Testimony

by May Robinson

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Part 1

"Mr. Wilmington?!" The high-pitched and decidedly irritated voice finally succeeded in breaking through the ATF agent's weary and preoccupied thoughts. Despite the fact that he was currently sitting in a courtroom, in the hot-seat, so to speak, Buck's mind was very much elsewhere. About eight miles southwest of him actually. The warehouse district, to be more precise

The agent glanced at his watch for about the thirtieth time since the cross-examination had begun, before finally returning his attention to the attractive woman addressing him - the accused's lead legal counsel. "Beggin' your pardon, ma'am. Could you repeat the question?"

Even the agent had to admit that anyone who knew Buck Wilmington would be hard pressed to believe that the highly attractive thirty-something brunette standing in front of him simply couldn't keep his attention. After all, the man did have a reputation to uphold

But it was true

Hell, just the fact that Wilmington was still on the receiving end of an exhausting two hour long attack by the defense attorneys in this case should've ensured that Buck be more attentive. Problem was, he really did have other things on his mind

Well. . .other people, anyway

Team 7 was acting as back-up for Team 3 in a weapons raid happening right in Denver. The veteran agent knew damn well that chances were it was either happening right then or the raid was already over. ATF had known the deal was going down today and they knew where it was happening. They just didn't know exactly when. And funny thing, after a long five hours. . .and still counting. . .Buck just didn't feel like sitting in court having his ass grilled anymore by some highfalutin princess. Especially when his closest friends, along with one disaster-magnet of a kid brother, were putting their lives on the line just so overpaid suits like the one in front of him could get their clients off the hook with legal technicalities

The whole situation really stunk

He'd just come to the not that surprising conclusion that he'd been sitting in the witness box too damn long as it was, repeating his story over and over again like a broken record until even he was getting sick of hearing his own voice. Problem was, if he actually did start paying attention to what the lady 'Perry Mason wannabe' was up to, he'd wind up doing or saying something he'd regret. And, since the whole point of this exercise was to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help him God and protect his credibility and reputation as an ATF agent while he was at it, he figured his best bet was to simply tune the bitch out

What he kept tuning into however - stewing about the raid he wasn't a part of, thanks to the aforementioned bitch and her team of sociopathic robots - was no better an alternative to dwell on as far as he was concerned. He was sure the raid should've gone down already, been long done and over-with in fact. At this point, his anxiety and misplaced guilt over not being there to watch his partners' backs and make sure JD came out of it safe and sound had him focussing all his pent up frustration on the attorney standing before him. God help her, if he let himself blow

The fact that no one from his team had yet to make an appearance in the packed courtroom wasn't helping his concentration any, either. Between glancing at his watch and stealing glimpses at the entrance each time he heard the old oak doors creak open and shut, he knew he was trying this woman's patience every bit as much as she was trying his

But he also knew JD'd be here if he could be. And that was more important than anything the lawyer had to say

Buck, along with the rest of the team, had been forewarned by Assistant D.A. David Brenneman, that the Defense was going to have to attack the ATF's performance in an effort to get the case thrown out of court. Their client was clearly guilty, so getting him off using a legal loophole was truly their only hope at acquittal. That Buck was the agent to have pulled the trigger and hospitalize their client, and therefore in line for the most, not to mention longest lasting, misery and abuse, was a given

The fact that the rest of Team 7 had testified the previous day and the defense attorneys had asked the court to adjourn until today so they could have at least all day with Buck if they saw fit, didn't bode well for the agent to have an easy time of it, either.

Still, he didn't really give a rat's ass about what was said about his performance or whether or not his actions were questionable. He knew he was justified and so did Chris and JD and the rest of the team. That's all that mattered to Wilmington. All he wanted was to get the hell out of Dodge, so he could track down his friends and make sure they were all still in one piece

He couldn't help but smile a little sadly as he remembered the miserable look on the kid's face early that morning when JD'd complained guiltily over coffee and toasted bagels that he and the rest of the team wouldn't be there in the courthouse for Buck, to lend their support while it was his turn to testify. After all, he'd been there for them

Leave it to JD to worry about his best-friend facing an ambitious lawyer when the kid and the rest of his team were about to take on dangerous arms dealers. .

"I really wish we could be there for ya, Buck." The boy's voice was soft, unable to hide the guilt and self-recrimination he felt in not being able to accompany Buck to court

"I know that, son." Buck did know. JD was about as loyal a friend as anyone could ever ask for and he knew the kid hated not being there to show his support. "Ain't nothin' I can't handle, JD." That was a fact. The older agent's confidence was completely genuine. He'd spent a lifetime facing the proverbial bureaucratic music and he'd always landed on his feet. And by the time his day in court was over, the same would be said again. He could count on it. And so could JD

What concerned him more was the safety and welfare of the boy and the rest of the team. It frustrated Buck to no end to know he wasn't going to be there for them - watching their backs. That he and JD were going their separate ways this morning, the morning of a major bust, just didn't sit right with him at all. And the last thing he wanted was JD preoccupied, worrying about him in court when the kid had his own fat to keep out of the fire - the line of fire, that is. "No need to fret, kid. Want s'more coffee?"

JD rolled his eyes at his roommate's too obvious change of subject, but slid his 1999 ATF Softball Championship team mug towards the steaming coffeepot hovering in Buck's grip, anyway. "I'm serious, Buck."

"JD--" Wilmington knew the kid hated the tone he was using, but it earned the older man exactly what he'd intended - the kid promptly threw him a well-practiced glare. Buck hated to see the kid upset but given a choice, always preferred a pissed off JD to a worried one

"I mean it, Buck. I'm worried about you." The big man couldn't help but smile warmly at the boy's misguided protectiveness. He burst into a grin though at the sheepish look suddenly flashing across the kid's face. "That lady lawyer really scared me - she's scarier than Chris!"

Whether JD'd meant to or not, he successfully had his best-friend laughing, and the older man had to quickly set down the coffee before either he or the floor wound up wearing the Brazilian 'nectar of the gods' he'd whipped up in his kitchen that morning

"Jesus, JD! Warn a guy before you actually go 'n say something funny for once!"

Buck's comment and the bright grin he wore immediately had the kid laughing too and, within seconds, the two friends slipped into their comfortable, easy banter. .

"Son, I promise ya. . .there ain't a lady out there that Buck Wilmington can't handle. I'll have her eatin' outta the palm of my hand so fast, she'll be askin' for my phone number before the jury gets all cosy in their seats."

He wants me to repeat the question?! Archibald, Crawford, Reilly and Associates' newest partner, Pamela S. Jamieson had just about had enough of this truly exasperating witness. Despite his obvious fatigue, she simply could not break ATF Agent Buck Wilmington's story. His confidence in his own actions in the field went beyond unwavering. It was like granite. He stuck to his story like Velcro, without faltering even once, no matter how many times she had him repeat it. And what was worse. . .the agent had the jury hook, line and sinker, eating right out of the palm of his hand

Not only were they believing his every word, they were also enjoying the show

With Wilmington's easy charm and rugged good looks, Pamela recognized almost immediately that every woman on the jury under the age of fifty was paying particularly close attention to his testimony - ridiculously close attention. In fact, the attorney was certain she'd even heard one feminine gasp coming from the jury box when the tall man had initially approached the witness stand and eased himself into his seat. His comportment was so casual she'd have thought he was sitting down with a beer to watch the game on TV - certainly not facing a career threatening interrogation

Equally as displeasing were the two older women jurors gazing at the dark-haired charmer with twin looks of motherly adoration. Jamieson couldn't prevent the image from forming in her mind of two old ladies fighting it out over which one of them was going to take the polite young man home and feed him his next meal

Not that he looked like he was under-fed. In fact, he looked just right. .

Mortified at her own thoughts, Jamieson promptly shook her head, trying to rid them from her mind and admonishing herself in the process. Pull yourself together, Pamela. This was her first truly important case since earning her partnership with the firm and she was infuriated that she simply could not crack this witness' story

She'd felt confident that at least she'd have the male jurors, who equaled the number of women, on her side. In her previous court appearances she'd observed how men naturally balked at authority figures in general, and a highly attractive man like Wilmington would surely bring out their competitive nature and animosity. They'd never take his side

Or so she'd thought

Instead, while the women jurors were leaning forward in their seats enraptured by Wilmington's charisma and silken voice, the men were all resting as casually in their seats as the witness, nodding their heads in understanding and - dare she think it - admiration and respect, as Wilmington spun his tale of honor and duty

She could just see it now. While the little old ladies were duking it out over who got to feed him, the men were going to be fighting over who would be first in line to buy the man a beer

Jamieson's only hope was to wear him down. Get him so fed up that he'd eventually slip up and discredit himself somehow.

She could see that she was making some headway

After a two hour delay in the proceedings while she and Brenneman argued evidence protocol in the judge's chambers, the prosecutor kept Wilmington on the stand for less than an hour. However, after the first hour of cross-examination, Pamela had noticed the agent becoming increasingly restless, frequently checking his watch and glancing at the courtroom exit. There was obviously someplace else he'd rather be. Well, she'd keep him on the stand for as long as it took, until he broke or at least until the judge figured out what she was up to and ultimately excused the witness

Until then, she'd keep pushing. The jurors would see another side of ATF Agent Buck Wilmington. She'd make sure of it.

"Do I have to repeat my question, Mr. Wilmington?"

Condescending bitch. The agent smiled ruefully, returning his intense gaze to the attorney and answering her softly. "Yes ma'am. And I do apologize for that, but since I suspect you weren't askin' for my phone number, you might just as well repeat the question so I can give you an answer."

Damn him! Although the members of the jury tried to stifle their collective mirth, Pamela couldn't help but notice with great disdain and animosity that the gallery had broken out into full-fledged laughter. Only the repeated banging of Judge Davis Witherspoon's gavel against his podium finally quelled the merriment in the courtroom

"Thank you, Your Honor." Jamieson flashed a smile at the presiding judge. Hell, she knew that at the very least right now she was losing the case and felt that resorting to some good old fashioned ass-kissing really couldn't hurt it any further

Despite the remnants of a pasted-on smile still lingering on the attorney's face, Buck could feel the searing wrath she flashed him as she returned her attention to him. Jamieson's voice and smile may have rivaled Buck's in their sweetness, but she certainly couldn't pull off the sincerity. That's because Pamela S. Jamieson, Esquire wouldn't know sincerity if it bit her on the ass, as far as Buck could tell. Still, if he wasn't so worried about JD and the rest of the team, he'd actually be having a good time trying to wear her down. He might not have won her over yet, but he knew he already had the jury on his side. If only she'd come to the same inevitable conclusion, give up on this futile cross-examination and finally let sleeping dogs lie

"Sorry, ma'am. Just got a little carried away there 's all. You go right on ahead, now." Wilmington dipped his head, looking to all the world abashed, and as a slight blush of color tinted his cheeks, Jamieson realized she was doomed

To hell with it. At least she'd make him suffer and be late for whatever it was that was obviously so much more important than his testimony. Just one more time for good measure.

