AN: I know this movie came out over thirty years ago, but I still think it deserves lots of love! Part 2 of my series "The Scarf," but not necessary to read the others first. Bon appetite, lovely people!

Gerard didn't realize it was happening until Richard stumbled into his office, Homer Simpson bowtie askew—a 'congratulations on being declared innocent' gift from Cosmo that Richard wore religiously, not understanding it was a gag gift—and waved a bouquet of pages in his face.

Waved pages while Gerard let him, blinking and patiently waiting for the good doctor to explain himself. Sam didn't flinch or shoot anyone.

Small miracles.

"I found it!" Kimble proclaimed to Sam and the office in general. Like a kid who'd located his lost puppy. He slapped the paperback on Gerard's desk. "Took me two days of scrap heaping at the library but I found it."

"Found what?" Sam picked it up but kept his eyes on Richard's face.

Richard was flush with triumph. He wore dark slacks and a faded blue dress shirt. A few tongue depressors still poked out of his breast pocket.

Just got off work at the clinic, Gerard noted.

Sam's team gathered in a half circle around the man, arms folded. Their posture didn't fool Sam. A motley collection of grins lit up the bullpen.

It occurred to Gerard that he hadn't seen Kimble smile like that before. Open, a little mischievous.

Richard's turn to look surprised. "You asked me for information about cardiovascular surgery. 'Some dusty old book will do,' you said."

Gerard blinked. He brandished the book. "I did?"

Newman snickered. "You did, boss. You were super interested in the med talk."

"Just last week during the lunch meeting," Poole supplied.

I invited him to our lunch meeting?

Stupid question.

Since the Christmas debacle and achievement of forgiveness, closure, between them—Richard had been invited over lots of times. He knew almost as much about their current cases as they did. He'd even consulted on evasion patterns several times, to great success.

The gang adored him.

Gerard finally leafed through the smallish textbook. It was a surgeon's refresher guide to cardiovascular patient assessment and surgical procedures. Huh.

His brows climbed towards his hairline. "Richard. You went to the public library?"

"Yeah." The doctor shifted uncomfortably and it would have been funny to watch an award winning vascular surgeon squirm if the reasons for his constant tension weren't so sad. "They had to unfreeze my library card. Points for CPD's thoroughness."

The gang shared a laugh with him. They rifled through cartons of Chinese while Richard watched Gerard. Cosmo bumped the doctor on the way by with an affectionate mumble. Biggs patted the man's shoulder.

"The public library?" Sam insisted. "Doesn't Chicago Memorial have two floors of medical texts?"

Gerard regretted the words the instant they left his mouth.

Biggs and Cosmo glared a hole in Sam's skull.

Richard wasn't flushed anymore.

He took the marshal's pinched eyes and moan for disapproval. "I knew the public library carried this text. No need to go back…"

More arm patting. Someone handed Richard a massive plate of low mein. Poole. Mother hen.

"Sorry, Richard."

Heads shot towards Sam in surprise. Renfro gaped.

What? I know that word. Just don't use it often.

Gerard stood and walked around the desk. He mirrored the grin that returned to the doctor's face.

"That was rude, Doc. What I mean is it's awful nice of you to drop the book off yourself. I need it for a case. Thanks."

Sorry and thanks. He thought Cosmo might pass out. Sam smiled some more.

"Although, I'm not sure I understand it all," Gerard added. "Good thing doctors make house calls. Or…office calls, in this case."

"Anytime," said Richard.

He was comfortable…in the bullpen where they had hunted him down…surrounded by cops.

Small miracles.

Of course, when Gerard said that, he didn't expect the joke to be reciprocated so soon.

Sam and Cosmo were in a dump truck.

Which was par for the course.

They'd tracked down a perp west of downtown Chicago and tailed him out of the city, posing as sanitation workers. Their dump truck kept a cool distance while pretending to pick up industrial trash.

The dump truck wasn't moving.

Which was the bad part.

"Cosmo? Renfro, son, this is falling down on the job. I'm going to have to write you up." Gerard swore where they huddled in the filthy yet thankfully empty flatbed of the truck. "Come on, Renfro."

Gerard pumped on Cosmo's chest—covered in blood.

