I do not own CSI: Miami, because if I did, Marisol Delko and Horatio would have had three kids by now. I'm just borrowing the characters for fun. Or, in Ryan's case, a tiny bit of Wolfe whumpage. My thanks to Gooniegirl3333 for beta-reading this for me. Any remaining errors are mine. (Minor edit on 6/2/15 because I found an actual address for Ryan in the CSI Miami Wiki page.)

"Delko." Eric absently answered his cell phone with one hand as he finished shaving with the other.

"E-r-ric?"

Eric dropped the razor. "Wolfe? You all right?"

"Fine. Sorry. Was trying ..." Eric could hear a wince of pain as the other man paused to take a breath. "To call ..." Another gasp. "... someone else."

Eric gave up any pretense of getting ready for Mass and wiped the rest of the shaving cream from his cheeks. "You don't sound so good, Ryan." He debated with himself for only a minute before adding, "Where are you? I'll come get you."

"No!" Ryan's voice was emphatic. "I'm ... fine." Another wince.

Eric ran through his apartment, grabbing his keys and gun holster as he went. "You don't sound fine. I'm coming over right now." He threw every ounce of his tough cop persona behind that last statement. "Where are you?"

"Home." The defeat in Ryan's voice was audible.

Eric had only been to Ryan's apartment once, to drop him off after his hospital stay for the nail gun incident, and he'd never actually gone inside. He called Calleigh as he drove. "Hey, Cal. Where does Ryan live?"

"His apartment is over on Feldon Street in South Beach, by that little shopping center with the doughnut shop."

"Apartment number?"

"I don't remember off-hand."

Eric hit the steering wheel. "I need the number, Cal."

"Why? You've decided to pay him a social call? It's about time you two buried the hatchet."

"No, I think he's in trouble."

A pause. "What kind of trouble?"

"I dunno. He says he called me by accident but ..." Eric drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I only heard him sound that bad one other time, and that was when he had a nail sticking out of his eye."

Eric could hear Calleigh's fingers flying over a computer keyboard. "Okay, I pulled up his address. 3042 Feldon Street."

"Thanks." Eric stepped out of the Hummer and squared his shoulders, trying to discern the layout of Ryan's apartment complex. The 3000's were on the third floor and he headed for the stairs.

"Call me as soon as you know something, Eric," Calleigh said.

"I will."

Eric pounded on the door to 3042, his trepidation rising when Ryan didn't immediately answer. "Wolfe? You in there?"

The door opened a crack to reveal Ryan, wrapped in a quilt, his face ashen. "Please stop banging," he whispered.

"Then let me in," Eric replied. Wolfe was standing, that was good. No apparent bleeding. He stepped into the dimly-lit apartment. Nice furnishings, very tidy. No sign of a scuffle or forced entry. He turned his attention back to Ryan.

The younger man was deathly pale. Ryan opened his mouth as if to speak, then abruptly shut it and ran down the hall. Eric followed at a fast clip until a door slammed in his face and he heard retching on the other side.

Stomach flu? Food poisoning? Poisoning? Eric's mind considered the possibilities as he folded his arms and waited on the other side of the door.

Finally, Ryan emerged from the bathroom. "Told you ... not to come over," he said wryly.

Eric gave him a half-smile. "How long you been like this?"

Ryan paused to consider. "Since Thursday night."

The Cuban's dark eyes narrowed. "Ryan, that's two and a half days! Have you eaten anything?"

Shaking his head, Ryan mumbled, "Can't eat." He sighed. "Was trying to call ... Delgado's delivery ... when I got you." He winced.

"You need to see a doctor."

Ryan's eyes widened. "No! I can't." He shook his head slightly as he quivered. "I'll throw up. In public." Shuddering, he shifted the quilt so that he could hold it around himself with one hand, while pressing his other hand hard against his eyes.

"Headache?" Eric didn't really have to ask.

The younger man nodded. "I can't keep ... anything down." He took another sharp intake of breath.

"Why do you keep wincing like that? Is it your head or something else?" Eric pulled out his cell phone and pressed number 5 on his speed dial.

"My stomach." Ryan's eyes narrowed. "Who're you calling?"

"Alexx." Eric spoke into his cell phone, relieved when medical examiner picked up on the first ring. "Hey, you busy? I'm over here at Wolfe's place and he could use a house call." Ryan frowned and shook his head. Eric held up a hand. "I dunno. Stomach bug maybe? He doesn't look too good."

Ryan was now placing in slow circles around his coffee table. As soon as Eric had ended the call, the younger man turned on him. "Why ... would you do that?" The angry flare of his eyes would have been more effective if he'd hadn't been weaving back and forth. Eric propelled him to the sofa and sat him down. Ryan closed his eyes, the fight having left him. "I hate you," he whispered.

Eric sat next to Ryan and put one hand on his fellow CSI's forehead - overly warm but not hot - and the other against his carotid artery. Pulse was definitely up.

"No, you don't. You're not thinkin' straight. You've been off your OCD meds for three days now."

Ryan's eyes popped open and he turned to glower at Eric. The older man did his best to ignore the death glare as he stood up and walked into the kitchen.

"Why're you doing this?" Ryan ground out.

Eric returned with a wet washcloth and placed the compress on Ryan's forehead. "Because you're sick. Now lie back and relax. Alexx's gonna be here soon."

To Eric's relief, Ryan stopped fidgeting and closed his eyes. Delko walked back to the entryway just in time to find the good doctor at the door.

"How's he doing?" As soon as she stepped inside the little apartment, Doctor Woods wrinkled her nose. The twin smells of vomit and pine cleaner filled the small space. "That good, huh? Eric, go open some windows while I examine him. We need to air this place out."

Eric did as instructed, relieved to turn Ryan's care over to someone more experienced. Ryan moaned slightly as Alexx examined him, and Eric felt his own gut twist in sympathy.

"Good news, baby boy. I think it's just gastroenteritis. We need to get you rehydrated, though. A couple of bags of IV fluid will perk you right up."

"Not going ... to the hospital."

Alexx frowned at Ryan. "You can't stay here like this, baby."

"I'll stay with him." The words were out of his mouth before Eric had really thought through what he was saying. Did he really want to babysit a puking Wolfe?

Two pairs of eyes stared at him. Alexx spoke first. "If you're sure, Eric. It could be another twelve hours before he starts to feel better." She gave him an appraising look. "I'm sure you have other things you need to do on your day off," she added, offering him a way out.

Eric forced himself to smile. "It's no problem. I just need to run by home and get a few things."

Alexx pulled a small notebook out of her bag and, with Ryan's occasional suggestion, quickly scribbled a list of groceries and two over-the-counter nausea medicines for Eric to purchase. She thrust the list at him. "Here. Pick these up on your way back. I'll stay with him until you get here."

"Thanks, Alexx," both men replied.