Part 14
"Chris!" Nathan hurried down the corridor after Larabee, snatching his arm to slow him down. "Damn it, would you listen to me for a minute?"
Chris stopped, but less because of Nathan's grip than because of his surprise at the soft-spoken medic resorting to an obscenity. "What?" he demanded impatiently.
'Damn, where's Josiah when I need him?' Nathan thought desperately. 'Or better yet, Vin...'
Truth to tell, Nathan didn't really understand the complicated relationship between Chris and Buck. That there was friendship there he never doubted - deep, abiding friendship, and fierce loyalty, and the kind of love that only comes about when two friends have been through the fire together.
It shamed Nathan now to admit - even to himself - how wrong he'd been about both men and their friendship when he first joined Team Seven. Vin had joined the team not long after Nathan, and in Vin, Chris had seemed to find a missing part of his soul. Chris' manner with Buck back in those early days had been casual, sometimes distant - even occasionally cruel. Buck just shrugged Chris' moods off and seemed to focus on his new friendship with JD, and his continuing reputation as a ladies' man. Nathan had pegged him early on as one dimensional, maybe even shallow. But later Josiah pointed out that all that time Buck was doing his part to forge Team Seven with unbreakable bonds, even if that often meant diverting Chris' temper onto his own head.
Gradually Nathan changed his opinion about Buck, realizing under that devil-may-care exterior was a deeply caring man who was fiercely protective of his friends. And Nathan had seen that Chris was his friend - even if Chris didn't seem to return the feelings.
It wasn't until the MacPherson case crumbled into disaster around their heads with Buck's disappearance had Nathan fully realized just how much Chris Larabee did care about his old partner. The quiet desperation and the agony just below the surface were very much like what Nathan was seeing now.
"Chris." Nathan spoke harshly; he had to make Chris realize how important this was. "You go in there like this and all you're going to do is rile Buck up even more."
Chris narrowed his eyes. "What do you suggest?" he asked suspiciously.
'OK, good, he's willing to listen.' "Chris, Buck has the right-"
Wrong choice of words.
"Buck doesn't have the right to die!" Chris exploded. "He doesn't have the right to leave JD alone. To desert the team. To-" he bit back his words.
Nathan blinked, mentally filling in the sentence "-to leave me." "Chris, I know it's hard. Hell, I don't like the idea either," he tried again. "But a man has to make his own decisions. You can't make Buck go on a respirator."
"Can't I?" Chris asked, his voice eerily calm. "Watch me." He turned again.
"Chris!" Nathan caught his arm again. "I'm not going to let you-"
Chris' eyes flashed emerald fire. The lines of his face deepened. "Don't get in my way, Nathan." His voice was a cold hiss. "You want him to die?"
Nathan flinched, but held his ground. "You know I don't. But, Chris, this is Buck's decision. You're going to force him to go on life support in opposition to his expressed wishes? You can't do that to him. Even if you could get a judge to go along with it, could you honestly do that to Buck? Damn it Chris, he's your friend-"
"Stop." Chris' voice was barely a whisper. "Don't you dare try to tell me what I can and can't do, Nathan. Buck is my friend." He swallowed hard. "He stood beside me at my wedding and held my son at his christening. He was right there beside me when I buried Sarah and Adam and damn it, Nathan, if it weren't for him they'd have buried me, too. And that's why I will not let him commit suicide." Pushing past Nathan, he strode down the corridor to Buck's room and flung open the door.
"Shit," Nathan said aloud. He hesitated, then sprinted into the waiting room and reached for the telephone. Punching in the number of Vin's cell phone, he impatiently listened to one, two, five rings before there was a click and a Vin's recorded voice instructed him to leave a message. "Damn!" he swore again, disconnecting and quickly pounding the numbers to Vin's home phone. That one rang and rang again with no answer.
Moving stiffly, Ezra Standish stepped out of the cab that had delivered him from the airport and paid the driver. Then, stooping to pick up the single bag he carried, he slowly walked down the pathway to his condo.
He twisted keys in the sturdy new locks Josiah had provided after the bomb had been planted in his apartment. The top one stuck a bit and he jiggled the key in the lock. It seemed forever before the lock snapped back and the door opened.
Once inside the tile hallway he simply dropped his bag. Most of his clothes needed laundering but he didn't even have the energy to take them into the small room off the kitchen that housed his washer and dryer. Dropping into his favorite armchair, he snagged the plaid blanket (a gift from Vin the previous Christmas) off the back of the couch and wrapped it around his chilled body. Then he stared apathetically at the smooth walls of the living room.
