A/N: This is my first attempt at writing a fic in months and a much belated sequel to It's All In Your Head. As usual, I don't own any of the characters, just the idea for the story.
Sheriff Jack Carter strode into a scene of mayhem in the infirmary. It looked as though someone had set off a small bomb. Medical equipment and scrubs were strewn all over the floor. A container marked with the unmistakable biohazard symbol was slowly dripping its contents onto a pile of clean linen. Several of the glass walls on the opposite side of the room had spider web cracks in them. In the middle of the room was a hole in the ceiling where a light fixture had been. Carter followed the trail of plaster and sparks down to what he deemed most likely the cause of the chaos: Zane Donovan and Douglas Fargo.
They were standing next to each other in the middle of the infirmary, screaming at each other. Or, at least, Fargo was. Zane appeared to be taunting him by keeping his glasses just out of reach. Below them, Carter noted the burn marks on the floor. He shook his head and groaned inwardly as he skirted a still-smoldering set of scrubs. This was going to be one of those days.
"So," Carter began, finally having made it safely through the various piles of rubbish, "Who wants to tell me what happened here?"
Zane quickly slapped his hands over Fargo's mouth, eager to be the first one to talk. "I'll tell you what happened," He snapped. "He tried to kill me!"
"I did not!" Fargo mumbled through Zane's hand.
"Then why the hell did you come at me with a mini blowtorch?" Zane countered.
Carter stifled another groan. It was definitely going to be one of those days. "He did what, exactly?"
"I was bringing a report to the medical director," Zane began, still covering Fargo's mouth, "when Fargo came out of nowhere and stuck a giant flame in my face."
"Fargo…" Carter groaned audibly.
Fargo pried Zane's hands off his head to defend himself. "Well, it's not like I hurt him."
"What do you mean, you didn't hurt me?" Zane demanded. "Look at my face!"
Carter looked at Zane's face. It seemed normal-blue eyes, crooked smirk, nose, ears-it was all there. Then he did a double take. Something was off. Above the eyes, there were only a few remaining hairs. He turned to join Zane in a glare at Fargo.
"It's not that bad, really," Fargo protested meekly, shuffling his feet.
"Maybe he's not, but looked at the infirmary," Carter pointed out. "That little doohickey of yours did some real damage. Someone could have gotten seriously hurt."
Fargo sighed. "I know. I only meant to scare him. I must have calibrated something incorrectly."
Zane snorted and rolled his eyes. "Of course you did."
"Oh, shut up," Fargo replied irritably. "I only did this to get back at you for making me think I was going insane. I really thought that those gnomes were going to kill me."
Carter sighed warily. "Okay, so you admit to doing this deliberately, out of revenge, and you're not sorry?"
"Pretty much," Fargo shrugged.
"Okay," Carter nodded, "Zane, give him back his glasses. Now."
Zane glared at Fargo again, and then reluctantly handed over the remarkably intact glasses.
Carter nodded again. "Fargo, I need you to give me whatever caused this."
Fargo fished an small, pen-like object out of his pocket and handed it to Carter, who looked at it skeptically.
"This really caused all of this?" Carter asked doubtfully, gesturing the damage around the infirmary.
Fargo nodded sheepishly. "Like I said before, I was off in my calibrations."
"Way off," Zane said, rolling his eyes.
"Alright then," Carter said, putting the device in an evidence bag. He clapped a hand on Fargo's shoulder and began walking him out of the infirmary. "You're coming with me. We're going to go talk to Allison and figure out how you're going to fix the infirmary."
"What about him?"Fargo protested, stabbing a finger back in Zane's direction as Carter steered him towards the elevator. "Shouldn't he be punished for what he did to me?"
Carter glanced back at Zane, who was staring at his reflection in the glass, absently rubbing off remaining bits of singed eyebrows, then down at Fargo, who was slowly making his way to the elevator with his head hung low. He clapped Fargo on the shoulder again. As those days went, today really wasn't that bad.
"I think that explaining to Jo why he suddenly looks like the Mona Lisa is enough of a punishment, don't you?"
