Be Brave

Be Brave.

Remember, you are a Tanner.

Those are the few words that I still recall my mother telling me when I was a kid.

Even though I was only six, I remember them as if it were yesterday, when she gave them life with her last breath.

Only after she had passed on and the social workers came to take me away,did I understand their importance.

Although I didn't exactly know what ‘being' a Tanner meant, Emma Grace Tanner was the only one that I had known, I did learn quickly what it was to be brave.

I began to comprehend that when I was taken away from the only place I had ever felt safe and loved and cast into a world of misery. A world in which I would never feel loved or safe again, until many years later.

Needless to say, fear is a great teacher.

I learned to be brave when the older boys at the orphanage picked on me because I was quiet and small for my age.

I learned to be brave when the headmaster of the school took a severe disliking to my attitude.

I learned to be brave when I was placed in foster home after foster home, places that seemed to only grow more terrible with each one that I didn't seem to ‘fit in' with.

And I learned to be brave when I ran away from my last foster parent, who liked to deliver discipline with his fist and who, in one of his drunken stupors, ‘mistakenly' stumbled into my room one dark, stormy night to show me exactly how much he cared.

Yes, self-preservation is an even better motivator.

Bravery, and what little I knew about being a Tanner, is all that I had as I forged a new life on the streets at thirteen. That fact stayed true until almost four years ago, and had always pulled me through.

But now, as I sit here in the hospital waiting room, I have to wonder if I can call on that courage this time. I'm not the same man I use to be.

One of the reasons I have changed so much is staring at me, again. I can feel Ezra's eyes on me, even though he is still trying to calm JD down. Sometimes I can sense him almost as strongly as I can Chris.

I can here the edge in his southern drawl and I know he's having a hard time dealing with this too. He's been trying to get through to the kid since we had to pull him away from Buck's stretcher, but he has remarkably big shoes to fill. Buck always makes the job look so easy. A ruffle of the hair, a crooked grin, a quick hug, and JD's world is right again.

As I look towards the all too familiar bay door, I realize none of our lives may ever be ‘right' again.

I finally pull my attention from the silver partition and focus on my partners. I feel guilty for not coming to Ezra's aid. He never fails to surprise me when it comes to his depth of dedication he allows to emerge to the surface when he's dealing with our youngest partner; but even I know how difficult ‘dealing' with JD can be when he's worried, or scared,or angry. Right now, he's all three.

That's why I should be helping Ez. I can usually get through to the youngest of our team; but not today. I can't even bring myself to try.

I wish Josiah and Nathan were here. It's not a good time for them to be out of town.

At least , if they were here, Josiah could help with JD. He has a wisdom and a calm about him that allows him to break through the confusion. I've never really thought about it, but maybe, by taking all our worries upon himself , he allows us some peace. We could all use that now. Just like we could use Nathan's certainty and soothing nature, especially JD. God knows Ezra and I are lost when it comes to the comfort department.

Maybe we've been alone far too long.

My thoughts go to my bestfriend once more. The reason that I never thought I would be alone again. Chris. It's like I can feel his pain, his struggle, and part of me feels paralyzed, almost like half of me is sitting on some ledge, unable to move, until I know if he's coming out of this.

He needs me, and I feel so helpless, just like I did sitting in the surveillance van while my world exploded in front of me.

I don't know which one of us looked more horrified. I remember that JD shouted Buck's name, and Ezra struggled to keep a hold on him, as I ran towards the warehouse where our partners were supposedly working a ‘simple' bust, but had just disappeared into a ball of flames.

Ez kept yelling my name, telling me to stop, but I was a man on a mission. Not even the DEA agents stood a chance against my determination. I think I even punched a couple who tried to get me to stop. That would explain the busted knuckles.

All I could think of was what we were losing, what I was losing. I was prepared to walk through fire to find my brothers and would have if Buck hadn't stumbled out of the smoke-filled entranceway, carrying Chris over his shoulder.

