2Fallen angel
Tell me "why?"
What is the reason?
The thorn in your eye
He wasn't sure what came first but he knew things will never be the same way they once were. That morning he truly had this strange feeling of foreboding and there was no explanation.
Yes, Eric still wasn't picking up the calls so it fell to Ryan to be there for the team. Maybe he was feeling slightly more stretched than he was used to but, hey, what if the next it's him needing someone else to pick up the slack.
Best was to stay on the good graces of the team.
The sun was bright when he made it to the lab and he felt how mild vertigo tried to make him loose the grip of reality as the elevator pulled his body up to the 7th floor.
If he survives this day he was promising to try and talk to Eric about his issues and try to make it right. He just couldn't take this strange behaviour anymore and regardless of their endless fights over literally nothing and everything all at once he was eventually getting tired of this.
He barely snapped himself upright from the slumped position against the cool metal wall of the car and pushed his legs into movement.
"Hey, Wolfe, looking pretty rough today." Natalia's voice cuts through his foggy mess of bubbling thoughts about rich coffee before facing anything since he had to dash right out of his too comfy bed.
"Funny, Boa Vista, very funny." He retorted with a small snort and went straight for his coffee mix and fresh set of things from his locker. He vaguely recalled seeing a box of new gloves there about a week before and his kit needed a fresh set.
In retrospect he probably should've stayed home since its been like the past two weeks of callouts that weren't his, but then who he was to judge, his patrol days weren't a walk in the park either.
Finally after wealthy dose of his especially rich coffee Ryan felt that fog lift and just in time for the last minute packing of his kit and making sure all is still there for going out in the field and that his gun and backup is clean and okay. By the time H and Calleigh came in to update him he was at his best possible state. And yet his soul felt heavier than usual, which he didn't know how to translate.
Sparkling angel
I couldn't see
Your dark intentions
Your feelings for me
Going to that crime scene alone with no backup felt like the biggest rookie mistake ever and even as one he never made that one. Then how come he made it while being a CSI with enough patrol experience to last a while?
He sensed all the bad feelings as he kept opening doors and cabinets with one hand on his gun and just then and there that one door almost made his heart stop as his hand reached over to open it…
He should've been smart and predict and listen to that intuition he sometimes got nicknamed as 'eye of the angel' since it had been this premonition taking over his senses and pulling fellow officers back from what surely be their last day at work and in often cases of life as well.
They made fun of that but in reality his officers knew when to trust a strong gut feeling as most of the time it was part of the job and it either solved the case, saved a life, and in most dire situations even both at the same time.
He felt the push of the nail and how strong the gun could punch which somehow was a knowledge he didn't want to have, yet here he was being hit in the eye by that thing and feeling every inch of his body take a stance he consciously only knew from survival classes.
It was now a fight between his body, mind and spirit. To keep sane and stable enough. The back of his head gave the floor a hug that felt less strong than the shot itself. Yet it sent a shrill ring through his brain and a sharp twinge where he expected the sharp metal pierce through the layers of skin, tissue and all the other things that made up human body something so powerful.
He felt like the weakest bacteria in comparison.
Feeling his hand reach out for the radio on the opposite shoulder and felt disconnected and frazzled. Was that his mouth moving? Did he actually called for backup?
Will anyone arrive?
His brain felt less and less there and the strain to keep at least some of that fog away now turned into a great task of itself. He couldn't tell how bad was the blood loss but he surely started to see the nail sticking out of the corner of his eye like some statue or a totem pole.
On the ground I lay
Motionless in pain
I can see my life flashing before my eyes
When the pain hit Ryan he wasn't ready.
The moment of clarity couldn't even to begin touch what came after he suddenly realized he was in a Hummer that was zipping past the traffic like maniac and that there was a hand gripping his bicep like a vice and a worried Eric's voice kept screaming at him that he's gonna be okay and not to go into shock.
Was he dying?
Didn't he still lay on that trailer floor?
He was just moments ago. How did he came to be in a Hummer?
The blur and pain and all the strain was overwhelming all of his senses. And deep inside he felt something spark up and tell that he's gonna be okay as long as he didn't give up.
