Part 28
Vin left Chris alone with Buck and started looking for the rest of the team. A quick stop at the information desk - and a shy smile at the tired "Pink Lady" there - yielded him the news that Ezra was still in Trauma One. "He should be transferred soon," the worker volunteered.
"Where?" Vin questioned.
She squinted tired eyes at the computer. "Hmmm. Doesn't look like they know yet. They're holding two rooms - one in CICU, one in ICU."
CICU, Vin had learned from Ezra's last trip here, was Coronary Intensive Care Unit. Trauma ICU, which everyone just referred to as ICU, was where Buck was.
Why would Ezra need CICU?
Anxiety giving him the energy to move his exhausted body, Vin quickly moved through the maze of hospital corridors, down an elevator and finally to the Trauma units. In the crowded waiting room, he looked around for anyone he knew.
His eyes fell on a sofa.
Had it only been a few weeks ago he'd been sitting on that sofa, bruised and bleeding from the explosion that had demolished Buck and JD's home, waiting to see if Buck was going to live or die? So much had happened...
He saw a familiar figure sitting in a corner chair. Monica Hastings bent over at the waist, her dark hair cascading forward to cover her face. "Monica?" he asked, sitting beside her.
She straightened up, shoving her hair back with unsteady hands. "Vin! I didn't know you were here."
Vin studied her, seeing the tight lines of strain around her mouth, the shadows darkening under her eyes. "Just got here. You look worn out."
She glanced up at him, a tiny smile quirking her lips. "Translation: I don't have any makeup on and I look like something the cat dragged in?"
Vin grinned in turn. "Don't think you could ever look that bad."
"Sure I could." She leaned toward him and it felt so right, so necessary, for Vin to slip his arm around her shoulders.
"Heard what you did for Buck," Vin said quietly. "Thank you for saving his life."
Monica nodded. "You're welcome. I'm glad I could help." As if she'd just realized that she'd been leaning on him, she straightened up, cheeks coloring a pale pink. "Maybe it makes up a little for the fact my drug keeps trying to kill another friend of yours."
Vin frowned. "You mean Ezra? What're you talking about?"
"He has an erratic pulse. They called me in to see if it's the T-27 causing it - if it could have permanently damaged his heart."
Vin sucked in a breath. "Is it?"
She shook her head. "I don't think so...I've looked at those strips until I thought I'd go blind. There isn't any similarity to the patterns we saw during the blind trials." She sighed. "Hypothermia does put a strain on the heart, just in and of itself. That's probably what's going on here. But just the thought that my drug could harm him again - I'm starting to wish I'd never invented the damn thing!" Tears sparkled in her eyes.
Vin hesitated, then slid an arm around her slender shoulders agaib. "Don't say that," he all but whispered, his lips close to her ear. "Don't ever deny your gift. You invented that drug to save people - and it will save them. Not your fault Kevin Murine used it to try to kill Ez."
"Who?" She rested her head on his shoulder.
Vin was startled. "Murine? The tech that stole the drug?"
"Oh, of course." She met his puzzled gaze. "I forgot - I've been so busy blaming myself for what happened, I forgot who the real criminal was."
Vin stared down into her eyes, seeing nothing but honesty and caring. The sudden tension eased from his shoulders. He pulled her a little closer. It felt so natural, so good to hold her...
"Vin?"
He straightened up at the familiar voice saying his name, turned but left one arm around Monica. "Josiah. Glad you're here - JD. You remember Monica?"
JD managed a half-hearted nod. Josiah strode forward, capturing her small hand in his huge one. "Dr. Hastings. We are so grateful for your help."
JD rolled his eyes. "You asked her yet, Vin?" His voice was hostile.
"JD. The woman just saved Buck's life."
"Ask me what?" Monica asked, puzzled.
JD stared her down, his eyes cold. "You know a David Wyerly, Dr Hastings?"
To Vin, it was as if he weren't even listening to JD, more like he was listening to Chris back in the beginning, when the team was first formed, when Larabee was all ice. Back before the seven of them had formed more than a team, a family.
He was still holding Monica, so he felt her jump. "David Wyerly?" Her voice was puzzled, confused. "I have a cousin - why are you asking?"
JD kept staring at Monica, his face wrapped in a look of ugly triumph. He didn't answer and neither did Josiah. Monica turned to Vin, her expression imploring. "Vin?"
"Monica. The man that kidnapped Ezra...tried to kill him, was named David Wyerly."
Shock, followed by disbelief, spread across her features. "You can't mean...I mean...it must be someone else! David wouldn't - why would he -"
"We found Ezra on a piece of property listed as owned by Steven Curran." There was still that ugly note of triumph in JD's voice.
