A/N Sorry I haven't updated for a few days. Some of you know I'm away from home taking care of my mom right now. Things got a little hectic with her caregiver calling in sick etc so I got a few days behind.
Part 5
It was late, well after midnight. The house was quiet, but lights gleamed from the living room window as well as from the small bedroom JD had been using for the last two weeks.
The lights of Chris' Ram briefly illuminated the other vehicles in the circle drive outside the kitchen-Vin's battered Jeep, and Buck's pickup that JD had driven to work that morning. Chris felt a thrill of alarm. If both Vin and JD were here, who was guarding Buck?
He took the three back steps in one leap and came through the mudroom into the kitchen. One light burned over the stove, enough illumination for him to see Vin Tanner sitting at the round oak table by the window. "Who's with Buck?" Chris asked immediately, eschewing any other greeting.
"Josiah's parked on a chair outside his room," Vin answered promptly.
Chris relaxed. He should have realized Vin would have made sure Buck was guarded-among the last words he'd spoken to the sharpshooter had been that he wanted 24-7 protection on Buck. Whether or not he understood why it was needed, Vin would make sure it was done.
The kitchen smelled of Chinese food. Chris inhaled deeply and his stomach clamored, reminding him all he'd had to eat since lunch was a handful of stale peanuts at one of the bars he'd stopped in. He detoured by the refrigerator. There were a couple cardboard cartons from Oriental Pearl restaurant on the middle shelf but he pushed them aside and rummaged for the leftover roast beef, mustard and mayonnaise.
"Invited myself over for the night," Vin drawled.
Chris nodded and turned back to assembling his sandwich. "Probably a good thing. JD might kill me otherwise." He put the lid back on the mayonnaise jar and replaced it in the refrigerator, looking up to catch Vin's smirk.
"Don't think he plans to kill you. Hurt you bad, maybe."
"Reckon I deserve that." Carrying his sandwich, wrapped in a paper towel, and a bottle of beer, Chris passed Vin and headed to the sofa in the living room. The TV was tuned to CMT with the volume low. Diablo, Chris' aging Labrador, sprawled in front of the easy chair, feet twitching as he dreamed. Chris dropped onto the sofa, watching the dog. Sure enough, in less than a minute Diablo sniffed deeply, his eyes popped open, and he looked around and identified his person. Wagging his tail happily, the old dog climbed to his feet and headed for Chris. Larabee offered the dog a bite of meat. "Nothing wrong with your nose, is there, boy?"
He looked up to see Vin leaning on the door jamb giving him a funny look. "I'm not drunk, Cowboy."
Vin nodded. "Noticed that."
"Not for lack of trying," Chris said drily. He'd been in a half dozen bars since leaving the hospital, ordering whiskey in each one. Somehow after one sip-hell a couple of times after just a sniff-he'd been unable to drink. "Not going to be able to drown this memory." He took a bite of the sandwich, chewed, and washed it down with a gulp of beer. "Where's JD?"
"In his room."
"How'd you get him to come back here?"
"I didn't. Buck told him to stay out of the middle of you two fussin'. And then Dr. Culver restricted Buck's visitation tonight."
Chris looked up, feeling a sick churning in his stomach threatening to expel the few bites of sandwich. "What? Why? Is he all right?"
Vin shrugged as he dropped into the recliner across from Chris. "He's hurtin'. And the doc said he's been runnin' a low-grade fever all day." He paused, studying Chris' face. "Not your fault."
Chris snorted. "The hell it's not!"
Silence stretched between them.
"Want to tell me what's going on?" Vin finally asked. "You've had something stuck in your craw for days now."
Chris lost his appetite. He placed the sandwich on the coffee table. Diablo wagged his bony tail happily and started sniffing toward the food. Gently, Chris nudged the old dog back with the side of his foot. "What'd Buck say about it?" he asked, not meeting Vin's eyes.
It was Vin's turn to snort. "Hell, you know better than that, Chris. Buck's not goin' to talk about what's goin' on 'tween the two of you. He told us why he figured Bolo set the bomb. And he told JD to stay out of the middle. That's it."
"How does he know Bolo Orlowski set the bomb?" Chris mentally kicked himself; he'd been so busy fighting his anger and fear that he'd never thought to ask Buck that question.
Vin explained about what Buck had called "Bolo's signature", and how Buck was sure he'd seen the trademark "hangman's noose" just before the bomb exploded. "Buck seems pretty damn sure," he finished.
