Part 21
A nurse stood in Buck's doorway, barring the way. "You can't come in here right now. Please go to the waiting room," she said firmly. "Someone will be out to speak to you momentarily."
"Like hell," Chris snapped. He started forward but Ezra grabbed his arm. "Chris..."
Chris kept moving, and the nurse-apparently realizing she would move or she would be moved, stepped out of his way. Chris went in and Ezra followed.
The tiny room was crammed with people. Vin stood against the wall, his eyes glued to the bed.
It didn't take a medical degree to see the monitors were going wild.
Buck was fighting the staff. As Chris stepped closer, he saw his friend's hand come up and close on the respirator tube. Culver grabbed the hand. "Nurse, get some restraints!"
"NO!" Chris exploded.
"Agent Larabee," Culver started in a tone that suggested his patience was about exhausted.
"You don't tie him down," Chris insisted. He pushed between two nurses who were barring his access to his friend and cradled Buck's face in his hands. "Buck. Buck, listen to me. You need to calm down."
Buck's anguished blue eyes fixed on his. The plea for help was clear. His free hand started toward the tube and Chris barely caught him before he grabbed it. IV lines tangled with monitor wires in a hopeless snarl.
"Buck, the tube has to stay in. Just relax and let it help you breathe-"
Buck's eyes flickered wildly. Pulling Chris' hand with his, he touched the respirator tube, then looked at Chris.
Another nurse had come into the room. This one had a syringe clutched in her hand which she handed to Culver. He reached for the IV line.
Buck's eyes followed him, then looked back at Chris desperately.
"Hold up a second," Chris said.
"He has got to calm down!" Culver sounded as pissed as Chris did.
"Wait!" Chris leaned over Buck. "Buck, if you don't calm down they're going to give you sedation. You won't be able to talk to me. That's what's wrong, isn't it? You've got something you have to tell me?"
Relief sparkled in Buck's exhausted eyes, smoothed the anxious lines on his face. He leaned back into the pillow, nodding slightly. Then his eyes flickered over all the faces surrounding him and he tensed up again. Chris turned, but before he could order everyone to move back Culver did it for him. Chris tossed the doctor a grateful look and turned back to Buck, wrapping the injured man's hands in both of his own. "Big Dog, they can't take the tube out yet. What do you need to say? Is there something you need me to do?"
Buck shook his head, wincing as the tube irritated his throat. His intent eyes never left Chris' face, as if he could communicate by sheer will power alone.
Chris wanted to scream with frustration, but he very carefully kept any sign of what he was feeling from his face.
"I have an idea." Ezra spoke up. He slipped out of the room and quickly came back with a couple of pieces of paper. Pulling a pen out of his pocket, he scribbled quickly for several seconds, then held the paper in front of Buck. "Buck, can you see this?"
He'd written the alphabet in neat lines. Buck's eyes left Chris to focus on the paper. Understanding lit his eyes and he feebly tried to pull his hand from Chris' grasp.
Chris shot a look at the surgeon, half-expecting the man would try to stop what was going on. Culver just shook his head and waved a hand. "Apparently he's not going to relax until he tells you what's on his mind."
Buck lifted his hand with an effort and touched the paper. "B?" Ezra asked. Buck nodded faintly. His whole body was tense with the effort he was expending. He hit the paper again. Ezra frowned. "P?...no, O?"
Vin moved closer to the foot of the bed. Chris stepped forward so he could rest his hand on Buck's shoulder. He could feel the sweat breaking out on his friend's body; felt how he was trembling. The cardiac monitor continued to beep wildly until someone reached over to silence it.
Ezra's attention was all on Buck as the patient struggled to move his hand for the third time. "L?" Ezra finally said, his voice questioning. Buck barely nodded.
"B-O-L," murmured Vin. Buck looked at him, then back at the paper. His arm was trembling so violently he couldn't seem to control the movement. He flicked a desperate glance at Chris.
Somehow knowing what was needed, Chris slipped his hand down to clasp Buck's hand in his own. "Okay, Pard," he coached gently. "I'm going to hold on to you."
With Chris stabilizing his hand, Buck moved his fingers forward again. "M," Ezra said.
