Categories > TV > CSI: Miami
The Bullet
1 review[One-shot] There are things Ryan is uncertain of, just as there are things that he has no doubts about. 941 words. Eric/Ryan (HardyBoys) slash hints. Spoilers for Season 5 eps 14 and 15. Don't like...
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Disclaimer: CBS, and the show's various producers owns CSI:Miami and the boys, I don't. I would have already made them do pretty embarrassing things on-screen if I did.
Last warning: Slash hints and spoilers from Season 5, episodes 14 and 15. Don't like, don't read. You are warned.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
They had all taken their turns.
Unnerving and uncomfortable as it was, they had each spent the few minutes in the sparse hospital room, lit orange from the Miami sun. It was a fairly nice room, but they weren't there for the décor. They were there for the man lying between the clean white sheets.
Ryan did not want to be there. Yet, he felt that he should, given the current state of their... whatever they were.
He could not imagine the state Eric was in, even when hearing about him being dead (prior to that jab of intracardiac epi to the heart) after that opening statement about the Cuban getting shot at the back of his head.
Standing in that room, smelling that overly clean smell of sanitation, staring at that unnaturally relaxed form on the bed before him, Ryan did not know what to do.
He was a confident man on the field, Ryan Wolfe. Intelligent and strong within the team, relentless with suspects he knew who hurt the innocent. He always had the next step planned out, thanks to his OCD tendencies.
However, he did not know what else to do now, other than looking detachedly at Eric, head bandaged and too much asleep for Ryan's liking.
Just the day before, they had been talking; some alcohol was involved while they watched a random DVD from Eric's stash, and the night ended with Ryan falling asleep beside the other man on the couch.
Leaning to the right on a pillar in the beyond-clean room, Ryan let the memory wash over him while he decided whether to go over and hold Eric's limp hand for the remaining minutes of his visiting slot.
With his mind doing an overdrive on the simple decision, the brunet pressed his left hand into his face and made a wiping motion downwards from above the lips until he cradled his chin in the palm.
"One day you'll wipe your mouth clean off your head," Eric's tease from days before echoed in Ryan's currently tired mind. It was an action born of anxiety and frustration; a habit that Eric liked to joke about.
"And wherever am I supposed to kiss when that happens?" The Cuban continued when Ryan had given a small, mirthless laugh.
A locker door, closed none-too-gently, conveniently hid the sound of Ryan choking on his breath.
"I'm sure you'll find somewhere else to put your lips on," he had retorted.
It was a lie. As much as everyone knew of Eric's playful character when it came to women, things moved slowly between the two men; the most they had were a handful of knowing looks and just a few more stolen kisses. Their past animosity held them back when unnecessary misunderstandings surfaced, while their gradual friendship created strange tension in every otherwise normal exchange.
Not to mention that it was both their first time with another of the same gender. To say that there were miscommunications and uncertainties was the worst understatement one could give.
Back in the locker room, Eric had responded with an "I could, but this is nice," and a chaste kiss to Ryan's lips before gracing him with a smug grin. Ryan had scowled then, and they both knew that it was an agreement, still.
When news of Eric being shot and hospitalised reached the team earlier that day, Ryan's cynical sub-conscience began taunting him with thoughts of the other man being unable to make it through, leaving him alone and too much alive for the rest of forever.
Thankfully, those thoughts had subsided marginally when he entered the hospital room and saw his colleague's vitals beeping steadily.
Unable to bring his feet to Eric's bedside and allow himself a peace of mind by feeling the other's pulse, real and stable, under his fingers, Ryan left before his time was up. He would return when the shooter was caught, and he did not want to waste more time than they already had.
*
You shot my friend.
Granted, they weren't friends, per se, but the talk about what exactly they were just never came up. And it was not until Ryan had almost started pulverizing that disgusting excuse for a security guard that he realised he had spoken out loud.
After being stopped from what he wanted- needed- to do, Ryan waited for the confession, because it was protocol; because it was unlike him to want to cause bodily harm to another person. Harsh when tempered, yes. Violent? Rarely. Although he would gladly overlook that, considering that the one unconscious in the hospital was Eric.
The brunet bristled at the pathetic reason their suspect-turned-accused gave.
"You put a bullet in my partner's brain. I don't give a damn about your car."
They did not have a so-called "partner" system, everyone was part of a team, but Ryan could not stop himself from muttering out his anger in words, low and dangerous. He felt a sudden compulsion to stake his claim, defend a territory.
Calleigh's soft voice rang out in the silent interrogation room, just as angered as Ryan's had been and sounding equally disappointed at the man sitting across her, asking for the now ex-security guard to be taken away.
The blonde took a deep breathe and looked at her colleague, "You okay?"
Rubbing his palm into his face (and hearing Eric's teasing chuckle in his head), Ryan exhaled heavily and felt tension evaporate from his every muscle.