Chris frowned. The idea of a hangman's noose of twisted red, black and yellow wire teased at the back of his mind. It seemed so familiar, as if he knew it-or should know it.
"Still doesn't explain what's been bothering you lately," Vin prodded. "It's somethin' more than Buck being hurt."
Chris surged to his feet, turned and stared out the window into the night. "He lied, Vin-"
"Yeah," Vin agreed quietly. "And Buck wouldn't do that unless he had a damn good reason. But whatever's got you so riled up happened long before Natoli came by today."
Chris sighed, one hand absently reaching out to massage the tension from his head. "You ever notice that scar on Buck's neck?" he asked suddenly.
"Yeah. Looks like a slice of some kind. Straight edged razor, maybe."
"Knife," Chris almost whispered. "A French boning knife." He continued to stare out the window. "Sarah took this class at Williams-Sonoma a year or so before-" he trailed off. "Whole point of the thing was to sell some high-dollar set of knives, but she got a kick out of the class. She just knew I was going to buy her that set of knives for Christmas..." He smiled sadly, remembering that last Christmas they'd had as a family.
"Did you?" Vin asked.
"Nah. Buck did. Said any man who got his wife knives for Christmas was just asking for..." Chris finally turned around. "Ironic as hell, when you think about it."
Vin didn't say anything, but the silence was expectant.
Chris dropped back onto the couch, automatically reaching out to stroke Diablo's head as the big dog thrust it onto his lap. "That day that Yvette Morales tried to kill Buck-earlier, I dozed off for a few minutes. Had a dream..." he leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Saw myself shoving Buck against the wall here in the kitchen. Then, his face changed-wasn't Buck anymore-" he broke off. "Hell, I don't know what I was thinking. I grabbed the knife and I...I..."
Silence again, broken by Diablo's sleepy sighs as the dog thumped onto the floor. Chris couldn't look at Vin. Didn't dare to.
"Guess it wasn't a dream, after all?" Vin said gently.
Chris shook his head. "Nope. It happened. Buck admitted that much."
"I'm guessin' you were drunk or hung over?" Vin prodded.
"Yeah, guess I was. But what the hell difference does that make?" Chris exploded. "I cut him, Vin. I could have killed him!"
The phone rang. Chris threw a panicked look at the clock. "Damn," he breathed, grabbing the receiver. 'If Buck's worse...'
It was a doctor, all right, but not one from University Medical Center.
"Chris? Lauren."
Larabee's old friend Lauren Murray was the chief physician for Emergency Services at Four Corner-Mercy Hospital-and the de facto doctor for most of Team Seven. For her to be calling at this hour could only mean one thing.
"What's happened?" he barked into the phone. "Who?"
"Ezra Standish."
JD tossed restlessly, kicking off the blankets, then immediately pulling them up again as the breeze from the open window chilled his flesh. He'd flung the window open as soon as he'd walked into his room, hoping the fresh air would clear his head.
He smiled bitterly in the darkness as he realized he'd thought of it as "his room". It wasn't. His room-hell, his whole home-was in shambles forty miles away.
But in a way Chris' ranch always seemed like home, too. He knew Buck thought of it that way-a legacy of a time when Chris, and his wife and son, had been Buck's only family...
JD let out his breath in a long sigh, turning over again in the twin bed. Adam's bed. Adam's room. Buck and Chris still called it that, years after the child was gone. It looked different now, JD admitted. Sometime in the last three years, since Team Seven was formed, Chris had gradually packed away Adam's toys. One weekend the whole team had been invited over for a "redecorating party". They'd steamed off the cowboy and Indians wallpaper and painted the walls a soft green; hung new curtains that matched the bedspread. Funny thing, Chris had invited them all over that weekend but Chris wasn't there. He'd gone off to Washington for a seminar. JD had never quite understood the timing of that. Buck had been there though-laughing and joking but somehow his smile didn't seem as bright as usual and his dark blue eyes were sad.
Looking back now, JD realized Chris had known it was time to pack away the memories of his little boy but hadn't been able to do it himself. It had fallen on his oldest friend-Adam's godfather-to orchestrate the event. Chris had been appreciative of their efforts when he'd returned home, but JD had noticed him looking at the refurbished room with the same sadness Buck had shown all weekend.
JD turned restlessly again. He didn't want to feel sorry for Chris. He was mad at him. How dare Chris talk to Buck the way he had tonight at the hospital? Buck was sick, damn it! He'd almost died-more than once. Even now, two weeks after the bombing, he was still on IVs and oxygen and monitors. He was in constant pain-JD knew it even if Buck tried to hide it-and...and...