"Mr. Wilmington, could you please recount the events of Wednesday, March 29th, 2000, leading up to and including the discharge of your weapon and subsequent wounding and permanent disabling of my client?"

Even the jury groaned.

Despite the futility of the attorney's attempt to rile him, Buck had every intention of repeating his story verbatim, just one more time, and staying in control as he did so

He was going to look into each of the jurors' faces - again - as he re-told them in chilling detail about chasing after the 240 pound Neanderthal who'd gunned down an ATF agent during a contraband cigarettes raid in front of Teams 5 and 7, God and everyone. And he'd shake his head in disgust one more time. . .cigarettes, for Christ's sake

And then he was going to tell them - again - about the 17-year-old migrant tobacco worker who'd innocently happened upon the raid and who 'simian man' in all his cowardice had decided to use as his hostage, running off with her kicking and screaming while he tried to make his escape

And then Buck would tell the gallery and the jury - again - about the shots fired by Ms. Jamieson's client that snuffed out the life of the migrant girl's frantic mother who'd chased after them to protect her little girl, armed with only a kitchen knife and some stick she'd picked up in the abandoned lot beside them

And then Buck would swallow the bile that rose in his throat each and every time he remembered the last dying cry of the girl's mother as it was overpowered only by the heart-wrenching scream of her daughter still echoing in his heart to this day

And then Buck would explain how he'd shot the perp's knee out from under him instead of blowing the guy's brains out, when he had actually had a clean shot at both

Yeah, Buck was going to repeat the whole ordeal over again and stay cool, even though he wanted to shout to the jury, the world and especially Pamela S. Jamieson that the only reason he'd chosen to shoot her client in the knee instead of between the eyes was that he figured the poor little girl still in the psychopath's clutches had been traumatized enough, without having someone's brains splattered all over her to boot. And it truly was that little girl and only that little girl, Buck Wilmington had been thinking of, when he'd made his decision to fire

But when the veteran law enforcement officer shifted forward in his seat to repeat his testimony for only the seventh time, and once again rested his elbows on the front of the witness box, he looked across the courtroom and suddenly everything changed. In that moment his breath hitched, his heart plummeted straight to hell and he no longer gave a damn about the jury, the trial, his career and especially Ms. Pamela S. Jamieson

Buck didn't give a damn about anyone or anything any more

Except. . .JD

Part 2

In the instant the ancient oak doors of the courtroom creaked open and his gaze shot across the room to meet the devastated blue eyes of both Josiah Sanchez and Vin Tanner, Buck Wilmington knew without a shadow of a doubt that JD was hurt bad. Dear God

Time had ground to an agonizing halt in that heartbeat and, within that moment, Buck's mind had processed the information before him. .

The ashen, grief-stricken expressions on his friends' faces clearly meant that one of the team was seriously wounded. But with two of his friends coming to collect him - no - coming to handle him, he knew that whoever was hurt was someone extremely close to his heart. And with Vin having come for him, Buck knew, it couldn't be Chris. .

And came to the soul-shattering conclusion that it had to be the kid. Oh God, it had to be JD

The only ray of hope Buck could desperately cling to - the only thing keeping him from being swallowed up right then and there by grief and losing his mind, heart and soul in anguish - was that Chris hadn't come for him

Because if JD was lost, Chris would be the one here for him now

The kid was still alive.

In the wave of emotions overwhelming him, instinct and fear took control of Buck's body and he was instantly rising from the witness stand before his mind could comprehend what the rest of him was doing

Pamela Jamieson didn't hide the surprise in her face. She had no idea what was happening, but suddenly Wilmington looked like a man very much in pain. All color was drained from him and his expression was now tight, his jaw clenching repeatedly with obvious distress

She finally had him. She was sure of it. "Mr. Wilmington, we are not finished here."

"I beg your pardon, ma'am. But yes. Yes, we are." Wilmington's lilt was velvety soft and yet it held within it an edge so sharp and so dangerous, Pamela found herself trembling

As the shocked courtroom erupted into a noisy cacophony, Vin and Josiah exchanged defeated and uneasy glances and made their way forward to the Prosecution's table to speak with the Assistant District Attorney

With the steady cadence of the hardwood gavel echoing throughout the room once more, the chaos began to dissipate to muffled murmurs and whispers, and Jamieson gathered her wits together and turned her attention, and a smugly satisfied smile, towards the judge. "Your Honor. It appears we have a hostile witness who is now in contempt of court. I request that Mr. Wilmington be treated accordingly."

Before Witherspoon could inform the overly ambitious Attorney Jamieson that it was he who determined whether or not a witness was hostile or in contempt in his courtroom, the urgent voice of Assistant D.A. Brenneman, having just spoken with Agents Sanchez and Tanner, interrupted him. "Your Honor, may Counsel approach the bench?"

The judge's response was once again interrupted - this time by Buck Wilmington. "Judge?"

The big man's voice was barely a whisper and yet Davis Witherspoon felt the thunder of its emotion reverberate deep within his own chest. The witness had his undivided attention, so he staved off the prosecutor's approach with one wave of his hand. "Yes, Mr. Wilmington?"

"May I address the court, Your Honor?" Wilmington's voice regained much of its familiar strength, yet it remained laced with such deep emotion it had silenced the entire courtroom

Tanner and Sanchez looked at each other knowingly. Vin knew that Josiah wasn't the only silver-tongued devil on Team 7

Both sides of the dispute were about to aggressively object to Wilmington's request; however, when the Assistant D.A. felt the sudden firm grasp of Vin Tanner's hand on his arm and caught a glimpse of Josiah Sanchez' affirming nod, he wisely decided to let Wilmington speak

Jamieson's initial reaction was to deny Buck Wilmington his say but when she saw the depth of emotion intensely etched on his face, she realized that something had finally broken this man. He suddenly looked vulnerable, as though he could crumble any minute. Finally, this was her chance. She would make him crack

"No objections, Your Honor."

Buck took a deep shuddering breath and willed himself to stay in control for just another minute or two. Losing it would only get him arrested and thrown in jail, and that wouldn't get him any closer to JD. And he knew that boy needed him

JD needed him in control

Another calming breath entered his still quaking body, and he had to tightly grip the solid wooden structure surrounding him, feel its stability, in order to continue to speak. "Your Honor, I genuinely don't mean you or this courtroom any disrespect, but frankly I'm just a little tired of this game Ms. Jamieson 'n I've been playin.' Tryin' to see just who can break who first. Well, you see. . .it just don't matter. . .anymore. . ."

Pamela bristled at Wilmington's mention of their game but before she could utter an objection, Judge Witherspoon silenced her with an admonishing glare. She'd made her bed and the judge was going to ensure that she lay in it. With one look, he'd made that perfectly clear

Buck halted his impassioned speech, feeling himself begin to crumble. He had to pull himself together. Lowering his head, he desperately tried to fight the tight constriction in his throat threatening to steal his voice before he could even consider raising up again and facing the jury. "You see, we've been sittin' here playin' with all this legal mumbo jumbo, technicalities and the like while my partners - my friends - were out there today. Right in the thick of it. Riskin' their lives for this city and for their country. And I should've been out there with 'em - watchin' their backs. Not here, playin' games."

Buck shifted his gaze to Vin and Josiah, seeking strength from their presence and gaining even more from their kinship. Transfixed on his partners, the agent swept a shaky hand towards them and continued his speech. "Now if you look over yonder, towards that table, you'll see two of my partners who testified here yesterday. And if you knew 'em like I do, you'd know without even askin' just why they're here and why they're lookin' as rough as they do. And that's because they've come to fetch me. To take me to the hospital where my partner - where JD - is hurt real bad."

Witherspoon lifted his gavel again, in anticipation of the bedlam the witness' revelation would most assuredly initiate

It wasn't necessary. His courtroom was completely hushed, so he returned his gavel to its place as Wilmington continued

"You all remember JD from yesterday, don't you?" Buck was speaking to the jury once again - a mixture of pride, despair and deep devotion spilling from his soft voice. "Doesn't look much more 'n seventeen himself, does he? Now there's a kid for ya. Agent JD Dunne - don't matter what I tell 'im, you know. That boy still believes in justice and that good guys win over bad and that being a good person - the likes of which I have never ever seen in my life - could actually count for somethin.' Now don't that just beat all?"

Buck looked so very lost and bewildered, and both Josiah and Vin felt the uncontrollable urge to rescue their friend as though he were drowning in high seas. But they held fast. They knew Buck had more to say

The distraught agent looked away from the jury towards Pamela Jamieson and his anguished gaze turned to black ice. "Now lady, if JD dies, the sun might as well never come up again, because that boy is everything I live for. So, if you really wanna go another round with me, well that's just fine, but we're just gonna have to do it some other time because my ride's awaitin' and I've got someplace else to be."

Pamela was speechless, as was everyone else in the courtroom. Buck Wilmington was looking at her expectantly, those midnight blue eyes willing her to finally give in. To let this little charade of hers go. She felt the eyes of the gallery and the jury drilling into her, forcing her to face reality, accept defeat and, in the words of the remarkable man before her, let the good guys win this time. . .before it was too late

Swallowing her pride, Pamela quickly made her decision and felt a hint of self-respect rush through her in the process. A slight but genuine smile parted her lips as she faced the agent and then addressed Judge Witherspoon. "No more questions, Your Honor. You may excuse this witness."

Witherspoon had his gavel in hand once again, but its repetitive beat could not quell the cheer that broke out in his courtroom. Despite the pandemonium, and his so-called impartial status, the judge had felt a surge of paternal pride as he'd listened to the witness speak

In a demonstration of his natural athleticism, or perhaps rather a demonstration of his immense desire to get to the hospital and to his youngest partner as quickly as humanly possible, Wilmington vaulted over top of the witness stand, nearly bowling over Pamela Jamieson as he did so. And upon swiftly planting a kiss on the bewildered defense attorney's lips, he bolted with his two partners from the courtroom, parting the gallery and the crowded hallways beyond in a scene which could only be described as reminiscent of DeMille's 'Ten Commandments.'

Part 3

For Buck, the fifteen minute drive to Mercy General felt like a slow ride through hell. Even with the dash-light flashing and portable siren wailing, Josiah had one hell of a time maneuvering Ezra's Jag through Denver's rush hour traffic. By the time the three agents arrived, with tires screeching to a halt in front of the Emergency entrance, a frantic Wilmington had flung the passenger door open and charged into the hospital, not noticing or even caring that Josiah hadn't actually intended to stop there.

Josiah carried on through to the parking lot, careful not to add any more dents to Ezra's prized vehicle, while Vin followed in hot pursuit of an inconceivably distraught friend. Accelerating into a run, Tanner caught up to Buck just as he was lining up a petite admissions nurse who was visibly shrinking away from the crazed man towering over her.

As he grasped his friend's arm and swung Buck around to face him, Vin immediately realized the error of his ways. Only the quick reflexes of both agents, skilled as they were in hand-to-hand combat, prevented either man from any injury. As Vin narrowly avoided Buck's first blow, recognition finally surfaced in the big man's eyes and with a frustrated growl, he dropped his clenched fist. "Damnit, Vin. Where's JD?"