I caught them both, as Buck's legs gave way, and fell with them, more than I did support their combined weight. "He's breathin'," Buck kept saying, as he lay panting on the cold pavement. "He's alive, Vin."

I close my eyes for a moment as the memory of Chris's bloodied body flashes before me, and when I open them I choose to stay in the present. I'm not ready to deal with what I had felt.

Ezra looks bad, and I know he is at the end of his patience. "JD, son, if you continue to pace in that one spot, we are going to be in debt to the hospital for new flooring." He has finally given up following the kid back and forth across the floor and has sat down now, his rumpled Armani suit clashing with the bright yellow plastic chair he's chosen.

"Why is it taking so long, Ez?" JD asks him again, and I know the pleading quality in the question is tearing the southerner up inside. I can see it on his face.

I have decided that we've all waited long enough. I'm about to stand and demand that someone tell us something when the door at the end of the hall swings opens and once again Buck saves me a trip. He looks tired, pale, and broken, but he limps towards us with out assistance from Dr. Martin, who doesn't look happy, but is following in his wake.

"Buck!" JD darts past me, but his steps faulter as he takes in the condition of our partner. Buck has a large white bandage over his left eye and is sporting a nasty looking bruise on his right cheek. There are various other small cuts and marks on his face and he's still wearing his blood stained shirt, with the exception of one sleeve, which had been cut to allow for the splint and sling supporting his right arm.

Still, when he sees the panicked look on his little brother's face, he forces a halfway decent immitation of his usual grin.

"Don't even say that I look terrible, kid, ‘cause we know that's not possible."

"Are you okay?" JD's voice breaks and I know that the small thread holding together his brave front is about to come unravelled.

Buck realizes it too because his smile fades and he does what comes naturally. What comes so easy for him and the kid. Sometimes, I envy them that.

He reaches out with his good arm and pulls JD into a tight embrace. "I'm fine, son. Everything's going to be alright." I hear him say as he rests his chin atop the kid's head and his eyes meet mine.

I know his words aren't just meant for JD.

He holds on to the youngest of our team with a fierceness that one often feels after a close call. We all know that feeling. The Seven have had our fair share of of close calls. For some reason, this one has hit me harder than usual.

Finally, JD pulls away and quickly wipes at his eyes to erase any traces of tears that he thinks could be interpreted as weakness.

It‘s hard to be the youngest.

"Chris?" he says the name quietly , but it echoes in my ear like a deafening shout. Rattling my brain , shaking me to my senses, just like the explosion from earlier.

"He's still upstairs having some test run."

It's Dr. Stewart that answers and I get up and walk towards them.

"Is he awake?" My voice sounds foreign and I feel everyone's gaze fall on me, as if they don't recognize this ghost of their partner.

Martin shakes his head and I can see the concern, before his physician's mask once again falls into place. "Not yet, Vin. I'm sorry."

"How serious is it?" Ezra asks the question that I am afraid to, and I don't miss the fear in his voice. I'm not the only one that hangs in the balance with Chris's fate.

Martin sighs and I know he is about to launch into his usual spill about not guessing, or giving odds, and the hated one about the waiting game that we will all have to play; but instead, he looks straight at me and replies.

"I don't think there is any permanent damage, at least from what I can tell from the preliminary results of some of the tests. He sustained quite a blow when the force of the blast tossed him, and he has a few minor burns, but there seems to be no ‘physical' reason for him not to be awake by now. Perhaps hearing a familiar voice might do some good."

"Can I see him?" I ask, not meeting any of my other team members' eyes.

Stewart nods. "I'll send a nurse to get you once we have him settled into a room." He then turns to Buck and launches an unsuccessful campaign to get our friend to go home and rest. I start to fade out again as I hear JD join the argument but even I realize how fitting it is for the kid to use some of Buck's own words against him.