Depression, loneliness, hovered over him like heavy clouds.
Sometime later the phone started ringing. After the third ring, Ezra shifted his eyes to it but made no move to answer it. The answering machine clicked on. A man's voice filled the room, cultured, robust and more than slightly annoyed. "Standish. This is AAD Montgomery. Be in my office at eight, tomorrow morning." With no further explanation the phone clicked dead.
Ezra closed his eyes and rubbed his aching head. 'Shit,' he thought numbly.
There was no doubt what Montgomery wanted to talk about. Well, not the specific details but Ezra had no doubt all Hell was about to break lose upon his unprotected head. He didn't know what exactly Bobby Fewell might have reported but he'd seen that look on too many faces in his past not to know he was being set up, for something.
But how could he prove it?
Bobby Fewell was the darling child of the whole ATF. Scion of a long line of government agents, and personal protege of David Montgomery, who had the ear and confidence of AD Orrin Travis. Hell, even Ezra's own teammates would probably believe Bobby-he cut that thought off ruthlessly.
The phone rang again.
Suddenly Ezra didn't want to hear another voice, get any more messages. He reached over and yanked the phone cord from the wall. Then with a spurt of energy he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and clicked it off.
That might deter Montgomery for a while but it wouldn't stop his teammates. "I'm somewhat astounded Mr. Larabee isn't pounding on the door at this very moment," Ezra mused aloud. His voice sounded flat and dead in the quiet room.
'I can't talk to them right now. I can't face them.'
'You have to,' another voice in his head argued.
Several moments passed in silent contemplation. Finally, with a heartfelt sigh, Ezra rose from the chair. He straightened his tie, thought briefly of changing his travel-weary clothes for fresh, then discarded the idea. He needed to do this now. He pulled his keys from his pocket, locked the door behind him, and retraced his steps to the covered parking spot that housed his Jaguar.
7777777
Several miles away, David Wyerly sat alone in his uncle's library enjoying a drink. His uncle was upstairs resting before dinner. David was feeling restless. He should be happy. He'd had a meeting with several of his uncle's business associates earlier in the day. It was very obvious they were regarding him as Steven's replacement and the heir to the Curran empire.
Although his uncle never said anything to discourage his subordinates, David knew he wasn't completely comfortable with the idea. 'He doesn't think I'm worthy to walk in Steven's shoes." David stared into the fire. 'He's right. I'm not.'
If - when! - he killed Standish it would be different. His uncle would realize the future would be in safe hands with David at the helm.
But that wasn't the reason he was going to kill Standish with his own hands.
He had to do it. For Steven. When he felt the warm blood of that bastard ATF agent spilling over his hands...when he saw the light dim and die from those traitorous green eyes...then Steven could rest in peace.
Then David could let him rest in peace...
Something beeped.
Frowning, David reached into his pocket. His hand froze halfway there. The low-pitched noise wasn't his pager. Eyes wide, beginnings of a delighted smile crossing his handsome face, he swung around to the desk where he'd placed his briefcase. Snapping over the latches he flung open the lid and pulled the beeping device from the inner pocket. It was about the size of a calculator, but thicker. A green light blipped on the screen set into the device.
"Well, Agent Standish," David purred. "You're back. And on the move, it seems."
Two minutes later he'd instructed his uncle's butler to pass on his apologies for missing dinner. Seating himself behind the wheel of his sports car, he gunned the powerful engine as he tore out of the driveway.
The feral smile never left his face.
Chris took a deep breath before he stepped into Buck's room. No matter what he'd said to Nathan, he knew Buck. Nathan was right. If he stormed into Buck's room shouting orders, all he'd accomplish would be to make Buck dig in his heels even more.
But that didn't mean he was going to let Buck defy the doctors. Chris would cajole, bully, plead, and threaten if he had to. And if that didn't work, he'd do exactly what he'd told Nathan he would do. He'd override Buck's decision and authorize the use of the respirator.
Even if doing so ruined their friendship forever.
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The head of the bed was elevated and pillows were stuffed around Buck, bracing his injured ribs. Sweat beaded on his forehead and the muscles in his neck stood out in sharp relief as he struggled for breath. His skin was dead white with a bluish tinge around his mouth.
Chris' legs threatened not to hold him. He gripped the bedrail tightly to support himself, nodding at the nurse sitting in the chair next to the bed. "Can I-" he stopped to clear his throat. "I need to talk to him alone."
The nurse frowned. "I'm not supposed to-"
"It's okay, Darlin'," Buck wheezed out.
