My thanks to Gooniegirl3333 for beta-reading and to 0weallfalldown0 for commenting on the previous chapter. I own none of this, save the heavy doses of angst & hurt/comfort in this chapter. :)
Ryan lay still for a long time after Alexx left. He could hear Horatio puttering around in his apartment - doing what, Ryan wasn't quite sure - and it made him feel edgy. He tried to relax his tense muscles. Showing weakness in front of Alexx was still hard, but she was like a mother to him and he knew she loved him. Knowing he had been so weak before his co-workers was more difficult for Ryan to accept. And Horatio ... Ryan did not want to appear weak before his boss. Ever.
What if I disappoint the man? H might cut me loose. Ryan suspected that he was letting his anxieties get the better of him, but somehow, he just couldn't help himself. My eye isn't getting better. Horatio probably knows that already; he's just waiting for the right time to fire me.
The ill CSI tried to convince himself that the man really did care, that Ryan was more than a replaceable cog in Miami's police machinery. He reminded himself that Horatio had been the one to find him after the tornado and H had even taken the time to check up on him while he was being treated in the ER. If he was completely honest with himself, Ryan knew that despite the man's tough exterior, Horatio Caine really did care for him. But the thought only made him more uneasy.
Ryan craved Horatio's reassurance, needed the calming influence that he knew that the man could provide. But he couldn't bring himself to ask for help. If he did, that would mean that this horrible nightmare was true - he was on the verge of going blind. Cursing his own weakness, the sick and weary man tried in vain to stop his swirling thoughts. He hated being dependent upon anyone for anything.
But I could go blind ...
"I'm afraid, H." Ryan whispered the words into the near stillness of his living room, half hoping that his mentor wouldn't hear him, half desperately wishing that he would.
He strained his ears waiting for a reply, only hearing the faint tick of the clock by the mantle in response. Finally, Horatio spoke. "Mr. Wolfe, you will always have a job in my crime lab."
"Even if I can't see to shoot straight?" The words came out wobbly and rushed, and Ryan realized with a burst of anxiety that he was on the verge of a panic attack. This is bad. Very bad.
He felt the sofa cushions dip as Horatio sat beside him. "Even then, Ryan." His boss' voice was soft and gentle. "What did the doctor say?"
Ryan shook his head, but he thought better of it as the nausea returned. "I think I'm gonna be sick, H."
He felt Horatio lift the compress off his face. Ryan opened his eyes to find a small trash can had been thrust into his hands. Horatio was kneeling mere inches from him, studying his eyes.
Ryan tried to meet his gaze, but it was hard to focus. "What?" He swallowed hard, attempting to keep the nausea at bay.
The older man smiled. "Your eye was almost swollen shut before. You've opened it. I think the new medication is helping, Ryan. The swelling is going down."
A torrent of emotions flooded Ryan at that moment, and his bloodshot hazel eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. He couldn't let Horatio see him cry. With a grunt, Ryan forced himself to stand, swaying on his feet. He gripped the bucket tighter as the nausea returned with a vengeance.
Horatio was up in a flash, a hand on his shoulder. "Whoa, hold on there, partner. Where're you going?"
"Bathroom," Ryan ground out, fighting hard not to throw up or cry.
"All right, then. Here we go. Easy. Easy." Horatio guided Ryan down the hall, one arm across his back, the other holding the little trash can for him.
As soon as he was in the bathroom, Ryan shut the door, locked Horatio out, and dropped in front of the toilet. His breath came in sharp gulps as he began to cry out from the pain and fear. Gripping the toilet seat, he threw up.
Horatio leaned against the bathroom door, arms folded, a deep frown on his face. When he heard Ryan retching, his heart wrenched. Trying the door knob, he found it locked.
"Ryan? Are you all right?"
He knew Ryan wasn't all right. Horatio could hear the young man's breaths growing faster and shallower. Within minutes, Ryan would be in the vise grip of a panic attack with no one able to help him.
