See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and notes.

Okay, so it was a really bad joke. Their stricken faces as he walked away drove that point home well. Deaq wanted forgiveness, and Billie, who the hell knew... control, probably. The fact that his life or death was beyond her control was probably driving her insane. He'd walked out with a bad joke and without giving either of them what they'd wanted. Was he a bad person for that? He might find out soon enough. One-eighth of his life, he thought as he looked back down at his watch. He could not believe that he had just agreed to a prison break. But he had. If he wanted to live, he had no choice.

Right now, though, he had to try to make sure that if indeed he didn't live, one person would not be left with just bad memories of him. He had felt better. He hadn't been lying. Now, though, the headache was creeping back up on him as he drove to the hotel. He would tell Hillary—what would he tell Hillary? That he was sorry, of course, but what else? There was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her the truth. He couldn't.

For a moment, his temper flared. Why the hell did it matter what she thought of him? It shouldn't. Who was she anyway? Just another girl that even if he had convinced her that he was worth her time, would eventually leave him. Why? Because he wasn't worth her time, or because he couldn't tell her the truth, or because, because, because, and forever into infinity. He'd lost count of all the reasons why his relationships didn't work out. What it all came down to was that he was somehow lacking in key areas. He couldn't offer honesty because of the job, or was that just an excuse? He couldn't offer commitment for the same reason, another excuse? Oh, for god's sake, he would drive himself mad before the poison killed him with this shit. The fact was he suffered from poor judgment. In a room full of Ms. Rights he'd pick the one Ms. Wrong amongst them every time. But Hillary felt different. Didn't they all, whispered the annoying pessimistic streak he had developed of late.

"Feel sorry for yourself much, Van." He let the valet park the car and went in search of Hillary. He still had no idea what he would say to her; he only knew he had to say something. He'd figure out the rest when he saw her. Which meant he'd probably ramble and not make very much sense. Oh well, that was the story of his life.

She wasn't at the front desk, but the man there said that she had gone out to check with someone at the pool cabana. Van thanked him and weaved through the lobby to the doors of the pool deck. He hesitated for a moment at the doors, just watching her speak with whoever had captured her attention. As the stranger walked away, Van took a deep breath to drum up his courage and stepped outside. She had her back turned to him, and he tapped her shoulder lightly then stepped away as quickly as he could. He didn't want to be too close; it would probably scare her. He tried to look harmless and contrite as she faced him.

The resulting conversation was not what he'd wanted it to be, but was probably as good as it was going to get. When she'd asked him if he was checking out, he felt as if his throat was going to close up on him, not allowing him to answer. He did manage to speak, however, obscure as the answer was. He couldn't tell her he was dying. He wanted understanding, not pity, after all.

As he retrieved his car and headed back to the Candy Store, he attempted to mentally prepare himself to pull off the prison break. Again, he thought of Dre. There were times that he missed the guidance and wisdom of his older partner, and never more than now. Right now, he just didn't feel very steady, and the feeling was not all physical. His mind was in turmoil. Anyone's would be, he supposed, if that someone knew he was going to die in a few hours with his only hope for salvation being in the hands of criminals. But that wasn't all of it. Sadly, he realized that if Dre were beside him in this, things would be different. Truthfully, though, if this whole mess had even happened just a few weeks ago, he would not be wishing for Dre. He'd trusted Deaq, just like he'd trusted Dre. Then the Super G case, and then Deaq hanging up on him, and now that trust was shaken.

He knew Billie always thought of him as a nuisance. He was used to that. As a matter of fact, he often wondered why she kept him around. Deaq was different. Not like Dre, he never would be Dre, but different. He'd always thought Deaq had been mostly teasing when he called Van weird and said he was annoying. Van had chalked it up to male bonding type stuff. Deaq had more of the macho man thing going on than Van did, or even Dre for that matter. So he'd let the comments slide. Deaq was his friend. He'd meant it when he'd told Deaq he was one of the most interesting people he knew. He had had no idea Deaq liked soccer. Van didn't watch it, but he knew how to play it. Sort of. It had been a while. Maybe he still remembered the rules. Anyway, point was, he'd thought Deaq liked him, too. Now he wasn't so sure. He wasn't sure what to believe. He wasn't even sure what to feel anymore.

Billie had been openly nice to him and obviously concerned. Deaq was worried about him, too. Part of his troubled mind, though, whispered doubts. What if their concern was really guilt or pity? How long would they really grieve if he died? Would Billie replace him the same day he died or wait a few days for the sake of appearances? Was she already looking for a replacement now? Would Deaq like the replacement better than him? And last, but certainly not least, would they be better off without him? All those questions had no suitable answers because no matter what the answers were, they left him feeling some crippling emotion—Sad, mad, freaked out. Jesus, his head hurt.

