Oscar sat in his office, waiting.

These times were the hardest. He would far rather be out in the middle of a mission himself or managing a crisis than simply waiting. He resisted, for the moment, the urge to pace. It would work off some of his nervous energy, but it would take him farther away from the phone. He glared at the silent private line as if blaming it for its lack of communication tonight.

Was this night going to be the one? That was the thought that never quite left him when Steve was out on a mission. Given the things they asked him to do and the frequency with which missions twisted even beyond those initial expectations and required on-the-fly adjustment, the chances were very good that someday, Steve wouldn't come back. Oscar knew that. Steve knew that. Every mission was a game of Russian roulette, and as advanced as bionics were, they couldn't stand up against a bullet. Sooner or later, most likely, Steve's luck would run out.

On that day, the secretary and the higher ups would consult their balance sheets, weighing the use they had gotten out of their bionic man versus the six million to build him and the upkeep since. That upkeep since was an impressive figure itself. Not only had Steve been injured several times on missions, but like any fine-tuned machinery, he required regular maintenance to stay at peak performance. Since he was still classified as experimental, that maintenance was even more carefully scheduled. There had also been a few times that something simply went wrong with the bionic equipment, not an injury but a malfunction. Steve had joked once that they gave him more checkups than a 98-year-old grandmother, but he and everyone else knew why, and he still showed up to all of them. That level of monitoring was needed.

But overall, as expensive as he was, well over six million now, Steve had certainly given them a return on investment. His work for the government had been invaluable. Thus, the secretary and the other higher powers would shake their heads over his demise but decide that the profit column outweighed the loss, so then they would order Oscar and Rudy to simply build a replacement. To them, it would be that simple.

A replacement. Oscar shook his head. They might replace the bionics, but the mind and the man who commanded them were irreplaceable. Even aside from friendship, Steve was one of a kind. And when his friendship was added in, he meant more to Oscar than Oscar cared to admit.

Oscar had had few friends in life. He commanded respect but not closeness. Yet Steve truly had accepted him as a friend, in spite of the fact that they had only met because Oscar's department held a six million dollar obligation over Steve that they had voted after his accident, while he was unconscious, to give him. Even in the first few missions when he resented it some, Steve had still acknowledged that debt, and very soon, Oscar had realized to his surprise that Steve genuinely liked him. It quickly became mutual. Pal. Oscar had never had anyone else he would consider a pal.

The phone remained silent. Oscar stood up, advanced to the far side of the room, and poured himself a drink.

He was just sitting back down to resume his vigil when Rudy came in the door of the office. "Anything?" Rudy asked. Oscar shook his head. "He should have checked in three hours ago," Rudy worried.

"I know that," Oscar snapped. Then he sighed and tried to make his tone and the tight muscles across his shoulders relax a little. "I'm sorry, Rudy."

"I understand," Rudy assured him. Oscar knew that he did, too.

Rudy took the chair to one side of the front of the desk. "I hate the waiting," he said.

"I do, too," Oscar agreed. "One of these days . . ."

Rudy nodded. "I might not be able to fix him."

Oscar looked up in surprise. Was that Rudy's own worst-case scenario? Oscar worried that Steve would simply disappear on a case, never to be heard from again. It had never occurred to him to doubt that Rudy could fix him. No, if Steve came back, even if badly injured, Rudy would be able to make it right.

Was that a fair expectation itself to put on someone? Rudy was only human, after all. Neither of them was God.

Oscar wished that one of them could be, just for the next five minutes. If so, they would use their omnipotence to reach out and retrieve Steve safely from the current firestorm that Oscar had ordered him into.

At that moment, the private line finally rang. Oscar snatched at it as Rudy hit his feet almost as quickly, pushing up to the desk. "Steve?" Oscar demanded.

"Oscar." Oscar let out a deep breath at his friend's familiar tones. "All done. I've got the information, and I'm at the rendezvous. I just radioed for the chopper."

"It should be on the way, pal, but I'll make sure," Oscar assured him.

"And let me talk to Rudy, if he's there."

Oscar's stomach, which had almost unknotted itself, immediately retied into knots no sailor could have produced. There was only one reason, on a post mission extraction call, at least, for Steve to want to talk to Rudy before he actually got back to do it in person. "Just a minute," he managed. He held the phone out to Rudy. "He wants to talk to you."

Rudy had already doubled his own tension level in anticipation, but his voice was calm, collected, ready to receive data. "Yes, Steve." Oscar sat there trying to fill in the blanks from Rudy's expression. "Which one? How long ago? Well, doesn't sound too bad." That was false encouragement, Oscar was sure. Rudy did think it sounded worse than he was admitting. He just couldn't shake that automatic bedside manner. "Okay, I'll be ready. Just have the chopper go straight to the landing pad on the roof of the lab. Got it. See you soon, Steve." He hung up.

"What?" Oscar demanded almost before the phone hit the cradle.

Rudy sighed. "He said his left leg got caught in a bear trap."

Oscar cringed. "In a bear trap?"

"Yes. Apparently, they had some rather old-fashioned security measures around their hideout. He pulled it back open with his bionic arm, and then he went on inside and completed the mission. He said he can walk, but he's limping, and he can't run."

Oscar could easily picture Steve going on inside after being hurt to face down a gang of known international spies, getting the information they had stolen, and then limping clear back to the rendezvous, an easy bionic run on the way in but several miles away, making a difficult wounded retreat. That was, no doubt, why he was three hours late.

"I can fix it." Rudy was reassuring himself as well as Oscar. "If he's still mobile, even if impaired, it didn't hit the nuclear power pack. Nothing is too critical. I can fix it." He turned briskly. "I'd better go get ready to meet him. You coming?"

Oscar nodded, standing up and switching off his desk lamp. Yes, Rudy could fix it. The vigil of worry was over.

This time.