The young nurse looked uncertain. She looked from Buck, to Chris, back to Buck again. Either Buck's forced grin or Chris' total lack of grin must have convinced her, because she stood up to leave. "Just a few minutes," she warned Chris. "And don't let him talk too much."
"Never been able to stop him from doing that," Chris muttered but fortunately she had already left the room and didn't hear him. He sat down in the chair and looked at Buck. His old friend met his eyes briefly before he looked away.
It was hard for Chris to see Buck like this. He hesitated for a few minutes, the silence broken by the beeps of the machinery, the hum of the oxygen and Buck's strained gasps for air.
Chris waited until Buck's eyes met his again. "You know I'm not going to let you do this," he said quietly.
"Not...your call," Buck wheezed.
"The hell it's not," Chris countered.
"My life...my decision. Not yours."
Chris felt the fury rise up in his throat and opened his mouth, then slammed it shut with an effort. He took a couple of deep, calming breaths. Something about the look on Buck's face when he'd made that last comment, almost like he was baiting Chris...
And in a flash, Chris realized what Buck was trying to do. Get Chris mad. Get him to lose his temper. Divert his attention, sidetrack him.
'You know how to push my buttons too damn well, Pard. But I'm not going to let you get away with it this time.' Chris smiled ferally.
Buck saw the smile and his eyes widened, then narrowed again.
"Won't work this time, Buck," Chris said.
"What?" Buck asked warily.
Chris ignored the question. He knew Buck knew the answer anyway. He leaned forward. "Buck. You have to listen to Dr. Culver. You need to let them put you in ICU-"
"-And stick a tube in my throat and...hook me up to a machine..." Buck's voice trailed off weakly. He shook his head. "No."
"Yes."
"No, damn it!" Buck shouted. He fell back with a gasp. His face darkened and coughing spasms tore through his frame.
Terrified, keeping his voice calm with an effort, Chris grabbed Buck's flailing hand and squeezed it tightly. "Easy, easy," he coached.
When it was finally over Chris was alarmed at Buck's ashen color. He almost grabbed the call button but stopped when Buck shook his head. "No."
Chris took a couple of deep breaths. "I'm not going to argue with you," he said, his voice trembling with the effort of not yelling.
Buck looked surprised, but relieved. "Good."
Chris shook his head. "Not what you think." He leaned closer. "Buck. One way or the other you're going back on the respirator."
"What do you-?"
"If you won't give consent, I will."
Buck studied Chris' face and panic darkened his eyes. "No!" He tried to sit up but Chris was waiting for the move and caught his shoulder, keeping him from rising.
"Don't make me do it, Buck. Don't make me disregard your wishes," he implored. "I don't want to do it. But damn it, Buck, I will. I'm not going sit here and let you die!"
"I'm dyin' anyway, Chris, and you know it." Buck's voice was tired and defeated. "The doctors don't have a clue...what that poison was or how to treat it."
Chris swallowed over the lump in his throat. "You've got to give them a chance, Buck." His voice was soft but intent. "They've sent samples to every major lab in the country. It's just a matter of time." Chris leaned forward. "You've got to give them the time, Buck. Your body is too weak. You can't keep fighting like this. You need some help."
Buck was quiet for a long minute. "If my body can't survive, it's time to go, Chris. You know that-"
Chris frowned. Buck wouldn't meet his eyes; more than that, he was actively avoiding Chris' gaze.
The way he looked when he was trying to hide something.
"Bullshit," Chris said softly. Buck looked at him, startled.
"If there really wasn't any hope, do you think I'd be pushing you into this?" Chris demanded. "And what about JD?"
"JD?" Buck repeated weakly.
"Yeah. JD. How the hell do you expect me to tell him you took the coward's way out?"
Buck's face creased with anguish. "I'm doin' this for him," he burst out. "And for you-." His eyes widened with horror at what he had just said.
"What do you mean, you're doing it for me?" Chris leaned forward, pinioning Buck with his jade green gaze. "How the hell is watching you die going to help me?"
The door opened and the young nurse bustled in. "Sir-" she started.
Chris jumped from the chair and whirled around. He could see Nathan behind her, his face worried. "Get out!" he ordered.
The nurse, young and inexperienced, might have actually tried to argue with him but Nathan knew better. He caught her by the arm and pulled her back. "Chris-" he said warningly.
Chris didn't let him finish. "Tell Culver to get ready to move Buck up to ICU," he snapped. Then he slammed the door shut in their faces. He turned back to the bed, "Well?" he asked, voice almost vibrating with his feelings. "I'm waiting for an answer."