"Better," he answered and helped Calleigh gather her files.
"Let's go."
Ryan nodded. He knew where she meant. It was time to return to Eric's side.
fin.
Last warning: Slash hints and spoilers from Season 5, episodes 14 and 15. Don't like, don't read. You are warned.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
They had all taken their turns.
Unnerving and uncomfortable as it was, they had each spent the few minutes in the sparse hospital room, lit orange from the Miami sun. It was a fairly nice room, but they weren't there for the décor. They were there for the man lying between the clean white sheets.
Ryan did not want to be there. Yet, he felt that he should, given the current state of their... whatever they were.
He could not imagine the state Eric was in, even when hearing about him being dead (prior to that jab of intracardiac epi to the heart) after that opening statement about the Cuban getting shot at the back of his head.
Standing in that room, smelling that overly clean smell of sanitation, staring at that unnaturally relaxed form on the bed before him, Ryan did not know what to do.
He was a confident man on the field, Ryan Wolfe. Intelligent and strong within the team, relentless with suspects he knew who hurt the innocent. He always had the next step planned out, thanks to his OCD tendencies.
However, he did not know what else to do now, other than looking detachedly at Eric, head bandaged and too much asleep for Ryan's liking.
Just the day before, they had been talking; some alcohol was involved while they watched a random DVD from Eric's stash, and the night ended with Ryan falling asleep beside the other man on the couch.
Leaning to the right on a pillar in the beyond-clean room, Ryan let the memory wash over him while he decided whether to go over and hold Eric's limp hand for the remaining minutes of his visiting slot.
With his mind doing an overdrive on the simple decision, the brunet pressed his left hand into his face and made a wiping motion downwards from above the lips until he cradled his chin in the palm.
"One day you'll wipe your mouth clean off your head," Eric's tease from days before echoed in Ryan's currently tired mind. It was an action born of anxiety and frustration; a habit that Eric liked to joke about.
"And wherever am I supposed to kiss when that happens?" The Cuban continued when Ryan had given a small, mirthless laugh.
A locker door, closed none-too-gently, conveniently hid the sound of Ryan choking on his breath.
"I'm sure you'll find somewhere else to put your lips on," he had retorted.
It was a lie. As much as everyone knew of Eric's playful character when it came to women, things moved slowly between the two men; the most they had were a handful of knowing looks and just a few more stolen kisses. Their past animosity held them back when unnecessary misunderstandings surfaced, while their gradual friendship created strange tension in every otherwise normal exchange.
Not to mention that it was both their first time with another of the same gender. To say that there were miscommunications and uncertainties was the worst understatement one could give.
Back in the locker room, Eric had responded with an "I could, but this is nice," and a chaste kiss to Ryan's lips before gracing him with a smug grin. Ryan had scowled then, and they both knew that it was an agreement, still.
When news of Eric being shot and hospitalised reached the team earlier that day, Ryan's cynical sub-conscience began taunting him with thoughts of the other man being unable to make it through, leaving him alone and too much alive for the rest of forever.
Thankfully, those thoughts had subsided marginally when he entered the hospital room and saw his colleague's vitals beeping steadily.
Unable to bring his feet to Eric's bedside and allow himself a peace of mind by feeling the other's pulse, real and stable, under his fingers, Ryan left before his time was up. He would return when the shooter was caught, and he did not want to waste more time than they already had.
*
You shot my friend.
Granted, they weren't friends, per se, but the talk about what exactly they were just never came up. And it was not until Ryan had almost started pulverizing that disgusting excuse for a security guard that he realised he had spoken out loud.
After being stopped from what he wanted- needed- to do, Ryan waited for the confession, because it was protocol; because it was unlike him to want to cause bodily harm to another person. Harsh when tempered, yes. Violent? Rarely. Although he would gladly overlook that, considering that the one unconscious in the hospital was Eric.
The brunet bristled at the pathetic reason their suspect-turned-accused gave.
"You put a bullet in my partner's brain. I don't give a damn about your car."
They did not have a so-called "partner" system, everyone was part of a team, but Ryan could not stop himself from muttering out his anger in words, low and dangerous. He felt a sudden compulsion to stake his claim, defend a territory.
Calleigh's soft voice rang out in the silent interrogation room, just as angered as Ryan's had been and sounding equally disappointed at the man sitting across her, asking for the now ex-security guard to be taken away.
The blonde took a deep breathe and looked at her colleague, "You okay?"
Rubbing his palm into his face (and hearing Eric's teasing chuckle in his head), Ryan exhaled heavily and felt tension evaporate from his every muscle.
"Better," he answered and helped Calleigh gather her files.
"Let's go."
Ryan nodded. He knew where she meant. It was time to return to Eric's side.
fin.
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