Author's Notes: The last time I wrote anything it was the fall of 2009. I really thought I was done writing and was even thinking of not renewing my domain, but then I had a dream. Yeah, some of my writings are inspired from dreams.

I really fooled with the canon timeline, so S7 E20, A Wolfe In Sheep's Clothing happens just a bit before S10's Countermeasures and Blown Away. Also, spoilers for those episodes.

I am not a health care professional, so the symptoms of Parasomnia are probably way off base. My blueprint came from an episode of Law & Order Criminal Intent, and Boston Legal's Alan Shore.

February 2, 2009

Racing toward the ocean, he chanced a quick look behind him. They were still gaining on him, even though he was running as fast as humanly possible. He was tempted to fire a shot, but that would only waste a precious second he didn't have. His heart pounded in his chest, and his breath came out in rasps. If he could just make it to the water!

Reaching the ocean, he never broke stride, as he waded in because he was certain they couldn't swim. Ten feet in, he realized how wrong he was. The water was no deterrent, as they splashed in after him. Turning he blasted a couple of rounds, taking down the two in the lead. The rest of the group slowed their step, now wary. But he had only a moment of relief, as suddenly others appeared out of nowhere.

Scanning around him, he saw he was surrounded. A few more shots, and the splatter of water as more fell, but it was almost pointless, as others quickly took the place of their fallen comrades. Backing up, his heart jumped up into his throat; he was trapped! The circle around him grew smaller and smaller, as they reached for him, arms outstretched.

I sit up with a shout, my heart pounding, my breathing heavy. Jesus! I wipe my brow, shivering with cold, even though I live in Miami, Florida, where the average low, even in February, is 61° .

As my racing heart begins to slow, my senses begin to return, and I glance over at the clock, 12:30 pm. I've only been asleep for three hours.

"Jesus," I repeat, as I fall back on the pillows. "No more zombie video games!" I blame my nightmare on the weekend I just spent with Walter Simmons, my colleague on the night shift in MDPD crime lab. Our Superbowl weekend activities included not just the big game (with drinking), but nightclubs the Saturday before (with drinking), and hours of video games (with drinking). Along with these festivities were tons of junk food that my stomach is still protesting.

Swinging my legs out of bed, I yawn loudly, stumbling to the bathroom. I decide right then and there that I was going to make a conscious effort to start living healthier. Better diet, less alcohol, and more exercise.

"And there's no time like the present," I speak out loud to my empty apartment. "One run to shake the cobwebs out of my head, then a trip to the grocery store for some actual food."

Hopefully afterward I can catch a quick nap before starting work. Before the holidays, I had transferred to the night shift, whose base hours are from 10pm to 7am, but working in the crime lab means that those hours are merely a suggestion, and it's not uncommon to start before 10 and work later than 7. So far though, I've managed to avoid bumping into my former colleagues and boss.

I heave a huge sigh, as I stare back at my reflection in the mirror. Physically I haven't changed much, but inside, I feel that the old me has been replaced by something hollow and dark. I shake my head and push down my thoughts and bad memories, as I splash my face with water, and grab my toothbrush. A new day awaits.

"Hey," Shelia, one of my night colleagues greets me, as I walk into the lab. "Ooh!" She studies me from head to toe. "You don't look so hot. Rough weekend?"

"No, actually. . ." I shake my head. "The Steelers won the Superbowl, which was the team I was rooting for. It's just that I was too wired to sleep much afterward."

"Right." She glanced over as Walter walks in. He looks tired, but not as haggard as I must, since I never did get that nap. "Guess you two had a good weekend."

"Other than the fact that the Steelers won, and I had to listen to Wolfe crow about it." Walter flashes a grin. "It was okay. But I swear that touchdown pass by Santonio Holmes was bogus. His feet were not in!"

"Yeah, yeah." I make a gesture of violin playing. "Cry me a river. You just can't handle that the AFC rules the NFC."

"Wolfe, Simmons." Our supervisor, Grant Corey, steps into the room, interrupting our debate. "Homicide in little Havana. CSI unit requested."

"Got it," we answer simultaneously and immediately turn to get our gear.

Corey's not a bad supervisor. I've had worse, although the man, rarely leaves his office, and the only time I've seen him leave the crime lab is when he's had meetings in other locations. Unlike Horatio, who. . . ." I stop my thoughts. "Not going to go there, not going to think about him," I say to myself, as I follow Walter out to the parking lot.

"Who's driving?" Walter asks, as he looks over his shoulder at me. "I probably should, because we forgot the phone book."

"Ha, ha, well I'm not riding with you in the driver's seat, knees up to your ears," I tease back good-naturedly. A night doesn't go by without one or both of us giving the other shit about his height.

Walter likes to mock me for being short, and I like to tell him how he's freakishly tall. He's the one bright spot in my world, a world that changed since an encounter with the Russian mob.

February 3, 2009

Shooting the rest of his clip, he took more of them down, but it wasn't not enough, as others swarmed toward him. Throwing his gun into the water, he frantically looked around for an escape, but there was none. His one regret now was that he didn't save the last bullet for himself.

"Well, I ain't going without a fight," he yelled, while swinging at the one nearest him. His fist connected with its head, and sank into its rotting flesh. Another grabbed him from behind, and turning, he began to fight it off, when a shot rang out.

"Ryan! Get to the boat!"

More shots were rapidly fired, and the monsters around him fell. Instinct had him moving toward safety, toward a boat that was tied to the dock.

"The boat, Ryan, the boat!"

Pure relief flowed through him, as he waded further into the ocean, and then began to swim. He was never more thankful that his boss was a crack shot, as any monster that appeared between him and the boat was immediately blasted away.

