Ronnie woke up exactly eighteen hours later. Before she ever opened her eyes, the smell of something wonderful reached her nose, and she unearthed herself from her blankets to breathe in the delicious scent. She'd slept straight through her pain meds, so as soon as she began to move around, the pain set in like a bear trap clenched around her waist.
Tossing back the blankets and staggering out of bed, she hobbled to the door and opened it.
Cho sat at the breakfast bar, reading a book, rubbing the back of his neck with a pained wince. He looked up at the sound of her movement and frowned. The moment he saw her, he let his book fall shut and got to his feet. "Hey. You can't be walking around."
She pouted, peering at the stove to try to spot the source of the smell that had her stomach growling. "I'm okay." She'd just had the best sleep of her life on sheets that smelled like Walmart, and she wanted food.
He pointed back into the room, eyebrows raised in earnest. It looked more like a threat, honestly. "Would you get back in bed? You cannot be walking around."
Ronnie crossed her arms. She'd just gotten out of bed and had no desire to get back into it. "What am I supposed to do, not get out of bed for another week? That's crazy, Cho."
Hands on her elbows, he pushed her back into the room and urged her back into bed. "Actually, that's doctor's orders. Think of it this way—if you don't let yourself heal, you'll screw yourself up so badly that you can't work out anymore."
Any arguments died on her lips as he watched her tuck her blankets over her lap and sit up against a stack of pillows. Her coloring was still sickly, her limbs still trembling uncontrollably, each of her movements emphasized by a wince or a grimace. Cho shook out her next dose of pain pills and handed them to her with a cup of water.
As she downed them without complaint, he picked up the remote and switched on the tv. "Here. Murder, She Wrote, all queued up for you." The familiar theme began playing through the speakers, sparking an expression of delight on her face. "Stay here. I'll get you food."
Ronnie lit up instantly. Murder, She Wrote, painkillers, and dinner? Things were shaping up. "Thanks."
the MENTALIST
Cho returned a few minutes later with a bowl of the most incredible looking chicken and rice soup, and a steaming hot cup of tea, but he found her sitting right where he left her with her computer open on her lap. He knew for certain that he'd placed the computer on the desk across the room, and pursed his lips at the evidence that she'd gotten out of bed again. "What are you doing?"
"Looking for apartments." She reached desperately for the dinner tray, pushing the laptop back to make room. "Have you eaten yet?"
"A while ago. I'll eat again soon." The silence ticked between them as she took a cautious bite of the hot soup and then positively melted back into her pillows. He couldn't help a smile as she practically sang his praises over his culinary skills.
"Bring it in here and eat with me."
He cringed. "And watch this show? Yeah, I don't know."
Ronnie rolled her eyes and cradled the bowl to her chest. The pain was fading, her stomach was happy, and her favorite show was on in the background. She didn't care about a single thing except for that moment. "Thank you for dinner."
He nodded, and then let his eyes fall to her laptop. "Why are you looking for apartments?" He had literally just moved her in. He had just asked her to move in with him and she was already looking to leave again.
Ronnie stared at him, confused. She had no home, no hotel room, and her dearest friend was banished from his own bed. What was she supposed to do, buy an RV? "Because I need to find an apartment?"
He stared back. "You literally just moved into this one."
Her eyes skated around his bedroom for a few minutes and then came back to rest on him, no less puzzled. "Yeah, but I'm not staying here." At his continued silence, her head cocked to the side. "You got me out of the hotel, brought me here to recover where you can give me a hand—but I can't stay here."
Cho ran a hand through his hair. "Masters, I wanted you to move in here to keep you safe. You're not safe while Arlov is out there." The lack of inflection in his tone drove his point him without room for misunderstanding. He intended for her to live with him until an untouchable, diplomatically immune Russian oil baron was in custody or dead.
That wasn't likely to happen any time soon.
She took another bite of the soup, unable to sideline it for the sake of the inane conversation that her partner was putting her through. He really had made the best chicken and rice soup she'd ever eaten. Why didn't she make soup more often? The famous bodybuilders diet—chicken and rice—was so much more palatable in soup form.
Cho was a genius.