The sharpshooter's heart clenched at the utter despair echoing in his friend's voice. It was as though the thread Buck was hanging onto was unraveling before Vin's eyes. He'd watched the big man keep it together in court, but the drive to the hospital had been hell. Josiah and Vin had already told him JD was on the third floor in ICU, but Tanner knew Buck had only latched onto bits and pieces of what they'd actually said during their wild race to get to the kid. The only facts that mattered to Buck were that JD had suffered a serious gunshot wound to the chest, and that the boy was still alive.

Vin knew there was no point in talking to the man. He'd leave that formidable challenge to Nathan and Chris. Placing his hand on Buck's shoulder and giving it an affectionate squeeze, Vin spoke softly, but resolutely. "I know where he is, Buck. C'mon. Let's get there."

As the elevator reached the third floor/ICU, and its mechanical doors slid open none-too-quickly enough for Buck's patience, Vin didn't even consider trying to hold Buck back. The effort would've been futile and, this close to JD's bedside, downright suicidal.

Apparently though, Nathan Jackson had a kamikaze streak in him that Vin hadn't ever noticed before.

Tanner had quickly spotted Ezra Standish, now wearing the latest fashion in surgical scrubs, seated at the end of the long hall Wilmington was presently running down. Team 7's undercover agent nodded his head, acknowledging Vin's gaze and immediately moving away from the waiting area and the 'decidedly gauche' chair he'd been entrenched in, and abruptly knocked on the door to the ICU.

An instant later, Vin watched as Nathan Jackson stepped out of the room and promptly and purposefully planted himself in front of said door, apparently unconcerned of the fact that a 190 pound locomotive named Buck Wilmington was about to go right through him, with no intention whatsoever of slowing down, let alone slamming on his brakes.

Both Tanner and Standish stood in their respective places, riveted to the scene, unable to move and yet unable to look away from the horrific spectacle about to unfold before them.

"Outta my way, Nathan." The soft-spoken words were deceptive, originating from some dark place deep within Buck's core, and carrying with them a threat so unnerving, it finally broke the spell immobilizing Vin and Ezra.

Ezra quickly moved to Jackson's left and, having caught up to Buck, Vin moved into place on Nathan's right.

"I said, outta my way." Wilmington was quivering with emotion – fear, rage and anguish quarrelling for top billing.

"Can't do that, Buck. Not yet." Nathan held his ground, completely aware of the very real threat facing off with him, and yet his voice remained determined, unwavering.

Wilmington instantly began to deflate – anxiety, dread and exhaustion overcoming him – the utter disbelief at the betrayal of his three friends standing before him, wounding him clear through to his soul. Didn't they understand that JD needed him? Didn't they understand that he needed to be with his kid brother?

At the first hint of acquiescence, Nathan visibly relaxed. His voice softened in accord. "Buck, you plan on sittin' with JD all night?"

The question confused Wilmington. "'Course I do. D'you even hafta ask?"

Jackson dipped his head, shaking it as he smiled. No, he didn't have to ask. He motioned for Ezra and Vin to back off, each of them pausing briefly to give Buck a pat on the back before returning to the adjacent waiting area, ready to resume their vigil.

Slipping his own strong arm around Buck's shoulders, Jackson drew his friend closer and was at once gratified, and at the same time sorrowed, when he actually felt Buck give a little and lean into him. Buck Wilmington was by nature open and demonstrative and always the first to be there to provide a friend a shoulder to lean on. But he was also always the last to ask that of anyone else.

Thankful he could be there for him, Nathan still couldn't help but feel a great sadness that his friend was suffering so immensely to actually accept his support. Gently squeezing Buck's arm, he whispered, "Nah, Buck. I don't hafta ask. But you know I couldn't let you barge in there like you was plannin' to. Security'd have you kicked out for good in no time flat and, I'd hafta say I wouldn't blame 'em one bit."

Buck bristled slightly at Jackson's comment but when their eyes met, the former EMT staved off his friend's protest with a resolute gaze. "Buck, you know there's folks other than JD in there and they ain't up to the scare you'd 'a given 'em lookin' as wild as you did comin' up here. Hell, if JD'd been awake to see ya, you'd 'a even given him one hell of a fright."

At the mention of the kid's name, Nathan felt the man in his grasp wilt, but then immediately recover and straighten up to his full height. "JD's sleepin'?" Jackson didn't get the chance to answer. "Damnit, Nate, I'm all right now and I do aim to see him. Just what in hell happened anyway? Is he gonna be okay?" Wilmington's voice was regaining its strength.

Jackson knew that once Buck started his inquisition, he wouldn't get a word in edgewise, so he let the man run out of steam before finally responding. "C'mon with me. JD's still gonna be under for a long while yet. 'Sides, Chris is with 'im, so he ain't alone. C'mon, let's sit down over here ‘n then we can talk."

Tightening his hold on his friend, Nathan's attempt to steer Buck to the nearest chair was roughly shrugged off. "Damnit Nathan, sittin' is all I been doing today and look where that got JD!"

Even as his voice continued to rise, Buck realized the futility of being this damn close to losing complete control. He knew he had to rein in his temper. Nathan was right, he wouldn't do JD or anybody else any good if he lost it. But damnit, this was just too hard. Being kept away from what he held dearest to him was damn near unbearable. He needed to see JD, to hold his hand. . .and to know that the boy was truly still with him.

And Buck needed to tell JD how sorry he was for not being there for him when the boy needed him most. "Come on, Nathan. You know he needs me. I gotta be there for him." This time.

Nathan winced as he listened to the desperation in Buck's heartfelt plea. The guilt-laden words, though not even remotely surprising -- when didn't Buck blame himself for JD getting hurt? -- were sorely misplaced and succeeded only in riling the usually placid Nathan Jackson. "Look, you better get that thought outta your head right now. You ain't got no call blamin' yourself for JD gettin' hurt. Hell, you weren't even th. . ."

Shit. He'd stopped himself too late. The streak of pain flashing across his friend's face and still reflected in his wounded eyes, painted all too clearly the picture of deep anguish and guilt harbored within Buck Wilmington's soul. Nathan conceded defeat, he knew there was no point in fighting this battle. He'd have to change tactics. "Buck, JD gets one look at you right now, sees you beatin' up on yourself like this, and he's only gonna think the worst."

"He needs you strong, my friend. Believin' in him to live." Josiah's reappearance was announced by soothing words of wisdom and punctuated by a strong welcome arm, hooked around Buck's neck in a comforting embrace.

" Is he gonna live. . .Nathan?" The question was almost childlike in its hesitancy. And for that moment, while still remaining unanswered, a shroud of fear and dread hung in the air. Nathan's heart could only ache for his friend.

Jackson knew the not knowing was killing the man. Stealing a quick glance at Josiah, who in turn immediately tightened his hold on Buck, Nathan answered honestly. "We don't know yet, Buck. He did real good in surgery, but. . .he lost a lot 'a blood before we could even get 'im here. He's awful weak, Buck. The doctors, they. . .they just don't know."

Buck nodded his head in numb understanding, grateful for the big hand now gently gripping his neck, imparting the welcome strength and much-needed faith Josiah always seemed to have in abundance.

Looking into the eyes of Josiah and Nathan, and then into those of Ezra and Vin who'd come to stand alongside him, he embraced their collective offering of hope and will, and turned to face the doors of the ICU.

Upon crossing the threshold Buck faltered, his senses overwhelmed. Hearing the beeps, blips and whirrs of the life-preserving machinery – machinery that was in all certainty invasively attached to the boy, keeping him alive – his head swam and his heart thundered in his chest and Buck began to pray. The clinical hospital smell overcame him, churning the nausea already welling in his gut and threatening to send him reeling to the floor. His head spun and the room swayed, and he quickly reached out to latch onto something upright. Anything upright.

"Chris?"

"Easy, big fella. I gotcha." Chris Larabee's tone was remarkably warm, carrying within it a hint of humor, along with his obvious concern. He'd been waiting for his oldest friend's arrival, steeling himself for what was to come. Until he heard the footsteps falter outside the curtain separating them, and then witnessed as an unseeing Buck turned nearly as ashen as JD and wavered on the brink of collapse, he hadn't truly realized the magnitude of the fear and anguish consuming his friend. And to realize it, was to share in it. How he wished he could have prevented this tragedy.

Despite their many battles won and lost in recent years, Chris' supportive hold willingly and easily became a comforting embrace. And as Buck held on to him for dear life, both men realized with sudden clarity that no matter their differences, they'd always be there for each other. It's what friends did for each other.

"C'mon." Maintaining a firm grip on Buck's arm, he guided his friend through the curtains separating them both from JD, and led him to the kid.

At the sight of the pale waif lying so very still in the hospital bed, Buck's breath hitched and his feet faltered once again. But only for a moment. "Oh Jesus, Chris," he breathed and all but ran to JD's side, careful to avoid the monitors and machinery latched like tentacles to the boy they surrounded, making him look even younger and smaller and more vulnerable than Buck could have ever imagined possible.

"Oh, JD," he whispered, tenderly placing one trembling hand atop the kid's and another on his fevered brow. The image before him was terrifying. This couldn't be JD. The boy lying in bed was as still as. . .

No! JD was life personified – exuberant, cocky and willful. Not weak. Never weak like this.

God, he looked so bad, as pale as could be, his cheeks and eyes sunk so deep he looked like he'd lost more than half his body-weight since Buck had last seen him at breakfast – a lifetime ago.

So mesmerized by the horrific image of his broken little brother, Buck hadn't realized Chris was still with him. Until he tried to lean in closer to the boy to talk to him. He'd intended to shift his hand from JD's wrist to his leg but Chris' hand swiftly and firmly caught his, preventing the touch.

Buck whirled with a start, his eyes fueled by anger until realization suddenly set in and his expression fell into that of confusion. Chris breathed in a weary sigh, immediately recognizing that Buck had yet to have been told about the surgery. Shit.

"Chris?"

"Did Nathan tell you about the surgery?" Chris already knew the answer.

Buck's response was a grim smile and a shake of his head. Returning his attention to JD, he gently smoothed his hand along the boy's hair as he spoke softly. "Hell Chris, Nathan's lucky I didn't take him out just tryin' to slow me down." At that comment, Chris' mouth quirked into a slight smile. Buck was right about that. Jackson was lucky. Larabee definitely owed him one.

"All I know is this boy's hurt real bad. . .but. . .he's made it through surgery and he's still breathin' and his heart's still beatin' and that's all that matters." Wilmington looked to his friend, whose expression was that of obvious concern as well as unease. "Ain't it?"

Before Larabee had the chance to respond, Buck suddenly remembered Chris' exact words: 'Did Nathan tell you about the surgery?' He turned to his friend, anxiety burning another hole in his gut. "What about the surgery?"

Chris moved towards the unconscious boy, carefully pulling back the thin blanket covering his injuries and exposing them to Buck for the first time. Chris had already seen the boy's chest wound, couldn't erase its memory from his mind. The horrific image of JD bleeding so profusely – as first Ezra and then Nathan had valiantly tried to stop the incessant flow before the paramedics took over at the scene – permanently etched in his soul.

