingertips, if she really leaned into his touch with such ease as though she were coming home. He wanted to see her eyes flutter open beneath him, soft and unguarded, with every bit of the expressiveness he knew was lurking just beneath the surface. Most of all, he wanted to comfort her for everything that had escaped his memories.

On instinct, he reached for her, fingers seeking hers in a gesture that felt all too natural. But she pulled away just as instinctively, quickly sliding her hands back before his touch could grace her.

"I'm sorry," she uttered, her words softer now, as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I can't… I'll see you tomorrow."

With that she was gone, escaping into the hallway with a heavy heart and a racing mind. She had to stop just outside, leaning against the wall in the near-empty hallway to collect herself. She knew she'd just hurt him; she hadn't needed to wait in there to find confusion in his eyes to know that.

Folding her arms across her chest in the chilly hallway, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes. After a steady breath or two, she looked off to the side and exhaled. Like the majority of people, hospitals had always unnerved her, but the spot her eyes had landed on left her feeling oddly comforted.

Room 440, where she'd woken in a silent, collected panic until the weight of a familiar watch on her wrist had eased her. Finally conscious, his words had danced through her memories, calmed her, and she'd drifted off again until he was back. And then he'd refused to leave, had played sentry by her side until she was well…

It was amazing, really – and slightly annoying – that he wouldn't let her do a thing. Her oxygen absorption levels were high enough to warrant discharge from the hospital, but still far enough below normal that she was having a few dizzy spells. The doctor had recommended that she not lift much weight or exert herself for a while, and unfortunately Eric had been there to take that recommendation as a bible verse carved out in stone.

He'd refused to let her make any trips down to the car save for their last one, and he hadn't even let her carry any of the bags or potted gift plants across the room. He'd at least let her pack up, but he'd slowed her down when the hurried clacking of her stiletto boots had resulted in a bout of dizziness just outside the bathroom.

She'd needed the reminder, had needed him a little…maybe. Because not being up to her usual speed was unacceptable to her and subsequently she found it hard to slow down. She would push herself too much, and between the medication and her low oxygen intake, she'd needed the break he'd instituted.

And so she sat, waiting by the window with the dreamlike sun spilling into the room. She'd seen the Miami skyline a billion times, though, and her eyes unwaveringly drifted to him as he walked back into the room.

"Hey." He grinned, taking in her features – one green eye practically glowing in the bright sun, the other masked in shadows. "Ready to go?"

"God, yes." She smiled, stood carefully, and hoisted the duffle bag onto her shoulder, much to his displeasure. It only took him a moment to slide the strap from her arm and replace it over his.

Calleigh tilted her head in playful disdain, feeling useless. He offered her small black purse to her as an olive branch and she pursed her lips, fighting a smile.

"I've got everything," he assured her for the tenth time that day. "You need to rest. Just trust me."

Smiling, her eyes danced between his, taking his words at much more than just face value. "I do," she uttered meaningfully, twisting his words into so much more, especially for her.

His lips curved upward and there, in the middle of the hospital room she'd been in for days, he slipped his hand into her hair to cradle her neck and pressed his lips to hers for the first time. She was surprised, but it hadn't taken her long to move against him.

The first thing that occurred to her was that she probably still smelled like hospital, and the second was that he was so soft with her, slower than she'd expected from him. And he only let her have a moment, tearing his lips from hers after a slow press and slide to let her take in a much needed lungful of air.

"Let's go," he urged, gently bumping the bridge of her nose with his.

She really had trusted him. Implicitly. But the longer she stared at the room, the more uneasy she became.