"Son, I need you to open this door right now!" It was Horatio Caine's command voice, and he prayed that Ryan's training would override his embarrassment and force him to comply.
He counted the seconds before he heard a shuffling noise on the other side. Wordlessly, the lock released and Horatio rushed in. Ryan was curled into a ball on the bathroom tile, knees to his nose, arms wrapped around his legs, trembling. He gave H a panicked look. "I ... " he gasped. "Can't." Another gasp. "Breathe."
Horatio sat on the floor beside him and drew the young man into his arms. "It's okay, Ryan. I'm here. You're all right. It's going to be okay. Just breathe, Ryan. Just breathe."
Awareness crept back slowly. As the roaring in his ears receded, Ryan first noticed the dripping of the bathroom faucet - plink! plink! plink! - and he made a mental note to fix it as soon as possible. He scanned the small room with blurry eyes; thankfully, his world was slightly clearer now and he could open his right eye more than a crack. With that happy realization came the awareness that he felt safe and protected, as if he was a small child in his parent's arms. The last time Ryan could remember feeling that way was years ago, before his sister had died. He abruptly pulled away from the warmth.
"Ryan." H's voice sounded in his ear: deep, calm, reassuring. "It's all right. You're okay."
He realized that Horatio had been holding him and repeating these words for some time now. How long has it been? Ryan felt the heat rise in his cheeks at the thought of his boss seeing him in such a weakened state.
"H," Ryan croaked, his voice thick and raspy. "I'm sorry." He moved to stand up, but Horatio held him fast.
"Hold on, Ryan. I don't want you to pass out. Let's take this slowly, okay?" It was not a question.
Ryan nodded and Horatio helped him to stand. The head rush was immediate. Ryan felt his knees buckle and he swayed on his feet, but the older man held him steady. After a few minutes, the dizziness receded and the redhead loosened his hold. Ryan crept forward and stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Even without his contacts in, he could see that he was deathly pale, with dark shadows circling each eye. His right eye was less swollen than he remembered, though, and it appeared pink now instead of blood red. His greasy hair was matted flat to his head and his shirt was sweat-stained and rumpled. In all, as Uncle Ron liked to say, he looked like death on a cracker.
"I need a shower."
Horatio chuckled. "That sounds like a fine idea, Mr. Wolfe." His voice grew serious. "Can you manage by yourself?" Ryan nodded and met his mentor's eyes. The older man gave him an appraising look. "I'd like to get some fresh clothes for you."
There was a question in that statement, and Ryan realized that Horatio was treading gently so as not to trigger his OCD. The younger man took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Closet, green hangers. Sweats and a T-shirt. I've got underwear and socks in the top drawer." He turned away before Horatio could see him blush. Just the thought of H rummaging through his underwear drawer was humiliating. At least he knew his boss was neat and wouldn't move anything out of place. He stepped into the shower and turned on the water as hot as he could tolerate.
When the bathroom was good and steamy and the water temperature had faded to lukewarm, Ryan finally felt a sense of relief. He was no longer grimy and sweaty, two sensations that always set his teeth on edge. Calleigh had made fun of him on more than one occasion for having multiple spare sets of clothes in his locker at the lab, but frankly, he'd needed to change twice in one day far more often than he cared to admit. Dumpster diving, chasing suspects, explosions, fire ... in Ryan's opinion, the CSI team was a magnet for dirt.
He stepped out of the shower to find that Horatio had not only left him a clean set of clothes in a neat pile, he'd also brought a fluffy bath towel straight from the dryer. Ryan draped himself in the warmth. Being cared for was foreign to him, and Ryan felt an odd mix of comfort and trepidation. He dressed slowly, not wanting the bubble of safety to burst. Soon enough, he would have to face his boss - the man who had witnessed his meltdown - and accept the consequences of his actions.
I should resign, he thought, miserably, before H has to fire me.