"H, H!" he panted, as he closed in on the dock. "Thank God you came," he trailed off, as he heard a motor start, and the boat began driving away, without him.

"H! H!" he shouted. I'm here. Don't leave me!"

I awake screaming his name. "Don't leave me for god's sake. I'm here!" Regaining my senses, I try and shake off the nightmare. My heart is thumping in my chest, and my breath is ragged.

"What the hell?" I fall back on my pillows, arm thrown over my eyes. "Still dreaming about zombies, even after giving up the video games. And why was H there, rescuing me, and then abandoning. . . ?"

I stop myself from saying out loud the thoughts that fly through my head. My feelings toward Horatio are still mixed at best. I'm resentful, angry, and disappointed. I blame the Russian mob incident, when I had been captured and tortured, only to be let go so that I could 'fix' a case for them. Their leverage, a little boy.

Horatio eventually saved the boy, and even made my transgressions in the case disappear; I never had to face a review board because of my actions. But still, I can't stop feeling that he had let me down somehow. Perhaps I'm being unjust, after all, he had no idea what had happened but. . . .

"And there's that but." I say aloud, as I try to clear my thoughts. I spend a lot of time, attempting to not think about him. I roll out of bed and prepare myself for another night's work.

"Did you hear what happened?"

I'm greeted by Walter, as I stroll into the crime lab's employee locker room.

"The day shift finally caught Toller."

"Yeah, yeah." I open my locker and grab my lab coat. "From the prison break. Heard he was a nasty piece of work."

"Yes, but the bigger villain was his partner-in-crime, Randy North. He shot Lieutenant Caine and tried to murder Boa Vista by locking her in the trunk of his car and driving it into the ocean. "

What!" My legs begin to wobble, so I find myself half falling down hard on the wooden bench in front of our lockers.

"She would have died, except the Lieutenant, wounded and bleeding, dived into the ocean and got her out of the trunk. Man, that guy is like a super hero."

For a split second everything goes black, as I deal with the shocking news. "H, is he, is he. . ? My voice trembles,.

"He's at Doctors Hospital, just had surgery from what I hear. But this morning he walked out of the hospital, so that he could catch North and Toller. Got 'em both before he let himself be taken back."

"Jesus!" I run a shaking hand through my hair. "I should go and see him." My mind immediately flies to my new boss, Corey. Would he let me take time off on such short notice? I hadn't worked for him long enough to know what he permitted and didn't permit.

"Visiting hours are over," Walter says. "Probably can see him after our shift ends."

"And Natalia." I belately think of my former co-worker, the only one I still harbor fond thoughts of.

"Fine, I guess." Walter shrugs. "Think they just sent her home."

"Should give her a call too," I say, thinking out loud, as I throw on my lab coat and shut my locker with a slam.

"And what's with calling your former boss, H?" Walter asks, as I follow him out the door. "Shouldn't he be Lieutenant , or Sir?"

February 4, 2009

My steps slows, as I approach his room. I can feel my respiration accelerating; I'm so nervous my whole body is trembling. I tap on the door lightly, and my heart drops. Both Calleigh and Eric are in the room. Now I have to face them as well as H.

"Hey," I take a step in. "Heard about what happened."

The three turn to look at me, and I swallow hard, wondering if I'm going to be told to get out. But Calleigh gives me a wide smile.

"Hello, stranger. You don't call; you don't write. What's up with that?"

Relief flows through me, at least there's going to be a pretense of civility. When I left the day shift, I never told H nor the others that I was transferring. I put in for my reassignment on the Friday before the holidays, took my two weeks vacation, and then never returned. After New Years, I came back to MDPD as a CSI on the night shift. I basically just snuck away.

"Well, you know." I smile, doing my best to act nonchalant. "New shift, new boss, new protocols. Just trying to get everything right and fit in." I glance over at H and am shocked at his appearance. I've never seen him so pale and frail looking.

There's an awkward pause, as no one seems to know what else to say. I clear my throat, and look over at H. "Sorry for what happened. I did bring you something to pass the time." I hold up a few magazines. "Easy reading. It's what you need in a hospital."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Wolfe." Horatio tilts his head, as I step over and lay the magazines on his hospital tray.

"Well," Calleigh also steps over to Horatio's bed, and takes his hand for a moment. "We should go. There's still more evidence to process in regards to Toller and North. Don't want to miss anything on those two. And now that we're without our fearless leader, and Natalia is unavailable, we're short staffed. Hope the night shift is ready to give us a hand."

I'm not sure if that's a dig or not, but I go along with it. "Er, yeah, we've got no open cases right now, so I'm sure we can help if needed."

"Good." Calleigh gives me another bright smile and then leans down to kiss H on the cheek. "Check in on you tomorrow. Rest easy."

Eric also, takes H's hand and then gives me a curt nod before the two exit the room. I sigh silently with relief. Now, maybe I can make my excuses and leave too.

"Well, H, I should let you rest. I. . . ."

"Stay for a moment, Mr. Wolfe," he cuts me off. "I've been wanting to talk to you, but you've made yourself rather unavailable."

"Err, yeah, well," I fumble for excuses. I guess he figured out that I was dodging him. "I'm thinking seriously about finishing my master's, so when I haven't been working, I've been checking out the University's class schedules and such. Seeing about reapplying to the school. That's why," I launch into more explanations, "I switched sifts. Thought it would be easier to attend classes, if I worked nights."

I'm starting to babble, and in the back of my mind, I wonder if it's because of a guilty conscience.