And now awful wounds in the kid's arm and leg, too. Necessary evils to save JD's life, but it still made Chris sick to look at them. To know that the surgeons had to cut into JD further in order to try to save him, tore at his heart. He knew Buck's would crumble.

Grateful once again for Chris' well-timed and welcome supportive arm, Buck still had to fight his knees from buckling beneath him as he took in the horrific sight. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow mirroring those he continued to wipe from the boy, and small tremors invaded his entire body as his fears melded with stark reality, finding neither hope nor comfort in the image before him.

"Dear God, what did they do to him?" He whispered with mournful incredulity, as his gaze followed the path of the massive incision extending all the way from the hideous wound just beneath JD's collarbone, up and around until it sliced into the boy's biceps. "Chris?"

Larabee swallowed hard. He suddenly wished Nathan was there in his place. Even though the man loved the boy too, the licensed EMT could explain the procedure so much more clearly and with the clinical detachment required to make it all sound so necessary. Instead, the explanation would fall to Chris, even though he shared the revulsion he saw in his old friend's eyes just looking at the incision the surgeons had carved into the boy's chest and arm. And leg. Hell, Buck was so mesmerized by that long, looping cut into the kid's chest, he hadn't even noticed the equally repugnant one sliced into his thigh. Yet.

Buck's stomach continued to churn as he took in the sight of the long, hideous gash seemingly dissecting the boy's well-muscled chest and arm. Bewilderment mingled with anger and ultimately transformed into full-blown fury when his eyes were finally drawn to the large incision on JD's uncovered thigh. "All right, now. Just what the hell is goin' on here? This ain't no bullet wound," he hissed, his hand hovering shakily just above the stitches in JD's leg.

"Easy, Buck," Chris soothed. "Let me explain." Larabee's efforts to keep his friend calm weren't very successful, so he grabbed hold of Buck's arm and reluctantly dragged him away from the unconscious boy.

Buck initially resisted but immediately realizing Chris' motivation was strictly concern for JD and keeping him undisturbed, he quickly changed his tune and gave in. His voice lost all menace and only defeat and fear remained within it. "What's goin' on? Why'd they have to cut him up like that?"

Glistening green eyes met Buck's intense gaze, both men momentarily rendered speechless by the too-familiar raw anguish mirrored in each other's faces.

"The bullet did some damage, Buck." Chris' voice was soft.

Buck's eyes immediately shot over to the still form lying on the hospital bed. Before his mind could register that his feet had begun to move, Buck found himself once again at the boy's side, placing the smaller hand in his own.

"Damage?"

Larabee swallowed the block of emotion still taking up residence in his throat. To be honest, he didn't really understand all the ins and outs of the surgery JD'd undergone, just that the doctors never really had any choice in the matter. That wouldn't stop him from telling Buck what he did know, though. "The bullet hit a pretty major artery, pard. Nate knows which one. . .I. . .I'm not sure what it's called," he sighed, not wanting to voice what had been done to the kid. "In order to fix it, they had to take a graft. . .from his leg. . ."

Chris paused again, his heart breaking in the wake of the mournful moan issuing from his oldest friend's throat. God, this was so unfair.

Part 4

Buck had stopped looking at Chris, could barely hear him for that matter. In a surreal way, he somehow knew Chris was spouting phrases such as 'surgery went well' – 'if the graft takes' – 'he'll need physio' and the ever ominous 'next 24 hours are critical', but the words were just floating around him. He couldn't deal with them yet and would just have to rely on his mind to absorb them until the time he could deal with them.

Right now he was concentrating only on what his heart and soul knew. All he needed to know. The kid he adored was fighting for his life. And that kid's best friend and guardian was going to do everything in his power – from sheer will, to prayer, to words, to touch – to help JD win this fight.

To the mortified Wilmington, the kid looked more like he'd been on the wrong end of an encounter with a knife-wielding psycho than he did a patient of Denver's finest surgical team. God, he looked so bad. And so damn young.

God, JD was just a kid. He had so much yet to see and learn. They both had so much left to do together, so many plans to see through. And one bullet wasn't gonna stop them. Hell, their journey was only just beginning. . .damnit. . .

Buck could feel the tears start to well in his eyes and he simply didn't have the fortitude to fight them.

Leaning in close, Buck draped his arm across JD's pillow, around and down alongside the kid's cheek, nearly encircling the boy's head within his hold. He lightly squeezed the smaller hand still within his own and whispered into JD's ear. "JD. . .you gotta get better for me, you hear?"

Anxious grief consumed him and his soft lilt broke from the immense weight bearing down on his heart. "Aw, kid. What'd you go and do this for, huh? You know ole Buck can't take this kinda worry, son. I. . .ain't gonna lose you, boy."

If Buck hadn't known better he'd have sworn the unconscious youth was settling deeper into the crook of his arm. Both Chris and Nathan had told him JD'd be out for hours yet, after all, so it must have been his imagination. Still, he couldn't help but feel that JD knew he was with him, that he was already reaching him. And that was good.

Releasing JD's hand he placed his own upon the ashen face still within his embrace and tenderly brushed away the fringe of too-long bangs from the boy's eyes. He knew the kid needed to rest, needed a healing sleep as Nathan would call it, but damned if he wasn't so sure that JD really was coming around.

Buck truly didn't want to disturb him but, if he was waking up anyway, the kid would undoubtedly feel better seeing a familiar and friendly face, and so. . .

"JD? You with me, son?"

"Bu – ck?"

The sound was more breathless gasp than spoken word, but its effect on Buck was electric. The veteran cop knew with intimate clarity just how terrifying it could be waking up groggy and in pain, in a strange bed in a strange place after your last conscious thought had been something to the effect of, 'Oh f*ck, I've been hit'.

Immediately shoving his own grief aside, the big man felt a surge of renewed strength and hope. This had become his time to to do what he did best, to take care of the boy and to assure JD that everything was going to be all right.

Because everything was going to be all right.

Ever so slightly, Buck tensed the arm still encircling the boy's head – to let JD know he was there and to let him know that he was safe. "I'm right here, JD. . .I gotcha," he murmured as he bent even closer to the boy's ear. "And I ain't leavin' you, boy."

The mixture of joy, hope and conviction resonating in Buck's hushed voice lifted Chris' heart, nearly as much as JD's eagerly anticipated call for the big man had given the team leader back the ten years he'd lost -- lost when he'd discovered the bloodied and seemingly lifeless body of his youngest agent and friend, held within Ezra's embrace on a warehouse floor just hours before.

Despite his own mounting desire to talk to the kid, to tell him how proud he was of him and to simply be there at the moment when JD's eyes would open, seeking out the reassurance, love and faith ever-present in Buck Wilmington's face, Chris placed a strong, comforting grip on Buck's neck and whispered his intent to leave his two friends alone. From the sound of the boy's excruciatingly weak voice, to the remembered speech of the vascular surgeon, Larabee knew that JD would drift back to sleep within seconds. Chris would leave those few precious moments to Buck.

Besides, he still had plenty of time to talk to JD. . .

. . .he prayed.

JD was so very confused. He knew it had something to do with how impossibly heavy his head felt. Mind you, he wasn't exactly sure if clarity was actually the direction he wanted to go though, either. He knew there was excruciating pain waiting for him. Hell, it was already taunting him, just at the edges of his consciousness. He could understand – vividly remembered, actually – why his chest felt like he'd been impaled by broad-sword, but he had absolutely no idea why his arm and leg were starting to ignite, too. He'd only been hit once. . .as far as he knew.

Was he so messed up that he couldn't even remember more shots? And if that was the case, then how could he believe anything his muddled mind was telling him? He was certain he'd just heard his best friend's soothing voice, felt that gentle and familiar touch on his cheek and brow, and even wrapping around his fingers, too. Despite the big man's rough and powerful hands, their warmth always brought JD comfort.

He'd almost believe that Buck's big arms had hold of him now, bestowing his boundless strength and keeping JD safe, all at the same time.

The kid wanted so desperately to believe Buck was there.

But big brother wasn't there. He'd gone to court to give his testimony and it was going to take at least a full day for him to do it. The D.A. had told them that. At least one whole goddamn day.

So, could it be that it was Ezra still holding him? He didn't think so. He remembered that Nathan and Chris had come for him, too. After. Hadn't they? Hadn't he talked to Chris? Made him promise not to yank Buck outta court until he was through?

Even if it meant he wouldn't see his best friend for a while, JD knew he could hang on and wait. He had no plans on dying, that was for damn sure. But once Buck arrived, the kid knew he couldn't handle him having to leave again. JD couldn't handle being that hurt and that scared again – alone. No, JD Dunne never wanted to feel that utterly and desperately alone again. Ever.

He could remember lying there on the cold concrete floor, too breathless to speak, let alone call out for help from his friends. And he remembered watching with stark mind-boggling horror, as the pool of blood – his blood – grew all around him, trailing away from him and taking his life with it, inch by inch. It had been as if the fire in his chest were subsiding in direct proportion to the enlarging pool surrounding him, and he'd known in that moment that he'd have rather felt the agonizing fire than face the alternative, if given the choice.

And despite Ezra's welcome and calming voice, and his strong arms holding him and pressing against the crater that must have been in his chest, JD remembered thinking about Buck. How he'd wished Buck had been there with him instead. It wasn't the Team's fault – he knew that without a doubt – but Buck simply wouldn't have let him bleed so long like that, and he would've found him first, right quick. Hell, Buck Wilmington would've somehow made sure JD hadn't taken the bullet that apparently bypassed his vest in the first place.

With that thought, he was reminded again at how he'd laughed in Ezra's arms, despite the stabbing pain coursing through him as he did so. He might've been delirious or hysterical, he wasn't sure, but his laughter only intensified as JD caught the look of utter bewilderment on Ezra's face. He couldn't help himself at the time. Knowing just how pissed Buck was gonna be when he found out the vest had failed his kid brother, had warmed JD's freezing body and his slowing heart, and he had actually felt a surge of sympathy towards the folks who supplied the Denver ATF their vests. Almost.

Buck was as easygoing a man as could be, but when confronted with a threat or injury to someone he cared deeply for, the man was as volatile as Chris Larabee on even his worst day. And JD knew without a shadow of a doubt that Buck Wilmington cared for no one more than he did the kid who slept under his roof. His sometimes overbearing, oft times over-protective, but always undeniable love for JD was practically legendary. And it was something JD thrived on.

The kid hadn't felt anything like it since his mama was alive. Even then, Buck's feelings for JD somehow held more power. Maybe it was because that unconditional affection hadn't ever been expected or asked for? Or maybe because it came from one of the strongest people he knew. Someone whose open adoration for a kid somehow never seemed to diminish him in any way in the eyes of others. Never made him any less a man, and only made JD admire him even more than he'd already had when he'd first joined the legendary team.

