AN: Thanks to those of you who have reviewed/followed/checked out and read so far it really means a lot to me that folks think I'm doing a good job. I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

Once again this chapter is unbeta'd so mistakes are my own and I'll change them as I find them. Any comments or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force,
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;

William Shakespeare Sonnet 91 written between 1588 and 1592 approx.

Chapter 2: Pride and Glory

When she and Buzz finally arrive back at the house, having had to stop every few minutes thanks to her damned nausea and embarrassingly having to vomit in some hedge halfway home, she kills the engine and limps the Kawasaki back into the garage, hoping that Mrs G hasn't heard them coming up the street. Buzz, knowing that climbing up the tree is going to be a tall order for Jo, climbs up himself in order to try and get one of the girls' attention. Not wishing to alarm them he sits on the thickest branch nearest the window and having no other option whistles as he did only hours before, he realises he could knock the window but his hope is that Blair is still awake, if she is she'll recognise the signal and hopefully be able to talk Jo into a trip to the emergency room. God knows that he's tried but as usual she won't listen to him. She's stubborn as Hell when she's injured, always has been even when they were kids hanging around the neighbourhood playing stickball and stealing packets of gum from the corner store. Fortune favours him and somehow Blair is the only one to come to the window without waking up the other two. He is relieved that the younger girls haven't stirred, Jo would really be pissed with him if they got wind of what happened tonight and he feels bad enough as it is. He was her second and he let her down. By the time Jo has finished stowing her bike Blair has dressed and discretely sneaked downstairs opening the internal door leading into the garage from the pantry. Buzz appears at the main door of the garage and pulls Jo into a gentle hug.

'You sure you're OK?'

'How many times I gotta tell ya?'

'Just wanna be sure…'

He hugs her again before waving to Blair; he's always had a soft spot for the blonde and knows she'll take good care of Jo, and heading back into the storm filled night, leaving Jo to feel the silent wrath of Princess Warner. Despite the lateness of the hour Blair doesn't look as though she's had much sleep, in fact if she hadn't had to change to come downstairs anyone would think she hadn't been to sleep at all tonight. To her credit Blair doesn't erupt, she takes Jo by the hand leading her gingerly into the house. The main expression on her face being one of extreme concern and anxiousness as she takes in the extent of her roommate's injuries. Jo sits while Blair fusses filling up the kitchen sink with hot water along with some unnameable remedy to take the infection out of the many cuts and grazes that Jo knows have formed over her left side. She refuses to think about how bad her injuries most likely are – the flaming hot pains shooting through the left side of her body are a pretty clear indication, as is the blood staining her jeans, but stubbornly she's certain she's had worse. Blair insists on caring for her bloody, swollen lip first. Knowing that there is little she can do for Jo's more serious injuries but needing to do something, anything to make it easier on her best friend before she can even contemplate persuading her to go to hospital. If Buzz hadn't vaguely explained the situation it would appear as if Jo had been in some sort of fight. A very serious fight, one which she never stood a chance of winning but fought valiantly nevertheless.

'I can't believe you were so stupid…' the blonde's voice is a disbelieving whisper with more power than the most furious shouts and Jo flinches a little at the tone.

'I'll be fine in the mornin Blair…'

'You could have been killed…'

'I know…' and it's the truth. The moment her bike skidded she had known she was done for, an image of Blair her only comfort as she careered towards oblivion.

'I was so worried Joey… when you didn't come home I really thought…'

Jo stills Blair's hand with her own and gazes into deep brown eyes, the golden flecks mesmerising in their intensity. How can one woman's eyes be so hypnotic? In this dazed state it is tempting to lean forward and capture precious lips, Jo blinks trying to stop the rush of emotion before it starts, the last thing she can afford to do is indulge in some stupid fantasy even if kissing Blair is never far from her mind these days, knowing that when Blair realises who she was racing tonight the blonde's tender concern will be replaced by a siren's fury is enough to force Jo to show a little decorum. She laughs inwardly at that thought process – a Young Diablo with 'decorum' who'd believe that?

'Jo...'

'I ain't goin ta the hospital Blair…'

'Please…' a whispered plea.

Jo is unable to deny her anything and so she reluctantly agrees. Blair pulls the plug in the sink allowing the water, which has only just started to fill with any depth, to drain. A loud gargling sound reminds Jo absently that she promised Mrs G she'd fix it and she makes a mental note to get on that first thing tomorrow, if she can convince the older woman that she's perfectly capable of dealing with it in her current state that is. The two friends struggle into the sitting room where Blair insists on leaving a note for Mrs Garret 'she'll worry otherwise', Jo doesn't bother pointing out that their friend and caretaker is going to be worried to the point of distraction anyway and instead leans awkwardly against the wooden banister, favouring her right side as much as she can. Within minutes Blair is ready to go and she hooks her arm around her roommate's waist allowing Jo to lean fully against her for support as she leads her out to the garage and into her Porsche.