"Why didn't you bring this to my attention? I would have worked out something to accommodate your school schedule."

I blow out a breath. Even ill, H still had the power to intimidate. "Oh, come on," I say with a totally fake, breezy smile. "In the middle of a crime scene, I'm just going to get up and leave to go to class? That wouldn't be fair to the rest of the team. And for you to give me special treatment, well, that wouldn't be fair either."

"Mr. Wolfe," H starts, but then is interrupted by a nurse and orderly entering. "Need to take you down for some tests, Lieutenant."

Saved by hospital personnel! I start to sidle toward the door. "H, sorry about everything, hope you're feeling well soon." I reach the door and am at the verge of escape, when I hear:

"To be continued, Mr. Wolfe."

"Hey, Nat." I stand, as my former colleague walks toward me. Leaving the hospital, I had called her to see how she was doing. Still traumatized, she was only too happy to meet me for a late breakfast/early lunch, a distraction that kept her from brooding.

'Hey, you," she greets me, as we hug, "it's been a while. And what's this about changing teams, and not telling anyone? Horatio didn't even know."

"Yeah," I sigh, as we seat ourselves at the restaurant booth. More excuses. "I swear, all I did was inquire about a position on the night shift, then Corey offered it to me right then and there. It all happened so fast."

"Yeah, right." Natalia snorts with disbelief. "You didn't start until after the holidays. What were you doing the last two weeks of December that you couldn't pick up a phone? And why didn't you speak to H about it?"

"Well, I," I break off, drumming my fingers on the table. Trust Natalia to confront me without pulling any punches. "I. . .I just wanted to get away. . .away from them," I add hastily. I harbor no ill will against Natalia. She hadn't been around when the Russians took me.

"Away from them?" She furrows her brow in puzzlement. "You mean Eric and Calleigh?"

"Yeah." I nod my head. "And H."

"H!" She's shocked. "What did H ever do to you?"

At the moment, to my relief, the waitress approaches, and our conversation is put on hold as we order.

"Is this about the Russians?" Natalia is no fool. She probably felt the tension between me and the others. "I know that Eric and Calleigh were kind of snots about it, but H? Didn't he help you rescue the boy? And really, Ryan, they didn't know. So how can you blame them?"

"I know they didn't know, but I still can't help feeling resentful. And H, he was just as accusatory as they were."

"When he didn't know."

"Right, at first. But I just can't. . . ." I run my hand through my hair. "It's just better not to have to work with them. And I do want to go back to school, so the night shift frees my days to take classes."

"Wow." Natalia leans back in the booth. "I'm sorry, sorry that I won't be working with you anymore, and sorry you have such bad feelings against the rest of the team."

"I know I'm not exactly rational about this, but. . . ." I stop and an image of myself duct taped to a chair with a man standing over me, his face covered by a ski mask. I think the fact that he still remains faceless is what haunts me, like some serial killer out of a slasher movie, Jason Voorhees or Michael Myers.

"I can't help how I feel, Nat, but hey, we're here to talk about you, not about my woes. How are you doing?" I take her hand for a moment and squeeze it.

"Oh, I. . . ." Now it's her turn to be flustered. "One moment I think I'm okay, and then the next I wonder, wonder if I can keep doing this. Physically, I'm fine. Only swallowed some water, but I just keep reliving being trapped in that trunk. I really thought it was the end."

I wince. "How awful!"

"Yeah, if it wasn't for H." She pauses and takes a deep breath, "God, if it wasn't for H. He's my hero, you know."

"So, I heard."

The waitress arrives at that moment, and the conversation halts again, as she sets a bowl of fruit in front of Natalia, and a piece of toast and decaf coffee in front of me. I guess neither of us have much of an appetite. I look over at Nat, as she dips her spoon into her fruit. Her hand is trembling.

"You know, I remember after the nail gun incident. I was afraid to show up at a crime scene, afraid to go through a door, even afraid to look down a microscope. But a friend of mine said to me, you're bigger than any injury, so you better get underneath that crime tape or you're going to get tangled up into it."

Natalia laughs shakily. "Damn, I am profound."

"Yeah." I give her smile. "You are. And I think you're going to be okay."

Natalia nods her head in agreement. "Yeah, I'm going to be okay, and I hope. . . ." She gives me a hard stare. "That you will be too."

February 24, 2009

It's just a little after five in the morning, when a call comes in about a dead body at a trailer park in Hialeah. I immediately volunteer, anything to get me out of the crime lab. I had heard that H is back on the Job, and I've been taking great pains to avoid him. I remember his last words to me, "to be continued." I'm not sure what he meant, but I am sure, that I don't want to know.

The rest of the crew looks at me in surprise. As a CSI III, I have rank over all of them and could choose to stay and finish up paperwork for another couple of hours, leaving the lower ranked people to go out on the call. But H is known for putting in long hours, and it's not unusual for him to arrive at the lab before 7, so it's taking all my ingenuity to duck him.

"I don't know about this," Shelia says doubtfully, as she scans the TV monitor in the lab. "It's pretty nasty out there. They're saying that a tornado even touched down in North Miami."

"Pft," I say, as I grab my gear, "if one already touched down here, I doubt they'll be others. Most tornados here in southern Florida are waterspouts." Truth is, I'm more afraid of Horatio than any tornado.

"I beg to differ." Walter is also studying the weather report on the television. "But still, if you're game, let's go."

"Really?"

"Sure, why not?" Walter grins at me good-naturedly.

He's such a joy after having to work with dour-faced Eric. "Let's go then."

