Disclaimer: I don't own these wonderful characters. I'm borrowing them because we could all use a little diversion right now.
The adrenaline rush that had carried him through the past twenty-four hours had dissipated. Physical exhaustion was making it increasingly difficult for him to continue moving at his customary brisk pace. He should have gone home to grab a good night's rest-he'd been told that in no uncertain terms before he'd left the Agency-but he knew that he wouldn't be able to fall asleep until he'd made one stop along the way.
His pace diminished markedly as he reached his destination. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and passed from the brightly lit hallway into the largely darkened hospital room. Three long strides brought him to the side of the lone bed and he looked down at the too still patient that it contained. Silently pulling a chair away from where it could be seen from the hallway, he collapsed into it. He briefly covered his face with his hands and then returned his gaze to the bed.
I should've been keeping closer track of what you were doing. You've had an alarming tendency to rush headlong into dangerous situations with no regard for your own safety for as long as I've known you.
Was it possible to protect someone who was so hell-bent on taking crazy chances? He roughly swiped his large hand across his brow and sighed as he pondered his own question.
Do you have any idea how much I care about you? Probably not. How could you when I go out of my way to keep up a professional distance from you. I acknowledge that we've become friends but I never let it go beyond that. I don't know how you'd react if I did let you know how much-
His internal monologue was abruptly interrupted by a low moan coming from the bed. He stood up, placed his brown hand on the bed railing, and leaned over his favorite agent.
"Lee. Lee, can you hear me," the section chief questioned anxiously.
"Uhhh, Billy?"
"Yes, it's me," he replied in a more gravelly voice than normal.
Lee slowly opened his eyes partway and squinted at his boss and friend. He looked him over critically and then tried to assess his own condition.
"You look like hell, Billy," he rasped. "What's wrong? Am I dying?"
The older man released his death-grip on the bed railing and replied, "No, Son, you aren't dying."
"Good."
He drifted back to sleep as soon as the word left his mouth. An immensely relieved Billy pulled the blanket up to his friend's shoulders and smiled. Maybe someday he'd be more open about his feelings for the reckless Scarecrow but for now the moment had passed.
Author's Note:
This story was prompted by the mention of a FB challenge to write a story from Billy's point of view.