After their mission in Bangladesh, Tuck and FDR grew closer...and not because Tuck took a liking to FDR. Due to his macho decision on their previous mission, FDR was on temporary leave to allow his broken leg and bruised body to heal. As expected, FDR did not leave willingly. He genuinely thought he could continue working at full capacity at the agency. It took Collins giving him a good scare that made FDR begrudgingly leave. It was only for three weeks. But for FDR, any time away from the agency was hell. Also, Tuck was a part of why he didn't want to leave. FDR felt that he needed to show him the ropes during his first few weeks at the agency. That was obviously not going to happen. However, luckily for FDR, Tuck would be spending time with him. But it would not be at the agency. Turns out Tuck talked to Collins about taking time off to take care of FDR. Collins disagreed with his decision, but she eventually gave in because she wanted Tuck to became FDR's muse, since FDR was one of the best agents the agency had to offer.

FDR didn't receive a phone call or email about Tuck being his new, temporary caregiver. Rather, FDR awoke to a knock at his door at 9 am. FDR was still drowsy from his pain medication, so he wasn't sure if he was hearing things. He decided to go back to bed. But once again, he heard knocking at the door. He really wasn't in the mood for an uninvited guest, so he decided to ignore the knocks, which eventually turned into loud bangs. FDR became so annoyed that he twisted his way out of bed so as to not irritate his cast-covered leg. The banging on the door continued, so FDR had no time to put on pajamas or a shirt (but he did already have on boxers). FDR slowly limped to the door. The sound of his cast against his hardwood floor must have alerted the person at the door because the knocking suddenly stopped. FDR slowly reached his front door but crept quietly to the peephole. He couldn't see anyone. A dark figure in a dark coat suddenly stepped into his view through the peephole. Instinctively, FDR reached to the small table next to the door—without averting his eyes from the peephole—to find his gun. As quickly as he reached for the gun, it was suddenly pointed at the door. But, for precaution, FDR moved to the edge of the door, his right shoulder pressed up against his wall.

"Who is it?" FDR asked in a deep voice.

"It's me," Tuck replied.

FDR didn't even have to ask 'whose me?' He could tell from Tuck's smooth accent whom was at the door. But FDR still felt uneasy about this odd visit.

"What do you want?" FDR asked through the door.

"I need to talk to you," said Tuck, who was starting to feel embarrassed because he looked like a lunatic shouting at a closed door. "May I please come in? Your neighbors are starting to think I'm a weirdo who sneaked onto their floor."

Even if FDR didn't want to let Tuck into his apartment, he couldn't resist that English accent. That accent could stop wars. Hell, it could even start wars—just like Helen of Troy.

"Alright, hang on" FDR said quickly as he put away his gun.

Tuck looked up and down the hallway to make sure FDR's neighbors were no longer alarmed by the stranger in their hallway. Hearing the sound of the door unlock, Tuck looked forward and fixed his jacket. The door opened and revealed a half-naked FDR in a cast. Naturally Tuck looked FDR up and down.

How often does he work out, Tuck asked? He doesn't just have a six-pack, he has an eight-pack.

Tuck quickly snapped out of his quiet admiration for FDR's physique and slowly walked in with his eyes peering left to right so he could take in the full aesthetics of FDR's apartment.

"How did know where I live?" FDR asked as soon as he closed the door.

"Um, well, I had to look you up in the system at the agency," Tuck said with slight embarrassment. "I should have got your number instead, but I wasn't sure if you would answer because of the side-effects of the pain medication you received. Those are pretty powerful pills. I'm not surprised, though, you are pretty bruised up."

"I would have preferred a call. It is a bit creepy that you are here. Also, it seems you read up on my medical records."

"Yeah, this is a bit awkward."

"Well, since you're already here, would you like something to drink? Want water? A soda?"

"I'll take a beer if you have one."

FDR walked slowly to his kitchen, that was only a few feet from the front door. Sensing FDR was in some type of discomfort, Tuck volunteered to get his own drink. At first FDR was going to resist, but he realized that he was still only wearing boxers.

"Yeah, go ahead and help yourself," said FDR as he strolled around the corner toward his bedroom. "Make sure to get me one! I'll be out soon."

Tuck opened the fridge, pulled out two cold beers and popped them open using his bare hands. He then walked from the kitchen towards the living room, which lied a few feet from the kitchen.

Sitting on the couch, Tuck shouted out to FDR, "Your beer is waiting for you on the coffee table. Mind if I turn on the TV?"

"Sure, make yourself at home," FDR shouted from his room. "Hey, make sure my beer is on a coaster. I can barely move, so don't expect me to clean up your messes."

FDR let out a small giggle.

"Yes, it is on a coaster, Mister Clean Freak."

Tuck began flipping through the channels and noticed there was a Chips marathon. At that moment, FDR walked around the corner and headed toward the couch.

"No way! A Chips marathon?" exclaimed FDR.

"You're a fan?" asked Tuck.

"Hell yeah. I used to watch this show with my dad. This show actually got me interested in wanting to be a kick-ass law enforcer. On the count of three, name your favorite character. 1-2-3!"

"Frank!"

"Frank!"

"Cool," FDR said nonchalantly. "I think it was his hair that I admired the most."

Tuck giggled.

"I can definitely see that. You have a nice set of hair."

Tuck reached out toward FDR's head with the intention of messing up the perfectly molded hairstyle. But in a flash, FDR grabbed Tuck's wrist.

"Don't mess with the 'do," FDR said sternly.

Tuck's eyes widened, not sure if FDR was serious. But FDR cracked a smile and let go of Tuck's wrist.