No, he had to believe that Deaq cared. Really cared. If he didn't, then Van had been living a lie, deluding himself into the feeling of security he usually felt working alongside Deaq. Deaq was his friend. He was a good partner. He'd been there for Van many, many times. Deaq cared. Billie did, too, in that non-demonstrative, loud, "I'm the strict parent" sort of way. It wasn't pity or guilt.

He was just feeling sorry for himself. That was all, and he needed to get over it. So he would. Just get over it. All this emotional crap was just self-indulgence. It was the same kind of bullshit that drove him crazy about his mother. Whine, whine, poor me, whine. Buck up, his father would say. Be a man. How many times had he heard that? Take it like a man. That one was often heard too.

Okay, so his life sucked, but death would definitely suck more. Given time, he could fix his life. He had friends willing to fight to give him that time. Whether things were perfect or not, they were there, fighting for him and with him. That was what mattered. Right? Yet, he couldn't stop the whispers.

He pulled up to the Candy Store. It was time to get the show on the road. He couldn't be late for what just might be his last performance.

Billie's plan was a good one. She'd even managed to get a few names for them to drop in case they were questioned, which they were. It had worked pretty well until the guard came to quicker than Van would have liked and raised the alarm. They'd made it though; they'd broken into and out of prison in less than ten minutes. If he felt better, he would have celebrated both their skill and good fortune. Deaq wanted him to hang on, and he was trying, but the headache was blinding now. His chest felt tight. Jax was an asshole, but punching him in his smug, ugly face was beyond Van's capacity to accomplish at the moment.

Van thought back to the conversation he and Deaq had had on the way to the prison. Deaq had tried to keep it light, joking about Van's fascination with Hillary and saying Van had to live just to get to know her. Van didn't tell him that it would never happen. He just let Deaq go on. It had felt good really. It felt pretty normal, and Deaq was teasing him like Dre used to, almost always about women too. Part of him had wanted to say something, get out how he'd been feeling, and clear the air between them, but he never could get the words out. Now it was just too hard to talk at all. Two words, and he was exhausted.

When they switched cars, Deaq had to catch him as he got out of the van. By the time they pulled into the airplane hangar, Van's world had started to blur around the edges a bit. Getting out of the car brought waves of nausea and dizziness. He concentrated on staying upright as his surroundings took on a surreal quality like he was walking in a dream. Light shifted around him in colored waves so bright he had to blink.

There was a problem. He was aware of that much. There was another person there. A cop. He glanced at Billie and Deaq. They seemed calm considering. Maybe they would handle it. Hell, they'd have to. He certainly couldn't. He swayed slightly, then decided he'd better just focus on his feet. The next thing he was aware of was pain. Pain and falling. He was falling. Deaq was beside him. What the hell had happened? He couldn't breathe. He told Deaq, or at least he hoped he did. He wasn't sure.

His cell phone rang, and Deaq took it and handed it to Billie. He tried to put together what was going on. Something was wrong. He tried to sit up a little, but Deaq put his hand on his chest to stop him. Not before he saw Jax though. The man was dead.

That was it then. He was dead, too.

Deaq pulled him up and supported him. They were going somewhere. The hospital, he realized. What was the use?

In the car, Deaq kept looking at him. He wouldn't let Van lie back, wouldn't let him close his eyes. Wouldn't let him die. Any time Van's eyes would close, Deaq's insistent voice made him open them again. Okay, fine. He was just delaying the inevitable, but okay. Whatever. He was too tired to fight about it.

Suddenly, there were hands on him. Too many hands and he tried to fight them off. Then Deaq was there again, urging him to relax. Relax! He wanted to laugh. He couldn't. There wasn't enough air to laugh. He was looking up at them now. The doctor, Deaq, a few strangers. Whatever.

Grant announced that he was blue, and Van had the absurd thought that he bet that wasn't a good look for him, at least not as a skin tone. He almost missed the doctor's next words. No! Deaq had to be there. Deaq had to come with him. Otherwise, he'd die alone. "Deaq!" he gasped, the effort almost enough to send him into unconsciousness, only fear keeping him awake. Damn, he wanted to breathe! Where had all the oxygen gone? Wasn't he supposed to be getting some air here? His head tingled. The world blurred even further. Tears came to his eyes; he felt them roll down his temples and into his hair. Maybe he'd see Dre pretty soon.
When had Van gotten so bad? Deaq's mind raced through the last hour. Right after the prison break, he decided. The doctor had said avoid stress and exertion. That's what Billie had told him. The prison break had been too much. The bastard who'd poisoned Van had to know that, too. He'd wanted Van to suffer. Deaq vowed to kill the SOB with his bare hands if Van died.