For a minute the air in the room quivered with tension and the two men stared at each other, eyes locked in a duel of wills.
Then Buck's face crumpled into sadness and he sagged back against the pillows. A tear brimmed from the corner of his eye and ran down his face. He was struggling even harder to breathe but he didn't seem to be aware of it.
The sudden release of tension almost dropped Chris where he stood. Legs shaking, he slumped back down into the chair. His hand went out and gripped Buck's shoulder. "Come on, Buck. Tell me what's going on."
Buck refused to look at him. "You know the law in this state..." Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Chris reached for the damp washcloth on the table and ran it across Buck's face and neck, wincing at the heat of his skin.
"What about the law?" Chris coaxed.
"It's a lot...easier to put someone on life support than it...is to take them off. The doc says...he says...even if the poison doesn't kill me...or the pneumonia...my lungs may be too damaged to ever work again. Sooner or later...you'd have to...have to decide to..." Buck finally met Chris' bewildered gaze. "I was there, Chris," he said intently. Another tear ran down his face. "I saw...when you had to sign the papers to disconnect Adam's life...support. I know...what that did to you." He stopped, coughing again. When it ceased his voice was even weaker, barely a whisper. "And JD...he had to watch his mama...just a kid and he had to make that decision about his mama. I can't do that to him, Chris. I can't do it to you."
Chris sat frozen, ice water flooding his veins.
Memories rose up before his eyes, visions of pain he'd relived too many times. Adam's frail body slipping away from him...
Then the past disappeared and he pulled himself back into the present. And the present, now, was his friend, ready to give up his life rather than cause Chris any more pain.
'Doesn't he know watching him die, now, would be worse than knowing he didn't even try?'
Chris was vaguely aware of the cold trickle of tears on his own cheeks. He wiped them away hastily. "Buck-" he started, then had to stop and swallow hard. "Adam...you're right, that decison was the hardest thing I've ever done. But it was the right decision, Buck. It was time." He locked eyes with his friend. "It's not time for you. Not yet. You've got to give the doctors a chance to find out what the poison was, to find the antidote. You've got to give your body the help it needs to fight back."
Buck shook his head. "I don't think I can fight anymore," he whispered.
"Hell you can't!" Chris snapped. He pinned Buck's gaze with a fierce glare. "The Buck Wilmington I know isn't a quitter." He gripped Buck's hand tightly, so tightly his own fingers cramped and went numb. "You never let me quit," he whispered intently. "I'll be damned if I let you quit."
Buck was quiet for a long time, studying his face. Finally he licked his dry lips. Chris reached for the water glass, but Buck shook his head. "What if - what if my lungs are too damaged...?"
Chris' mind shied away from that thought. But he had to think about it, owed his old friend the answer. "Years ago, you gave me your Power of Attorney," he said evenly. "You trusted me then to make the decision, no matter how hard it was. Trust me now, Buck. Trust all of us. I know you're tired. I know you're scared. I'll help you fight, Buck. We all will. But you have to fight, too. You can't just give up."
Buck moved his head so that he was looking out the window. He stared out at the darkening sky for a long time. Chris forced himself to stay still, to stay quiet, when every impulse he had wanted to shake Buck until he agreed to the life-support.
There was a light rap on the door and Dr. Culver stepped inside. "We're ready to move you to ICU, Buck." He cleared his throat. "Do I have your consent-?
Chris sat waiting, unable to breathe.
Finally Buck looked back at Chris, then at the doctor. "Can we...wait?" he whispered, his voice choked. At Chris' look, he shook his head. "Not about ICU. I'll go. But I want...I need to talk to JD...and Vin..."
Chris frowned. JD made sense, but Vin? Buck's eyes fixed on him, begging him to understand.
Larabee looked up at the doctor. "Can we stall a little on the respirator? Vin and JD should be here soon."
Culver didn't look happy, but he nodded. "Maybe. For a short time. But then-"
Buck nodded, although he wasn't looking at the doctor anymore. He was looking only at Chris. There was a different expression on his face, familiar and welcome to Chris.
Buck was going to fight.
And he trusted Chris to help him.
"I'll consent to it." Buck leaned back, his eyes closing.
Chris gripped his hand again. Relief flooded through him in a wave, leaving him tired and shaking. "Thank you," he whispered. 'I'll be there, Buck. I'll be with you all the way. And if...if the worst happens and I have to let you go, I'll do it. Because it'll be the right thing to do.
'And because you trust me to do it.'
tbc...