Author's notes: The darker side of fandom rears its ugly obsessive head. Conrad's turn to be in the hospital. Set between sometime Scott and Conrad start dating again and when they finally marry. And before Spectrum goes full swing.

The minute he was allowed to Scott Tracy wrapped himself like an octopus around Conrad Turner to the amusement and slight dismay of the medical staff.

"Ah, easy, Scottie, I do have bruised ribs," Conrad winced under the pressure, breathing in as deeply as he could once Scott relented a little.

"Not sorry," Scott muttered into Conrad's shoulder, his ear pressed against Conrad's back so he could hear the thumping of Conrad's heart.

Conrad met the eyes of one of the nurses as he lay his own arm over the arm Scott had wrapped around his waist, she just gave a smile and shook her head and made a notation on the chart.

"I'm going to be fine, Scottie. It was a low caliber pistol, stupid one at that, and my jacket could more than handle it," Conrad turned his head to murmur to Scott and to kiss him; mostly he was kissing air and hair, but Scott just wasn't going to move for anything, "Rose is going to be pleased, and I'm never going to hear the end of the 'I told you so's..."Conrad kept up a patter of comforting inanities, while Scott periodically murmured affectionate declarations back.

This kept up until a commotion was heard approaching.

"Hmm, I'd say your Dad, the Admiral and some police officers," Conrad added to his running commentary, "I'm guessing the Admiral just told the cops that GIN will be taking over the investigation, and it sound like, huh, Gordon's with your Dad..."

All Scott did was inhale deeply and continue listening to Conrad's heart beat.

Earlier

'Owowowowowowowowowow, fucking OW,' was all that was passing through Conrad's mind as he fell back, and considered himself fortunate that he managed to catch the lip of one the big ugly urn just outside the restaurant's entrance so he didn't hit his head on the pavement. It wrenched his arm a little. And then 'fuck, I've been shot,' and then a moment later after assessing himself, 'Rose's is going to be so pleased her gift worked.' And he couldn't deny that he was grateful for the bullet-proof jacket gifted him by Rose Gray. It took him a moment to get air back into his lungs.

Scott was beginning to turn to him and kneel down, but...

Gun. Muzzle. Pointing at Scott.

It was perhaps a pathetic sound, but Conrad managed:

"look out" and pointed before he tried to get back up to shield Scott.

Moot point as one moment Scott was beside him, the next Scott had wrenched the gun away from the assailant and was whaling on the man as if he meant to... Oh gods, Scott would never forgive himself.

"Scott," Conrad wheezed, "Scott, please, help. Help me."

The blood on Scott's hands was not his own, or Conrad's, as he returned to Conrad's side.

Later

"It could be worse," Gordon said sympathetically, as he placed a new cup of hot coffee in his oldest brother's hand, before he sat himself beside Scott on the bed – having an in office apartment in New York City had it's advantages, "with GIN involved there is a media blackout. It's not like the time I..."

"Thanks," Scott cut him off, but smiled a bit to soften his tone, "but it might make it worse. According to John the conspiracy theorists are already having a field day. Wondering exactly what International Rescue is doing meeting with the assistant director of the Global Intelligence Network."

They had not been able to keep it completely out of the media.

"You know, we could just say you were on a date," Gordon pursed his mouth and tapped his fingers against his chin, "it not like it's won't come out eventually. I don't know why you and Connie keep it so hush-hush."

"Don't" Scott gave a faint snort of laughter, his first since the day before, "call him Connie. It won't end well. And the question is how anyone knew we were there in the first place, or why they wanted to shoot us."

"Shoot Conrad," Jeff entered, and slumped down in a over-stuffed armchair next to the bed, "Sir Charles just called. GIN identified the assailant as Chase Deeken, apparently the president of the official Nia's Fan Club. At the moment they're working on the theory that he shot Conrad because you're suppose to get back together with Nia," Jeff fretted, "he still hasn't regained consciousness yet."

"I thought he looked familiar," Scott closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh, "and that's been over for years now. Besides, Nia ended it. Why can't they just give it up already?" he opened his eyes and glared at no one in particular, "and I'm not sorry."

"Son..."

"No, if Conrad hadn't been wearing that jacket, he could have been killed," Scott growled.

"Scott, in his line of work..." Gordon tried.

"In his line of work. We could all get hurt or killed in our line of work," Scott persisted, "Not out on a night on the town. Besides how did he know where we were? How did he know it was more than just a business dinner? That's what we and the GIN need to find out."

Jeff and Gordon conceded to those points.

They never did, officially, find out how the assailant discovered where Scott and Conrad were, nor even how he knew they were involved with one another.

Unofficially, however, several Tracy Industry employees were fired after it was discovered they had been selling gossipy tidbits to tabloids. Unfortunately, and even worse at least two of them had unwitting ties to a shell media company owned by the Hood.

The rest of the fallout would seen to in time.