It takes us a good half hour to make it to Hialeah, during which the sky becomes blacker, and the winds begin to blow harder. We find the address and pound on the door, identifying ourselves as MDPD. It appears that the whole neighborhood is deserted. Entering the house with our guns drawn, we immediately see a dead body of a young woman.

After clearing the house, we try to make radio contact with the base, but all we get is static because of the storm. Suddenly, a gush of wind breaks a window, and we're rushing around trying to preserve the body and crime scene.

"Let's get her into a closet," I yell at the top of my lungs to be heard over the howling of the wind. We roll her body up in the carpet, and I lay on top of her, waiting for Walter to find a closet and help me move her into it. He throws me a string of Christmas tree lights, when the tornado hits full force, and half the house is blown away. I grab the lights, and hang on for dear life.

"Walter!" Now I'm screaming, as I feel my body go airborne. I'm literally being blown away. "Walter!"

The tornado yanks me out of the house and throws me into a pile of debris. I quickly tie the string of lights around some pipes, and then everything goes dark as the world collapses on top of me.

No matter how hard he swam, the boat remained out of his reach, but self-preservation kept him from giving up. The boat meant safety and shelter. Every few strokes, he called out for H, called out to stop the boat and come back for him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see figures. They were still coming for him.

Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer, and he risked a quick peep behind him, and what he saw made him lose his stride in the water, and he began to go under. Flailing and splashing, he screamed out, "H, H!"

Sinking under the water, he tried to remain afloat, but fear and panic kept pushing him under. He couldn't breathe, and the monsters with the ski masks, they continued to get closer.

"Ryan, I'm right here. Ryan!"

His voice penetrates the fog, as I slowly begin to fight my way to consciousness. "H?" I'm confused and disoriented. I'm not sure how Horatio is suddenly here with me.

"Ryan, it's okay. I'm here." He rubs my chest with a soothing motion. "You're alright, easy," he says, as he gently lifts me back up onto a hospital bed. In my desperation to escape, I had thrashed myself half out of bed.

"Wher. . . ?" I look around, and see that I've also managed to tear out an IV, and blood drips down my arm. I'm shivering with cold.

"Nurse, get this man a heated blanket." Another man speaks, and I look up to see a doctor at the foot of the bed. "Ryan, do you know what happened to you?" he asks, stepping to the side, so he can move closer to me.

H turns away, and I instinctively make a grab for him.

"Ahh, err." My brain is scrambled, and for a moment I think that I just came out of the Atlantic Ocean after being chased by zombies. A part of me is still rational enough to know that I would sound crazy saying that out loud.

"That's okay; take your time," the doctor says patiently, as he checks my pupils.

A nurse comes in and spreads a heated blanket over me; its warmth is so comforting that my senses begin to return. "A tornado," I finally blurt out. "There was a tornado, and we were trying to preserve a crime scene, and, and a body." Everything comes back to me in a rush. "Walter!" I'm suddenly panicked again. "Where's Walter?"

"Walter is fine, Ryan," Horatio begins before I interrupt.

"The girl's body and the crime scene! Oh, God, I have to. . . !" I try to jump out of bed. At that moment, all I can focus on is finding Walter, so we can preserve the crime scene. H is on me quickly, arm across my chest, pinning me to the bed.

"Nurse!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the doctor motion to an attractive woman in scrubs. They grab my arm to reinsert the IV, while Horatio continues to speak to me in a low, calming tone.

"Walter is fine, Ryan, and Calleigh and Eric are out at the crime scene as we speak. Everything is under control."

A tingling warmth begins to spread throughout my body causing it to go limp and relax. Later, I find out that the doctor injected a strong sedative in my IV.

"Okay, okay." The tranquilizer is making me groggy, and I feel like I'm floating in space.

"Ryan." The doctor leans over me. "Were you having a nightmare about the tornado?"

"No," I slur out, "they were chasing me." My eyelids suddenly become very heavy. "And H just left, and I couldn't find him." I manage to utter the last sentence before I fall into a deep sleep.

"Lieutenant," Dr. Tabet addresses Caine, as he busily scrawls orders on Ryan's chart, "other than today's tornado incident, has Mr. Wolfe been in any other types of situations?"

Cocking his head, Horatio doesn't answer the doctor immediately. His detective mind is busily assessing the question. "What type of situations are you referring to?"

Halting his scribbling for a moment, he looks up at Caine. "Dangerous situations, stressful situations, and I mean out of the ordinary, since as police officers your jobs are naturally stressful."

Horatio quickly thinks back, and one incident does pop in his head. "Perhaps, but to be absolutely sure about anything, I would need to look back in his records."

"Well," the doctor starts to launch into an explanation, then stops himself. "Medical confidentiality being what it is, I can't. . . ."

"Doctor," Horatio interjects, "MDPD has the right to any medical information resulting from an injury on the Job. All personnel sign a waiver to that fact when they are hired."

"Of course, of course." Doctor Tabet nods. "But to cover all bases, I would like you to fax me Mr. Wolfe's release. And are you his current supervisor?"

"I am," Horatio lies without hesitation.

"Okay, I will tell you this much; Mr. Wolfe is not medically fit for duty at this time. Physically he's not in too bad of shape, considering, but I'm concerned about his state of mind. I'll be ordering a cat scan of his head, and I'm also referring him to Physc for an evaluation."

"If he is to be psychology evaluated, MDPD's stance is that our Mental Health Staff check him out," Horatio informs the doctor.

"Fine, who should I send the order to?"

"Give it to me. I'll make sure it ends up in the right hands."

Al-right." Doctor Tabet is hesitant. "But I reiterate; I want a copy of Mr. Wolfe's release, and a statement from MDPD personnel department verifying that you are indeed Mr. Wolfe's current supervisor."