Which was the really, really, really bad part that had Sam's hands shaking where they parted Cosmo's bloody lips so he could fill the man's lungs. Another few pumps. Thank God for CPR training.

Except it wasn't working.

"Renfro!"

Nothing.

Gerard hit speed dial on his phone before he realized he was moving.

"Gerard?" asked a surprised voice.

"He's not breathing."

A pause. Shuffling. A zipper shrilling and doors slamming.

"Gerard? What's going on? Who's not?"

Sam snapped out of it. "Cosmo isn't breathing. Send someone over, a doctor or something. And get me an ambulance! Now!"

Another pause, this one much longer. The sound of a car starting had Sam reaching for his gun before he realized it came from the other end of the phone.

"Where are you?"

"Industrial park," said Gerard.

"I'll be there in ten."

"No," Sam barked. "I said get me an ambulance."

But whoever was on the other end had already hung up. Sam threw the phone. He pumped at Cosmo's chest and cursed some more. Particularly at their perp who had the nerve to shoot his agent in broad daylight. His teeth ground together in gawky polyrhythms.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before a scruffy face bent into his line of vision.

"Gerard," said the face.

Sam rocked back on his heels, eyes wide. "Kimble?"

"Didn't you know you dialed me?" Richard's eyes raked over the marshal with typical doctor subtlety. Then he hopped up into the bed of the truck and knelt beside Cosmo. "Be thankful it's my day off."

"He…He's not breathing. Why isn't he breathing?"

Kimble's head whipped up. He grabbed Gerard's hand, warm compared to the February cold, and brought it to Cosmo's lips.

Sam balked. "He's not—"

"Feel that?"

Soft puffs of moist air hit Sam's fingertips. He deflated.

"You did it," said the doctor, quiet. "You got him breathing again."

"Thought I'd lost him there…"

Unfathomably, Richard smiled. "I'm better than an ambulance."

"So you are."

"But one is on the way. Should be here in a minute."

Kimble was careful not to turn or jostle Cosmo's head. He examined the blood along the right side of Cosmo's face. He'd put on latex gloves at some point, an odd sight against the man's collegiate hoodie and grease stained jeans.

"He's lucky," said Richard at last, settling back on his heels. With a gauze pad, he applied pressure. "The bullet just grazed his temple. It was probably blood loss that knocked him out in the first place. Shock can be a tricky thing, you know."

Gerard didn't realize this last bit was his diagnosis until Richard grabbed a yellow shock blanket from the EMT—when had an ambulance arrived?—and draped it over Sam's shoulders.

"Stop that. I am perfectly fine, Kimble." Gerard flung the blanket off and addressed emergency crews. "Can I ride with my agent?"

The EMTs let him through.

Through the ambulance's frosted glass, he watched Kimble drive along behind them. His sharp eyes caught Sam's once, earning the marshal a thumbs up from the man he'd almost shot that Saint Patrick's Day.

A thumbs up. From an innocent fugitive. Now the mascot for team Gerard and the U.S. Marshal's Office.

When did this become his life?

At the hospital, Gerard lost sight of Cosmo behind ICU doors. With this rare moment of privacy, he ran a shaking hand through his hair. He only surfaced from his reverie when he saw a stretcher wheel by him in the emergency room—

Poole was reading the injured perp his rights. Good. They deserved one victory in this hellhole of a day.

"Fine work, Poole."

She flashed him a wolfish grin. "Picked him up a half mile from your location by tracking your phones. He rolled down an embankment first. Such a shame."

"Truly unfortunate," Sam deadpanned back.

"Are you going to let me check you over now?" Richard asked, emerging from the ICU doors. Gerard didn't miss the blood on his hands.

"No. Not until I know if my man is okay."

"He's fine." Kimble stepped directly into Sam's absent line of sight. "I stitched the head wound myself. No internal brain damage. That's amazing. But they're doing a blood transfusion now. Head wounds bleed a lot."

And wouldn't you know it: that sneaky doctor maneuvered Gerard into a waiting room chair and did a light physical exam before Sam knew what was happening.

"I'm fine, Kimble. I'm not the one who got shot. Not even a scratch."

"No, but you are in shock."

"Shock? Cosmo got a steel girder to the face that night with Nichols. You didn't see me with my panties in a twist then."