Somewhere along the way Jo realises that the leather seat she is sitting on is ruined with her blood, the state of the upholstery seems to be the farthest thing from Blair's mind but Jo makes another silent promise that she'll pay for the damage caused. She knows on some level that this is ridiculous. Blair is not going to make her fork out money to pay for the damage when she can't help the state of her injuries but in her mind that makes it all the more important. Apart from anything else it's her own fault that she's in the state she's in and Blair shouldn't have to suffer because of her stupidity. Money may be tight, it'll cost the earth twice over, but she'll do whatever it takes to make sure Blair's pride and joy is back in shape. Even if she has to reupholster the seat on her own. Who knows maybe her uncle Sal can help her track down a decent supplier? The man is surprisingly well connected for a gas station owner based in New Jersey. On second thoughts maybe not so surprisingly…

Blair is unusually quiet and pensive as she drives, Jo notes that she glances in her direction every few moments 'probably checking I'm still conscious' she muses. Through her fuddled brain and increasing nausea Jo finds herself smiling inwardly – this is the longest they have spent alone together since Brock appeared on the scene. Sure it's not under great circumstances and the consequences of tonight's recklessness will no doubt make themselves known by sun up but for now Jo contents herself in the knowledge that she has Blair. It may not be in the way she wants, it will most likely never be in that way, it doesn't mean a thing though. When it comes down to it Blair cares about her, that's enough for now.

Upon arriving at the emergency room Blair is a terrifyingly overwhelming whirlwind of activity. The meek silence that punctuated their journey now becomes a military operation. Doctors, many of whom seem to be on a first name basis with the Warner heiress, appear from nowhere and Jo finds herself thoroughly pulled and prodded before being thrown, as carefully as possible when she's protesting that is, into a wheel chair, ushered through a set of swing doors and into an elevator. Blair follows closely behind barking orders to the medics and offering whispered words of comfort to Jo. It is the most surreal situation that Jo Polniaczek has ever been in. Even more surreal than when she got locked in the bathroom of old Mrs Hansel's apartment, holding a small bucket of fertiliser stolen from the school greenhouse and a bag of marbles, that time she was playing truth or dare with her cousin Paulie… She briefly wonders if this is all some sort of dream and she'll wake up on the couch back at the house listening to Blair talking enthusiastically about her latest date with Mr Bloody Perfect. She realises she's in real trouble when she decides that she'd rather be here than listening to tales of Brock the zillionth.

Several blood tests and an agony of stitches later Jo is under no illusion that she's dreaming. If she were dreaming it would be an altogether more pleasant scenario, after all Blair is with her, and her mind wouldn't be so frazzled. She's had enough concussions in her life to have known from the moment she tried to sit up on the cold, wet tarmac of the Peekskill Bridge that she was suffering from a rather serious one. She didn't want her pride to reveal that fact to anyone at that race; she couldn't give Worthington the satisfaction. It was bad enough that he could see her very visible injuries. In truth more so than any physical injury her pride hurts. She expected Worthington to play fair, she isn't sure why – it was a street race and people rarely played fair when it came to money especially if they had it to begin with – she was an idiot to let her guard down with him. She's been mentally kicking herself all night for allowing her instincts to become so dull recently that she would trust such an ass. He's the kind of guy who hates to lose and if he hadn't knocked her off the track that's what would have happened. She had been so close to the finish…there is no way she's paying him the fifty bucks. Not now. He crossed the line and if he wants the money he can go take a head dive over the bridge in question. The question remains – how is she going to handle it the next time he shows up at the house? She is in no condition to give that a satisfactory answer though.

The bustle of activity finally ends and Jo is left alone. Alone except for Blair who seems reluctant to leave her side. The blonde takes hold of her right hand and begins to massage it in a comforting gesture while brushing a strand of dark hair from her face. If Jo didn't know better she'd be enjoying the touch of her debutante beauty. You take what you can get right? As it stands she can't afford to enjoy it too much, it doesn't mean anything to Blair. She concedes that that isn't fair. It simply doesn't mean the same to Blair as it does to her. Come the harsh light of day Blair will be gone, back into the arms of that loser Worthington and Jo will be left biding her time until her princess storms back in fury having discovered the whole story.