"You'll have the papers by end of the day." Horatio gives the doctor a nod, as he exit's the room. Putting on his sunglasses, he makes his way to the main entrance and then to the parking lot. Climbing into his department-issued grey hummer, he pulls out his cell phone. First call is to Human Resources, and next he calls Grant Corey at home. A couple of bureaucratic details have to be worked out.

A grumpy Grant Corey shuffles to the main entrance of his home to answer the doorbell. Pain-in-the-ass Caine had awoken him from a sound sleep, and now he has to deal with the man over some paperwork. It couldn't have waited until his shift started?

Opening the door to let his colleague in, he eyes him warily. It's not like he and Caine were ever at odds, but he knows that the man has pull in the department. So much pull that he could threaten to kill another Officer and not even receive a slap on the wrist.

"I was just at the hosptial," Horatio says in his slow drawl.

"Yeah. Did you see Wolfe? How is he?"

"You let Wolfe and Simmons out in dangerous weather situation." Horatio cocks his head, and even though his tone is mild, Corey hears the underlying menace.

"I didn't let them go anywhere. They just left on their own. I tried to call them back to the lab but couldn't get them on the radio. And then I had heard that you and Delko went out after them. I knew you had found them."

"We found Mr. Wolfe buried under a pile of debris, and Simmons' hands were all torn up."

"Yeah, well, they shouldn't have gone out. Wolfe is a level three and should know better," Corey throws this back into Horatio's face, his meaning obvious; it was Wolfe's fault, and Wolfe had been Caine's protégé.

Taking a deep breath, Horatio backs off. Since he wants something from Corey, he knows he shouldn't antagonize the man. "I have a form here from HR, and it needs your signature. I want Wolfe to be officially under my command again."

"Why?" Corey looks at Horatio suspiciously. "You trying to poach him back to day shift? You know, he came to me looking for the transfer."

"Curently, Mr. Wolfe is not fit for duty, and it is unknown when he'll be ready to come back. His physical injuries aren't severe, but the doctor is suspecting some mental trauma."

"Really?" Corey is surprised as he takes the extended piece of paper from Horatio. "Well, I guess being sucked up by a tornado is shocking. But why do you want him assigned to you?" he asks, as he persues the request-for-transfer form.

"I believe that this mental trauma does not stem for today's tornado, but from another incident, when he was under my command. Unless, of course, there was something serious that happened to him since he was transferred to you." Horatio gives Corey a inquiring look.

"No, no." Corey shakes his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary. But you say that it happened when he was on day shift? Because that's been a few months now, and I hadn't noticed anything wrong with him."

"Apparently so."

"Hmm." Corey is actually relieved. As far as he's concerned, if Wolfe got into a mess during Caine's watch, then let Caine clean it up. Pressing the form against the wall, he signs his name quickly before Horatio can change his mind. "Tell Wolfe, I hope he's better soon," he says as he hands the form back.

"I will do that, and Simmons is currently help my team with the crime scene out in Hialeah. You will make sure that he's given any over time due"

"Yeah, yeah." Corey waves a hand back and forth. "Just have him leave me a note with his time sheet, or if you're there, you can initial his over time." Many could accuse him of being lazy boss, but he wasn't unfair.

"Thank you, Sir." Horatio takes the form back, satisfied. He has what he came for.

"Hey, Wolfe," Walter strolls into Ryan's hospital room, hands behind his back. "You wanna know what the guys in patrol are calling me? Dorothy, Dorothy. Well, guess what, you were in the tornado too, so that makes you Toto, which fits, you know, both being short and all."

I give him a death stare. "All I can say is that you had better have something good behind your back."

"A bacon double cheeseburger." Walter whips out a take-out bag from a local burger joint with a flourish.

My mouth immediately begins to salivate, since the hospital food tastes like military surplus. "If you bring me food like that, you can call me Dorothy, Toto, or the Wicked Witch of the West."

"And for the pièce de résistance. . . ." Walter sets my cheeseburger on the hospital tray. "French fries."

"Oh, man!" I almost groan as I take in the odor of greasy, fried food. "You're a life-saver."

"Figured you'd want some real food," Walter says with a grin, as he sits down in the chair next to my bed and unwraps a cheeseburger for himself. "How ya feeling anyways?"

"Okay." I shrug, as I take a bite of cheeseburger. "They scanned my head today." I say nothing about the visit from MDPD's staff psychiastrist.

"Your head, huh," Walter mulls. "Did you hit your head, or did something conk you when the kitchen fell on top of you."

"Not sure." I shrug again. "Everything happened so fast. Basically, I remember flying through the air, and. . . ." The entrance of Dr. Tabet and Horatio interrupts my musing.

"Ryan," Tabet greets me, "you seem to be feeling better." He eyes my dinner.

"Yes," I quickly concur, "I'm feeling alright, so when can I get out of here?"

"Probably tomorrow." Tabet looks over at Walter, who instantly jumps up.

"I should go, and. . . ."

"Mr. Simmons," Horatio interjects, "if you could leave us for a moment, but I would like to speak to you afterward."

"No problem." Walter heads for the door, while giving me a quick nod. "Going to go and find something to drink."

"Ryan," Tabet addresses me, "we're going to do a sleep study on you tonight, and. . . ."

"Why?" I don't let him finish his thought. "Did you find something in my head?"

"No, but things seem to indicate that perhaps you're suffering from Parasomnia, but more tests are needed to have an definitive diagnosis."

"Parasomnia?" I have no idea what Tabet is talking about. "What's that?"