Richard stilled. An odd thing considering his usual nervous energy. It was this, of all things, that brought Sam's attention to the man in full.

"But you weren't alone that night in the hotel," Richard murmured. "Today…today you were left by yourself. Deserted section of town. Partner down. Backup far away."

Sam swallowed several defensive retorts and closed his eyes.

After that it was all medical jargon and coffee and waiting. Doctors were anxious to see if the blood transfusion would bring up Cosmo's heartrate and blood pressure. Systolic readings were dangerously low.

Richard didn't leave his side once. Not when Gerard shivered, not when he hazed out at all the blood on his clothes.

Things got kind of fuzzy once, but Kimble kept muttering, which was annoying. The low buzz of his voice, however, fought off Gerard's visions of his boy dying. Of the bullet hitting just centimeters to the right.

"Where's the head?" he barked after the third hour.

Kimble pointed two doors up the hall.

Sam closed the bathroom door and leaned briefly leaned on it. A puff of air escaped his lips. The water only ran cold, even when Sam turned the hot handle. He didn't care. Great splashes met his worn skin with refreshing bite.

Hands braced on the sink, Gerard finally glanced at his reflection.

He did a double take.

"What the Samhill?"

A hoodie now sat over his custodian jumper disguise—

A med school hoodie. Little stethoscope symbol over the heart and everything. It was a little small but that only snuggled the fleece tighter to his body.

Kimble's hoodie. He snuck the hoodie onto me during the exam.

Sam couldn't explain it when he began to laugh. Laughed so hard crow's feet appeared around his eyes. Actual laugh lines. He didn't know they existed.

When he came back out, Kimble had lost the comforting friend persona and begun to pace the hall, face void of colour, hands tucked against his sides but visibly unsteady.

With wondering eyes, Sam wandered over. "Well lookie here. You did it."

"What?"

"You did it."

Richard finally glanced at him. "Did what?"

"You're in a hospital," said Gerard simply.

Richard tensed further, if possible. "I know. Not liking it."

"That makes two of us."

Kimble caught the marshal's eye. The words echoed for longer than they should have but Gerard wouldn't take them back, not for the world. He sniffed, straightened his shoulders, and zipped the slide up to his sternum.

"You're never getting this hoodie back."

"You owe me a cup of coffee, then."

"Knowing you, Doctor—don't you mean a bucket?"

Richard rolled his eyes.

"You sure you want to do this?"

The man at Gerard's shoulder whipped around to shoot him a cocktailed look of incredulity, bewilderment, and fear. He thumbed at scruff on his face.

"Aren't you supposed to be my wing man? Fountain of optimism?"

Gerard snorted. "Do you know me at all?"

"Yeah. Never mind."

"Not gonna lie, I thought about just shoving you through the doors."

"Of course you did."

Together, the two men stared up at a five story building. It could have been a hotel or an apartment building. There were beds near the windows and lots of plants. It looked well cared for, all brick and brownstone.

Charming. Trustworthy.

Bustling with bloody people at the doors.

"You don't have to do this," said Sam, trying not to let the pity creepy into his voice. Or the worry. "Not today. We have time. It's only been a year. There's no shame in taking things slow."

The month had been long. Cosmo was released on the condition he remain out of the field…at a desk. Kimble had been met with a round of applause when he'd first entered the office four weeks ago, dropping off meds for Cosmo. They'd all struggled to move forward after almost losing one of their own. Gerard hadn't slept properly all month.

The last thing Sam needed was their PTSD ridden doctor having a panic attack in Chicago Memorial's emergency room.

Then again…I suppose we're in the right place for it.

As if reading Sam's mind, Kimble sighed. He shuffled a bundle of papers in his hand.

"I have all the applications."

"Yup."

"The board even reinstated my practice license."

"Uh-huh."

Richard's eyes were fixed on the ground, but they suddenly softened. "Thanks for agreeing to come. Makes this easier."

"Kimble." Gerard gestured with both hands to his friend, the building, everything. "Why?"

"Why what?" Richard blinked quickly.

"Why did you ask me to be with you today? Why not Kathy? Heck, Poole would have come in a heartbeat if you asked."

