Any other day Buck Wilmington would have proudly taken a bow to acknowledge the round of applause that greeted his entrance into the bullpen but the ruckus died down quickly, dampened by the look on his face. He took his seat, promptly crossed his arms on the desktop and rested his throbbing head on them. The 'rule' didn't say that the unfortunate, hung over, sick as a dog, son of a bitch had to do any work - just show up.

Carrie stood in the doorway of Chris' office and watched Buck's walk of shame and sighed. When her former husband had left Florida, left her, she had forced herself stop feeling anything for him. It had been a hard won battle and thinking of him had begun to hurt less and less with each passing day until, after a few years, she only thought of from time to time and without malice. Seeing him again, especially in this state, made her realize that she had never stopped feeling everything for the man as all the old feelings came rushing back. Her emotions began to war with her common sense and she was suddenly confused, a precarious way at best to launch a very dangerous operation.

As Carrie watched him slip silently into his seat, she felt sorry for him but she also wanted to kick his ass and knock some sense into that hard head of his - then hold him in her arms and kiss his cuts and bruises. She wanted to tell him that everything would be all right but she didn't know if it would. She had no idea where his head was and the best she could do for him at the moment was to leave him his pride. So she left, unseen, and returned to her hotel to await word on the jet's ETA.

Chris Larabee's reaction, however, was another matter altogether. The team leader came out of his office and shouted, "Wilmington!" but the man's head never moved. Chris didn't buy into it and demanded, "Buck, get your skinny ass in my office now!"

The ladies' man finally acquiesced and lifted his head. He was a sorry sight but one Chris could live with. He would rather see Buck at his desk, no matter how much pain he was in both physically or mentally, than to see his corpse laid out down in the morgue - which was exactly where he could end up if he didn't get his shit together and get it together pronto. None of them had any idea who they were going up against or where the drop was going to take place and he needed every man on his team with his head firmly in the game. As Chris waited at his door, Buck trudged past him and sat down in the naughty chair - the one situated directly in front of Larabee's desk. He sighed deeply, closed his eyes and waited with a scowl on his face.

"Buck..." Chris began but the man held up a hand silencing him.

Buck was in no mood to listen to anyone about anything. He neither wanted to be cajoled into spilling his guts nor spanked for being out of line and out of control. It had been a disastrous twenty four hours so far and he now found himself to be in the position of having to explain how, through omission, he had lied to his best friend for years. He'd not only glossed over his life before meeting Chris Larabee he'd flat out lied to the man about certain events and certain scars on his body and now he couldn't back peddle fast enough or far enough to fix it. His best bet was to go all hard-ass on Chris and make it clear that he didn't want to discuss any of it. It would piss his boss off royally but hopefully Chris would eventually forgive him his nasty bullheadedness.

"Listen Chris, I know what I did was stupid but I had my reasons."

"It was not only stupid but it was downright dangerous. If those bikers had known you were a federal agent they wouldn't have bothered trying to beat you to death, they would have just shot you in the back of the head and dumped you on some well manicured lawn in Cherry Creek."

"I didn't have my ID on me, as you damn well know, or I wouldn't have had to spend the night in a fucking cell," Buck countered crossly and watched as the vain in Chris' temple started to throb, thankful that Larabee had such a short fuse that morning.

Okay, Chris thought, so this is how you want to play it. "Listen Bucklin," he said none too gently, "I don't give a rat's ass who she is or why she broke your heart or even if you spent all your hard earned cash on her before she fucked you over. Just get over it and get over it now!"

"You think this was because of some woman?" Buck shouted back at him jumping up and knocking the chair over backwards.

Chris just sat back in his chair with a grim smile on his face. "Well, isn't it?"

Buck's mouth gaped open a couple of times like a dying fish. Yeah, it was. A wonderful woman and a little baby girl. He fixed Chris with a firm stare and, with a hard edge to his voice, responded, "Chris, I'm sorry about last night. I know this op is important to ATF and to DEA both and I'm not gonna do anything to screw it up. I'll be absolutely one hundred percent a go when we get the call."

"You'd better be but right now I don't trust you to take down my grandmother. Have J.D. take you home to sleep it off," Chris said and added with disgust, "No woman's worth it."

"Yes, sir," Buck said respectfully. He was not contrite in the least but was thankful for the reprieve. It seemed that God did watch out for drunks...but children? Not so much.