Except about their housing situation, obviously.
"I mean, yeah, he's still a risk, but you don't really want me bumming around here long term." She argued, reaching for the remote to turn down the volume on the tv.
He blinked at her, pointedly unresponsive.
"You don't want me here long term, do you?"
Cho rubbed his hand over his face and then rubbed his neck. He fixed his eyes on the pillows behind her and thought about his next words carefully. "It would make both of our lives easier if you stayed here until Arlov's taken care of."
She scoffed. "No it wouldn't. What are you talking about?"
"What are you talking about?"
"This is your sanctuary, Cho. Your personal space. You can't move me into your personal space—into your bed—and relegate yourself to the couch for the foreseeable future and think that it's going to make your life easier. I mean, how often do I drive you crazy when we're just on the job together? Now, imagine being stuck with me 24/7." She couldn't believe he was asking her to stay. He was the most private person she'd ever met, and he wanted her to move into his tiny apartment with him and not look for a place of her own.
He just shrugged. "We'll get another bed."
Ronnie threw her hands up. His apartment consisted of a living room/kitchen, a single small bedroom, and two tiny bathrooms. "There isn't room in this place for a recliner, much less another bed. At least let me take the couch. Please."
"No. You need to rest properly."
"So do you. Look at you; you're covered in bruises."
"It's my couch. I like my couch." Cho watched her take a few more bites and folded his arms on his lap, sitting on the other side of the bed. "You being here 24/7 will assure me that you're safe. That helps me sleep better at night."
Ronnie rolled her eyes and sighed heavily.
"And we can share the rent." He added. "See? Easier for both of us."
That much was true. She would definitely be helping with the rent and groceries. "Alright. For now. But we will be revisiting the bed situation."
He got up and headed for the door. "Fine. Now watch your show and go back to bed."
the MENTALIST
They spent the week like that. Ronnie stayed in bed, except for a few daily visits to the bathroom. Cho came and went, bringing her food and drink when she was awake and otherwise went about his life minding his business. He seemed to be doing well, healing and living and going to the store and reading his books, occasionally tending to the sick injured woman that he kept confined to his bedroom.
Finally, the eighth day came around, and Ronnie didn't feel like she was going to pass out when she stretched her legs. Thrilled by the progress, she downed her dose of painkillers as a preventative and threw back her blankets, checking the clock.
Five AM and she was raring to go.
She crawled out of bed and for the first time in over three weeks didn't feel like falling on the floor and crying. The trip to the bathroom, analysis of her bandages in the mirror, and quick change of clothes happened without too much unbearable pain.
She snuck into the kitchen and got the coffee pot started. Her phone showed a few missed texts from Rigsby and Grace since yesterday, and she stood cheerfully in the dark, typing out upbeat responses.
Across the room, Cho stretched and breathed deeply, beginning to awaken.
Keeping as silent as possible, Ronnie took down a mug and waited for the coffee to finish brewing. She'd been on her feet for over half an hour already, and there was no blood dripping down the backs of her legs. It was a new day.
"Masters?" Cho's voice mumbled blearily.
She poured a cup and took it to him, sitting on the coffee table as he took it sleepily in his hands.
"You're up," He observed, squinting at her in the dim light. "How do you feel?"
The grin that spread across her face was gleaming. "Alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic. Why don't you move into the bedroom?"
Her partner detached his lips from the mug with a confused grunt. "I'm sorry?"
"Go sleep in your own bed. I want to watch tv out here." She didn't care about watching tv in the living room versus his bedroom, but she wanted him to get off that blasted couch and sleep in his own bed.
Apparently, he was too tired to think too hard about arguing.
She helped him keep from spilling his coffee, and followed him into the bedroom to leave the mug on the bedside table. "Sleep well." She turned off the light and closed the door behind herself, finally feeling good about something for the first time since she got home from the hospital.
After a few moments of browsing through tv channels, she distractedly settled on an episode of Grey's Anatomy and settled in for a long day away from that bed.
the MENTALIST
Cho shuffled into the living room well after noon. With one hand he rubbed his bleary eyes and with the other he held the mug of now ice-cold coffee. Gaze sweeping the room, he tossed a nod to Ronnie's comfortable form on the couch and then turned his attention to the intriguing looking slow cooker that sat, plugged in, on the counter. "Thanks for the bed." He mumbled.