Whatever the reason, JD felt damn near invincible when Buck was around. Sure it helped that he knew he wasn't any slouch in his own right. Willfull, cocky and too damn smart for his own good were some of his most admirable, as well as exasperating, attributes. Buck figured he'd gotten them from his mama and JD pridefully couldn't deny it.

Still, when the two of them teamed up was when JD felt his strongest, and even his happiest. He couldn't really explain it, but it was like they fed off of each other's energy and strengths, bringing out the best in each other. And they could always bring the other up when one of them was feeling a little down.

God, what he could do with some of Buck's strength right now. But Buck wouldn't be there yet. Hell, if Chris kept his promise, JD'd made sure of it.

Until Buck was through testifying, he'd might as well just go back to sleep. ‘Cause without Buck, sleep was about the only thing that would keep the steadily encroaching pain at bay.

Part 5

Buck had been so sure the boy was waking up. JD'd called out for him but, even though Buck had been right there to answer his call, the kid had simply faded again. Understandable, given that he was so very weak and drugged to the hilt to boot, but Buck still didn't like it. The kid's expression was too pained, like he was upset along with hurting so bad and that was something the big man just couldn't abide. Buck would give anything to take away the anguish still playing across the unconscious boy's face. And he knew just how to do it, too.

Despite his better judgment, and the dressing down he'd get from Nathan if ever he found out what he was about to do, Buck tenderly tousled JD's hair and spoke softly once again in his ear.

"JD? C'mon, boy. Wake up for me, kid."

A soft breathless sigh followed in the wake of Buck's words, resulting in the desired effect. The boy began to stir.

"That's it, son. Open your eyes for ole Buck." The agent's heart grew lighter as he witnessed the hopeful signs of life emerging from the kid. JD swallowed once with some difficulty and Buck readied the water glass and straw setting next to the bed awaiting the youth's return to consciousness.

Cupping his palm against JD's cheek, he hoped his touch would provide JD a focal point to help him fight the fog undoubtedly clouding his mind, as well as providing the comfort, security and strength he knew the kid would so desperately need, after everything he'd just gone through and had yet to endure.

Thick, dark lashes fluttered against the shadowy hollows beneath his eyes, and Buck found himself holding his own breath in anticipation of their unveiling. Only when he felt the warm skin beneath his palm twitch and then turn into his touch, did he allow himself the luxury of exhaling. "That's my boy," he breathed, unaware of the tears filling his own eyes.

When finally tiny slits of hazel peered up into his view, the big man simply couldn't prevent at least one tear from trailing along his cheek. "Aw, JD." In spite of barely open eyes, the boy's confusion and suffering were plainly revealed to the man who could read him like a book. And Buck's heart and soul ached with the revelation. "I'm here, little brother. Everythin's gonna be all right."

JD tried to speak Buck's name, but only a scraping sound escaped his throat. Before the kid could try again, he felt a straw meet his lips and he instinctively drew in the moisture his body so desperately craved. He'd shut his eyes already by then and, as he felt Buck lower him back against the pillow, wondered how he hadn't even noticed Buck helping him up to drink the precious water in the first place. God, he was so tired.

Despite his deep dread of Buck having to leave him alone again upon his return to court, JD couldn't help but be incredibly grateful that his best friend was here with him now. Guiltily he struggled to re-open his eyes. Hell, he'd been praying for Buck to come, the least he could do was look at him. He tried to will his rebellious eyelids open, but they were just too heavy. "'M sorry," he murmured, ashamed of his weakness, even though he knew he had every reason to feel as fragile as he did at that moment.

Buck's spirit soared just hearing the boy speak. The kid's apology though, just wouldn't do. He instinctively knew what the boy was struggling with, so tried to speak casually, keeping all of his own worry at bay. "Don't you fret none, JD. I don't think the doctors really want ya awake yet, anyway. Just go ahead and keep them eyes shut. It ain't as if I never seen 'em before."

Typically, Buck's soft chiding produced the opposite reaction, although this time that hadn't actually been his intention. With monumental effort, the boy deliberately forced his leaden lashes apart and was immediately met with a warm smile and a touch of exasperation sparkling in Buck's eyes.

"Stubborn little shit." Lightly patting the kid's cheek, he was rewarded with a shadow of a smile. Locking gazes with the boy, his expression became serious, although the warmth from his heart still shone in his eyes and never left his timbre. "Now you listen to me, boy. You're gonna be just fine, you hear? Surgery went real well. You done good, kid. Real good."

Surgery? Now JD was really confused. Had he been operated on already? Didn't he just get to the hospital? Hell, he could only hope the operation was over and done with already, but surely he'd remember getting prepped for it. Regretfully he realized that he simply must've misunderstood his roommate – wishful thinking and all.

With Buck sounding so confident in his recovery though, JD didn't really have the option of not believing he'd be okay. But that didn't mean he still wasn't petrified. Operations weren't any fun – the kid knew that much. And Buck's confidence didn't mean that JD didn't know he was still in for a world of hurt when the anesthetic wore off.

He'd always been able to see past the bullshit, see the agony they'd try to conceal from him those awful times his friends had been shot. He vividly remembered the shock and the horror, witnessing his heroes trying so valiantly to bite back their pain and keep it at bay and – seemingly just as important to them all – hide it from him. But their eyes always gave them away. Visions of actual tears forcing their way out of even Chris Larabee's eyes each and every time he'd made a wrong move or breathed just a little too deeply assaulted JD's memory. Only Vin and he had been spared that kind of agony. Until now. Now it was JD's turn.

JD knew with morbid clarity exactly what he was in for. And manhood be damned, he desperately did not want to go through it all by himself. Damn Chris. He promised me.

Even though he couldn't imagine ever wanting anything more than for Buck to stay with him right then and there, realistically the kid knew that Buck would have to go. So, to make it easier on himself, and to make it easier on Buck, who he knew would be feeling guiltier than hell, JD made the first move. . .

"'S'okay if. . .ya gotta. . .leave."

What? The whispered words threw Buck completely off guard. Was that what had the kid so upset? Was that what his tear-filled eyes were trying to hide?

It exasperated Wilmington to no end that even after all this time, JD still had the stubborn tendency to fight against showing Buck any vulnerability or weakness. Oh, he understood it was practically instinctive, the built-in reflex mechanism of a very young man trying to prove himself in the world of much bigger and much older men. Still, JD should oughtta know by now that aside from giving him cause to get frustrated with his roommate every once in a while, brave fronts didn't mean a lick to Buck Wilmington.

No, what mattered to Buck was honesty – plain and true. And in all honesty, Buck knew JD wanted him to stay.

But why was him staying even an issue in the first place? Of course Buck was staying. Of all things, JD had to have clued into that by now. Christ, why on earth wouldn't he stay?

And why was the older man so damn certain he could see desperation, along with the expected fear and pain, in the stubborn kid's eyes?

Aw, hell! The answer hit him like a ton of bricks. Poor kid was afraid Buck had to go back to court. Sure, that made sense. JD probably figured the team'd yanked him right out of court the minute they'd hit the road, which is exactly what they shoulda done – an issue he and Chris definitely had yet to discuss – come to think of it.

‘Course if they had done that, and Buck had left the courthouse midway through his testimony, he likely woulda been subpoenaed by that prima donna Jamieson so fast, he'd've either wound up back in court by mornin' or wound up in jail for contempt by then.

Well, neither of those things had happened, thank God. Buck Wilmington had done his sworn duty, even if it had been at the kid's expense. But now he had all the time in the world. All the time in the world to give to JD.

Buck Wilmington was here for the duration.

Buck looked down into the weary face of the hurt kid before him and realized that JD was fading fast, the anesthetic about ready to claim him once again. The agent shook his head, in part to force himself from his reverie, but also in anger for wasting precious time daydreaming instead of offering the kid the reassurance he so desperately needed. Gently cupping his palms against each of his too-warm cheeks, he scarcely whispered the boy's name.

JD could feel himself sinking back into unconsciousness and fervently wished Buck would just let him be. He really didn't want to be awake when Buck had to leave – didn't want to face that reality at all, let alone see it happen. Still, even with blood loss, heavy-duty drugs and a bullet in his chest doing their best to send him into oblivion, ignoring Buck Wilmington was damn near impossible.

"Mm hmm," he murmured. It was the best he could offer under the circumstances.

"C'mon, boy. Jus' stay with me. I know you're tired, but you gotta hear me out for two more seconds, all right?"

Buck smiled grimly at the kid's sigh of resignation. He knew the boy was hanging on just for him and as much as that thought filled him with shame, it warmed his heart just the same.

As the familiar flutter of ebony gave way to hazel once again, Buck spoke quickly, knowing his time was running out. "I ain't goin' anywhere, JD."

The kid blinked. "Huh?"

Buck couldn't stifle his laugh. "You heard me, boy. I'm all done testifying, so it looks like you're stuck with me. . .okay?"

"Fi'shed?" JD's confusion and exhaustion had reduced his ability to express himself to doing so only one word at a time – barely.

"Done like dinner, sport."

JD was incredulous. "Gonna. . .here. . .after surg'ry?"

This time it was Buck's turn to be confused, just for a moment. Shit, the kid was so utterly oblivious he didn't even realize he'd already had that god-awful operation. The big man watched as the boy's eyes fell shut again and his chest began the slow and steady rise and fall of sleep. Damn, he wasn't through with him yet.

"C'mon, JD. Look at me, kid."

The kid responded obediently, instinctively – the urgency in his best friend's tone having penetrated the haze. Squinting up at the source of that gentle demand, he tried to figure out the odd expression worn by the older man. It was half-serious, half-humorous, the latter being much like the face Buck wore whenever he had some juicy gossip to divulge about Vin or Ezra. But what could possibly be so damn funny right now?

"Bu – ck?"

Wilmington didn't waste any time answering. "JD. . .surgery's over, boy. You made it, kid. . . You done real good."

The kid watched in silent wonder as matching tears formed and then trailed along each side of Buck's face, framing the bright grin he wore. The big man held JD's hand in both of his now, had even drawn it up against his own tired face. And, although the kid could sense Buck was still awful worried about him, he couldn't deny the influence and the comfort and strength flowing into him from that mighty powerful grip. And that made JD smile.

He still found it hard to believe the surgery was past him but knew with all certainty that Buck wouldn't lie to him about that. Relief flooded the kid's soul and settled into his bones. Sleep couldn't elude him any longer, and he didn't resist as he felt its pull and allowed himself to be swallowed up by his pillow and the bed.

As the heavy fog penetrated his mind again, he found the strength to peer up at his best friend once more, searching for any indication that Buck might actually have to leave. Thankful he found nothing but conviction and familiar devotion, still, the fear and dread of not knowing what he had yet to endure – but certainty that it was gonna hurt like hell – and his profound desire not to have to go it alone, compelled the kid to ask the million dollar question.

"Gonna b'here. . .wh'. . .when I wake up?"

Buck tried to hide his exasperation. "I ain't goin' nowhere, JD."

"Swear?" The kid breathed.

JD felt Buck let go with one hand and, blinking his eyes open, the kid almost laughed as he watched his best friend raise his right hand and then draw their still entwined hands towards his chest.