But I know that Buck won't leave, not even for JD, who he rarely denies anything.

He can't.

No more than I could.

Sometimes, I forget he was in Chirs's life way before I came along, and has a connection to our leader, almost as strong as the one I share with him.

I know it wasn't so easy for the fun-loving, carefree man to watch me take a spot in Larabee's life that he himself had once filled. Especially, before JD came along. However, I knew that he had really begun to accept me not long after the kid joined our team.

Buck came in one Monday and presented Chris and me with a set of spurs. He had casually dismissed it as a sort of joke, because of the nickname ‘cowboy' that Chris and I had started using after one of our first cases, but his expressive eyes had told a different story. Seems him and the kid had drifted into one of the old antique stores downtown and had happened upon some ‘genuine' memorabilia from the old West.

While JD had purchased an authentic dime stoor novel about the escapades of the legendary Bat Masterson, Buck had found the spurs hanging between a buckskin coat and a black duster. He explained how something about the clothing reminded him of us, and so the spurs seemed fitting, like they needed to be ours.

Chris had seemed touched by the gesture, but quickly covered by accusing Buck of spending too much time with the past-life regression therapist he had been dating. I hadn't really known what to say, so Buck said it all. After handing me mine, he pulled me into a huge hug and whispered one simple phrase. ‘Thanks , pard.'

Every time I see the spur sitting on my desk now, even after all these years, it still amazes me that Buck thinks I'm responsible for Chris being here today. Doesn't he realize that he is the one who kept him going, kept him sane, long enough for me to come along.

I don't think I've ever thanked ‘him' for that.

"Vin?" Ezra's concerned voice brings me from my reverie and I realize that Dr. Stewart is gone and that JD has helped Buck over to the more comfortable chairs on the other end of the waiting room. Standish and I are alone in front of the silver doors.

"I asked you if you wanted a cup of coffee or something to eat from downstairs." When I still don't answer, Ezra reaches out and wraps his hand around my wrist. "Vin? Are you alright?"

I've never heard him sound quite so desperate, so I force myself to reply. "No."

His usually unreadable features distort with worry and his green eyes hold my gaze. "No, you're not alright, or ,no, you don't want any coffee?"

I shrug and manage a tired smile. "Both."

He returns the gesture and tightens his grip on my arm. " Then I'll bring you something stronger." Before letting me go, he escorts me back to my previous position, and makes sure that I am sitting. Only after exchanging a nod with Buck does he leave to go upstairs to the cafeteria. I wonder at what he might come back with, nothing Ezra pulls off could surprise me, but I don't get a chance to find out because before he returns a nurse comes for me.

It's Dakota Hawks, a face I'm very familiar with. The man always seems to be on duty when one of us is injured and I'm sure he thinks we live to make his life more difficult. I can not even count, on both my hands, the times that he has had to threaten to call security on Buck for getting irrate when JD has been hurt. Then there was the time that Ezra threatened him , in words I'm sure Hawks didn't know all the meanings to , with a report to the Board of Directors of the hospital, on which his Mother's third husband held a chair. That had been when I was shot, and the doctors hadn't wanted no one but family in the room. Needless to say, Chris and Ezra were allowed in the room. All in all, Dakota has been a good sport. At least he knows us, understands that we are more than mere working associates. He treats us as if we were family.

"Mr. Tanner, Dr. Stewart sent me to come get you. Agent Larabee has been moved to room 314."

"Thanks," I manage, and look over to catch Buck watching me. He has his good arm draped over JD's shoulders, and the kid looks as if he is almost asleep, slumped against the bigger man's side. A glance at my watch tells me that Ezra has been gone for almost thirty minutes, and I'm amazed at how calm Bucklin seems. Usually he would be pacing or demanding someone to do something, but maybe his injuries have taken some of the fight out of him. Maybe he knows something I don't.

Standing, I hold his gaze for a moment more, gathering the strength I know I'll need to face my demons, and then I follow Dakota out of the room.

