A/N: Thank you for your reviews! I appreciate every and each one of them even if I don't always answer to every one.


Something had awakened him but Jack couldn't say exactly what. Nightmare? It couldn't be because while he had been having a bad dream it had not yet reached its apex, that is the moment he saw his friends dying in a puddle of their own blood; he wasn't even trembling or gasping…The ring of the phone, dulled by the closed door, reached his ears. Mystery solved. Someone was calling Bobby on the phone. Jack let himself relax on the bed and closed his eyes, ready to go back to sleep the moment that obnoxious noise stopped. After three more rings it stopped. Jack took a deep breath and released it in an annoyed rush when the phone resumed to ring.

"Where the heck is Bobby!" Jack asked to the dark room after five more rings.

A sense of uneasiness started to envelope him, making him squirm on the bed. The phone stopped ringing and Jack held his breath to try and hear the mumbled words of the Australian. Nothing. A moment later his own cell went off in the other room, startling him. Why had he left it there? Still no movement on the other side of his door.

Images of his nightmares flashed before his eyes. Bobby in a puddle of blood, dying, with a man pointing his still fuming gun at his chest. Jack shook his head, trying to get rid of that image. Capono had been arrested, he wasn't a threat anymore. Jack was safe, his friends were safe. There were still a lot of other people, though, who had a bone to pick with Jack and could have chosen this moment, when he was at his most vulnerable, to attack, to kill Bobby so that no one could stay between them and their target. Or the Australian could have just fallen and hit his head, bleeding slowly, unable to call for help. Both his and Bobby's phones were now ringing. With a frustrated grunt Jack pushed away the blankets covering him and started the slow, tiresome process of getting himself on the edge of the bed to grab the wheelchair and sit on it. The wheelchair was too far, though, and he couldn't even touch it with the tips of his fingers. Jack cursed his condition and his inability to help his friend. Just like in the nightmares… That thought spurred him on and with a push he let himself fall down the bed, one of his arms drawn to his head to protect it from the unforgiving floor. He hard the thud and felt the jar throughout his body, at least where he could feel something. He winced but didn't let himself rest, his only thought that of helping Bobby. He started crawling towards the wheelchair. The distance to cover was very small but to Jack it felt like it stretched more and more with every passing second, worry and fatigue warring inside him, pushing him forward while urging him to rest. When he reached the wheelchair he put the brakes on and somehow pushed himself on it with quivering muscles. Once on the chair he positioned his feet on the footrests, wiped the sweat from his face and took a big, deep breath to brace himself for whatever he would find on the other side of the door. He couldn't hear the phones ringing anymore but he was pretty sure that it was because the sounds of his laboured breaths and of his hammering heart where drowning everything else. He took the revolver from his usual place, the drawer of his bedside table, and put it on his lap, then he wheeled himself toward the door. He was manoeuvring himself to reach for the door handle when the door clicked open and light from his living room started inching its way in the semi-darkness of his room. He bit back a gasp and grabbed the gun with a sweat-slicked and slightly trembling hand. He raised his arm and clicked off the safety. He pulled the cock back letting the tell-tale sound do the talking while he took a deep breath. The door stopped inching open.

"Stay back or I'll shoot you." Jack ordered, glad that at least his voice sounded firm, that he sounded in control.

A moment of silence followed.

"Sparky? It's me, mate. Don't shoot." The familiar voice of the Australian pleaded in a surprised, hesitant tone. "Can I come in?"

Jack cursed again but released the cock and put the safety back on. The Australian took the silence for permission to enter and opened completely the door, switching the light on at the same time. When Jack managed to blink away the shock to his retinas he fixed his glare on Bobby. The fear he had felt and the following relief were suddenly replaced by humiliation. He couldn't believe he had panicked over a ringing phone and he couldn't accept that Bobby was witnessing this lack of control. An all-consuming rage kicked out all other feelings and he directed it straight to the man before him, ultimately the one responsible for this latest humiliation.

"Your phone rang for the last ten minutes!" Jack barked. "Where the heck were you?" He asked in angry snarl.

He saw Bobby glance down at himself, at his bare wet torso and towel-clad waist, then at the floor where a little clear puddle was rapidly growing. At last the Australian's gaze rested on his best friend with an exasperated expression.

"What do you think? I was playing golf!" The tall man snapped.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" Jack pressed.

"I. Was. Taking. A. Shower!" Bobby yelled. "I didn't hear the phone." He added a little more calmly.

"You shouldn't have done it." Jack accused.

"What? Take a shower?" The Australian asked in a slightly strident voice, disbelief clear on his face. "What has gotten into you, mate?" He queried, bewildered.

"You didn't hear the phone which means you couldn't hear me if something happened to me! And if something had happened to you? I was sleeping, for pity's sake! You could have slipped and hit your head and I'd have been none the wiser until too late! How could you be so irresponsible?"

"Is that why you have your gun? Because you were worried for me?" The Australian asked, his tone softer now.

"I was worried for me! If you didn't notice I'm pretty much useless! It took me almost ten minutes to get from the bed to the door!" Jack raged.

"How did you get on the wheelchair?" Bobby asked. Jack suspected that the Australian had placed it there because he hadn't wanted Jack to try and do things on his own, not yet at least.

"I crawled." Jack growled. "Now, get out of here."

"Ok. I'll go dress and then…"

"Then you'll go out of this house. And do not come back."

"Sparky… What are you saying?" If Bobby had tried to keep the hurt from his voice he had failed.

"I'm saying that I don't want you here in this house a minute longer. I'm better off by myself." Jack tried to manoeuvre the wheelchair around the tall man but a big hand on his shoulder prevented him to so much as move an inch.

"You don't mean it." Bobby said. His voice lacked conviction, though.

Jack shrugged off the heavy hand with an angry gesture and fixed the Australian with a cold glare.

"I do mean it. And I do mean every single word I'm going to say. I don't want to see you anymore. I can't stand to watch you going on with your life anymore. I'm in this chair because of you and you keep coming here, mocking me with your presence, with your health, with your wholeness. I won't stand it anymore. You go for your merry way, go live your life somewhere else, somewhere as far away from me as it is possible while still living in this world. You owe me at least this. "

With an abrupt push Jack exited the room, forcing himself to ignore the image of the shattered expression on his best friend's face, his damp eyes, his own stinging eyes.

Jack didn't hear a sound coming from his bedroom for at least a couple of minutes. Then, less than ten minutes later Bobby was out of Jack's house. He didn't return.


A/N2: At least I gave you a half-naked, wet Australian…