JD reached over and turned on the lamp. He scrunched the pillows up against the headboard and sat up, elbows on knees, hands supporting his head. He remembered the scene earlier that evening:
After Buck had admitted lying in the investigation, he had simply shut down. No matter what Vin said or JD said, Buck wouldn't answer them. Finally, Vin had muttered an excuse about making some phone calls and left the room.
JD was so confused he couldn't even sort out his feelings. He was mad at Buck for lying to him-as well as to everyone else-but his anger was tempered by his worry for his best friend.
No such concern softened his rage at Chris Larabee. How dare their leader yell at Buck for any reason right now! Okay, so Chris thought Buck might be in danger-that was no excuse for the way he'd acted.
Now JD was alone with his best friend. He struggled to get his emotions under control, to say something.
Buck beat him to it. "You'd better wipe that look off your face, Kid," Buck said tiredly. He shifted slightly and a wince of pain, quickly hidden, crossed his face.
"He doesn't have any right to talk to you like that!" JD exploded, his throat so tight he could barely squeeze out the words.
Buck reached out and grabbed his arm. "Let it go, Kid." His voice was intense. "I mean it, JD. Stay out of it."
"Buck-"
"JD." Buck leaned against the pillows and breathed deeply for a few minutes. When he went on his voice was noticeably weaker. "Chris is your friend. And your boss." He forced a smile. "And right now, your roommate."
You're my friend! And my roommate. I won't let-"
"JD!" There was a tone in Buck's voice JD had never heard before. "Let. It. Go. Chris's got his reasons for sayin' what he says." His fingers tightened on JD's wrist. "Promise me you won't try to get in the middle of this."
JD wanted to protest, but with Buck's eyes fixed on his-pleading for him to agree-he couldn't. But he couldn't promise either. He just nodded. It wasn't enough and Buck repeated, "Promise?"
JD let out his breath and some of his anger in a big sigh. "OK. But I'm promising 'cause you asked, not cause I'm afraid of the great Chris Larabee."
Buck managed a smile. "Hell, Kid, there's no shame bein' scared of Chris. He can be one scary hombre when he wants."
"Are you scared of him?" JD honestly hadn't meant to ask that aloud, but he did.
Buck's face changed, the expressions crossing it so quickly JD couldn't identify them. Oddly enough the one left was sadness. Deep sadness. He just shook his head. "Not anymore," he whispered.
The door opened then and the aide entered with Buck's dinner tray. The next few minutes were a bustle of clearing the bedside table off, uncovering the plate and arranging the things so Buck could reach them. The aide raised the head of the bed and JD helped her situate Buck, supporting him with pillows and trying to ignore the beads of sweat that popped out on his forehead.
"Try to eat everything this time, Mr. Wilmington," she cajoled.
"Why, darlin', how can I not when you ask so sweet? But I thought I told you to call me Buck."
It was such a pale imitation of Buck's usual lady killer charm that JD almost wanted to cry. Then the girl was gone and JD pulled the chair up close to the bed, ready to coax and prod Buck into eating. That was so totally strange. Buck had been hurt before but it never seemed to affect his appetite. But the weight was melting off of him since the bombing, and it was rare that he cleaned his plate.
Tonight was no exception. Buck played with his mashed potatoes and meatloaf-not really eating but moving the stuff around on the plate, much like Ezra did when he was on one of his periodic hunger strikes-before just pushing the tray away and leaning back on his pillows. His face was pale but there were hectic red circles on his cheekbones. JD frowned and reached out to touch Buck's forehead before the older man could move away. The warmth under his fingers made him jump up with a curse. "Buck, you've got a fever!"
"Had one all day, kid. Nothin' to worry about," Buck answered tiredly, closing his eyes.
JD worried nonetheless...all the more so a few minutes later when the nurse came in to take Buck's vitals. Her face creased in a frown as she studied the thermometer reading. She left for a few minutes and when she came back the resident on call was with her. They shooed JD out while they examined Buck.
Vin was nowhere to be found. JD paced up and down the waiting area, never out of sight of Buck's door. Josiah and Nathan saw him there as they came down the corridor. A few minutes later Vin showed up. JD was a nervous wreck by the time the nurse came out and told them she'd spoken to Dr. Culver on the phone and Buck was to have no visitors until the next morning.