If possible, Monica's eyes got even bigger. "Steven -" she whispered.
"Another relative of yours?" JD snarled.
"That's enough, JD!" Josiah's voice rang with seldom-used authority.
Monica gently pulled away from Vin. She straightened her shoulders. "Steven Curran was my cousin."
"Seems like you might have mentioned that earlier," JD snapped. Josiah looked like he couldn't make up his mind to strangle or hug the youngest agent.
Monica's eyes flashed with temper. "I loved my cousin, but he was killed while engaged in a criminal activity, Mr. Dunne. It might seem strange to you, but I rarely mention that to people I have just met - especially when I meet them under the circumstances I met all of you."
"You saying you don't know who killed your cousin?"
"All I know is that it was an federal agent. That's all I know." She stood up, her chin rising and eyes sparking fire. "Is David in jail?"
There was an awkward silence. Finally Vin broke it. "No, Monica, he isn't in jail. He's here."
She turned to face him. "Here? In the hospital?"
"I shot him," JD said.
The color drained from her face. She staggered back a step. "Is he - is he -"
"Monica!"
They all turned at the authoritative voice. Standing just inside the waiting room was a tall man, with silvery hair and a military posture. At his side was the petite figure of Nina Wyerly.
"Uncle Arthur," Monica squeaked.
Uncle Arthur. 'Oh shit,' Vin thought dizzily. "Arthur Curran," he said aloud.
Curran favored him with a glance that one might have expected to be bestowed on a cockroach. "Monica," he said again, pointing to the spot next to him, opposite Nina. Vin tried to catch her hand but Monica moved away, face colorless and set in stone. She slowly walked to her uncle's side. When she was still a few feet away, the older man reached out and grabbed her upper arm in a grip tight enough to leave bruises, and dragged her the rest of the way. He fixed steely eyes on the three ATF team members. "And you gentlemen are...?"
Nina filled the silence. "The one with long hair is Vin Tanner. I don't know the other two."
"Josiah Sanchez," Josiah said. He gestured to JD. "And this is -"
"Oh, I know who he is. The man who shot my nephew. In the back, I understand." The man's voice was coldly polite.
"Uncle -" Monica started.
"Shut up, young lady. When I want to hear from you, I'll tell you to talk."
That was too much for Vin, and, from the looks of things, Josiah as well. They both started forward, stopped only by the imploring expression Monica shot them. "Please! It's all right -"
"Is someone here for David Wyerly?"
As one, they all turned to the owner of the voice, a tired-looking Dr. Culver. Curran strode forward, dragging both women in his wake. He spoke quietly to the doctor, and then followed him through the double doors. Just as she entered the doors, Monica looked back one last time at Vin. Her eyes were frightened, but, as Vin started to move toward her, the double doors slammed shut.
There was brittle silence between the three friends, broken first by JD's snort. Before he could say anything, Vin whirled on him and pinned him in place with a gimlet stare. "Don't say anything, JD! Not one thing. The woman just saved your best friend's life. That means something to me, even if it don't seem to mean shit to you."
Vin stormed out of the waiting room.
"JD," Josiah sighed tiredly.
"No damn it, I don't want to hear it!" JD jumped to his feet and rushed out of the waiting area, fortunately going in the opposite direction from Vin.
Josiah dropped down onto one of the too-soft seats. He shook his head. "Help us, Lord," he said quietly. "We are falling apart."
7777777
Chris came down the hall, carefully carrying a Styrofoam cup of the steaming coffee he'd pilfered from the nurse's station. It was hot and strong but not as bitter as the stuff from the machines.
A uniformed cop at Buck's door flicked his eyes at him, reaching back to push the door open. "Detective Larabee," he murmured, his voice almost shaking.
He hadn't been "Detective Larabee" in years, but Chris didn't correct the kid. Probably his and Buck's rep as detectives in Homicide, and later, Major Crimes, impressed this young officer far more than the adventures of any band of federal agents would have. There was little love lost between the Denver PD and the feds. Chris knew full well the cooperation going on between the two entities now had more to do with the fact that the Denver PD still looked upon Buck as one of their own, than anything else.
Chris started into the room, then stopped, really looking at the young officer for the first time. 'God, he looks so young. Wonder if we were ever that young?' "No one in or out without approval, right, Officer -" he checked the nametag-"White?"
The young man pulled himself even straighter. "No, sir!"
Chris half expected him to snap off a salute. Feeling a tired grin stretch his lips, he nodded his head and slipped inside the room.
Nothing had changed. Buck still slept on, his face slack, dark hair lank and stringy, beard shadow covering his chin. "Not looking up to your usual standards, there, Pard," Chris said around the sudden lump in his throat.