But to what cost?
He wanted Eric to just hold him tight and not let go.
But why?
He missed a human touch, long ago he had someone holding him through night full of pain and loss as he kept loosing people.
First he'd lost his parents, then close friends and then he started to loose his fellow officers. Like a natural way of life he kept loosing parts of himself along people he kept loosing.
He didn't like to know how powerful was the kick-off a nail gun, he had a strange feeling and weird premonition thing going on when Calleigh gave him the nail gun and when he so carelessly looked into the barrel.
Did that show his trust to a person handing it to him with no directions of proper handling or did it show how reckless he was?
He who always was so proud of his 'by-the-book' ways suddenly reverting to a child?
He could write that off to the barely three hours of sleep but then even asleep he knew proper procedure of how to handle things he didn't know personally.
How this had been a warning he let slide so easily?
Did I fall asleep?
Is this all a dream
Wake me up,
I'm living a nightmare
His one eye opened to the doctors talking and suddenly Alexx was holding his hand and talking soothing nothings to calm his panic down…
He's gonna be okay, its not gonna hurt anymore, they will see through it..
All the words but his mind kept lingering to the imaginary hug he hoped to one day have.
Eric probably will take the blame, but what for? It was Ryan's break of procedure, his own cognitive ability to decide upon himself. And he knew this will happen the moment he was awake enough to drive.
A given he was aware of yet chose to ignore for some reason that never occurred to his jumbled mind.
And it held no logic to anyone in the room and outside. It was his choice and now the payment will be cashed in like some goddamn mortgage payment.
Every day, day by day, minute by minute, he took a risk to take that next step and make that move. As an officer of the law he knew all about the risks and all about the unpredictable force of nature.
He's been a cop for a long time and as one he came in always prepared to have it as his last.
Two years before becoming a CSI he tested that theory and it took him out for close to a year. Not because he'd ever been a bad cop, not because someone else chose to make wrong choice, no, because he made a decision to try and save a life.
He went into a warehouse ready to shoot his way through and hopefully do something to change the situation for the sake of the three children locked in a box. He made his peace before entering and there was nothing to loose if he could save three children from human trafficking. It was just his job he signed up for with all the risks evaluated. It was a job that came with everything in one package and he was ready to receive.
There are never the right words to say or to hear.
It will always be what it is and no change of words can change that.
So when he'd woken up four months later in his hospital room no words ever were needed for his ears, the risks calculated coldly and served as cold as ice, severing the ties with hopes and dreams.
No, he wasn't the depressive type, just pure realist. His odds were the same as anyone else's out there.
He walked out of the rehab clinic seven months later and thanked his odds for standing on his side a bit longer. He returned to the streets three months after that.
There was no need to look back on anything or reflect on things, it was just that he'd saved those kids and bad guys would never ever touch anyone again. Just that simple. He did his job at the best ability and he didn't deny his methods different from suggested others but he made the call according to the situation and there was nothing beyond that.
The medal still stood in his locker in a tiny box and the plaque underneath that. May he will be buried with all that. There were no hard feelings involved.
Year later he walked into the Crime Lab to see Horatio Caine for a job opening.
Was it all too much
Or just not enough
He left the room dressed in fresh clothes and holding a bag that held his ruined stuff. Maybe he should regard his style some more, maybe he cared little for that.
He nearly missed Eric's voice calling out.
They spoke awkwardly and Ryan felt a bit like a teenager being called to a headmaster's office.
Eric did apologise and for a short moment Ryan pretended to throw a feisty one but then he just couldn't stand anymore, his body was shaking and instead he just pulled Eric in a hug and thanked the slightly confused man for being there.
Sometimes he struggled to make the right decisions and often he missed all of the signals but today he chose to make a move and just not care for once.
He wasn't an officer anymore but the risks never left because of changes the scenery.
And looking back at his hazel eyes in the mirror two months later he decided that possibly they could be 'the eyes of the angel' like everyone had said. He smiled and closed the door as he turned around and walked out of the locker room.
Sparkling angel
I believed
You were my saviour
In my time of need