Richard's wide gaze tracked Sam's face, the bob of his nose when he sniffed. The doctor's brows drew low over a wrinkling mouth. The fire pierced something in Gerard's chest.

Without quite knowing why, pulse beats skipped at the sight of that expression.

Having Kimble around often felt like bringing a newborn baby home, full of firsts and confusing cues and utterances that made sense to someone else in Richard's life, someone who was probably dead, his mannerisms all new and completely without a guidebook.

This was another first for Sam—

Anger.

Not frustration, not fond exasperation. Not hate, like when Kimble looked at Nichols. No, this expression created a breathless eddy in Sam's lungs because it was pure, old fashioned fury.

Kimble growled out a long note and slapped the papers to Gerard's chest. Sam, arms floundering, fumbled to catch the job application before it hit the ground.

Papers crinkling and face slack like a bumbling PA, he could only trot to catch up with Richard as the doctor marched through the sliding doors and up the stairs.

This bout of irate energy launched Richard confidently through the geometrically frosted glass of a door that read CARDIOVASCULAR.

A petite secretary, blonde hair in a clipped ponytail and smile dripping with kindness, was apparently the monolith that stopped Richard in his tracks. He gestured for a moment before words came.

"I…uh…"

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Yes…I called yesterday and they asked me to-to come in," Richard managed. "To apply for my old job."

She was young. Her next question made both men wince. "Name?"

Kimble's jaw went low. He played with his sport coat pocket as if the answer would magically be on a cue card hidden therein. Gerard's heart panged.

Hard.

He angled himself around and slightly in front of Richard. "Kimble. Doctor R. Kimble."

He pulled back, pleased with himself for remembering the new policy that doctors go by initials for their first names.

Richard looked impressed too, though he wouldn't face Gerard.

The woman opened her mouth to say something when another man opened one of the exam room doors. His hands were just extracting a Mars bar from his white lab coat pocket—which matched his white hair—when he spotted Kimble.

"Richard! Oh, old friend!"

And the aging doctor bounded across the lobby and swept Richard up in a bear hug before the surgeon had time to form a word. Gerard didn't miss the way Kimble stiffened under the contact of a larger man's hands. Sam kept his unusual silence.

"Harding," Richard said, breathless. "I thought you'd have retired by now."

"I was going to." Doctor Harding drew back. "But someone has to train the interns. I'm having too much fun now. They aren't like when I taught you, dear boy."

Richard found an appropriate pause in which to put more distance between himself and the hands.

"I'm here to apply for…to reapply for my old position. I know I'll probably be on probation, I understand, but I hope that—"

"Apply?" Harding stared at Kimble in shock.

Gerard and Kimble held their breath in unison. The possibility of rejection riled Sam up on the doctor's behalf. He braced himself to argue.

"Are you fooling me? After what the courts put you through?" Harding broke into a wide grin. Sam thought he saw how the man could be a fun professor. "Not on your life are you applying. Pah! The job is yours. You have it."

Richard shook the doctor's hand but his other shot out to pat the desk in a deceptively casual motion. Sam resisted the urge to assist Richard in his feeble attempt to regain his balance.

It was at this exact moment that Sam realized it was happening.

It's happening. Holy Hannah.

"Thank you, Paul," said Kimble. "When do I start?"

Harding glanced at his watch. "It's Friday, right? Let's say Monday. There are no consultations or surgeries this weekend and I can cover any emergencies in the meantime. Good to have you back, Richard. I'll draw up all the paperwork myself."

With another handshake, the secretary bustled Harding off to his next appointment.

The pair was left standing alone in the lobby.

"That was easy," said Gerard at length.

Richard whirled. Though nerves were close to the surface and his body language was timid, every line of his face hardened to granite. He leaned in close to Sam's face.

"I can't believe you asked me that." He rammed Gerard's shoulder when he pushed past and out the door, still muttering, "'Why?' Why do you think, idiot?"

The secretary reappeared in time to catch this and freeze. Hugging her clipboard, she glanced from Gerard to the vacant doorway.

Sam's voice came out quieter than his thoughts felt. "Here. These are all his legal documents and a cover letter. My number's in there too, just in case. For, you know…if he gets overwhelmed at work."

He set the papers on her desk and couldn't figure out where he was supposed to go from here.