'You have to stay here tonight Jo. Just to be safe, I'll stay with you…'

'You don't havta Princess…'

'I want to…'

Jo finds that for once she doesn't have the strength to argue, instead she allows herself to enjoy the feeling of Blair's hand in hers, so much softer than her own which are rougher and calloused after years of manual work. Perhaps the agony is worth it just to relish such a moment of bliss. It doesn't take long for her to drift off to a pain killer induced sleep, as she does so though Blair keeps a gentle hold of her hand, offering comfort to her closest, most trusted friend.

…

Hours later Jo awakes to find that Blair is gone, replaced by a very anxious Mrs Garrett who looks as though she's considering whether or not to kill her wayward delinquent. For now she settles on pulling her young charge into a relieved hug. Jo knows that the berating will come much later, away from the hospital ward, and that whatever punishment Mrs G cooks up is more than she deserves for letting her down so badly. She doubts that fixing the kitchen sink is going to cover this one. Jo only hopes that the woman she considers a mother doesn't know that she was racing at the time of the 'accident', Blair hadn't said whether she would tell the truth, or the truth as far as she knows it, to their mentor. Then again it's not like talking was a priority last night.

'Oh Jo…What were you thinking riding in that storm?'

Not wanting to lie, Mrs G would only see through it anyway and she feels guilty enough, Jo shrugs rather than put voice to her reasons. The red head is visibly disappointed with this but for now she won't press the matter. That's what Jo is counting on. It will give her much more time to come up with a plausible explanation without resorting to lying. Omitting information isn't as bad, it's a survival trait.

'Where's Blair?' her voice is raspy and weaker than she expects.

'She went home a little while ago…'

Jo can't hide her disappointment that she awakened too late to see Blair but she manages to mask it within seconds, unwilling to answer questions at such an ungodly hour. She assumes it's ungodly, though in actual fact she hasn't a clue of the time of day or how long she has slept. For all she knows it could be Tuesday already. Besides with the medication they gave her last night she just may confess her sins and that would open an entire world of trouble.

'When can I get outta here Mrs G?' Clearer now, more focused.

'As soon as the Doctor gives you the all clear.' Mrs G says reassuringly 'You gave us all quite a scare, especially Blair…she was in tears when I arrived…'

Jo swallows hard at that piece of information, the last thing she wants is to bring any of her friends pain especially Blair. Never Blair. The ever growing guilt she feels makes her want to vomit again but she controls herself coughing instead and wiping an uncooperative tear from her eye. Her emotions are all over the place and it irks her. She hates being so open and vulnerable, even with Mrs G.

'She OK?'

'She will be.'

'Mrs G…I'm sorry…I didn't…'

The compassionate woman before her merely pats her hand in reassurance. She knows that whatever Jo meant to do hurting them isn't it. It's a conversation for another time, one to add to her list of many necessary conversations that have been waiting for an opportune moment. This particular conversation seems more vital than any other but it must wait for a time when Jo has recovered enough to be able to communicate the emotions that are so clear in her emerald eyes. Jo has never been good at hiding her feelings despite her 'tough girl from the Bronx' persona, she often wears her heart on her sleeve and it has gotten her into trouble more than once. Mrs Garrett prides herself on knowing her girls well and she can read each of them like an old and much loved book. Jo will come to her eventually and when she does she'll be ready with unlimited patience, wisdom and her famous strudel just as she always is.

There's nothing further to say for now and so Jo closes her eyes noting with some relief that she neither feels nauseas nor has a headache. Meaning the urge to vomit earlier stemmed solely from her guilty conscience and not any physical symptom. She runs her tongue over her lower lip noting the swelling and tasting a slight hint of the metallic where the fresh injury lies. Absently she wonders if Mrs G has brought her toothbrush. She offers up a silent prayer that she was wearing her helmet last night; there was a time back in the Bronx when she wouldn't have just to psyche out her opponent, dare them to cross her. At least she's more mature than that now, the impact would have been fatal otherwise she's sure of it. Her jealousy almost cost the ultimate price, despite this she finds that she isn't over it. Thinking about Blair with that dirty no good son of a…even in thought she finds herself censoring her language in front of Mrs G. Some day soon she's seriously got to factor in a return to the Bronx or head to Jersey…before she goes completely soft! If only Jesse and the others could see her now!

'Are the others comin later?'

Mrs Garrett is nobody's fool. She understands the real question immediately but she allows her charge to believe that she's missed the subtle undertone.