'But he's breathing on his own.' He quickly reminded himself.
That was good, and more than Chris could have hoped for even hours ago.
He sat down heavily in the chair that seemed designed to torture his butt. The crinkle of paper reminded him of something. He set the coffee down on the table and pulled the envelope Vin had given him out of his pocket.
"For Chris."
That was all it said, written in Buck's sprawling handwriting. No indication of when it had been written, or why it had been in a satchel stuffed full of files and clippings about the murders of Sarah and Adam Larabee.
From the time Captain Natoli had come into his office with information about Bolo Orlowski - information Buck had requested from him - Chris had known Buck was still working on the case. Cap'n Nate's news that Buck had only transferred to the Arson Squad to keep the Larabee murder case from going cold had been a shock. Chris' temper had kept him from finding out any more that day, and since then Buck's medical condition had gone from bad to worse. Now, Vin had in his possession the evidence that Buck had never stopped working on the case. And the envelope held in Chris' hand might explain what Buck had been hiding from him - why he'd been hiding it from him - all this time.
And Chris was afraid to read it.
Through the long years of their friendship Buck had always been there when needed, no matter what Chris said or did. Looking back on it now - the fear of Buck's mortality still an acid taste in his mouth - the memory of how Buck had gotten that scar on his neck fresh in his mind, all he could think was that Buck had constantly been the giver in their relationship.
The letter could say anything.
Chris feared it would say what he was afraid of, that Buck would have been better off if he'd never met Chris at all.
He turned the envelope over in his hand again.
Someone was watching him.
Chris looked up to see Buck's dark blue eyes open and watching him.
"Buck?" Chris whispered. He blinked his eyes, hard, cleared his voice and tried again, calmer this time. "Hey there, Cowboy."
He hadn't called Buck "Cowboy" in years. The nickname had come to be Vin's, not Buck's. Just one more thing Chris had taken from Buck in the tortured years after he'd lost his family.
Buck's lips twitched in the shadow of a smile. His eyes never left Chris' face. Chris didn't have to force the smile in response. "How do you feel?"
Buck licked his lips; Chris interpreted the gesture instantly. "Thirsty?" He reached for the cup of ice chips the nurse had left on her last visit. "You can't have any water yet, but how about a spoonful of these?" He used the plastic spoon to gently place some of the ice in Buck's open mouth. The patient closed his lips, savoring the coolness.
After a few seconds, Buck swallowed with difficulty. Chris offered more ice but he shook his head. "Am I still dyin'?" he asked, his voice a harsh whisper.
Chills raced down Chris' back. He took a deep breath, then realized Buck had no idea what had been happening. He shook his head, putting the cup of ice chips down on the rolling table before he dropped it. It took him two tries to get the words out of his throat. "No. They found an antidote to the poison." He managed a smile. "Going to be a while before you can walk out of here, but you're going to make it."
Buck's eyes never left his face. "Thank you," he whispered.
Chris felt tears welling up in his eyes. He blinked them away hastily, then covered Buck's hand with his own. "No," he said honestly. "Thank you."
Buck smiled, tightened his fingers around Chris's. "You're welcome," he whispered. "You know I'll never leave you, Chris."
"You just keep remembering that, okay?" Chris could barely choke the words out. "It was too damn close this time."
Buck's eyes drifted back to the cup of ice, and glad for something to do, Chris spooned more into his mouth. "I probably need to let the doctor know you're awake," he started.
Buck shook his head. "Wait a little. Not up to all that pokin' and proddin' yet." His eyes drifted around the room. "You send the guys home?" He frowned. "What time is it, anyway?"
Chris looked at his watch, only then realizing the damn thing had stopped. "It's late...or early, however you want to look at it. The guys are around here somewhere," he added evasively, not wanting to overload Buck with too much information too soon. He offered Buck some more ice.
He'd all but forgotten about the envelope but Buck hadn't. He picked it up from the bed, wincing a little at the movement. Studying the name on the front, his eyes came up to meet Chris's. "Vin gave it to you?"
"Yeah." Chris tried to remember Vin's exact words but they'd vanished into his tired mind. He shrugged. "Vin thinks maybe we need to stop with all the secrets."
Buck took a deep breath, then coughed. He reached up to swipe the oxygen canula from his nose but Chris caught his hand. "You leave that alone," he scolded. He glanced through the window to see the night nurse heading toward the room. "Looks like the nurse has figured out you're awake." He started to stand up, knowing he'd have to give her room to work, but Buck caught at his hand again.
"Vin," he swallowed hard, "Vin's right, Chris. Read the letter." He glanced over at the door as it opened. "I want you to. It's time...time we take down that son of a bitch Bolo. Together."
tbc...