"B-O-L-M?" Vin questioned. He frowned. "Bag balm" was the first thing he could think of but he somehow couldn't manage Buck getting so agitated about that stuff. "Bomb, ya think? Ya tryin' to tell us there was a bomb, Buck?"
Chris hadn't taken his eyes from Buck's face. "No," he said. "We've got something wrong."
Ezra held up his hand. "Buck, was the last letter 'M'?"
It was obvious Buck's scant store of strength was rapidly being exhausted. His eyes flickered and closed. With an obvious effort he opened them again. He managed to move his head slightly.
"Not 'M'," Vin stated. He frowned.
"Buck..." Chris started, worrying how this was going to affect the injured man. He was very aware of Culver behind him with the syringe.
Buck seemed to summon up his energy. His face taut with the effort, obviously trying not to fight the breathing apparatus, he pushed his and Chris' joined hands one more time.
"O," Chris said quietly.
"O?" Ezra repeated.
Buck's eyes lit up. The tension suddenly drained from his body and limply fell back into the pillows. His eyes closed.
"Buck!" Chris yelled, panicking.
"No, it's all right." Culver held up his hand, his eyes studying the monitor. The cardiac rhythm was slowing down. "I think he just wore himself out. He's asleep."
Chris sighed, suddenly feeling as limp as spaghetti. His free hand tightened around the bed rail. For a second the room swam around him.
"Bolo Orlowski!" Vin almost shouted. "Son of a bitch!"
"So who-or what-is Bolo Orlowski?" Ezra said, his voice irritated. He looked around the waiting room. "Dear Lord, what taste-impaired cretin decorated this hospital?" he muttered, half to himself.
Vin, suddenly energized, paced across the room. "Bomber, Ezra...one of the best in the business. Maybe the best...suspected in over a hundred attacks in the last twenty years...only brought to trial once. An' that case was declared a mistrial halfway through."
"My God, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said testily. "Do you peruse Most Wanted posters in your free time? Let a miscreant come within a hundred miles of Denver and Vin Tanner knows his entire criminal history!" He wiped his sweating forehead with the back of his hand, then snatched his travel mug off the floor and stalked out of the waiting room.
Vin ignored the southerner's sudden bad temper. He sat down next to Chris. "What I can't figure-why would Buck think Bolo was involved here?"
Chris had been slumped on one of the shapeless sofas, staring up at the ceiling. "Buck was on the bomb squad here in Denver for a while," he said quietly.
Vin stared at him as Ezra came back in carrying his mug full of water. "I didn't know about that. He don't talk about it." Wilmington was the team demolitions expert but he'd never mentioned how his knowledge had come about.
"I was under the impression you and Mr. Wilmington were partners throughout your tenure with the Denver constabulary," Ezra commented, taking a drink from his mug.
"We were. I left to join the ATF a year before he did." He saw both of the others looking at him and realized they'd never heard this part of the story before. "We both knew Travis from him being a judge in Denver. He'd just been tapped to take over the AD position and they already had an idea for the special teams. It was after-" he hesitated. "Anyway I needed a change. Buck and I-" he stopped again, then shrugged. "Buck had done a lot of demolition when we were in the SEALs. Captain Natoli-Cap'n Nate, Buck called himâknew about that. He never let up on him to join the squad. I think he knew he was going to be retiring soon and wanted Buck to take over." Chris shrugged again. "So Buck transferred out of Major Crimes. Stayed on the bomb squad until Travis finally got the okay from the big boys in Washington for me to form Team Seven."
Vin and Ezra both nodded. They knew Wilmington had been the first person Chris recruited.
Chris closed his eyes. "I need coffee."
"You need sleep, Cowboy," Vin responded. "Or at least somethin' to eat. Come'n, let's go down to the cafeteria. I'll call Montgomery and have him pass on about Bolo to Team Three." He stood up. "You comin', Ez?"
Ezra shook his head. "I'm not hungry. I'll keep Mr. Wilmington company until your return.