On the way to the hospital, he'd been so afraid to let Van go to sleep, lose consciousness, whatever. What if he never woke up? There was still hurt between them. Van just couldn't die.

When he'd looked up at Deaq from the gurney and called his name, Deaq's heart felt like it had shattered. He had treated Van so badly at times, especially lately, and Van had trusted him implicitly from the very beginning, accepted him just the way he was, and just wanted to be his friend. Hell, he'd hardly ever even fought back when Deaq had said some pretty cutting things. He'd just taken it, just like the whole "van- cation" thing.

No, there was no way he was leaving Van alone. He'd be there, damn it, whatever happened. "Don't worry, I'm staying right with you," he told his partner. One glance at the doctor let the man know that this wasn't a fight he could win.

Once inside the trauma room, they rushed to get Van on oxygen. The doctor explained that they wouldn't intubate unless Van lost consciousness and stopped breathing on his own. He gave some more orders then told Deaq there was nothing more they could do. What was left of Deaq's heart fell into his stomach. This could not be happening.

It was easier to breathe once they got the air turned on. Van listened as Grant talked to Deaq. He was amazed that he heard and understood it all. However, just as he suspected all along, it was not good news. He decided to take advantage of the fact that, for the moment, the world seemed a little clearer than before and try to talk to Deaq before it was too late.

Deaq tried to reassure him. Told him Billie was still out there. She would try, Van knew. Succeeding in time to save him, well, that was another issue altogether. He got a little playful bit of revenge, teasing Deaq about being a pain in his ass. Deaq just kept insisting that Van was going to live, and that he was his partner. Van would have smiled, if he hadn't been too tired, if it wasn't so hard to breathe. Did they turn the air off again?
The alarm was loud. Deaq panicked. "Do something!" he screamed at Grant. He got shoved out of the way as more machines and more people crowded into the room. More words than Deaq could decipher tumbled into his ears, but he knew what the metal paddles were for. He winced as Van's body convulsed from the shock to his chest.

"Again!" Grant shouted.

Once more, Deaq flinched then he prayed. The alarm stopped. The monitor beeped, then beeped again. They'd gotten him back. For however long, Deaq didn't know.

The phone rang. It was Billie. "Thank you, God." Deaq whispered as the doctor hung up with the knowledge he needed to save Deaq's best friend. Damn, that was a revelation. Van was his best friend. He'd admitted it. There. Van Ray was his best friend and his brother. He shook his head, ruefully. It was exactly like that. First, Van was the annoying kid brother, the one that followed him everywhere, and got all up in his business. But brothers grew up, and, unless they were stupid like he was with Dre, they got closer. Now, he and Van had grown, maybe not up, but grown as partners, and Van had become the one person Deaq knew he could count on in any situation, the one who told him the truth, the one who knew his faults and stood by him anyway. That was a best friend.

He stumbled back against the wall and continued to watch as Grant and his people worked on Van. He had to look away as they pushed the tube down his partner's throat, though. Man, that had to be uncomfortable. He swallowed in sympathy. Of course, Van was completely out now and didn't feel a thing, but still, it looked painful.

Finally, the room cleared out a little, and Deaq was able to get back to his partner's bedside. Van still looked awfully blue to him. He hooked the metal and plastic chair that sat against the wall with his foot and pulled it over. Once he had positioned it just right, so that he could see Van's face, he sat down. He was exhausted. Going without sleep could do that for a person. He leaned forward in the chair, placing his arms and head on the edge of Van's bed. Maybe he could get some rest that way.

Deaq was just about to drift away into sleep when the bed moved a little. Thinking Van was waking up, he sat up quickly and nearly fell out of the chair.

"Be careful," a motherly nurse warned kindly. She had moved the bed and was removing Van's shirt. "The doctor is admitting him, so we're going to get him into a gown. He'll be more comfortable, and we'll be able to work on him better that way," she explained, her voice as gentle as her handling of her patient. The shirt was off Van's arms now.

"Here, let me help." Deaq stood up and moved to the head of the bed. "Tell me what to do."

She smiled. "Just lift him up a little bit, and I'll slide the shirt out from under him. Put one hand behind his neck and slide the other to the middle of his back and lift. Try not to catch the shirt. Ready?"

"Yeah." He did as she told him. Working together, they got Van in the gown in no time at all. She smoothed a sheet and blanket over him when they were done. "Thanks," Deaq told her as he sat back down.