'Natalie and Tootie were here earlier, I sent them home with Blair. You'll be out of here before the next visiting hour I think though…'

Jo seems satisfied with that answer. Blair may not be coming back to visit but that doesn't mean she won't see her before the day is out. Only to thank her of course, nothing more 'just keep it together Polniaczek.' It's not like she needs to see her, she just wants to make sure the blonde knows she appreciates everything she did for her last night. Knowing her luck though Brock the zillionth will be at the house, angling to take Blair out and what's worse is Blair will go, as soon as she sees that Jo is home it'll be like nothing's happened. The thought leaves a bitter feeling in the pit of her stomach but if that's the case there's not a goddamned thing she can do about it and what's worse is Worthington knows that. If she lets slip what he did then she'll have to come clean about the challenge she issued, the bet…and other things that she really doesn't want to dwell on. No for now if he's there she's going to have to make nice with him until she can get him on his own. Then the gloves come off. When that happens, and it will, God himself will not be able to hold her back.

…

In the early hours of the afternoon Jo is finally given the all clear and allowed home. Mrs Garrett insists on wheeling her out to the car park in the same wheel chair that Blair forced her to use when they first arrived. Jo protests loudly but once again the words fall on deaf ears and she has little choice but to relent much to her chagrin. Thankfully she convinces Mrs G to leave the damn thing in the hospital; the bill is going to be bad enough without her having to pay for that contraption too. Mrs G is a safe, dependable driver and while there are no thrills in the journey somehow Jo is comforted by that. She'll have enough 'excitement' to contend with when they get home she's sure of it.

When she arrives home she is enveloped in a an all-consuming hug by her two younger roommates who have no qualms with interrogating her before she even makes it through the door. She laughs off their questions while promising to fill them in later and reluctantly they stop with their well-planned interrogation. Jo, now able to walk a little better, makes her way over to the couch and throws herself down while Mrs G offers to make everyone coffee leaving her girls in the sitting room alone.

For the first time since she arrived home Jo takes in her surroundings and notes that Blair is nowhere to be seen. The disappointment she feels is more painful than her injuries but she refuses to show it.

'The Princess around?'

'She's upstairs, want me to go get her?' Tootie is energetic and eager to help her older roommate.

'Don't worry about it; if she's busy I don't wanna disturb her…'

Before either of the younger girls is able to respond Blair's voice is heard as she descends the stairs. It is a siren's song to Jo who finds she cannot tear her eyes from her as she descends the staircase with elegance. She looks tired, really tired and Jo feels another wave of guilt settle within her as she realises that the blonde's sleeplessness is all her doing. How much guilt is it possible for one person to feel before they explode or confess? Perhaps that question would be better placed in the direction of a higher power, one that understands the nature of the human condition in all its imperfection…

'How are you feeling Jo?'

'Good, thanks to you Princess…'

Jo blushes a little at the admission. She hates having to rely on others and it's always awkward for her when she has to then thank them. Like when a crazy aunt knits you a scarf that's so bright and garish it'll stop traffic for Christmas but then you have to go over to her house and thank her because she's a sweet old lady and she means well. Some part of her, the part of her heart that still lives in the Bronx hates that she can't always be self-reliant. Since she moved to Peekskill she's found that more than once she's relied on others to help her in a jam. Ever since the first day in fact, it seems to have set a precedent for the rest of her life. One that she hopes she'll be able to break – she doesn't want to go back to being the hardened, deeply distrustful Young Diablo that she once was but she doesn't want to spend her life waiting for others either. It's a balancing act that sometimes she finds hard to negotiate. One day, in the near future, she'll get the balance right.

'I'm glad you're going to be alright.'

'Thanks for stickin with me, even when ya didn't have ta.'

This time it's Blair who blushes, just a little. Jo notices how cute it makes her look and once more is forced to shake herself out of those thoughts. It's getting more and more difficult to not take the stunning woman in her arms and kiss her breathless. The presence of their roommates and the arrival of Mrs Garrett with the coffee put an end to this 'moment' before Jo can throw herself from the couch and do something reckless. She thanks her lucky stars for that. Her luck however runs out when a loud knock on the front door causes everyone to pause as Blair flies eagerly to answer it as usual. Jo's blood turns to fire and ice when none other than Mr Perfect himself is ushered into the sitting room, a wide smile on his face as Blair kisses his cheek in enthusiastic greeting.

'I heard you had an accident Polniaczek, came to check you're alright'

In that moment and with an almost superhuman strength Jo throws herself from her seat, over the back of the couch and across the desk in sudden fury. Her tangible anger is once again blazing; white hot and the others are stunned by her sudden change in demeanour. This confusion is compounded when she squares up to Worthington, ignoring the pain her movement has brought … so much for cool…