"A sleep disorder," he explains. "In your case, we're suspecting night terrors. Have you been having a lot of nightmares lately?"

"Well. . . maybe. . .kind of. . .just some of the time," I hedge. I'm suddenly feeling very vulnerable and don't want to admit to anything.

"This was probably brought on by some trauma?" Tabet's statement is actually a question. My stomach twists into knots, as I look over at H, who is staring at me thoughtfully. I can almost see the gears turning in his head.

"The tornado," I mumble out. Tabet and H continue to stare at me, and I know they suspect I'm hiding something. To deflect anymore questions, I take the offense. "Excuse me, but isn't my medical condition confidential? Why is he here?" I say this belligerently. I just want H out of the room before the detective in him figures out more than I want.

"Ryan." H's voice is soft and calm. "Your injury was sustained on the Job, so it is my business."

My first reaction is to argue that he is not my supervisor, but his expression stops me. It's pure H at his most intimidating.

"I'll check on you tomorrow." Tabet pats my leg before taking his leave. "Take it easy for now."

"Simple for him to say," I mumble again. "He's not going to have people watching him sleep."

"Hey." Walter stands in the doorway. "Is it okay if I come now?"

"Come in, Mr. Simmons." H looks at him over his shoulder. "I just wanted to let you know that I put in for a commendation for you. You kept your head during the tornado. Good work."

Staring at the floor, Walter shuffles his feet. He's not only embarrassed but ashamed. "I don't deserve the commendation. Please, just take it back."

"Think about it for a day," Horatio says, his contemplative gaze now focuses on Walter. "Also, you're off-duty tonight, but tomorrow when Mr. Wolfe is discharged, I want you to see that he gets home safetly and wait with him until I arrive. Afterward you can report to the crime lab. All of this will be paid time for you."

"Really?" Walter is pleasantly surprised. A night off, plus overtime tomorrow with an easy assignment. "Are you sure? Because you don't have to pay me to take Ryan home, Lieutenant. It would be my pleasure."

"No, take the pay, Mr. Simmons, and fyi, it's all been cleared with Corey. You're the only one I trust with this task. Ryan." Horatio turns to me. "I will see you tomorrow, and we'll talk."

"Great," I mumble some more, "just what I want, an in-depth discussion with you."

February 25, 2009

It's almost another 24 hours before I'm finally released from the hospital. Per Horatio's order, Walter's promptly at the hospital after I call.

"So, you feeling any better?" he asks, as I'm wheeled to the hospital exit.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I assure him. "Just tired. Didn't sleep last night." I yawn widely to prove my point.

"Nurses bothering you all night?"

"Yeah, they had me connected to a bunch of machines. Not conducive to having a good night's sleep." One of the machines they had me hooked up to was a Polysomnogram, which was to monitor me while I slept. Unfortunately, since I didn't sleep, the test was basically a bust.

"Well, you're going home to your own bed, nothing like your own bed for a good night's sleep," Walter says, as we reach the doors, and the orderly helps me out of the wheelchair.

I give him a nod of thanks, and Walter beeps his car open. The ride to my apartment is done in silence, as I'm trying to figure out how to lie to H convincingly, and Walter, sensing my pensive mood, stays quiet.

"I figure we can order pizza." Walter breaks the silence, as he pulls up to my apartment.

"Sounds good," I agree, not really caring about what I eat. "Have you talked to H today?" I'm curious if Walter knows anything about what Horatio is planning.

"Ahh, yeah., I saw him this morning before my shift ended."

"So what's up? He's going to come here and?" I ask, sticking the key into my front door lock.

Walter shrugs. "Guess so. But I got the feeling that he was making arrangements for some time off. Think he's going on vacation?"

"The man doesn't take vacations. The only time off he's taken was for his family." I enter my apartment, happy to be home, but wondering what H has up his sleeve for me.

"Now, I know that his last wife Marisol was murdered? But she wasn't his son's mother, was she?" Walter is curious about Horatio.

"No, H was never married to Julia, Kyle's mother," I say, as I flop on the couch. My mind is fuzzy with tiredness.

"Go take a nap, Wolfe. I'll wake you when the pizza's here."

"Nah, I just doze here for a moment." I curl up on the couch. "Make yourself at home, and yeah, if I fall asleep, wake me when the food is here." I close my eyes, thinking I'll just take a quick snooze, but instead I immediately fall into a deep sleep.

Somehow he finally made it onto the boat. Trembling with fear and cold, he crawled up the ladder. He could see the monsters getting smaller and smaller, as the boat traveled further from the shore.

"Thank God! Thank God!" he rasped to himself, while standing up on shaky legs. "H, H," he called, wondering if his boss is on the boat, or if one of them got him.

Stumbling around, he checked his surroundings, and then half fell into the boat's cabin. Weak and tired, all he could do is tumble down on to the bed. If he could just have a moment of rest.

It was the pounding that woke him. Opening his eyes, he sat up in shock. There were hundreds of them, just outside, thumping the outside of the cabin with their hands, trying to find a way in.

"Oh God, oh God!" He looked around wildly. He needed a weapon, any kind of weapon. Jumping up, adrenaline pumping, he ran around the cabin, pulling out drawers, knocking things on the ground. A gun, a gun would do!

"Ryan! Ryan! What the hell is the matter with you?"

I wake up on the floor with Walter on top of me, trying to wrestle away my 9mm automatic. I can still hear the pounding of the monsters at my door.

"Walter, they're here! We've got to kill. . . !"

"Mr. Simmons!" The voice on the other side of the door rings out with authority. "Open up, or I'll break the door down."

