Back on the bench, Briggs shoved Mike's phone into the back pocket of his jeans. He had no doubts the kid would have called for help the minute he was out of sight. Mike didn't understand Briggs insistence for not seeking medical aid but then again the kid didn't know his deep dark secret either and Briggs wanted to keep it that way. His stomach roiled and he leaned over the nearby planter and puked. That activity left him weaker and he struggled to remain conscious. He must have drifted off a bit since Mike's voice startled him. "The cars over there. Let me help you up," Mike said moving to Briggs' less injured side.

To Briggs, the walk to the Bronco seemed endless and he collapsed in an exhausted heap in the passenger seat. Mike buckled him in before climbing behind the wheel. On the drive back to Graceland, Mike occasionally glanced over at this passenger who hadn't moved, other than to sporadically shiver. When they arrived home, he shut off the car, self-consciously cleared his throat and said, "Ah, we're home."

Briggs' dark brown eyes struggled opened. Gratefully recognizing Graceland, the injured man attempted to unbuckle his seat belt and exit the vehicle. The belt part went pretty smoothly but if Mike hadn't scurried around the car, Briggs would have found himself kissing the driveway. "Lean on me," Mike suggested. Should they have been observed by an outsider, it would appear that the younger man was assisting his inebriated colleague into the house. Once inside, Mike steered them towards the couch in the family room but Briggs had other ideas. "My room."

Mike eyed the staircase with trepidation. He and Briggs were nearly matched in the height and weight department; if they were girls they would probably be able to share clothes. However, Mike wasn't sure if he'd be able to get his trainer up the stairs; wouldn't that look great in his personnel file, 'Top graduate at FBI kills trainer by dropping him down a flight of stairs'. But Briggs was not a man to be stopped and he was already dragging Mike towards the staircase. About halfway up the stairs, Mike started cursing silently; why did Briggs' bedroom have to be so far from the front door? By the time they reached their destination, Mike was whacked and unceremoniously dumped Briggs onto the bed. He felt a pang of remorse when Briggs hit the mattress and let out an involuntary moan.

"Michael," his weak voice rose from the bed as he tried to find a comfortable position, "Go get a bottle of rum from downstairs."

Still working to catch his own breath, Mike looked over at his prone partner. "Give me a sec, huh. I think you're solid muscle," he panted.

"Of course I am. Tae Bo."

Mike chuckled as he slowly rose from the end of the bed; even half-dead Briggs was still cocky. "You want a glass with the bottle?"

"Hell no. And hurry, before I pass out."

"Why don't you skip the rum and just pass out?" Mike joked as he headed for the door.

A weak snigger rose from the bed. "Where's the fun in that?" But the joke became reality when Briggs eyes closed and he passed out. Concerned, Mike hurried back to the bed and laid two fingers against Paul's cardiac artery. He gave a small sigh of relief when he found a fairly strong pulse.

Mike turned to leave again figuring that bottle of rum better be on Briggs' night table before he woke up. He almost made it to the door when he remembered that Briggs still had his phone. Mike walked back over to the bed and gingerly removed his phone from the agents back pocket.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Mike went down stairs and plopped on the couch. Running his hands thru his dirty blond hair, he tried to release some of the tension in his body. Barely out of the academy and here he was sitting in a beach house in Southern California, his trainer upstairs, hurt but refusing to seek medical attention and Mike had no damn idea what to do next; this was so not in the manual. Dejectedly, Mike looked around the empty house; where were his roommates? It seemed like they were always underfoot when he did not want them and now, when he could use their help, they were nowhere to be found. Glancing up the stairs he made up his mind, pulled out his phone, and dialed Charlie.

Charlie answered on the third ring and Mike could hear loud music in the background. "Hey Mikey. What's up? You and Paul back yet? We're down at The Drop. Come on down and party!"

"Ah yeah, would love to but I have a little situation here. Briggs is injured."

Charlie's voice immediately switched to all concern. "How bad is he hurt? You at the house?"

"Yeah. I don't know how bad it is really. I mean I saw blood and he is passed out on his bed. I did check his pulse and it was strong," he added almost apologetically.

"There's blood?" Charlie asked as she moved across the bar to gather the rest of the team.

"Yeah."

"Alright. Hang tight Mike. We'll be there in fifteen."

Jakes and Paige, who had been listening to one side of the phone call asked, "Who's hurt?"

"Paul," she tossed over her shoulder as she hurried over to where Johnny was hanging with two co-eds.

"Oh my God," Paige said signaling the waitress for their tab.

Charlie rudely burst into the middle of Johnny's little tete-a-tete. "Gotta go. Now!"

"Go on without me Sister," he replied turning his attention back to his companions.

"Not likely!" she replied tugging on his arm.

"Come on. Can't you see I am..."

Charlie leaned in and softly said "Briggs is hurt."

Johnny's whole demeanor rapidly shifted. "Sorry ladies. I have to go. Next time though," he apologized with a grin. Both girls pouted a bit but it was a waste of time as Johnny dashed after Charlie, Paige and Jakes as they headed back to Graceland.