"Hey, I didn't ask you, but why are you here?" inquired FDR.

Tuck hadn't placed his beer down since FDR entered the room. Now he was taking a huge swig of it before he answered FDR's question. Tuck couldn't even look into FDR's eyes.

"Um..about that. This is probably going to sound cheesy, which is probably why I preferred to tell you in person so you would know that I am sincere. I felt bad that you were on temporary leave."

Before Tuck could continue, FDR interjected, "Felt bad? Why? It's not like you did this to me."

FDR pointed to his cast. Tuck looked at the cast.

"I know it's not my fault, but I feel partially responsible."

Tuck still couldn't look FDR in his eyes, so he continued to stare at the TV.

"Back in Bangladesh, you told me you were showing off," Tuck said in a serious tone. "I don't know how to say this, but I feel like your injuries are my fault."

FDR tilted his head sideways to show confusion. Tuck could feel FDR's eyes on his cheek.

"Well, I know it's not like I pushed you off that waterfall, but maybe if I wasn't there, you wouldn't have acted so foolish."

Tuck finally looked at FDR. One side of FDR's mouth extended into a smile.

"I never took you as the sentimental type," said FDR as he reached for Tuck's shoulder.

"Having a child changes you," stated Tuck with a giggle.

"Where do we go from here?"

Tuck raised one of his eyebrows to show his confusion by FDR's question.

"In other words, do I lean in for a kiss, or 50/50 from each person?" FDR said jokingly.

Tuck rolled his eyes and pushed his FDR back by his shoulder.

"Can you take anything serious?" asked Tuck.

Secretly, though, Tuck was glad FDR broke the awkward silence.

"Do you want to continue watching the Chips marathon, or do you want to do something else?" asked FDR.

"I don't mind. We can do whatever."

"I'm actually hungry," said FDR as he tried to push himself up from the couch. "There's a new restaurant around the corner. I do hope you like tacos."

"Sure. That sounds great."

"First, I need to shower."

"Is that what that smell is?"

FDR picked up a pillow from the couch and threw it at Tuck.

"Shut up, you mother Tuck-er."

Tuck giggled.

"I've never heard my name used like that," Tuck said sarcastically.

FDR began walking to his bedroom. Tuck remained on the couch.

"Were you serious about helping me out?" FDR shouted.

"Uh...yeah!" Tuck responded with uneasiness in his voice because he knew a request was on its way.

"If I'm going to shower, I need to wrap my cast and stitches in plastic wrap."

"Um, yeah, sure."

Tuck knew what he was in for when he talked to Collins, so he couldn't be mad at the strange request.

"I'm assuming you have the plastic wrap in your room," Tuck said as he headed toward FDR's bedroom.

"No, you pervert," replied FDR with a giggle. "It should be in the kitchen. Top drawer to the left of the kitchen."

"I wasn't suggesting anything perverted! I just thought you would have taken a shower since your injury."

"Oh, my bad."

By the time Tuck arrived in the bedroom with the plastic wrap, FDR was already undressing in the restroom. The restroom door was almost closed, but it was opened enough for Tuck to notice FDR pulling off his boxers from around his cast.

"Are you sure you need my help with this?" asked Tuck.

"You don't have to, but you have already seen my goods," retorted FDR. "Also, it's the least you could do for pushing me off that waterfall."

"Hey!"

"I'm just kidding. So are we doing this or what?"

"Yeah," Tuck said with a sigh. "I'm coming in."

Tuck swung the door open. Standing before him was a completely nude FDR. Tuck averted his eyes toward the shower, which was behind FDR. In his peripheral vision, Tuck noticed that Tuck's bronze skin was even throughout his body, which suggested that FDR sunbathed or got spray tans while naked. Tuck could never be in FDR's shoes. Or in this situation, his cast. FDR definitely had a certain confidence about himself that Tuck rarely came across.

"Where do I start?" asked Tuck.

"Start around my foot," replied FDR. "Wrap enough so that it is sealed."

Tuck kneeled down before FDR, whom noticed that Tuck seemed a bit uneasy so he made sure to cover his groin. FDR could have sworn that he heard Tuck say thanks. Or maybe that is what he expected Tuck to say.

Tuck finally wrapped the cast.

"Here comes the tricky part," Tuck stated as he pointed to the stitches and bruises up and down FDR's thigh. "I have to be gentle here. I can't be rough like I was with your cast."

FDR smirked. I guess you could say "rough" was one of many of his trigger word.

"I can suck it up. Do what you got to do," FDR said proudly.

Tuck started wrapping around FDR's knee. The plastic-wrap roll made its way around FDR's thigh, around and around. Eventually Tuck reached FDR's upper thigh. Tuck signaled FDR to turn around so he could see if all his thigh was probably covered. The only part that was uncovered was the crevice between his upper thigh and butt cheek.

"I just have one more wrap to do," Tuck said.

Tuck had never been this close to another man's ass before. But he had to admit, it was not bad looking. He could tell that FDR did squats based on the definition of his legs and ass. Tuck had already come this far, so what harm was there in making sure he did the job properly. Tuck reached out to FDR's butt cheek, raised it up and swooped the plastic wrap around it. On the way through FDR's legs, Tuck had to pass his groin before finally cutting and taping the end of the plastic wrap.

"That ought to do it," said Tuck. "This might be my best work."

Tuck smiled and stood up. FDR returned the smile.

"Alright, time for me to shower," stated FDR as he reached for the shower faucet.

"Sure," Tuck said simply.

Tuck turned around and began walking out the door. Good thing he didn't look back because he would have seen FDR grinning and eying him up and down like a hawk. FDR could definitely get used to having someone take care of him.