"You know the way, right?" The young man asks, and I see sympathy in his eyes.

"Yeah." I'm reduced to one syllable words it seems, but Hawks doesn't seem to mind as he finds his way back to his station,and I continue my trek alone.

After a short ride on one of the elevators that I know is reserved for staff, I find myself on the ever busy third floor. Doctors and nurses dart past me, but the only one that acknowledges my presence is a hefty gray-haired lady. I can't recall her name but I remember her from the last time JD was in here. She waves slightly and points towards the corridor adjacent to her desk. I smile slightly and continue past her until I make it to the hall.

I walk down the path lined with Renoir and Matisse prints. Ez had once pointed out to me that they weren't half bad copies, that's the only reason I know their titles now. I made the mistake of telling him that I liked one of the Monet's and found myself at a gallery opening that next weekend. Chris nearly laughed his ass off when I asked to borrow one of his sports jackets, and after I explained why, he said that Ezra was determined to turn me into a cultured gentleman if it was the last thing he did.

I can't help the smile that comes to my face as I recall how I had paid him back for his unusual sense of humor. I actually thought the painting I bought was ugly,even if it did cost me half a paycheck; but the next week when the guys and I went over to watch the game, there it was, hanging over the fireplace. I had asked him about it , but he had only slapped me on the back and favored me with an unusual glimpse behind his barrier, ‘It reminds me of the water colors that Adam did in Kindergarden.' To this day, I love that painting.

Sighing, I realize I am almost to his room. As I get closer, a forgotten memory rears its ugly head. It hits me hard, nearly stealing my breath, and I have to brace myself against one of the sterile white walls to keep from falling.

For a moment, I realize, that I was sent back in time, or perhaps, time caught up to me. It was a time when I was a terrified little boy, walking down a similiar hallway to see my mother, who was dying.

I didn't know that she was dying, but I did know that I was afraid for her. Very Afraid.

I take a deep breath, fighting the overwhelming smells of disinfectant and the odor that is purely that of a hospital , and make myself continue my journey to my bestfriend's side. Why am I remembering this now?

Seeing the gold number 314, I reach out to grasp the cold steel door knob in front of me and I notice that my hand is trembling. But when I look down, it's not my big, calloused hand that I've had for twenty-eight years; it's the small one of a child that I thought I had left behind a long time ago. Somehow the boy , that I was sure I had buried beneath layers of stone, has escaped his confines and has come for a visit. I shutter as I realize just how afraid I must be for him to be here. I haven't seen him since my mother died. Has he come back to take my brother?

Finally, I push the door open, shoving my morose thinking aside with it, and I can't help the wave of panic that overcomes me when I see him.

He looks worse than Buck had.

One whole side of his face is black and blue and I figure that it was probably done by the impact with the brick wall that Buck said he had hit. His right hand is bandaged and I guess that is one of the minor burns that Dr. Stewart had been telling us about. It never seems ‘minor' to me when he is hurt. When any of the seven is hurt.

Realistically, a part of me knows that Chris has been injured worse. Like the time he was shot, saving my life. But he seems so still now, so quiet. That's what bothers me the most. It's like he's staying away on purpose.

It ain't that Chris is hyper or always moving like Buck or JD , but there's an energy that radiates from him, from within him, and right now I can't feel that.

It's like it's been shut down, or taken away, leaving only a lifeless shell behind.

For a moment, I think that perhaps the state of unconsciousness has robbed him of his essence, just as Cancer took my mother's from her.

Hoping to disprove myself, I pull the chair closer to his bed and take his hand in mine.

I let out the breath I've been holding as I feel the warmth beneath my fingers. Emma's hand had been like ice.

My need to be assured that Chris is alive, that he is really there, overwhelms me and I lay my other hand on his chest. I feel the heartbeat, the rise and fall as lungs fill and empty, and whether I imagine it or not, I sense a hint of the usual connection between us.