Ronnie switched off the tv and got up, joining him in the kitchen. "Thank you for the bed." She shot back. "I'm ready to switch."
Pulling the lid off the slow cooker, he blinked down at the bright yellow butter chicken. "Switch what? This smells amazing."
Butter chicken and rice was one of their favorite high-protein meals, and she could hear his stomach growling from where she stood at least a yard away. "It's ready. We can eat whenever—I waited for you."
Cho put the lid back on the pot and met her eyes. "Switch what?"
"Sleeping situations. You can have your bed back, I'll take the couch." She grabbed two bowls from the cabinet and popped open the rice cooker.
He shook his head and retrieved some silverware. "No. Our sleeping situation is fine." He stretched his arms above his head and rolled his neck from side to side, a grimace pulling at his lips. He pretended it never happened. For a moment they were quiet as he ladled generous servings of the spicy butter chicken over both bowls of rice.
She knew he'd keep arguing. "Fine. On one condition."
Cho glanced up at her expectantly, waiting.
"You have to watch Psycho with me tonight."
He rolled his eyes and grabbed two Gatorades from the fridge. "Fine."
Moments later they were both sitting in his bed, bowls of butter chicken and rice in their laps, lights dimmed, the beautiful cinematography of Psycho rolling across the tv screen. As they munched away, watching Norman Bates prey on the unlucky visitors of the Bates Motel, Cho shook his head.
"It still freaks me out that this is your favorite movie to watch on road trips."
She shrugged. "It's a road trip movie. It's like, half the theme."
"No, the theme is a woman being murdered in a hotel room. You're psychotic." Cho took a slurp of his Gatorade.
"This is my road trip comfort movie." She may not be able to explain her demented preferences, but she would certainly defend them.
"So why are we watching it in my home?"
Ronnie shrugged and snuggled down into her pillows with her warm bowl. "I don't know, I guess I was just needing a comfort movie."
Cho said nothing, but he didn't complain again for the rest of the film.
When they finished their dinner, Ronnie collected their bowls and took them to the kitchen, and when she returned to the bedroom, Cho had the med kit open on the bed. He turned to her as she entered. "Let me see."
She shrugged again and waved him off. "I can change my own bandages now, Cho, you don't have to worry about it anymore."
He gave no sign of backing off, instead popping open the bottle of ointment. "Would you get over here and let me see?"
Grumbling under her breath, Ronnie moved over to his side of the bed and sat down with a heavy sigh, lifting her pajama shirt up to her bra band. The burns were ugly and rubbery, but no longer blistered and festering like they had been. He rubbed a cooling layer of antibiotic ointment over them with his fingertips and then pressed adhesive bandages over the worst ones.
"Roll over."
She lay down on her chest, chin cradled in her palms as his hands moved over the surface of her lower back. The cuts were healing slowly, but they weren't breaking open constantly any more. Cho packed them with ointment as well, and smoothed more bandages over some of them.
"Legs."
"Go ahead." Ronnie had gotten used to dropping her pants and letting him treat her thighs. Of course, it would have worked best to be wearing shorts and let him just lift the hem and work underneath them, but all she had were bicycle shorts. They were too tight to wear and too tight to maneuver and work under.
Cho's fingers hooked under the waistband of her sweatpants and pulled them down over her hips, dragging the fabric slowly to avoid friction against her cuts.
Ronnie bit her teeth into her wrist to stifle the rebellious part of her that shivered at the sensation. Her mind kept flashing to dream-Cho pushing her against his car and kissing her breath away, but her inevitable next thought was the nauseating rhythmic pressure between her legs. Tears pricked at her eyes, the momentary reflexive arousal instantly replaced by stomach-churning disgust.
Cho's hands curled around her thighs as he cleaned the cuts, treating them like he had done the others.
She felt him pause when a rasping breath heaved through her chest, but then he was wrapping her legs with bandages and pulling her pants back up like it hadn't happened.
