Author's note: For some inexplicable reason, I missed this chapter out when I was posting this version of the story! D'oh!

The detectives who showed up after Chance and Guerrero left in the ambulance were reluctant to hand over such an unusual case, so a couple of hours went by before Winston was cleared to leave the crime scene. As predicted, the NCIS officers weren't thrilled by the version of events Heatly and Winston gave them, but they were forced to consider them once Heatly outlined the alternative. The officer in charge related the situation to his CO in hushed tones over the phone, and the decision was made to accept Heatly's statement as the truth, pending further investigation. Winston was relieved that, against all protocol, Guerrero and Chance would not be questioned, and NCIS would be satisfied with a simple written statement from Chance.

When Winston arrived at the hospital he wasn't surprised to find that Guerrero had managed to secure Chance a private room, and was seated at his bedside with his injured leg propped up on the bed.

"Hey, how's he doing?" Winston asked, taking in the fairly spectacular bruising to Chance's face and neck, and the breathing tube.

"They had to intubate 'cause of the swelling to his throat, and so they could sedate him whilst they patched up his back," Guerrero explained, "but it's not quite as bad at it looks. If there aren't any complications with his breathing, he should be out in a couple of days. He took a good few knocks to the head, but the doctors don't seem too worried about it. He dislocated his shoulder at some point too, but either Grimes reset it for him or he managed to do it himself, so there shouldn't be any long-term damage."

Winston nodded, shocked both by Guerrero's uncharacteristically helpful explanation, and his exhausted, sarcasm-free tone of voice. He'd obviously been through a lot, and for once it really showed. Winston could see he was still worried about Chance, despite the positive prognosis.

"You really came through for Chance," he said.

"Don't I always?"

Damn him! Couldn't he just take a complement when it was offered?

"How's your leg?" he asked.

"Still attached," Guerrero shrugged.

"Cut the macho bullshit, Guerrero! The last time I saw you, you had a knife sticking out of your leg! Shouldn't you be resting up in a bed of your own?"

"They wanted to take me into surgery, so I told them I didn't have insurance. They were happy to shoot me up with muscle relaxants and yank it out under a local. They stitched me up, gave me these nifty crutches and discharged me. No muss, no fuss."

Winston winced. "Heatly told me what happened. Did you really stick that knife in your leg yourself?"

"More or less, yeah."

"But why?"

"Chance was dying," Guerrero replied, as if that explained everything.

"But-"

"Look, I knew there was a good chance that if I got stabbed in the thigh, the knife was likely to get stuck so I could dispose of Grimes quickly and help Chance. Yes, it hurt like hell, but it got the job done. Any more questions?"

"So you knew it would work?"

Guerrero shrugged again. "Got enough knives stuck in other people's legs over the years to figure it was worth a shot."

Winston tried to push the image of Guerrero stabbing multiple victims in the spirit of scientific inquiry from his mind. He was certain that the idea was just a product of his imagination, but something about the image just seemed to lodge in his brain.

"They're keeping Chance sedated over night," Guerrero said. "So you may as well go home."

"I've got to go pick up Ames first. I spoke to her earlier and she's made herself quite comfortable in that woman's apartment."

"You might want to check her pockets before she leaves."

"Probably not a bad idea," Winston smiled. "Speaking of bad ideas, you should be resting. Falling asleep in that chair is not gonna do you any favours. If Chance is gonna be sedated the whole time anyway…"

"It's fine. I've made arrangements."

Winston waited for him to elaborate, but Guerrero went back to watching the rise and fall of Chance's chest.

"You need anything?" Winston asked, expecting the answer to be no.

"Yeah," Guerrero frowned looking down at his blood stained shirt and the faded pair of hospital scrubs he'd been given to replace his jeans which had been cut open to gain access to his injury. "Any chance you could grab my a pair of jeans and maybe a clean shirt on your way in tomorrow?"

Winston raised his eyebrows and made a note of Guerrero's size.

"Nothing to tight though. I still gotta be able to get them on over this dressing."

"Call me if anything changes," Winston said.

It was a long night, and Guerrero didn't get much sleep, but thanks to the fold out bed he'd procured from nervous orderly, at least he could stretch out in relative comfort. There was no visible change in Chance's condition, and the nurse who checked up on him periodically through the night tried to reassure Guerrero that he was doing well.

It was nine am before the doctor made his rounds, and Guerrero was about to kick up a stink if someone didn't come and tell him what was going on ,when the doctor finally arrived.