It's weird that I feel no great desire for words between us, when he is awake and we are together, but it's different when I can't see his eyes. Now, I want nothing more than to here him say my name.

"Hey, cowboy." I am the one to speak instead, sounding much too young for my comfort. "It's time you wake up now. We need to have a little talk about that self-sacrifice bull-shit you pulled today."

He doesn't respond. I wasn't really expecting him to, but still I'm disappointed.

Everyone's always talking about this ‘unreal' bond that we have. That all the Seven have. Sometimes, I even buy into it myself .

Like when Chris knows exactly what I'm thinking, or says exactly what I need to hear.

When I watch Buck with JD, I see it too. Or Nate and Josiah. I feel it with Ezra, see it between Chris and Ezra , though neither would ever admit it. But now, I have my doubts.

Maybe I give it more power than it really has. Maybe I read more into ‘us' than is really there.

Maybe it's just in my imagination, in everyone's imagination. Just a fantasy. Just like the ones I use to cling to in the orphanage. The one where a father I never had met took me home.

Home to a new mother.

Home to a brother.

"Damn it, Chris!" I swear, my anger surprising me. "Don't you dare pull this crap on me. You're the one always giving me grief above shutting people out. What the hell do you think you're doing now?"

The quiet beep of one of the machines monitoring his vitals is the only reply I'm rewarded with, and I hang my head in defeat.

Be brave.

The words echo in my mind and I swallow the lump that has suddenly sprung to my throat. My anger is starting to give way to grief; and for the life of me I can't seem to get a grip on my emotions. I don't know why all these memories from long ago are mixing with the feelings I'm having now. I can't handle it.

"I never should have let you get so close. I knew this would happen. I shouldn't have gotten so comfortable." My words are barely a whisper, and I don't even realize that I'm crying until I taste the salty drops on my tounge.

Fact was, I ‘had' gotten too comfortable. Completely at ease. Chris, from the beginning, had somehow managed his way past my defenses. No one had gave a shit about me for so long that, at first, I didn't know what to make of it. I couldn't understand why, but Chris Larabee saw something in me that made me worthy of his friendship. He wanted to protect me, and he was the first person I believed capable of doing that. He thought I was special. Hell, if I'm honest, I know that I am probably the most important person in his life. That's both an amazing feeling and a damn scary one. For a split second, I hate him for making me remember what it was to be loved.

Of course, It's in this moment that I realize why I'm so mad. Not at Chris, or even my mother, but at myself. I dropped my guard, completely. I stopped worrying that Chris would leave or that any of the Seven would be lost. I was, what Emma had wanted me to be. Brave.

I believed in someone again, I risked my soul for something I thought I'd never be able to have. A family. Chris and Ezra, the others too, are all my family.

I think that's also what Emma had meant all those years ago, when she had said, Remember, you are a Tanner. It wasn't that she wanted me to remember my family tree, or heritage, but to remember what it was like to belong to something. To be a part of something greater than myself.

But what good had it brought, if in one horrifying second I lost it all.

I suddenly feel sick and my head seems light. The room starts to close in on me. I can feel an old familiar storm starting to brew. I need to get out. To go somewhere far away from this place.

The chair falls to the floor as I rush to stand up, and I don't even look at the still form on the bed before turning to leave. I guess that's why I hadn't noticed the blue eyes watching me. "Vin?"

I stop at the sound of his weak voice, but I don't turn back around. Not yet. At first, I think it may have been my imagination and I don't think I can handle the disappointment, but then come the two little words I can't ignore.

"Don't go"

I rub a hand across my face, feeling a lot like JD, as I rush to wipe away any traces of a weakness I'm not familiar with, and quickly make my way back to his side.

"Hey, cowboy, ‘bout time you woke up." I reach over and pick the chair up, pulling it closer to his bed and sitting down. " I was just about to go get some air."

