Title: Stubborn
Author: Mara
Rating: FRM
Pairing: Warrick/Jim
Category: H/C, Hospital fic
Summary: Warrick is more stubborn than Jim.
Spoilers: season seven, to be safe.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. All are owned by Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS. No copyright infringements are intended.
Word Count: 702

Jim walked back to the bed. How many feet away was the bathroom ... twenty? Twenty-five? "Shit! Twenty feet and I'm sweating like a Sumo wrestler and breathing like a bellows with a hole in it.”

He grabbed the side rail as he eased himself back to bed, wincing as tender muscles protested. Nestling his face in the coolness of the pillow, he let out a sigh. God, I'm tired, and depressed, and scared shitless, Jim thought.

He'd never felt as helpless as he did now. Weak and vulnerable. Any movement of anything hurt someplace.

"Man, getting shot really sucks." Jim muttered to himself.

He gingerly turned over on his back. "What I wouldn't give to stretch, REALLY stretch," but he didn't dare.

The pain pill he'd swallowed before going to the bathroom was starting to peak and the sweating increased. The prickling sensation came and went in his arms and legs as nerve endings demanding to be heard shut up and the deep ache in his chest slipped away.

He fought going to sleep, knowing the dreams would come. "Shit, I hate this ... got no control ..." he wasn't sure if he'd spoken aloud or not. A noise to his left made him jump and his hands went to his chest protectively.

"I'm sorry, baby ... I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you were asleep," Warrick's voice whispered in the dim light.

Jim reached out a hand in the voice's direction and felt warm, strong hands grasp it.

"How ya feelin'?" The warm hands tightened briefly.

"Better now ... turn on the light."

The first level of soft light chased away the shadows and Jim turned to Warrick. He forced his eyes to focus and felt a new and different kind of pain in his chest. One narcotics were never meant to reach. "You looked better in the dark."

"Thanks. Glad I came by to have you cheer me up."

"I mean it," Jim struggled to speak clearly. "You're out at a crime scene, in the lab, or here. You never sleep, and from the looks of your cheekbones you're not eating either. I'm scared, Rick. You're gonna get so tired you won't think fast, you'll get sloppy and you could get hurt out there. All it takes is one little mistake. Trust me, I know."

Jim felt the bed give as Warrick moved closer, warm hands on both shoulders now. "Hey, you're the one we have to worry about. I'll be okay. I'm fine ... these bags under my eyes are from me worrying about you!" A hand ran through Jim’s hair then rested on his face. "Don't be afraid."

Jim reached inside Rick's jacket and rubbed his side. "Hmm, you‘re not very convincing?"

Jim felt Warrick stiffen. "I don‘t know what you mean"

Jim patted his ribs. “Sure you're eatin, everything's fine my ass!”

Warrick lowered his gaze sheepishly. “It’s hard to eat when your worried out of your mind.”

"I know. Love, but you‘ve got to take care of yourself. I don‘t know what I‘d do if anything happened to you"

“Now you know how I feel.”

"OK, ok. I‘ll stop harping." Jim was losing the battle to stay awake. "I'm safe now, you go home, and go to sleep. Take tomorrow off. You look like shit!"

"Right. I‘ll just tell Grissom that I‘m too tired to come in."

“That’ll work. Gil won’t give you any grief. Unless he’s blind he can see how exhausted you are.”

Warm hands massaged his shoulders, caressed his face and stroked through his hair once more, then straightened the covers. The bed moved again and the chair squeaked up close to the side rail. *Stubborn fool.* The last thing he heard before the medicine took him was, "Go to sleep yourself. We're both safe ... we're together and I love you."

Jim drifted off with a contented sigh.

The End