"What's wrong with him?" JD demanded heatedly.
"Probably nothing too serious," the nurse replied with a supposedly reassuring smile that didn't reassure JD in the least.
JD wanted to stay the night. Maybe he couldn't be with Buck but he could sleep outside the door in a chair. Chris had said not to leave Buck unguarded! But he was outvoted. Josiah said he'd stay, at least until the police guard arrived and probably for the whole night. JD flatly refused to leave. "I can sleep in the waiting room," he argued. Hell the way he felt right now he wasn't sure he wanted to be under the same roof with Chris Larabee.
"JD, if Buck knows you're here he won't rest," Nathan pointed out patiently.
Well, that was true enough. Finally JD let himself be persuaded to head back to Chris' place for the night. He was unbelievably relieved when Vin announced he was going to spend the night there too. Otherwise-promise to Buck be damned-he'd have probably belted Chris right in the jaw.
He knew Chris was home-the Ram's headlights had flashed against the windows-and he could hear a low murmur of voices from the main room of the house. He thought briefly about getting up and getting something to drink but he'd have to walk through the living room and he really, really wasn't in the mood to see Chris.
The phone rang
Startled, JD looked over at the alarm clock on the bedside table. One twenty-three. Not a time when Chris normally got phone calls unless-
'Oh, no!'
Buck!
JD jumped out of bed and was grabbing the jeans he'd worn that day, even before the door swung open to reveal Vin. JD could tell just by looking at him it was bad news. "Buck?" he asked breathlessly.
Vin shook his head. "No. Ezra." He took a deep breath. "There was some kind of accident when he was leavin' the DA's. He's in the ER at Four Corners."
They took Chris' truck because it was behind the other two vehicles, but Vin drove. JD looked ready to drop and as for Chris, he was too tense and his face was lined with exhaustion.
The trip from Chris' ranch on the outskirts of Denver to FC-M Hospital normally took fifty minutes, traffic lights being favorable. Vin made it in a little under thirty. It helped that the rain had finally stopped.
As the three of them quickly made their way to the Emergency entrance, Chris' eyes were caught by a large figure wearing a heavy Denver PD jacket. Sgt Cade Hamilton leaned against a pillar, smoking a cigarette and watching them unblinkingly.
Chris stopped. "Go on in," he told Vin and JD. "I'll be there in a minute."
Vin glanced from his friend to the policeman, then he nodded. He touched JD's shoulder to hurry him along.
Chris took a deep breath as he approached the sergeant, savoring the tinge of smoke in the rain-damp air. He'd quit smoking when Adam was born.
There'd been plenty of times he'd given serious consideration to starting again.
Hamilton flicked the glowing butt away. "Larabee."
"Sergeant," Chris returned. He cocked his head. "Seem to make a habit of running into you outside hospitals."
The cop snorted. "Yeah, well just my luck I guess. I responded to the TA involving your guy Standish. Thought I was going to have to handcuff him to get him into the ambulance." Hamilton shook his head. "Guy has some vocabulary. He just hate hospitals or what?"
"Something like that." The tight feeling in Chris' chest eased a little. Lauren Murray had told him on the phone Ezra's injuries weren't critical but he was still relieved to know the man had been awake and apparently talking. "What happened? You catch the driver?"
Hamilton snorted. "Oh yeah. Not that we had to catch him, he was there waiting for us. Actually it was him who called 911-that guy from the DA's office who was with Standish was useless, he fell apart, they had to give him a sedative." Hamilton pulled his notebook out of his pocket. "Our perp-if you want to call him that-is a fifteen year old kid who sneaked out of the house to take a joyride in his brother's new sports car."
Chris blinked. "What?"
"Think about it, Larabee. A parking garage at night is really a great place for a kid to cut loose a little. Quiet, no traffic, usually no other cars." There was something indulgent in the sergeant's tone that put Chris' teeth on edge.
"What about the police unit that's supposed to guard the building?" he barked.
"Don't know," Hamilton drawled. "Maybe he was out chasing some real criminal instead of hassling some kid with a Ferrari."
Clenching his jaw as well as his fists, Chris turned on his heel and stalked to the ER doors.
7777777
He saw Vin and JD right away. JD was sitting on one of the yellow plastic chairs scattered around the perimeter of the waiting room, staring into space, his young face looking desperately lost. Vin stood behind him, leaning against the wall, eyes glued to the double doors separating them from the treatment area. But where was Nathan? Chris had called the team paramedic before they left the ranch and Nathan lived only six blocks from the hospital.