"You..alright?" He looks at me and reaches out for my hand. I feel an involuntary shudder coarse through my body because a part of me really had thought that I'd never stare into those eyes again.

"Shouldn't I be askin' you that?" I laugh lightly, squeezing his hand tighter between mine. "You were the one blown up, remember?"

He keeps looking at me, as if my words haven't quite reached him. It's almost like he's seeing through me. "I'm sorry," he finally says.

I try to speak, but at first nothing comes out. I want to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for , that I'm the one who should be appologizing for not being there when he was in trouble, but the only words that reach my lips are angry ones. "You should be."

I drop his hand and stand up, needing to distance myself from him, and the situation. "What the hell did you think you were doing? Buck and the other DEA agent said you grabbed the case from Rodrigues when he started to open it. You knew it was rigged! Why the hell didn't you just get Buck and get the hell out of there?"

"It would have taken out the other team," he explains, patiently. Although I already knew exactly ‘why' he did it, I'm enraged at his reply.

"So?!" I yell at him.

My bestfriend almost dies, just wakes up from being unconscious, and I'm screaming at him. I must be losing it!

"You need to think of someone else besides yourself for a change!" God, that sounded stupid.

" What if you'd gone and got your fool self killed? How do you think Ezra would have handled that? Huh? He may act like he doesn't give a shit, but he'd probably cut off his fuckin' ear if that would get your attention. And Buck? Do you really think Buck could take losing you, again ? Even if he did get over it, JD wouldn't. The kid worships you. You and Josiah are the only father figures he has ever known. The team would be over too. " I step back up to the bed and glare at him. "You do realize that ,don't you?" I want to hurt him with my last words. I want him to know that I won't take over as the leader everyone thinks he is grooming me to be. If something should happen to him, I won't be his legacy.

I'm so busy trying to stay angry that I haven't noticed that the gray-haired nurse, that smiled at me before, is now in the room looking at me as if I have lost my mind; but Chris has. He raises his hand as if to tell her that it's alright, and amazingly enough, she leaves the room. His authority never fails to impress me; but it sure doesn't intimidate me.

"You are unbelievable!" I shake my head and start to turn away when he reaches out and grabs my arm.

"I'm sorry I scared you , Vin." His voice is soft, and I can't stand the sympathy, the understanding that I hear in it. He knows. He knows exactly what I'm feeling. "You're right, I wasn't thinking."

I run my other hand through my hair and take a deep breath before sitting down again. "You were doing your job," I say, miserably, the truth sending a lancing pain through my heart.

"Yeah," he tightens his grasp on my hand, "but sometimes I forget what's really important."

"Saving lives ‘is' important." My voice is low once more, and I finally return his gaze, for the first time since he awoke. "I just happen to value your life over most others." A hint of a smile sneaks across my lips, because I can't fight the relief I feel by just reconnecting with him.

"Sometimes I forget what it's like to have a family again." He confesses, softly. "After Adam and Sarah were killed, I didn't care to take chances,to risk myself. I had nothing to hold on to."

"You don't have to tell me this," I start, but he brings his hand up and covers my mouth.

"We leave too much unsaid, cowboy. Just because we don't need words to communicate, don't mean we shouldn't use'em every now and then." It's his turn to smile. "I actually can carry on a complete conversation, ya' know."

"I'd never have guessed that."

He closes his eyes a second and takes a short breath. He's in pain. "Easy," I say, quickly laying a hand on his forehead. "You should be resting, not showing me your great rapport prowess"

His eyes open and he raises an eyebrow. "Rapport prowess?"

"Ez's words, not mine." I admit.

"I'd never have guessed that." He smiles, and then grows serious once more. "I didn't mean for you to get hurt, Vin. That's the last thing I'd want."

"I was in the van, Chris. ‘You' got hurt." I point out, feeling that lump starting to rise in my throat again.

"It's not easy to care about people, ‘specially when you think you're going to lose them, or they let you down."