Tightly holding the hand of the boy he adored against his heart, Buck repeated the solemn oath he'd taken so much earlier in the day. "So help me God, kid."

"So help me God."

It was just after seven a.m. when Chris Larabee stepped out of the elevator onto the all too familiar grey/blue linoleum of the ICU wing of Mercy General's third floor. God, he wished he wasn't so damn familiar with the layout of this place.

Roughly scrubbing a hand through still wet hair, Chris refused to allow his grim thoughts to take him to the dark places he still struggled on occasion to avoid. He was a hell of a lot better now, his memories of Sarah and Adam usually making him smile rather than eliciting the enemies – hatred, rage and despair – of old. And he knew he owed much of his better outlook on life to the five men and one kid who had innocently filled the void his late wife and son had left behind.

When one of them was seriously hurt though, and Chris was forced to revisit overpowering emotions such as grief, helplessness, guilt and anger, it was a little too easy for the team leader to fall back into the deep dark well of despair he'd wallowed in for almost three years.

The discovery of their youngest, seemingly lifeless in Ezra's arms, while an ever-increasing pool of blood practically dwarfed them both, definitely qualified as one of those occasions inspiring yet another trip deep down into the emotional well that was Chris Larabee's soul.

But. . .that was four days ago.

Get over it, Larabee. Today's gonna be a good day. Abruptly he shoved aside his morbid thoughts and their accompanying negative attitude and focused on the reason for his visit. If the kid's check-up went as well as expected this morning, JD's doctors were going to give him the green light to transfer out of ICU into a private room. Thank God.

Though still in more pain than any of JD's friends could bear to watch him suffer, the kid's recovery was progressing well ahead of schedule. His boss smiled at that fact. No surprises there. Since when did JD Dunne ever take his time doing anything? The graft was holding, his fever was negligible and he was beginning to heal with no signs of infection at all.

What was it that Buck had said, with blue eyes sparkling and chest puffed up like a damn peacock? Typical over-achiever? Chris smiled at the memory. Yeah, the kid sure is.

For Chris Larabee though – ever thankful that his oldest friend hadn't been the one to discover JD and Ezra as he had, nor have to relive the horrific image in his dreams each night – JD's imminent recovery was something else entirely.

It was a f*cking miracle.

JD was seriously beginning to reconsider just why he'd been looking forward to this day. Or even waking up for that matter. The concept of finally being unplugged from all those tubes and monitors literally tying him down to his hospital bed was damn enticing, but the lack of pain meds normally found flowing through those tubes – deemed a necessary evil so that his doctors could properly assess his condition this morning – sure didn't seem like all that swell an idea at the moment.

He'd been in the hospital four days now and would still wake up with a start each time he didn't see his bedroom walls or the tell-tale reminder of his first New Year's Eve celebrated without the guys. . .the still fading champagne stain on the ceiling above his bed at home.

He just hated hospitals though, a little hang-up Josiah figured – and JD couldn't dispute – that had a hell of a lot to do with the too-long, but not long enough, vigil spent next to his mama's bed before he finally lost her. So, no matter how doped up he'd be or no matter the fact that Buck rarely left him alone in one, he'd still wake up with a jolt every time he was in a hospital or make some other wrong damn move he'd end up regretting instantaneously.

So why should this time be any different?

He was barely awake and he could already feel the fire generating from deep within his chest and the white hot ripples coursing up and down his leg and arm in wave after wave of agony. Shit, that really, really hurt.

Hell, JD still couldn't quite comprehend why they'd had to cut into his upper arm in the first place. Yeah, he understood that they needed a graft from his leg to fix the damage the bullet had caused. That made sense, but he still didn't quite fathom how the bullet that hit him so unbelievably hard in the chest had done its real damage elsewhere, further along the artery. Oh, they'd showed him the arteriogram, but to JD it looked more like some bizarre big city cloverleaf than it did the inside of his arm, let alone a pseudoaneurysm or whatever the hell it was they'd called the blob in the middle of the freeway.

Whatever the term, it hurt like hell and, the more complete consciousness encroached, the more excruciating the flames igniting from within his wounds became.

He knew he was damn close to severing his lower lip in two, but the kid still clamped down tight against the cry his body so desperately wanted to release. He really didn't want to wake up screaming and sure as hell didn't think his roommate needed to start the day with that kind of fright.

His entire body tensed of its own accord against the vicious spasms, and JD stubbornly rode them out without uttering a single sound.

Finally, as the relentless waves subsided and his straining muscles relaxed their rigid hold, a breathless sigh parted the youth's lips, scarcely breaking the silence. Tightly clenched eyelids followed suit, easing open and releasing tears of pain, frustration and relief as JD instinctively sought out his best friend, secure in the knowledge that Buck would be right there.

Blurry eyes glimpsed toward the cot the team had supplied specifically for his keeper. Despite the ebbing pain lingering in the shadows that reminded him not to make any more wrong moves, the kid simply had to smile as he looked away from the empty cot and shifted his gaze to his own bed and the unruly mass of dark hair brushing against his arm.

The kid winced at the awkward angle his best friend's neck had found. Heck, if Buck kept up this business of sleeping in that chair, he'd wind up so hunched-over, JD might just be able to look the big guy in the eye by the time he got out of the hospital.

Just thinking about the six-foot-three Wilmington all scrunched over to equal his own five-eight frame, made the kid want to laugh – not exactly the best plan when he was hurting this bad. Still, the ridiculous thought refused to relinquish its hold on his overactive imagination, making him so damn near giddy JD couldn't help but wonder if he was as delirious as he'd been back in the warehouse with Ezra or if maybe he did still have some mighty potent drugs pumping through his veins?

Either way, he could feel a full-fledged laugh trying to work its way out from his belly and no amount of writhing – with as little movement as possible – tensing or grimacing, was gonna be able to prevent its inevitable emergence.

The fact that Buck hadn't yet stirred, though clearly a sign of just how exhausted the big man was, was even greater testimony to the undeniable fact that JD was truly getting better. That Buck was sleeping this soundly gave the kid more confidence in his own imminent recovery than anything the doctors could ever say or do to convince him of the fact.

But that didn't mean JD still couldn't really use a hand at the moment.

"Buck?" The kid grimaced, in part because he really was hurting and also because his voice barely squeaked out his best friend's name.

No response. . .damnit.

"Buck!" He actually managed some volume this time, and yet still no reaction from the big man.

"So much for the great protector," JD whispered, succeeding only in making more laughter want to bubble out of his throat.

More than a little taken aback by the realization of just how worn out Buck had to be to sleep through his kid brother calling out to him while lying there damn near helpless in a hospital bed, JD felt a momentary surge of sympathy and fraternal protectiveness overcome him.

The key word was momentary.

"OWW!!!" Buck Wilmington roared.

"Jesus, JD! Whatcha go ‘n do that for!?" The big man stood in utter disbelief – not that he had much choice in the matter, uncertain as to exactly where the chair he'd been finally sleeping soundly in had suddenly disappeared to – alternately rubbing the kink in his neck along with the soon-to-be forming welt on his shoulder where his bedridden baby brother had just up and punched him. Punched him for Christ's sake! And while he was sleeping, no less. Ungrateful little s.o.b.

The utter look of bewilderment on his best friend's face – complete with lower jaw seemingly frozen in a wide open gape – along with a serious case of bed head resulting in one side of Buck's wayward black hair nearly standing on end, finally drove JD beyond the point of control.
Oh – shit!

When the eruption of laughter finally came, so did the accompanying agony, but the kid was at a loss, and truthfully of no mind, to actually try to control it. Hell, he'd felt so awful for days now and this was the first morning that he actually felt like he was really gonna make it. . .despite the incessant pain. The relief in knowing that both the doctors and Buck felt he was okay enough to leave unattended – that Buck was willing to sleep through his vigil and the doctors were considering moving him out of ICU today – confirmed his own beliefs and filled the kid with even greater hope and reassurance.

‘Course the possibility of ripping his stitches open again if he didn't soon stop laughing so damn hard was not lost on the kid, either. Only problem was, that irony simply made JD want to laugh even harder.

But that's where Buck came in. As soon as the first belly-sized laugh shook JD's small frame, Buck had hold of him. Despite the lingering stupor of waking up from the shock, not to mention impact, of one hell of a good shot to the arm, Buck had been quick to act.

He wouldn't deny his initial confusion in discovering the kid he'd been so damn worried about laughing so hard he was actually crying, shedding more tears now than since the whole damn ordeal had begun come to think of it. But he couldn't deny the relief and joy that swelled his own heart and brought a dumb-ass grin to his own face, just seeing the kid with some color in those boyish cheeks and wearing an honest-to-goodness smile on his face.

Having carefully eased one strong arm behind JD's neck, he draped his other across the kid's chest, to keep the boy steady and to keep him from jostling his stitches around, but trying not to hold on so tight that he'd hurt his injuries any further.

As Buck listened to the kid's laughter, intermingled as it was with colorful curses whose origins – the big man noted with a mixture of pride and embarrassment – were completely obvious, he began his own steady litany of comfort. . .

If you called terms such as ‘jack-ass', ‘pig-headed mule' and ‘not having the good sense God gave a gnat' comfort.

JD did.

Despite the stubborn pride that usually ruled the kid's actions, JD willingly gave in to Buck's hold, tightly gripping one hand around the arm draped across him and bracing his head against the other behind him, helping him ride out the pain while he concentrated on the inane litany of familiar words, phrases and terms of endearment that no one other than Buck Wilmington could ever get away with calling him.

As the tension in JD's body diminished, Buck carefully eased his arm from behind the boy's head, pausing briefly to earn a welcome glare from tousling the kid's hair and wiping the remaining tears from beneath JD's eyes – eyes which held more clarity than he'd seen in four days, thank God – before brushing away any traces of the tears betraying his concerns from the corners of his own eyes.

"You okay, kid?"

"Yeah," the kid sighed. "Thanks, Buck."

"So, you think you wanna let ole Buck in on what was so damn funny?" he asked, completely ignoring JD's misplaced gratitude.

Buck's voice was soft, but laced with such humor JD had to quickly avert his eyes and bite down on his already abused bottom lip to avoid a repeat of his last excruciating performance. "Uh. . .nothin'. . ."

In spite of the fact that the kid's voice was still too damn weak for his liking, Buck couldn't miss the higher pitch that was used whenever his roommate was trying to keep something from him. This was one ATF agent who – thankfully – did not have a hope in hell of undercover work being in his future.

"You call givin' your best friend a heart attack – the same best friend, I might add, who's gonna make good on his promise to go with you to that computer nerd show in Springfield next month instead ‘a goin' to the game with the rest of the boys – and punchin' him, JD. PUNCHIN' him awake. You call that NOTHIN'?!

The kid blushed crimson and tried to have the decency to look abashed. "'M sorry," he murmured, his apology not entirely convincing since he couldn't quite wipe off the stupid grin he still wore on his weary face.

"Oh, you're sorry, all right. Least ways you're gonna be. . ."

Buck let the threat hang, knowing every bit as well as JD did, that his threats – at least those aimed at the bedridden kid before him – held about as much weight as a feather on the wind.