"You're welcome. Thank you for your help. We don't have a bed for him yet, so he'll be down here for a while longer. But he'll have this area to himself unless there's some major incident. Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Some coffee, maybe?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure, though you look like you could use some sleep. Are you sure you want coffee?"

"Yeah, I doubt it'll keep me awake anyway as tired as I am."

She nodded and disappeared. Deaq remained sitting up. It would be rude to ask for the coffee and then be asleep by the time she brought it. He glanced at his watch. Billie would probably be there any minute, too. She'd want a rundown of Van's condition. He rolled his head on his shoulders. Damn, he was going to need a week to get over this weekend.
Billie crashed through the ER doors and went straight for the exam rooms.

"Ma'am! You can't go back there!" someone yelled.

She turned the corner just as the big double doors closed behind her and ran headlong into Dr. Grant. "Van? Where's Van?"

"Whoa! What the hell happened to you? Come on, let's get you looked at." He grabbed her arm with one hand even as the other examined the gash at her hairline. "That's going to need stitches, I think."

"Van?!" she yelled at him, snatching her arm away.

"Is holding his own right now. When we get you cleaned up, you can go see him." He reached back and grabbed a roll of gauze and a sterile pad from a cart in the hall.

"No, I want to see him now. Then we can deal with this. Where is he?" she demanded even as he put the pad to her forehead and wrapped the gauze around it.

"All right. But just for a minute. He's in the trauma area in the back." She started away from him. "Wait, wait. Let me tell you what's going on. We have him intubated so don't let that scare you. At the moment, he is not breathing on his own, but that should change very soon. He coded, and we had to shock him. Now, that being said, I honestly think he's going to be fine. We'll have to watch him for the next several days to make sure there's no organ damage and that his sat levels stay up. Also, his blood pressure is probably going to stay elevated for a bit. Hopefully not dangerously elevated, but higher than normal." As he spoke he grabbed tape and secured his makeshift bandage. He was stalling her. Did he really think she didn't know that? Then again, he'd said something that she wasn't clear on.

"What's a sat level again?"

"Oxygen saturation level. A sat level tells us how much oxygen his red blood cells are carrying. Normal is in the upper 90th percentile. The poison kept his red blood cells from carrying oxygen to the rest of his body. His sat level when he came in was less than 60 percent. On oxygen, he came up to 70 percent before he crashed. Now, on the respirator, it's slowly coming up. I want to make sure it stays up before I proclaim him completely out of the woods. It was a very near thing with him, you realize." He dabbed at the blood on her face with another sterile pad.

"Yeah. Thank you for saving him."

"That's my job. There. At least now you won't bleed on my patient. You have two minutes before I come after you."

"Gotcha." She mumbled another thank you and rushed off to see her officer. She had not given much thought about how she looked, even after the doctor's reaction, but Deaq's reaction as she entered the room told her all she needed to know.

"Holy shit, Billie. Are you okay? Damn, girl, sit down." He pulled her over to the chair he had vacated and put her in it. He knelt beside her.

"I'll live. Dr. Grant is going to fix me up in a few minutes. I just wanted to see Van first. I heard Grant's version of what happened. Give me yours."

"We almost lost him. That's what happened. I was standing right next to him, talking to him, and he was talking to me. Then, he just turned his head and stopped breathing. His heart quit, Billie. The monitors went off, and..." he trailed off and Billie put her hand on his. "I thought he was gone," he finished. "Now, well, you see. That thing is breathing for him, but his heart is going. And at least he's not blue anymore. Grant says he'll come around soon, that everything is getting better."

"Some 'van-cation,' huh?"

"Man, Billie, if I ever hear that again, it will be too soon. After this, I don't know if I'll ever let him out of my sight again."

Billie couldn't help it. She had to laugh. The irony was too much, the call too close, the emotions too raw that something had to give. She didn't want to cry, so she laughed. Deaq looked at her as if he thought she had lost her mind and perhaps she had.

Then she saw a grin tugging at his lips. "Jesus," he whispered then chuckled. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

She shook her head.

"Damn, Van. Even unconscious, he causes me trouble."

She could only laugh harder. When Grant entered the room, he gave her a puzzled look as she struggled to get her giggles under control.

"Did you bump your head, Lt. Chambers?"

That was funny, too. Now Deaq was laughing. Grant just came over and helped her out of the chair.

"Okay, time to get proper medical treatment. You're scaring me now."

She managed to straighten up and give Deaq an order. "Take care of him."

"I will," he promised, and she believed him.