"You didn't let me down," I whisper, trying to get a reign on my emotions that seem bent on betraying me today.

"But if I'd not made it. If I had died today.."

"Don't." I nearly choke on the word, dropping my head until my forehead rests against his arm. The events of the day, the adrenaline rush from the explosion, and all the waiting and worrying have taken their toll. I don't even want to think about the 'what ifs'.

"Vin," he starts, laying his other, injured hand lightly atop my head, "you're as much my family as Sarah or Adam were. You're my brother, plain and simple, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep us together. Do you understand me? I ain't goin' no where, if I can help it."

I lift my head, and the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. "My mom said that too. Just before they wheeled her to the morgue and took me to the county home."

The six year-old is back and I feel out of control of my own actions. I just hope Chris can forget this whole incident. I hope I can forget. " I can't go through that again, Chris. I won't do it. It's not worth it."

A hurt look crosses his face and I wish I could take back my last words. "Do you really mean that?" I don't answer, I can only sit there, my mouth hanging open, tears streaming down my face. "Because if you do, I can handle that. I won't like it." He lets his hand slide from my face. "I'll hate it, but if it's what you want..if it'll keep you from getting hurt.."

"No." I shake my head, suddenly afraid all over again. "I didn't mean I wanted to ...I only meant...hell, I guess I just want something I cant have."

"Guarantees?" He supplies the perfect word. A guarantee is exactly what I want.

"Yeah," I grin, "a contract for the next fifty or sixty years will do. You know, with the clause that you can't do anything stupid, like die and make me an orphan again, until I'm at least eighty and we've had our full of fishing and shoot-outs and camping trips with the guys. I want it in writing, too."

"How ‘bout blood?" He jokes sleepily and I know he's fighting the anesthesia to stay awake because he knows I need him. " ‘smore binding that way."

I take his hand in mine again, and he struggles to keep his eyes focused on me. "Nah, your word will do." I tell him honestly, realizing the fact that he'd be willing to let our friendship go to save me any pain, says more than any amount of words ever could.

"You got it , cowboy," he breathes, his eyes finally closing. His last words to me before he drifts off to a healing sleep bring my heart a peace it has been longing for. And although I have a feeling that we'll probably relive this scene a few more times within our lives, I now know that I'll never lose him.

A smile finds it's way to my face once more, and I lean back in my chair, making sure I can still hold his hand as I wait for him to wake again. "Yeah, cowboy, I finally got it."

One week later

It's almost 11:30, and as I look around the office I notice most of the agents have already gone to lunch. We are , as normal, waiting on Ezra, who since coming in late has paper work to finish before he can go.

JD and Nate have taken some evidence down to forensics and Josiah is in with Chris. I look across my desk to the southerner, who is completely focused on his monitor, and then catch sight of Buck out of the corner of my eye.

He has his feet propped on his trash can and is leaned back reading what appears to be a file. Seeing this as the chance I've been waiting for, I reach into my desk and pull out the small paper bag that I brought to work with me the day after Chris returned to the office.

Buck's back is to me as I approach and peering over his shoulder I am not surprised to see the latest edition of Sport's Illustrated tucked between the camouflage of the manila folder.

Smiling to myself, I clear my throat in a manner which Chris often uses upon finding Wilmington or the kid with one of the items from the ‘not allowed in office' list, that he has drawn up especially for them.

Buck nearly tumbles backwards out of his chair as he quickly drops the file onto the desk and turns on me, his best innocent look already in place. "Chris, I uh..."

When he sees me a mixed look of relief and annoyance crosses his features. "Expecting someone else, sport?"

"Funny," he growls. "Haven't I told you about sneakin' up on a man like that. You've even got the fool kid doing it now. He nearly gave me a heart attack last night. You tryin' to finish me off?"

"Sorry." I push some papers out of the way so that I can lean on the corner of his desk.