Same elevator, same linoleum – five too many damn long hours later. Chris Larabee was back again to check on Buck and JD, knowing full well that the two of them would be well beyond antsy by now if JD hadn't been moved out of ICU yet.

He'd arrived earlier that morning just in time to watch JD's face fall almost as far as Buck's had, while ICU nurse Trisha Karleski had explained to them both that JD's doctor was currently prepping for emergency surgery and wouldn't be able to look the kid over until after he'd completed the operation. . .the complicated and undoubtedly time-consuming operation.

Chris would've liked to have stayed to wait it out with them, but since no one could tell him how long the delay would be and since duty did call, he'd promised his agents that he would come back and check up on them at lunch. Ezra and the others had wanted to join him, but Larabee had told his team to be hold off, at least until evening. He didn't want to see the kid overtaxed. . .another good reason for Chris not to have stayed with him, come to think of it.

Along with the obvious disappointment of having to wait for the doctor, Chris had caught the flashes of pain reflected in those big hazel eyes. The boy's face had broken into a tired smile when his boss walked into the room, but that boss was observant enough – as an agent, or perhaps more relevant in this case, as a parent – not to be fooled, and to recognize the blotchy cheeks and puffy red eyes of a kid who'd shed some tears only a short time earlier.

He knew that JD'd been weaned off his pain medication overnight and he figured the longer the boy had to wait to see the doctor, the more pain he'd be in. The last thing JD needed was to have to channel any of his limited strength into acting like he was all right, especially when he wasn't. Hell, Chris knew how hard that was on a body. It was bad enough knowing that JD would put on the damn mask for him, Larabee sure as hell wasn't going to let the kid wear himself out pretending in front of the other guys. Stoic might be part of their job descriptions, but it sure as hell didn't have to be part of JD's. Not that Chris could ever get that through to the stubborn, prideful kid.

At least with Buck there, Chris knew the boy would get the support and TLC he needed. His old friend would often bitch that JD'd clam up on him too, even when he was really hurting. But the truth of the matter was that eventually JD would let down his guard for his best friend – which was a damn sight better for them both and certainly more than the rest of the team could claim.

It was obvious to Larabee that something had happened that morning that had given JD cause to let down his guard. And he had no doubt that that something had been pain. Hell, even if Chris hadn't seen it in the kid's expressive face, he could easily read it in his old friend's eyes. No matter his concern, whatever had happened wasn't really any of Chris Larabee's business, and besides, it looked to him like Buck had handled it just fine. . .like he always did.

Despite the setback of JD's check-up being delayed, and the evidence of the tears that had been recently shed, both Buck and JD had looked contented somehow. . .at peace. In fact, both of them looked a hell of a lot better than they had in days.

And that meant things were going to get better for the whole team.

Especially once they got the kid out of ICU.

Having discovered an empty bed in the ICU when he'd first arrived at the hospital, Chris now paused outside Room 507, relieved to have finally located his missing agents, but suddenly unwilling to intrude upon them.

He had a million reasons to enter, the least of which was getting rid of the fifty pounds of elaborate gift basket filling his arms and preventing him from obtaining the potent Mercy General caffeine he'd been really looking forward to. Still, he couldn't bring himself to infringe on the private moment unfolding before him.

Strangely enough though, he couldn't really bring himself to look away either.

From the doorway, Chris couldn't actually tell if JD was sleeping but, judging from the fact that he was tolerating the affectionate and almost rhythmic stroke of Buck's hand on his head, the team leader felt pretty confident in assuming the kid had to be out like a light.

Chris found himself leaning against the doorjamb as he continued to take in the heartwarming scene. It was true, watching his old friend at his most unguarded made Chris' heart feel lighter, but at the same time he couldn't deny how his gut lurched at the memories the scene evoked.

As mesmerized as he was with his charge and, with his back to the open doorway, Buck wouldn't know Chris or anyone else was there watching him, but that obviously wasn't important. What was important – as always – was the kid he was sitting on the bed next to.

Although Chris couldn't get a clear view of his two agents, he knew without a doubt exactly what position his old friend had found. Buck would have one of his impossibly long legs tucked under him upon the mattress, with the other still touching the floor. His right arm was angled across the kid's ribcage, just as expected, supporting the big man's weight and providing a protective shelter for the two of them, safe from any intrusion from the outside world.

The scene was so hauntingly familiar to Chris, having witnessed it countless times before, but with a beaming Sarah wrapped in his arms as he did so – watching as Uncle Buck put Adam to bed and then sat with him until long after the boy had fallen asleep. Hell, the image seemed so completely natural, it wouldn't have surprised Chris in the slightest if Buck tenderly pulled JD up into a big ole bear hug, right then and there.

But that of course, wasn't about to happen. JD was too hurt and likely would've come up swinging anyway, if Buck had tried a move like that. . .a thought that immediately brought a slight smile to the leader's lips.

Still, it was at moments like this when Chris realized how much more than kid brother JD was to Buck Wilmington. And it was moments like these when he realized just how very much Buck had loved Adam.

"You plannin' on holdin' that wall up all day?"

Buck Wilmington's quiet question and the hint of amusement within it, broke Chris from his bittersweet reverie. Larabee shook his head, berating himself for ever considering for a minute that Buck wouldn't know exactly what was going on behind his back, especially while sporting the protective hackles he reserved exclusively for JD.

Damn. And Wilmington was just about the only person left on the planet who could still manage to find a way to embarrass the ATF leader too. Mind you, Chris realized he only had himself to blame for the touch of blush now coloring his cheeks. He'd been caught, effectively eavesdropping on a very private moment for Buck, an act that would have been wholly unforgivable in Chris' eyes, had their roles been reversed.

And yet Buck didn't even bat an eye at his old friend's indiscretion – a fact that mortified Chris even further. Leave it to Buck to make Chris feel ashamed for feeling ashamed.

That was Buck, though. Whether he was in paternal or fraternal mode, the man wore his affection for JD on his sleeve and didn't care if the whole damn world knew about it. Hell, about the only thing keeping him from driving around with one of those corny 'my kid made the honor roll' bumper stickers on his Chevy was the fact that JD had graduated from high school before the two of them had met.

Lucky for JD.

Larabee smiled at that thought. JD was damn lucky, and Buck — in spite of the torment the rest of Team 7 dished out – really wasn't all that bad. Oh yeah, Wilmington could hover, but usually with just cause. The fact of the matter was that he had a hell of a lot of respect for his kid brother, undoubtedly more than even JD realized, which is why he never compromised the young agent's authority, or his maturity, when push actually came to shove.

But Buck also had the uncanny ability to know exactly when JD needed big brother or dad to surface, as well. Even when the kid was sleeping.

Part 6

Chris realized with steadily increasing humility that he'd been standing there gawking at Buck ever since the man had startled him from his trip down memory lane and yet he'd still managed to promptly fall back into a trance. Shit, I must be more tired than I thought.

Realizing he'd better say or do something before Buck made some smart-ass comment about old age or narcolepsy, Chris began to walk into the room.

"'Bout time you quit yer woolgathering ‘n came on in. You know they say that's an early sign of senility, pard." Chris lowered his head and shook it, defeated. He had to laugh. Yup, he could always count on Buck.

"That from the boys?" Buck quietly asked, nodding towards the lavish basket in Chris' arms, as he hastily got up from the bed and cleared a space for it on the bedside table.

Setting his burden down, Chris shook his head. "Nah, Ezra's putting together something even bigger. The boys'll bring it over tonight." Chris' words brought softness and a smile to Buck's face, but the older of the two men noted, not for the first time since JD'd been hurt, just how totally wrung out his good friend looked. He knew no amount of cajoling would get Buck to rest. Yet. JD'd only just been moved out of ICU after all, and Buck wouldn't settle until he was certain the kid's body handled the adjustment okay.

Larabee knew that Buck would finally relinquish his duty tonight, when the others were around to take over for him and then he could use that damn cot they'd brought over for him. Until then, there was no point in arguing the matter, so Chris returned his attention to the basket. "Apparently this got here just before I did, so the nurses asked me to bring it down for them. Don't know who it's from, but. . ." Chris slipped his hand in his inside jacket pocket and fished out an envelope. Handing it to his friend, he continued, "Whoever it is, left this for you."

"Me?" Wilmington raised an eyebrow in surprise, recovering immediately however with one of his all-too-familiar references to animal magnetism, all the while wondering who on earth would send him a card while it was JD who was laid up in the hospital.

Absently tearing the envelope open, Buck looked up in time to note with some sense of warped gratification the equally curious look on his old friend's face.

"Well I'll be damned. . ." The big man muttered under his breath and Larabee couldn't help but be intrigued by the odd mixture of wonder and – was that satisfaction? – written all over Buck's face.

Any thoughts towards the identity of the author of the note in question were immediately quelled however by the low, mournful moan escaping the lips of the wounded kid lying in the hospital bed next to them.

"Aw, damn," Buck whispered as he slid the card into his jeans pocket.

"What is it?" Chris was confused, expecting Buck to be pleased that JD was waking up.

Wilmington turned despondent eyes to his friend. "He shouldn't be wakin' up yet, Chris. They only just pumped him full of heavy-duty painkillers not ten minutes before you got here."

"You mean in five hours they never gave him anything?" Larabee kept his voice low, not wanting to wake the semi-conscious youth.

"Not even a goddamn local." Buck couldn't hide the bitterness in his voice any more than Chris had, but he abruptly raised his hand to halt the verbal onslaught he could see brewing within Chris' eyes. "Ain't all their fault, pard. Damn stubborn fool made his own choice."

What?! The question hadn't found its way from Larabee's mind to his lips before Buck continued his story. "Naw, they gave him a choice. . .take his meds and wait until tomorrow to get checked over, or—"

"Tough it out until the doc finished his surgery," Larabee interrupted, knowing full well what Buck had yet to say. Even without looking at the kid's pale face, etched as it still was with the tell-tale signs of the suffering he'd endured, Larabee knew which option JD Dunne had chosen. Damn fool stubborn little shit had more grit than you'd find at a John Wayne film festival. No wonder his mentor looked so dragged-out tired. Damn.

Buck's confirmation was halted by another plaintive moan from JD, shredding the big man's battered heart into ever smaller pieces. Instinctively his hand sought the kid's, but to his surprise Chris already had the boy's hand firmly in his own grasp.

Swallowing the combination of pride and gratitude that had suddenly solidified in his throat, Buck placed his hand on JD's brow, but locked gazes with his old friend. The expression Chris wore was full of warmth and compassion, a far cry from the icy emotionless green Wilmington had regretfully grown accustomed to in recent years.

It was a damn fine sight to behold.

If only it would last.

It had been a long time since Chris had looked into Buck's eyes and seen a reflection of himself. Too damn long, he realized. But why did it always have to be pain and grief that they shared – even after all this time?

Chris knew that JD's incoherent murmurs and moans were searing Buck's heart. He knew because they were doing a pretty good imitation of the same thing to Chris' soul – what was left of it.

