A/N: Some post 1x13 hurt/comfort. Written for YesteryearsGirl, who wanted hugs and brotherly moments. I hope you enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Russ blinked, glancing at the alarm clock blearily. 3:35 a.m., it read. The detective groaned, rubbing at his eyes. Something had woken him. Or rather, someone.

Russ huffed loudly. He had a pretty good feeling as to who that someone was.

The detective shuffled out of bed, and slowly made his way towards the living room. He wasn't at all surprised to find his culprit on the couch. What did surprise him, though, was just how poorly his new guest seemed to be.

Milt sat hunched on Russ' sofa, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. Dark circles stood out on the man's too-pale face, and his was hair disheveled and slick with sweat. He stared ahead vacantly, not giving any indication that he'd noticed Russ standing there.

In other words, Russ noted, his partner looked like shit.

The detective stood in the doorway and sighed heavily. Well, at least the shoulder sling was still in place. No need to add ruined surgery to the list of Milt's problems, he mused. Especially not when lack of sleep was quickly becoming one of the more prominent ones.

It had, after all, only been two days since the man had been released from the hospital. More than anything, Milt needed his rest. The agent's nights were quickly going from bad to worse, however, and Russ wasn't sure how much more of this the man could take.

Sparing one last glance at his partner, Russ stepped through the living room, over into the kitchen, and began busying himself there.

He wasn't tired anymore, anyway.

A few minutes later, a pot of water was bubbling on the stove, filling the apartment's kitchen with a pleasant aroma. Russ leaned up against the counter, and glanced over at Milt.

"Bad dream?" He asked.

Milt glanced up at him but said nothing, swallowing thickly.

The detective cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly.

"You, uh... you wanna talk about it?" He asked.

"I, um..." the agent's voice hitched and he glanced away, shaking his head sharply.

Russ pursed his lips, but nodded in understanding. Moving slowly, he made his way over to the sofa with a mug of something warm and steaming.

Milt's eyes flickered up to his. Russ smiled slightly, and handed him the mug along with Milt's pain medication. The agent grasped onto it tightly with one hand, knuckles white. Russ glanced away, trying to ignore the way it shook in Milt's grip.

"Thanks," the agent murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, don't mention it," Russ replied, waving him off.

The detective sighed, settling into the sofa beside him. Milt looked away quickly, avoiding his eyes.

"Hey," Russ said softly, placing a hand on Milt's uninjured shoulder. The agent flinched away at the sudden contact. Russ withdrew his hand and quickly grasped the mug, taking it and setting it on the table before the man could spill hot liquid on himself.

For a moment, only the sound of their breathing filled the room.

"Hey. Milt," Russ tried again. The agent didn't budge, instead staring fixedly at the floor.

Russ' brow furrowed and he tilted slightly, trying to catch the other man's gaze. Whether assured or simply annoyed with Russ' persistence, Milt turned, reluctantly meeting the detective's eyes.

"I don't know what you went through," Russ said slowly. "And I can't tell you that everything's gonna be fine again, either."

Milt shook his head sharply, breath hitching. "I know," he choked out. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Hey. Look at me," Russ said, cutting him off.

Milt blinked at him, eyes wet. Russ pinned him with an intense look.

"If you need anything- hell, if you just need someone to listen. I'm here for you, man," he said, "and I'm not going anywhere."

Milt swallowed visibly. Russ gave him a gentle nudge.

"You're not alone, Milt," the detective said firmly. "Got it?"

The younger man gave a jerky nod. "Yeah," he replied.

Milt tried to smile, but he faltered, lips trembling. The agent clenched his jaw and looked away, blinking rapidly.

Russ frowned.

"Milt?"

"I, uh..." Milt choked.

The agent exhaled raggedly, a strangled sob escaping his throat.

"Shit," Russ swore. "C'mere."

At that, the detective put an arm around the other man, gently pulling him close. Milt offered surprisingly little resistance, too worn to fight anymore. He slumped against the detective's shoulder, murmuring brokenly.

"- it happened so fast. I keep seeing it, and I can't... couldn't stop it, I-"

"Hey," Russ said lowly, drawing the younger man closer. The detective held on tightly to Milt's shaking form, even as tears soaked his sleeve.

"You're ok," Russ soothed, somehow managing to sound certain even if he wasn't entirely sure of that himself.

Eventually, Milt quieted, completely and utterly exhausted. Russ breathed a sigh of relief as the agent finally grew still, breaths soft and even. Careful not to disturb him, Russ reached for a blanket and drew it around the sleeping agent. Then he, too, settled into the couch.

Glancing down at the younger man, Russ felt an unexpected surge of protectiveness. He knew he couldn't fix everything. But this was a start.