"And you are?" the doctor inquired.

"Your patient's partner," Guerrero said.

"I see."

The doctor looked over Chance's chart before performing a brief examination.

"We should be able to extubate Mr Chance this afternoon," he said, scribbling on Chance's notes and returning them to the foot of his bed.

As he started to leave, Guerrero said: "Wait. That's it?"

The doctor gave a heavy sigh. "Your partner has been very fortunate. His condition is stable, there appear to be no complications and the swelling in his throat is already going down. His other injuries are relatively minor. We'll need to keep an eye on him for a day or two to make sure that he doesn't develop any respiratory infections, but aside from that there is little we can do other than make him comfortable and give his body the chance to heal."

Guerrero sank into the chair beside Chance's bed. It seemed so surreal. Yesterday Chance was dying. Today he just needed some time to rest and recuperate.

"If you have any further questions, please feel free to address them with a member of the medical staff."

Guerrero nodded, only half aware of what the doctor was saying to him.

Chance really was going to be okay…

Winston spent the morning fielding phone calls from NCIS. He knew that it was too good to be true, the way they released him from the crime scene with little more than a promise to ensure Chance provided a written statement. Once they completed the investigation and clean-up of the garage, they started looking into Chance's involvement in the case, which meant they were investigating the team too. Winston tried to keep Ilsa's name out of it, but they made the connection with the Marshall Pucci Foundation on their own. Even though Winston tried to explain that the team no longer had any kind of affiliation with the Foundation, they contacted Ilsa anyway, so he had to spend an hour or so on the phone to London persuading her that Chance was going to be okay, and there was no need for her to fly back to be at his bedside. In the end he had to resort to telling her about Guerrero's bedside vigil, which did make her back off, but left him feeling like a total asshole for rubbing her face in it.

Guerrero phoned mid-morning to tell him that they were going to remove Chance's breathing tube in the afternoon, and where the hell were those fresh clothes he'd been promised? Winston hadn't exactly forgotten, but clothes shopping for Guerrero was way down his list of priorities. He told Guerrero that Ames would stop by with the clothes. As much as he wanted to be there when Chance woke up, he just couldn't get away.

"So I get to dress Guerrero?" Ames asked.

"No you get to buy him a shirt and pair of jeans, and drop them at the hospital. Don't even think about getting creative!"

Ames pouted a little, but agreed to buy only the items Guerrero had requested. Winston was still a little suspicious of the glint in her eye, but figured she couldn't go far wrong with a pair of jeans and a shirt. Besides, if what she picked out was really that awful Guerrero still had his scrubs. Plus there would be doctors on hand if she was stupid enough to piss him off.

Guerrero nodded off in the chair beside Chance's bed after the doctor's visit. The fold out bed had been tucked away for the day, and he'd only intended to close his eyes for a moment or two, but he fell into a deep sleep.

He was abruptly woken up when Ames dumped a bag in his lap, and he reached for his gun, only to remember that Winston had insisted he had it over before he got into the ambulance.

"What the fuck?"

"Oh my god! He looks half dead!" Ames said, leaning over Chance. "He's gonna be alright though? Winston said he's gonna by fine, right?"

"Yeah, the doc said there's no lasting damage," Guerrero said, pushing his glasses up and rubbing at his eyes.

"Chance! Can You Hear Me!" Ames said, loudly enunciating every word at if she was speaking to someone hard of hearing. "It's Ames, Chance!"

"What the hell are you doing?" Guerrero asked.

"It's supposed to help, right? Hearing a familiar voice. It helps them wake up or something."

"He's not in a coma, you retard! He's sedated! He'll wake up just fine when they stop giving him the drugs!"

"Oh," Ames said, looking a bit deflated.

Guerrero investigated the contents of the bag. The jeans were fine, but nestled beneath them was a red t-shirt, and when Guerrero unfolded it, Ames grinned.

"Ames."

"Yes?"

"What the fuck is this?"

"It's a t-shirt Guerrero."

"I see that. But why does it have a picture of a rainbow on it?"

"I thought it was cheerful. Don't you like it?"

"And the unicorn?"

"Er, it went with the rainbow?"

"Leave."

"What?"

"Leave. Now, before I change my mind."

"But-"

"Get. Out. NOW!"

"Jeez, I was only trying to lighten things up a bit," she sniggered, ducking the water jug that Guerrero launched at her head as she ran out the door.