The double doors swung open just then and Nathan stuck his head around them. Spotting Chris, he beckoned for him. JD stood up anxiously, but Vin patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. The sharpshooter nodded at Chris as the team leader followed Nathan through the doors.
"How's Ezra?" Chris demanded.
"He's a damn fool!" Nathan returned. He glanced at his boss and grinned ruefully. "Sorry, Chris. He's going to be fine...if Dr. Murray or I don't break his neck first."
Nathan led the way to a curtained-off cubicle, where Chris was relieved to see his undercover agent sitting up on the exam table. He was pale, with tight lines of pain around his mouth and eyes. One bare arm showed a myriad number of scrapes and bruises, the other was held in a sling, keeping the shoulder immobile. The man was arguing vehemently with the tall, red-headed Dr. Lauren Murray, who looked less than impressed with his comments. As Chris and Nathan stepped in, Ezra glanced up and saw them. Standish managed to look cool and collected in spite of the situation. "Mr. Larabee," he greeted Chris. "What brings you to this haven of medical mercy?"
"Well, I didn't come for the coffee," Chris returned, feeling a wave of relief wash over him at the sound of that familiar sarcastic tone. He glanced at the doctor. "How bad is it?"
"I am fine," Ezra proclaimed.
"I didn't ask you," Chris pointed out.
"But-"
"Shut up, Ezra," Nathan said tiredly, rubbing his hand across his eyes. He glanced at his watch and let out a groan. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
Ezra stiffened as if he'd been slapped. "My most sincere apologies for disturbing your nocturnal rituals, Mr. Jackson," he drawled. "I would like to point out that I didn't summon you, but I will attempt to ensure the next time I am struck by a speeding vehicle, it's at a more civilized hour."
Nathan shook his head, looking apologetic. "Sorry, Ezra...didn't mean that the way it must of have sounded."
"Lauren?" Chris prodded.
"Agent Standish appears to have experienced his usual luck tonight, Chris. No serious injuries, although I suspect a mild concussion-"
"I do not have a concussion," Ezra proclaimed. "I am accustomed the feeling of that particular ailment."
Nathan rolled his eyes. "You ought to be," he said quietly.
Murray went on as if neither of them had spoken. "He's going to be stiff and sore for a few days-his hip is bruised pretty badly. But the most serious injury is that shoulder." She slapped the clipboard closed and pointed her finger at Ezra. "Agent Standish, I've warned you about this before. You keep dislocating that shoulder and you'll be facing surgery. There's only so much those ligaments can take."
"I do understand that, Doctor. And I assure you it is not my intent to injure my shoulder. I can only suppose the length of my incarceration inside the tombs of the DA's office slowed my natural impulse to avoid hurtling projectiles."
Nathan snorted and shook his head again.
"You keeping him overnight?" Chris asked.
"No," Ezra said firmly. Chris glared at him.
"Don't push me tonight, Standish," Chris said silkily.
"He can go home-if someone keeps an eye on him," Dr. Murray said. She fixed her eyes on Ezra. "I'll order you a couple of prescriptions-you can pick them up at the front desk on your way out. I strongly suggest you take them, if you want to be able to get out of bed."
"He'll take them," Chris and Nathan said together. Ezra glared at first one, then the other, but finally nodded in surrender.
"Always a pleasure, gentlemen." Murray smiled as she exited the small cubicle.
Fatigue swept over Chris, suddenly making him realize just how long this night had been. To cover it he spoke gruffly. "You heard her, Ezra. Someone has to keep an eye on you. So guess you're spending the rest of the night at the ranch."
"Oh, joy. Well, at least the CDC isn't available-" Ezra stopped suddenly and his eyes widened. He lost his famed poker face. "I didn't-"
"It's okay, Ezra," Nathan soothed, trying to smooth over the awkward reminder of Buck and JD's demolished home. He glanced at Chris. "I can keep an eye on him," he offered.
Chris just shook his head. "You talk to Josiah?" He changed the subject.
"Just before eleven. He said Buck's sleeping pretty well and the Denver PD sent a couple of men over to guard the door. But Josiah was going to stay at the hospital tonight anyway."
"What?" Ezra broke in. His face creased with concern. "Has something untoward happened to Mr. Wilmington?"
"Buck may be targeted by Bolo Orlowski," Chris responded harshly. He froze as another thought occurred to him. "And you might be, too."
tbc...