Reality sinks in, and I begin to comprehend that it's H pounding. I loosen my grasp and let Walter take my gun away. "It's okay." I lie perfectly still. "Let him in before he busts my door."

Still guarded, Walter slowly gets off me.

"It's okay, okay," I reassure him, as he goes and unlocks the door. I'm shaking with fear, cold, and shock. When did my life start spirling so out of control?

"Ryan." H is at my side, gently raising my head. I realize that I'm wounded, as blood drips down my face. "You're okay, pal. It's alright." He lifts me to my feet and leads me to the couch.

"Sir, I don't know what happened," Walter immediately begins to explain. "He was sleeping, and then suddenly he jumped up and started yelling about monsters coming in. I wasn't sure what was happening, and then he went and got his gun and started to. . . ."

"Oh, God, Walter, I'm so sorry." I'm horrified. I could have shot my colleague and good friend.

"Unload the gun," H orders, while grabbing a towel and pressing it to my forehead.

"Ryan, look at me," he says softly. "Where's your drop gun?"

"In the bedroom closet." My head is throbbing, but I'm still able to think rationally.

"And your bullets? Are they in the closet too?" H presses me back on the couch pillows, while checking if I'm still bleeding.

I shake my head in the affirmative.

"Get everything, and make sure all his guns are unloaded," he commands Walter, who instantly complies.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I keep apologizing. I don't know what else to say.

"It's okay." Horatio examines my head again. "You're okay." His tone is soft and comforting, the same tone I've heard him use many times with injured or grieving victims.

"This is it." Walter comes out of my bedroom with my snub-nose revolver and a couple boxes of 9mm and .38 shells.

"Put the unloaded guns back, but I'll keep the amunition. If you want a gun, you can have one, so long as it's unloaded," H says, while studying me carefully. "Mr. Simmons, if you could also locate a first aid kit for me. Thank you."

My hand flies up to my head but is immediately pushed away. "Leave it, you'll just make it bleed again."

"I'm all right then?" I'm stunned. I was sure that another trip to the hospital was in my future, maybe even in the physc ward strapped into a straight jacket.

"You're fine," H reassures me again, as he takes the first aid kit from Walter. "Mr. Simmons, are you okay to report for work? If not, I will put you down for sick time tonight."

"No, no." Walter refuses the offer. "I'm good to go, just a little freaked out."

"I'm sorry, Walter. God, did I point a gun at you?" I ask, feeling miserable.

"Yeah, but I wrestled you to the floor before you could do any damage. Hope I didn't break anything." Walter looks over at me with an apologetic expression.

"You didn't." I set his mind at rest, while H cleans the cut on my forehead.

"Mr. Simmons," Horatio never looks up from his task. "Everything that happened here tonight is not to be discussed with anyone, and that includes Corey."

"I won't say a word," Walter promises, as his gaze meets mine. We both know that if Walter says anything, my career with MDPD could be over. "Well, I should go, Lieutenant, Wolfe."

Walter quietly leaves the apartment, and suddenly I feel like a ton of bricks falls on me. My breathing accelerates, and I begin to shake uncontrollably.

"Easy, Ryan." H's hand is warm, which feels good on my chilled body. "Easy, you're alright." He covers me with a Miami Dolphin's fleece blanket that adorns my couch.

"H, I could have killed him," Now my teeth are chattering.

"You're suffering from Night Terrors brought on by trauma. The question is, what trauma?" H cocks his head, his eyes never leaving my face.

I take a deep breath but say nothing. I've been hiding the truth from everyone for so long now; it's not easy to finally give it up.

"What did the Russian do to you, Ryan?"

I sigh. It's no surprise that H figured it out.

"Your report says that they ambushed you, then knocked you out. When you came to, you were tied to a chair, where a Russian man punched you a few times, while coercing you to help subvert a murder investigation. They threatened you and the young boy, Billy Gantry. Am I correct so far?"

I nod my head, keeping my gaze lowered.

"That Russian's name was Andrei. I killed him, when I rescued Billy."

"I remember," I whisper.

"So, Ryan." H leans in closer. "What did Andrei do to you?"

The name Andrei sparks memories of that horrible day, and I see flashes of myself, tied to chair, bleeding and screaming, as he punched, kicked, and used small tools to torture me. My hand automatically goes to my right jaw, where Andrei had pulled out a molar with a pliers. I didn't put any of this in my report.

"He tortured me, H," I speak so softly that Horatio leans in even closer. "He cut me, and pulled out a tooth. I tried to get away by falling backward. That's when I rubbed my shirt on the ground, but it didn't stop him. And then after the molar was out," I pause. I don't want to say anymore.

"Ryan." H takes my face in his hands. "What else did he do?"

I can feel tears welling up in my eyes, as I remember. "I was on the ground, on my back, so he, he. . .oh God, and I couldn't stop him. And I should have because I'm a man, and a police officer. And he threatened to do the same to Billy." The words suddenly come tumbling out, so fast, I can barely catch my breath. "And I couldn't allow such an awful thing to happen to Billy, so I lied and hindered the investigation. And you, and Eric, and Calleigh all blamed me, but I was just trying to protect a little boy!"

The dam had broken, and now I'm crying hard, as the memory of the monster in the ski mask lying on top of me, grunting like a pig, with me screaming from underneath him. H draws me close, and I sob in his arms.

February 26, 2009

I wake up to Miami's winter sun streaming through my bedroom window. I'm pressed up against H, although he's on top of the bedding, while I'm snuggled underneath. He's still fully clothed except for shoes and sports coat.

