My thanks to Gooniegirl3333 for beta-reading. I appreciate it!
Thanks also to Shorty1994gmail, Guest, codenameL, NickTonyK, and 0weallfalldown0 for your comments on the last chapter, and thanks to everyone for following & favoriting. It means a lot.
Hope you like this chapter! Not mine, except for any errors.
Ryan dressed slowly. The feel of clean cotton against his skin was like a soothing balm; he felt like he'd been trapped in filth and grime for days. Nothing like stewing in your own sweat, he thought with distaste, but it couldn't have been avoided. He'd been too sick to shower earlier, and even now he was growing light-headed the longer he stood in the steamy bathroom.
Fully dressed in a faded Green Lantern T-shirt, dark blue sweats, and warm white gym socks, Ryan wiped away the condensation on the mirror with the edge of his towel. His eye really did look better. Instead of angry red, the sclera had faded to a pale pink. Ryan took a deep breath and closed his left eye. Peering out of his right, he exhaled and gripped the sink to keep from swaying. He could see. Granted, things were blurry and out of focus, but that was normal since the nail gun injury.
Ryan exited the bathroom and padded slowly down the hall, relieved that Horatio wasn't hovering just outside of the bathroom door. He caught the scent of soup warming on the stove, and his stomach rumbled. He'd head downstairs in a minute; he needed to check on something first.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Ryan opened the nightstand and pulled out a leather case. Opening it, he studied the pair of glasses in his hand. The right lens was thick and wavy to accommodate the corneal scarring he'd acquired from the nail gun injury. The left lens was nearly plain glass. Ryan seldom wore his glasses in public and never at work. The discrepancy between the two lenses made his eyes appear to be different sizes, something that drove his OCD crazy. He could see better in contact lenses, anyway.
But he couldn't wear his contacts until the infection had cleared, and he just had to know right now. Putting his glasses on, he closed his left eye and stared around the room using his right eye.
Can I see as well as before? Has the scarring gotten worse? Am I going to need surgery?
"Mr. Wolfe."
Ryan's right eye focused on the red-haired lieutenant standing in the doorway of his bedroom. Damn, that man can be stealthy. His left eye popped open. "H." He whipped his glasses off and put them back in the case.
"Ryan." H tipped his head slightly. Moving across the room in a single fluid motion, he sat on the bed beside his employee. "How is your eye?"
Ryan shrugged. "Better." He stood up. "I appreciate you making me soup, Horatio," Ryan said softly, as he walked toward the door.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Horatio asked. Still seated on Ryan's bed, he held out the glasses case to the young man.
Ryan pursed his lips and nodded as he turned, accepting the leather case. He didn't put the glasses back on.
Horatio hadn't moved from the bed. "What did Dr. Medby say?"
"I see her tomorrow." Ryan put the case in his pocket and folded his arms, studying the floor.
"That's not what I asked, Mr. Wolfe."
Ryan stared at the two blurry images of Horatio and rubbed his eyes. He didn't want to think about this. Not now. Not with Horatio. Tamping down a rising sense of panic, Ryan focused on his breathing. He hadn't realized that he'd closed his eyes until he felt Horatio's arm around his shoulder, leading him back to the bed.
"Sit down, son." It was only then that Ryan noticed he was shaking.
"Now, what did the doctor say?" Horatio's voice was calm but firm. His arm gripped Ryan's shoulder.
"I may need a corneal transplant," Ryan blurted out. He swallowed hard. "It depends upon how bad the scarring is now and whether she can still correct for it with lenses."
"So, you were checking your vision using your glasses," Horatio mused. "And what did you determine?"
Ryan shook his head. "I can't tell. I've still got medication in my eyes. Everything's blurry." He shuddered. "I can't talk about this any more, H."
Horatio nodded. "Let's have lunch."
Horatio sat across from Ryan at the small kitchen table, watching the younger man eat his homemade chicken soup. He studied the crease between Ryan's eyes, the tense way the man gripped his spoon, the rigid set to his shoulders. It was clear to the lieutenant that Ryan was still upset. Horatio decided to try and draw him out.
"How's the soup?"
His charge looked up, briefly. "It's good, H. Thank you." Ryan politely sipped another spoonful and returned his eyes to the table.
"Mr. Wolfe -" Ryan looked up again. This time, Horatio could see the man stiffen at the use of his surname. He tried another tactic. "Ryan. I want you to know that you can talk to me. About anything."
As the dark-haired man nodded but didn't reply, Horatio sighed. Why is it so much easier to talk to children, he wondered. He recalled a conversation he'd once had with Yelina about Ryan, one in which he had mentioned his CSI's inability to ask for help or admit to any kind of weakness or error. Yelina, noting Horatio's frustration, had laughed. "Sounds just like you, Horatio," she had said. "Just talk to him."
Looking at Ryan now, Horatio searched the small, tiny kitchen for inspiration. How could he convey to this young man that he wasn't going anywhere, that Ryan could depend upon him for support? Before he could think of a way to phrase it, Ryan spoke.
"I'll turn in my resignation on Monday," he said in a low voice. Walking his soup bowl to the sink, Ryan began to wash it out.
Horatio stood to face him, astonished. "What are you talking about, Mr. Wolfe?"
Again, Ryan tensed, and H made a mental note that he really needed to stop calling the man by his last name. "Horatio, you don't want me on your team." Ryan spoke to the sink. "I'm a liability." Gingerly, Ryan walked from the room, sat down on the living room sofa, and closed his eyes. Tears leaked out anyway.
Horatio followed him into the living room and sat down on the coffee table facing Ryan. "I know things seem overwhelming right now, partner, but we're gonna get through this, okay?"
Ryan wiped his eyes. He shook his head and looked sadly at Horatio before studying the floor. "I love being a criminalist, H, I really do." He lifted his watery hazel gaze to meet Horatio's intense blue stare. "But I'm not sure how much longer I can do this."
The redhead waited patiently for Ryan to continue.
Swallowing hard, Ryan tried to rein in his emotions. "My eye ... It's never going to get better, H. I'm susceptible to infections now. Even if I get through this one okay, Dr. Medby says it's likely to recur. Someday, I'm gonna need surgery. It's just a matter of when."
Horatio sighed. "I'm sorry, Ryan."
The younger man nodded. "I'll come in and get my things as soon as -"
"Ryan," Horatio interrupted. "You don't need to resign. You're an important part of my team."
"But -"
"There's no reason you can't continue to work for me," the older man continued, "as long as you keep me appraised of your condition." He paused. "You are correct about one thing, though. If your vision continues to decline, you will eventually be forced to hand in your badge. But, even then, you can still be a criminalist."
"A one-eyed criminalist, H? How would that work?" Ryan folded his arms and gave the redhead his best skeptical look.
Horatio smiled at seeing a spark of spunk return to his underling. "My best CSIs all have their Achilles' heels. Calleigh has weak lungs. Natalia wears a hearing aid. And need I remind you that Eric has bullet fragments in his brain? We'll work around this, Ryan. I do not want you to worry about your job. We'll make this work."
Ryan swallowed. "Okay, H."
"Stop borrowing trouble, Mr. Wolfe. All right? Let's wait to hear what the doctor has to say."