He shrugs and relaxes back in his seat once more, crossing his arms behind his head. "You buy the first round of drinks at the saloon tonight, and I might let it slide."

"How ‘bout I not tell Chris about your outside reading interests or the new Dreamcast game that you and the kid have hid under the TV in the break room and we'll call it even."

"Tatle-tale, " he mumbles, but I can see the humor dancing behind his dark eyes. "Are you here just to spy on me, or is there something on your mind?"

I hesitate for a moment, not really sure of what I'm about to do; but his next words provide the little push that I need.

"You alright, Vin?" From his worried tone I can tell that Buck has switched into ‘big brother' mode. Leaning forward, all jokes pushed aside, his attention is completely on me.

"Here." I hand the crumpled parcel to him, suddenly feeling like a little kid once more, and he takes it with a tentative look.

"What's this?"

"Open it."

He looks at me again, and then removes the layers of paper, one by one, to reveal the iron horse shoe inside.

"I found it at that same store where you got our spurs. It was with that duster and buckskin coat you told us about, thrown underneath a bowler hat and some bandanas." I rush to explain all of this, because I start getting nervous when he continues to look at the object without speaking. "The old man running the place said it was the wierdest thing that none of the items from that table ever seemed to sale. He even had an antique spy glass and a deck of cards that he swore was from the 1800's ."

When I'm finished with sounding like a blubbering idiot he finally , to my relief, looks back up , his eyes shining with emotion.

"I don't know what to say," he quietly replies.

"You already said it, Bucklin." I tell him. "Now it's my turn."

He tilts his head a little, looking a lot like JD does when Ezra's tryin' to explain something to him, so I lay a hand on his shoulder and hold his gaze.

It's important that he understands just what he has done for me. What he has given me, by not giving up on Chris all those years ago, by pulling Chris out of that burning building last week, and by stepping down from the position of Chris's best friend, when I know how much that hurt him.

"Thanks, pard."

My friend lets the words sink in for only a moment before breaking into one of his usual, huge grins, and I know I'm in trouble.

He quickly stands up and grabs me in a death grip, not unlike the first ‘Buck' hug I had endured, before letting go with a huge laugh.

He clasps a big hand on the back of my neck and gives me a slight shake. " ‘Bout time you joined the dance, junior."

I'm not really sure what he means, but before I can think about it further, he releases his hold on me and turns to hang the horseshoe on the corner of the picture sitting on his desk. It's a 5x7 of the seven of us on the first fishing trip we took to the Keys. He then grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and winks at me. "Ez, either come on now or we're leaving your sorry ass behind."

The southerner looks up from his work and glowers at the two of us. "And what, pray tell, am I suppose to tell Mr. Larabee when he asks for my report this afternoon?"

"Ah hell, just buy him that fancy steak sandwich he likes," Buck waves his hand in the air, "he'll forget all about the report."

"You make it sound as easy as throwing a dog a bone," Ezra drawls, but stands up and flips his screen off just the same. "Did you forget that the dog in question is of the Pit Bull variety?"

Buck grins at me and slaps my arm. "Fill ‘im in on how to handle the Chris we know and love while I round up the kid and Nate."

With that he's gone and Ezra is now at my side. He looks at me, quirking a questioning eyebrow in my direction. "Why is Mr. Wilmington carrying on like he has just one the lottery, or landed a date with Xena, Warrior Princess?"

I merely shrug. "Beats me, Ez."

My friend sighs and a hopeful gleam enters his green eyes. "I do hope his good mood is contagious, because if not, I'm afraid our great leader, steak or not, may have my head on a platter when we return."

A slow grin crosses my face as I catch sight of Chris and Josiah coming from the man in question's office, and I give Ezra a shove towards the elevator. For an instant, my gaze locks with the eyes I know as well as my own, and some very wise words come to mind, as I turn to follow my friend.

"Be brave, Ezra. Remember, you're one of the Seven."

The End