"No nightmares," I whisper. I quickly look around, no open drawers or things thrown on the floor. I roll over and put a hand to my head. I actually slept an entire night without dreaming about monsters in ski masks.

"Ryan?" Horatio has awoken.

"I'm okay; I'm okay," I repeat, as I turn to look at him. "I didn't tear up anything or point a gun at you, did I?"

"No," He rasies an arm and tucks it behind his head, looking comfortable, too comfortable. "You were quiet all night."

"Good, good." I squint at the clock and see that it's past seven. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"I'm taking the rest of the week off," he says, as he cocks his head and stares at me.

"You don't need to babysit me." The morning light has given me back some of my bravado. I'm now embarrassed about my break down.

"Ryan." He reaches up to touch my arm. "I failed you, and I have to make it right. And you, you have to find a way to overcome what happened. You need to talk about this to Dr Simmons."

"What? And have the whole MDPD know about what happened! Know what a. . . !"

"The only people who will know are you, me, and the doctor. Simmons is bound by doctor/patient confidentiality. He's only obliged to inform the department when you are mentally and physically able to return to work." Horatio's voice raises a bit, as he interrupts me. "And you do want to return to work?"

"Yes, yes I do." I find H's touch soothing, and it brings back the memory of the one time we spent together. "I need the bathroom."

His presence confuses me, and the intimate setting of a bedroom doesn't help. It just brings back hurt feelings and resentment. I take a leisurely shower and shave, hoping he'll take the hint. I know him, know he's too stubborn to leave, but perhaps he'll at least get up. I can't picture H lounging in bed all morning. But I'm wrong. Exiting the bathroom, I find him still there, eyes closed but awake.

"Ah, do you want some coffee?" I ask. Nothing like coffee to get someone out of bed.

"Come and lie down. You've had a rough couple of days. And not getting enough sleep only exacerbates Parasomnia. We'll get something to eat out, and then I believe you have an appointment with Dr. Simmons."

I roll my eyes. "Do you ever stop giving orders? And could you please get out of my bed?"

Of course, he doesn't do anything I say, just tilts his head and studies me with half-closed eyes. I realize that dressing in only a towel was probably not my best move in this situation.

"Ryan, I'm not going to hurt you."

"No?" Something in me snaps, all my resentment and repressed rage. "You'll just seduce me, and then dump me like you did a year ago!" I conveniently forget that a year ago, I was the one, who had made the first move. "And then you'll let me get kidnapped by a psychopath, and then accuse me when I try to save a little boy!"

The words are barely out of my mouth, when suddenly I feel lighter, like a couple of boulders have been lifted off of me. I sit down on the bed, breathing heavy. I can see out of the corner of my eye that H is still watching me.

"Do you feel a little better now?" he asks softly.

I turn to face him. "H, I know you're not to blame for what happened with the Russians, but I can't help. . . ."

"I am responsible," he interrupts. "And I take responsibility. So let me make things right for you."

"Okay, okay." I nod my head in agreement.

"As far as dumping you, I really didn't think you thought we had any kind of relationship."

"So the sex was just ot get our rocks off, and nothing more?" The question is barely out of my mouth, when I realize that I sound like a needy, immature. . .what? I sigh, as I come to the realization that perhaps I was just as at fault as H.

"I've got more than twenty years on you, and you, you're a young man with perhaps thoughts of marriage and children, no?" He looks at me with genuine puzzlement.

"Yes, no, I don't know." I have no idea what I want for the future. I scratch my head. "Don't think marriage is in my immediate future. No woman would want a man, who goes to sleep and then wakes up violent."

"True." Horatio sits up and pulls the bedding back on my side of the bed. "Lie down, Ryan."

I give in. I should know better than to fight H; he rarely loses. I slide in under the covers, while he remains on top of them.

"I want you to move in with me."

"H," I say, trying to keep my voice calm. "I don't want to move in with you. I don't want to give up my apartment."

"You can't be left alone at nights."

"So I'll hire some kind of nursing aid to spend the nights, I mean, days when I sleep."

"You're a trained police officer; a nursing aid couldn't handle you, especially if you become violent. Look what happened to Walter last night."

His words remind me of my actions the night before. "Oh God!" I raise both hands to my head. "I'm screwed!" I think for a moment. "Maybe Walter wouldn't mind. . . ."

"Are you really going impose on him, every night for," H breaks off. "The trauma that you suffered isn't going to go away in a matter or weeks or months. You do realize that?" He sits up and stares me in the face. "Ryan?"

"I actually hadn't thought that far," I say truthfully. I heave a huge sigh. My life is shit. "So what?" I turn my head to look at him. "Are you going to babysit me for the next year, or two, or ten?"

"I am," H states firmly. "And it would be my pleasure." He lies back down with an arm under his head.

"Is it penance, or. . . ?"

"A bit." He reaches for me and draws me to him. "But I do care for you Ryan. You mean a lot to me."

And then I feel it. A brush of his lips on my hair, and that one simple gesture melts all my defenses. I unbutton his shirt and slide my hand over his chest. His skin is warm, and the hair on his chest is soft. It's how I remember. His hold tightens, and I nestle next to him and close my eyes.

He woke up with a start, but this time there were no monsters pounding to be let in. Cautiously, he slid out of the boat's bed, and checked around. He slowly opened the cabin's door and went out on deck. No monsters. Making his way to the front of the boat, he saw him, standing with hands on hips, scanning the ocean around them.

"H," he asked. "Where were you?"

"I was always here, Ryan. You just didn't see me."

"And the monsters?"

"They're gone for now, but," H paused for a moment before saying. "But they'll be back."

Finis