Watching that unruly mop of black hair toss and turn on the stark white pillow, listening to the occasional mournful cries parting JD's lips, and simply watching that too young face grimace in drug-induced confusion and barely masked pain was more than Chris could tolerate.

The memories were getting easier, but it was one thing to stand back and fondly remember your best friend tucking your boy in at night, it was another thing altogether to watch the kid who reminds you so much of what was – and what could have been – suffering needlessly. No, that was something he just couldn't take.

Buck watched, heavyhearted but not surprised in the least, as the impenetrable shield that he knew all-too-well as Chris Larabee's main defense effectively slammed shut, breaking off his connection with his old friend. Wilmington could only watch as Chris' eyes grew distant once more and his grip on JD's hand slackened.

He'd known the light in Chris' eyes wouldn't last and, despite how disheartening it could be to witness, Buck refused to give in to any despair. Because each time he caught a glimpse of the old Chris Larabee, he latched onto a glimmer of hope that the old friend he once knew, and once held as close to his heart as JD, was still there, just under the surface ready to emerge again some day.

And until that time Buck would do as always – be patient, accommodate Chris' needs and moods, and be there to throw him a life-line whenever he needed one – like now. "Say, Chris?"

"Hmm?" Still struggling with his churning emotions, Chris was grateful for the distraction Buck's question provided him.

Replacing the hand Chris had just released from around JD's wrist with his own, Buck smiled warmly at his old friend, his expression revealing none of his concern for the older man. "You know, if this boy's gonna wake up on me again, I think I could really use a refuel before goin' another round with him," he chuckled convincingly. "You willin' to go get us some coffee?"

Larabee stifled the sigh that would betray his relief. Yeah, he could do that. He really needed some air anyway, plus the coffee down in the cafeteria was a hell of a lot better than the vending machine crude sold on the hospital floors, at any rate. Besides, even though he knew JD would be glad to see him, Chris also knew the kid was better off waking up to only Buck first, and that was reason enough right there to leave the two of them alone for a bit.

But he'd be back right away.

Clapping his hand on Buck's arm, he spoke, "Sure, Buck. I'll go get us some."

Buck returned his friend's grasp and held the man's gaze with his own. "Thanks, Chris." For being there. For JD – when I couldn't be, for him now and for me – Thanks.

Buck never could hide his feelings for very long, if at all, and Chris understood the unspoken meaning and depth of his gratitude. Damned if Buck hadn't managed to make him feel uncomfortable again. That was good ole Buck, though. . .always finding the human side of you, even when you weren't sure it still existed. Chris couldn't shake the slight smile that parted his lips as he looked at his old friend and then to the kid who'd settled at the big man's gentle touch.

"Any time, Buck. Any time."

As Buck watched Chris' retreating form disappear through the doorway, a bittersweet warmth settled in his soul. Remnants of the old Chris Larabee were still there and, in typical Wilmington fashion, he'd revel in the little victories, rather than dwell on the losses.

Movement beneath his palm and the whisper-soft music of a waking sigh drew the agent's attention to another victory. . .none greater in his life.

Squeezing the kid's hand to ensure that JD knew who he was waking up to, Buck couldn't prevent a smile from splitting his haggard features as he felt JD fumble with the simple task of returning his grasp and watched as heavy, dark lashes struggled to reveal the foggy hazel eyes beneath them.

"He. . .y." The slight smile the kid wore, once his bleary eyes had confirmed his guardian's presence, was immediately replaced with a frown as JD wondered how his mouth could garble something as easy to say as the word ‘hey'. Was ‘hey' even a word? And why was Buck wearing that smirking dumb-ass grin of his, anyway?

On both his faces. Aw, damn.

"Hey there, sport." JD looked all of sixteen whenever he was in bed – that mop of unruly long hair strewn every which way across his pillow with at least one uncooperative black strand always taking up permanent residence in either of his eyes – but get him drunk, or in this case stoned, and Wilmington could easily subtract another few years from that equation.

No matter the math, Buck couldn't resist the pull on his heart, and promptly ruffled the kid's hair with the utmost affection. The anticipated reaction by JD nearly sent Buck over the edge into laughter, but his sympathy and deep respect for the young man beneath his touch held him in check. . .even if JD, especially in the shape he was in, couldn't successfully rival the bone-chilling Chris Larabee-style glare he knew the kid was so desperately aiming for, any more than a Muppet could.

JD knew he was fighting a losing battle. He'd have about as much success intimidating Buck with a squirt gun as he would with his best glare, so he might as well just give up. Besides, Buck was soon gonna herniate himself or something if he kept trying to hold in his laughter like that. JD couldn't resist and just had to smile too.

"Here you go, kid."

"Thanks." Accepting the sip of water his best friend now offered him, the kid slowly let his mind wade through the morphine-induced residue still clogging his brain. He knew he wanted to ask Buck a question. What was it? Oh, yeah. "Didn' I hear Chris?"

The mixture of frustration and bewilderment plastered on the boy's face was priceless. Buck could tell JD was getting damn annoyed that his mouth wasn't working up to snuff, but that was okay, even high the kid was easier to understand than Ezra half the time. "S'okay, kid, you weren't dreamin'. Chris is roundin' up some coffee for him ‘n me and then he's comin' right back."

The look of relief and sheer delight that crossed the kid's pale features brought renewed warmth back into Wilmington's soul. He knew every time Chris came to see JD it gave the boy a lift – Chris too, not that he'd ever admit it, mind you – even if he'd likely have to remind his roommate the next time he awoke that his boss had actually shown up to visit him. Lord knew, after having been manhandled so painfully during those tests and then given that shot, the kid wouldn't remember a hell of a lot of anything from the day. Thank God.

JD was beginning to fade already and was therefore far from his talkative self, but Buck knew the kid would want to hold on until Chris returned. Lightly patting the boy's cheek, Buck settled into the chair beside JD's bed, a new one he quickly realized his butt would have to break in all over again. Damn, he was just getting comfortable in the old one. Wonder if I could get Chris to rustle up that other one for me?

JD watched sleepily as his best friend settled into his place in the chair next to him. Holding up the drink still in his grip, Buck offered JD more water. The young agent shook his head ‘no', nearly losing the battle to keep his eyelids from gluing shut. The boy stubbornly forced them open once more and caught sight of Buck returning the plastic water cup to the bedside table, where his attention was immediately drawn to the extravagant gift-basket placed there as well. "Wow – f' me?"

"No, kid. For me," Wilmington dead-panned, earning an exasperated eye-roll from the bed-ridden youth. He laughed heartily, still amazed after all this time at how much spunk the kid exuded, even when he was barely conscious. "All right, it's for you, kid. You wanna open it ‘n see what's all in there?"

JD shook his head, knowing he didn't have the stamina to even unwrap the cellophane, let alone rummage through its contents. "Later, ‘kay?" He did however want to know who it was from. "The guys?"

"Nah, are you kidding?" Buck grinned and winked at the kid. "Chris says they've got somethin' even bigger for ya."

JD's eyes widened at that comment, and Buck couldn't help but laugh. He'd been spending so much time here at the hospital, the guys hadn't consulted him on what all to get the kid, so he truly had no idea what was coming. But, with Ezra's and Vin's opposite tastes in just about everything, and Josiah and Nathan in between, the big man had no doubt that the kid would get a blast out of whatever was coming his way. Wilmington could count on his partners to treat their youngest well. After all, JD had become their kid brother, too. "The boys are bringin' somethin' by tonight after work, after you rest up some more, that is."

JD chose to ignore Buck's rather blatant hint that he should give in to the sleep calling to him. Hell, he knew he wasn't going to hold out much longer anyway. He also knew he could count on Buck to wake him when Chris returned, because Buck would know that's what he wanted. Still, he couldn't go to sleep until he found out who on earth had sent him that really neat basket. "Well?"

"Well what?" Buck was enjoying this.

And so was JD. "C'mon, who's it from?" The kid laughed.

Buck rubbed his hands together in an overly exaggerated display of glee. "Well, now. Let's just see. . ." Plucking the small gift card off of the wrapping, Buck purposely kept it out of JD's attempted reach and slowly slid the little card out of its envelope.

JD gave up. He doubted he could read the damn thing anyway, since his eyes were determined to tell him there was still two of everything in his room. Besides, Buck's antics were just what the doctor ordered as far as JD was concerned. The kid felt pretty damn good, considering. . .

Carefully crossing his arms over his chest, he feigned disgust and impatience and waited expectantly for Buck to read aloud the handwritten card.
"Best wishes for a speedy recovery.

Warmest Regards

Pam Jamieson"

"Who?" The utterly bewildered look on the kid's face was Buck's first clue that JD didn't have the foggiest idea who Pam Jamieson was. He couldn't really blame the kid. After all, the courtroom testimony did seem like a lifetime ago. Still, unless JD remembered her, tormenting him about this wouldn't be nearly as much fun.

"The lawyer, kid."

"Huh?"

"Okay, stay with me now. . ." Buck spoke slowly, knowing full well he'd get a rise out of the kid if he kept it up.

"Pam-e-la Jam-i-son. You know. . .the lady lawyer who cross-examined you in court the other day. You remember? The one who's scarier than Chris," the big man laughed and then sobered a moment, remembering the boy's innocent concern for him the morning before everything went straight to hell.

JD had drawn a complete blank, until Buck – in as irritating Wilmington fashion as possible – reminded him who Pamela Jamieson was. But Pam? And why the hell would she give a damn about someone who testified against her client anyway?

And why was Buck wearing that smug look on his face? Hell, he looked like Ed McMahon had just handed him a big check. Either that or someone had just complimented his Chevy.

Unless. . .

"She didn'?!"

"Oh, yes she did!"

JD couldn't believe it. He knew damn well his best friend had spent damn near every waking moment – hell, every breathing moment – at his bedside since he'd been hurt. When in the hell did he have time to score that lawyer's phone number? He looked skeptically at the big man, knowing the instant he opened his mouth that he'd regret ever doubting him. But still, he had to ask. "Prove't."

Buck beamed and then with a flourish pulled out another small card, this time from his back pocket, and began waving it in front of JD's bleary eyes. The kid successfully snatched it from him and immediately, albeit with considerably more effort than usual, began to read in silence, not yet trusting his mouth to translate what his brain was registering:
Buck, thank you for reminding me what justice really is

I am so very glad the sun came up again

See, the good guys really do win!

Please call me

Pam, 941-4290

JD looked at the card in utter amazement. Buck had done it. . .again! Maybe there really was something to this animal magnetism crock after all?

Looking up at his best friend he was surprised to see that Buck wasn't wearing the self-satisfied smirk that JD not only expected, but felt he richly deserved. Hell, he'd milk this for all it was worth if their roles had been reversed.

Instead, Buck's dark blue eyes were glistening with unshed tears and the expression he now wore was full of warmth and affection. More than a little unnerved, JD looked at the card again, hoping it would shed some light on his roommate's sudden shift in emotion.

Still confused, JD looked up into Buck's expressive face for the answer.

". . .the sun came up again. . .?"

"It sure did, son. It sure did."

The End