"You sure?" Vin asked, suddenly concerned. As far as he knew, Ezra hadn't eaten anything since discharging himself from the hospital. He studied the Southerner. 'He's kinda flushed.' "You feelin' okay, Ez?"
Ezra's eyes flashed. He opened his mouth, then seemed to catch himself. After a moment, he said, "I'm fine, Mr. Tanner. I just haven't yet been able to rid my system of the aftereffects of those cursed drugs they injected me with at the hospital."
Chris stood up with an effort. "If Buck wakes up again... or if anything happens-"
"I will come retrieve you immediately," Ezra said.
Before anyone could move, though, Vin's cell phone rang. He yanked it out of his pocket. "Tanner."
It was Nathan, calling to tell him JD had managed to get a seat on the flight just leaving Dallas for Denver. Nathan himself was still stuck in Dallas but someone needed to pick up JD at the airport.
Chris and Vin went to the hospital cafeteria for a quick bite to eat, then Ezra and Vin both left in Ezra's Jag to pick up Buck's pickup. The keys had been with his belongings at the hospital. Vin would then go on to the airport.
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Chris returned to the ICU to find Buck still sleeping.
Chris sank back down in the chair. He yawned and rubbed his eyes tiredly. God he was exhausted! It seemed like this ordeal had been going on for weeks instead of just a couple of days. He knew he was going to have to get some sleep soon but between being afraid to leave Buck for more than a few minutes and the nightmares he'd been having every time he closed his eyes, sleep was in rare supply.
He looked over at Buck's face, pleased to see his friend seemed to be resting more peacefully and wasn't fighting the respirator. Then he leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. Being here-in this hospital-with his oldest friend so near death had brought memories of the dark past dangerously close.
He was painfully aware he'd lied to Vin and Ezra. Well, not lied exactly - but he hadn't told them the whole truth, either. The truth was Buck had taken the transfer to the bomb squad before Chris had decided to leave the police department. Chris could still remember the sickening lurch in his stomach the morning Buck had told him. He'd turned on Buck with the ready anger that sent the hurtful words to his tongue. By that time Buck had heard them all many times before. He just regarded Chris quietly with those dark blue eyes that held nothing but love and loyalty, no matter what Chris did or said. But this time there had been something else in those eyes, something Chris didn't recognize. Was afraid to recognize, knowing deep inside he was the one that had put it there.
He and Buck never spoke about those dark months after Sarah and Adam's deaths. Chris had been on leave for six months. Technically Buck had been working their caseload during that time, but Buck's real assignment-with the blessing of his superiors-was to keep his best friend from completely destroying himself. To be the one person who stood between a maddened, enraged, frequently drunk, Chris Larabee and the rest of the world. When Chris had stopped trying to find his solace in the bottom of a whiskey bottle every night, he'd turned with blind rage to trying to find who was responsible for the murders. Buck was there-right there-beside him, behind him, in front of him-wherever he needed to be, helping Chris track down every lead, no matter how slight.
But really there were no leads-none that panned out-anyway. The murders of Sarah Larabee and Adam Larabee were still unsolved. Unsolved murders are never "closed," but they do eventually have to be considered "cold." Chris knew that, knew that the case was kept on the "active" list for months longer than it would normally have been, just because of who the victims were. But eventually time and resources could no longer be devoted to it.
The day his captain had to reluctantly tell him the case was being classified as "cold," Chris had embarked on a drunken rampage unlike any he'd done since the very early days after the funerals. To this day he wasn't sure exactly where he'd gone or what he'd done-or how he'd managed to stay out of jail or the morgue, although he assumed he had Buck to thank for that. His next clear memory had been nine days later, waking up in the spare room of Buck's apartment. His stomach felt like someone had taken steel wool to it, his head throbbed and his mouth tasted like a whole herd of cows had died in it. Chris had rolled out of bed, thinking seriously about heading for the nearest bar or bottle-and had stopped dead when he saw the picture on the bedside table. His wife regarded him steadily from inside the marbled jade frame. Somehow it seemed like her eyes could see right though him-and Chris was afraid-and ashamed-of what she would be seeing. Instead of heading for another drink, he headed for a cold shower and the coffee Buck had waiting.