"Sit up."
She rolled over and held her arms up as he wrapped her waist with long strips of bandage, tucking the ends in and pulling her sweater down for her. When, at last, he was done, he let his eyes rise to her own and found the streaks of tears running down her face.
"Bad memories or physical pain?" He questioned quietly, stowing away the medical supplies.
She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve and sniffled pitifully, mind flooded with terrible reminiscence. "Bad memories."
Cho put the med kit on the floor by the bed and sat next to her. A few seconds of uncomfortable silence passed, and then he rested his forearms on his thighs. "It's gonna be okay."
Her eyes squeezed shut. "I know."
the MENTALIST
"I love Alex. He's a closeted good guy." Ronnie chewed on a single piece of popcorn, deeply snuggled in bed.
Next to her, Cho resignedly sat on top of the covers, bowl of popcorn in his lap, eyes mildly focused. "He's an asshole. O'Malley's the nice one."
"Yeah exactly. He's 'a nice guy'. You have to watch out for the nice guys."
"What does that even mean?"
"And Cristina. Cristina is incredible."
"Cristina's alright." Cho tossed back half a handful of popcorn. "She's crazy if she thinks screwing Burke will get her anywhere."
"You don't like Burke?" One more single piece of popcorn.
"The man's a narcissistic child. What's there to like?"
Scenes of the first season of Grey's Anatomy played on the bedroom tv, a certified soap opera that Ronnie had somehow roped Cho into watching with her both nights since the one when they watched Psycho.
They watched vocally, since it was far too dramatic for two adult homicide detectives to watch seriously, always with snacks, always in bed. The characters sucked them in for various reasons, and the absurdity of the medical cases kept them interested, but they had to joke their way through the drama, otherwise Cho wouldn't stay and watch the 'sissy show.'
That being said, through her own tear-filmed eyes, Ronnie definitely saw Cho's eyes water when Bonnie had to be removed from the pole that impaled herself and Tom in episode 6.
She didn't blame him.
"I'm starting to think I'm ride or die for Bailey, though." Cho said suddenly.
And, apparently, after three days of watching the silly show, they were developing favorite characters.
On the fourth night of their new ritual, after watching Addison Shepherd appear in the final episode of season one, Ronnie switched off the tv and tossed the remote onto the nightstand. "Derek is such a ho, I can't believe he has a whole wife."
Cho rolled his eyes. "Meredith slept with him within an hour of meeting him. She's not exactly a prude."
"Who cares about Meredith. Derek is the hot one."
"Oh my god." Cho got off the bed and left the room with the empty mini brownie pan that they'd demolished during the night's episode. When he came back, he had a water bottle from the fridge, which he set on her nightstand in case she woke up with cotton mouth.
Throwing her blankets back, she gazed forlornly down at her green-clad legs. She'd been wearing the same sweatpants for two days. "I need to change into clean sweats."
Turning away from her abruptly, her partner went to his dresser and dug through the bottom drawer before returning and handing her a bundle of navy blue cloth. "Here."
She shook them out and found them to be a pair of basketball shorts that would invariably fall below her knees. Absolutely hideous, undoubtedly, but a hundred percent more comfortable to change her bandages with. "You sure you don't mind?"
He shook his head. "I have others."
"Promise me you'll never let me see you wear them."
He snorted.
"What, you're tired of getting into my pants already?"
Cho's deadpan expression judged her very soul. "One more word and Grey's Anatomy is banned from this household."
Ronnie shuffled to the bathroom to change her clothes in absolute silence.
the MENTALIST
Grey's Anatomy did not get banned in the Cho household, and the next night they were laying in bed with cheese and crackers, starting season two.
Before the third episode was over, Cho was fast asleep. He'd nestled into the pillows on the other side of the bed, and very soon begun snoring softly.
She couldn't bring herself to wake him up when the episode ended. He'd stolen naps on his own bed during the day a couple of times in the past week, but she could see the damage that the couch was doing to his spine.
It was no wonder he fell asleep when he laid down in his own bed.
Ronnie switched off the tv, scooted down in the bed, and closed her eyes.