Chris Larabee would have dark days and weeks again, but never again would he so completely surrender to his demons as he had during those nine days. He'd turned a corner on the road to healing that morning-standing in his boxers with the filth of days and nights on his unshaven face, looking at his wife's picture.
Five days later Buck had told him about the transfer. Chris punched him. It wasn't the first time, and-unfortunately-it wouldn't the last.
Three weeks after that Chris had taken Orrin Travis up on his offer.
Chris had never apologized to Buck for everything he'd put him through during those times. He knew-hell, better than anyone-that the only reason he was still alive, much less sane-was because of Buck Wilmington. They didn't discuss it. It wasn't Chris' way. It wasn't Buck's way. Deeds spoke much louder than words to men like them. The friendship that had started years ago-that had blossomed through years of watching each other's backs in the SEALs and on the streets of Denver; that had been tested through the depths of Hell-still endured. Changed some, as they were no longer two standing alone together, but now standing with five others. Buck had ceded his place at Chris' right hand to Vin. He'd done it with an unselfishness and a love that Chris could only marvel at. Buck himself had a little brother and a best friend in young JD Dunne.
But now, sitting next to his friend-only able to wait and pray that he would live-Chris felt he had to say the words. "Don't leave, Buck," he murmured, feeling tears choking his throat and spilling down his cheeks. "Please don't leave. I'm not ready for you to go. Hell, Buck, I'm never going to be ready for you to go. And I don't think you're ready to go, either. You've got JD to worry about, remember? Hope you don't think you can leave me alone to finish raising' that kid!" He paused, searching the still face for some sign he was being heard. "Y'know Buck-there were a lot of times I told you to get out-before. You never left then no matter what I did. And you know-I never really wanted you to, not really, not inside where it counted.
"So don't think you're going to leave now."
There was a slight change in plans when they got to Ezra's. Watching Vin wince as his abused muscles had stiffened even during the drive from the hospital, Ezra suggested Vin take the Jag to the airport while he himself drove Buck's battered old truck to the hospital.
Vin stared at him. "You're going to let me drive your car?"
"You've driven it before," Ezra pointed out.
"Not when you've been around to stop me," Vin volleyed back.
Ezra sighed. "I am willing to trust your driving skills under these circumstances." He tossed Vin the key, then gave him a little grin. "You could let Mr. Dunne drive back from the airport."
Vin had to laugh. For some reason, JD was the only one of the team Ezra really trusted to drive his car. Vin would never admit it-he was stubbornly loyal to his ancient Jeep even if more and more he rode his motorcycle-but he did love to drive the Jag. It drove like silk.
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Ezra made a point of turning away when Vin pulled out into the street-half afraid Tanner would run the stop sign just to spite him-and then glanced over at Buck's pickup. Instead of getting in, though, he waved at the police officer on guard duty and headed up the walkway to his apartment.
It felt overly warm inside and he shoved the thermostat down as he walked past on his way to the kitchen. Usually he found springtime in Denver to be unbearably chilly, but today he'd been warm in the hospital, hot in the car driving home and now he was sweating. He peeled off his jacket and uncharacteristically left it on the arm of a chair. Then he went to the sink and turned on the cold water, scooping handfuls of it over his hair and sweaty face before dampening a towel to hold to the back of his neck.
The burning in his throat hadn't lessened as the day went on. Ezra opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. It was less than a third full and he gulped it down then looked for more. That, however, appeared to be the last bottle.
'Oh well, I've got the filtered water.' Two months before Ezra had purchased a "water purifier" for the kitchen tap. The salesman had sworn it would pay for itself in a week by eliminating the need to buy bottled water, but Ezra still did. He liked the filtered water for making tea and other beverages though. It was better than tasting the minerals and chemicals in the city water supply even if it didn't compare to his favorite brand of bottled water. The other guys had made fun of the purchase and Vin especially took a point to flip the cartridge "off" when he got water from Ezra's sink.
Ezra filled the bottle and then, carrying it with him, went to his bedroom to see if he could find something cooler to wear. They kept that hospital so overheated...must be what was causing his headache. He'd take some ibuprofen before he left to go back to the hospital.