Lost Weekend (ATF)
Cindy Shannon
CLShannon@aol.com

DISCLAIMER: The following is a work of fan fiction based on the television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, TNN, Hallmark, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters and settings. We do not claim ownership of the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from it.
CATEGORY: ATF
RATINGS: PG-13
AUTHOR'S NOTES, THANKS, ETC.: Just a little quickie ;-) I do want to thank Penny and Marla for their generous help, beta service and advice, especially Penny, who went the extra mile on it <g> Thanks guys!
FEEDBACK: Yes, all kinds <g>

Saturday, approximately 11:59 p.m.

"I've never seen such an assortment of injuries, it looks like he rolled around in broken glass."

"Don't forget the concussion and separated shoulder."

"Man, he sure had a rough night, I wonder how all this happened. That guy with him didn't know."

"Well, since you’re just starting your shift, let me know what you find out after he wakes up."

Earlier that day:

"Hey Buck, ain't you gonna be late for your flight?" said Vin.

"I got plenty of time, flight's at six," answered Buck.

"Yeah, but the traffic's gonna be a bitch on a Friday afternoon at five," commented Nathan.

"You heard him Buck, you better get going," added J.D.

The team was in the office, finishing up a week's worth of work and looking forward to the weekend. Two members were especially looking forward to this weekend. Buck, because he was off to Las Vegas to spend two wildly romantic days with his current girlfriend, Terri, and J.D. because he was anticipating two quiet days alone. He'd been living with Buck for almost a year and it would be the first time he had had that length of time alone. It seemed impossible that in all that time Buck hadn't gone away for a weekend or two, but for one reason or another, it had just never happened. Work demands, the lack of a steady girlfriend, other plans; all of these had led to this unusual circumstance.

So, for the first time since he moved in with Buck, J.D. was facing two days of blissful solitude. Not that he didn't love living with Buck, but sometimes a person just needs to be alone and J.D. had spent all week formulating plans for how he would spend that time. Playing music as loud as he wanted, playing video games for as long as he wanted, working on his motorcycle, eating whatever he wanted, watching whatever he wanted....the possibilities were endless. However, if J.D. had taken the time to think about it more, he would have realized that this schedule didn't really vary too much from normal days with Buck there. His roommate pretty much let him do whatever he wanted. He just found the need to comment on everything J.D. did, which usually came out as teasing. That's what would be missing this weekend and J.D. was looking forward to it.

J.D. had advanced towards Buck and was now shoving him to the elevators.

Buck allowed the smaller man to propel him across the floor as he said with a wink in the others' direction, "You know kid, yer hurtin' my feelings here, you tryin' to get rid of me or something?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm doing, now move it!" said J.D. with a final shove that sent Buck the rest of the way to the elevator doors. He reached over and hit the down button.

Buck put his suitcase down and held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Okay, okay, I get the message! But just remember, squirt, I'll be havin' a lot more fun this weekend than you," said Buck, reaching out and tweaking J.D.'s nose.

The loud ding announced the arrival of the elevator car and Buck lifted his suitcase and stepped in. He couldn't resist one last parting shot, however.

"Hey J.D., I better not find a mess when I get home!"

The doors closed on Buck's face and J.D. sighed. Ah, heaven. Time for the weekend to begin.

Inside the office, the other men had heard every word. The hallway wasn't that far from their desks and Buck's voice had carried quite well.

"How will he be able to tell if there is a mess?" asked Ezra, completely straight-faced.

"Now come on, Ez, you know their place ain't as messy as you always say it is. It just ain't sterile like your place," remarked Vin.

"Well, if that means that I am not cultivating lab experiments in my refrigerator, then I suppose you could classify my place as sterile," replied Ezra, not without a bit of huffiness.

In place of an answer, Vin just chucked the wad of paper he had been readying for the trash can at Ezra's head. The object hit its mark squarely in the forehead. They didn't call Vin the sharpshooter for nothing.

"Oh very mature, Mr. Tanner, very mature."

Five o'clock finally arrived and J.D. rushed out of the office like he was going to a fire.

"Do you think he's looking forward to the weekend?" asked Josiah, pulling on his jacket while watching the young agent head for the exit.

Nathan laughed. "That boy better learn to slow down some or he's gonna wear himself out before he's thirty."

"Thirty? I'd bet on 25," answered Josiah.

"Did I hear someone say 'bet'?" asked Standish, also on his way towards the exit, coat in hand.

Nathan and Josiah both hung their heads, shaking them slightly in amazement. As they neared the elevator, Nathan muttered, "...got ears like a bat when bettin's involved."

J.D. swung his motorcycle into a Burger King on his way home. Nothing like a big Whopper, large fries and chocolate milkshake to get the weekend off to a roaring start.

Once home, he got comfortable on the couch, put the greasy Burger King bag on the coffee table and powered up the Xbox. Six o'clock on a Friday - definitely "Amped" time. The newest addition to his video game collection was still in the bag and J.D. couldn't wait to give it a try. Buck's only comment when he'd seen the purchase had been something about 'skateboards? How old are you anyway, kid, 13?' 'Just cause you can't even remember being my age doesn't mean you have to make smart ass comments', J.D. had answered. Buck had continued the ribbing until J.D. stashed the bag in his room and silently vowed to only try the game when Buck wasn't home.

Well, he wasn't home now and wouldn't be until Sunday night, so J.D. turned on the TV, stuffed a few fries in his mouth and started enjoying his 'Buck-less' weekend.

Ninety minutes later, the food consumed and paper wrappers littering the coffee table, J.D. threw the controller off to the side in disgust and flipped off the Xbox.

"Damn, that's harder than I thought," he muttered.

J.D. surfed the channels and found a Rockies game. The game was half over already and the Rockies were losing by eight runs. J.D. turned the channel again, hoping to find something a bit more interesting. After two run throughs of all the channels, he turned off the set and threw the remote onto the couch beside him.

"Geesh, 110 channels and nothing good on."

Unable to sit still, J.D. jumped up and headed for his room. At least he knew computer games were always interesting, especially when you were going for a personal best score. An hour or so later, he was still engrossed in the game when the first thunderclap hit. The lights flickered briefly and J.D.'s attention was broken with the sudden power surge to his monitor.

"Damn!" he hissed. He quickly exited the game and turned the machine off. Reaching down to the floor, he unplugged it also. Even though he had a surge protector, he had learned the hard way not to leave the machine plugged in during a lightning storm. The storm had picked up steam in just a few minutes. Lightning flashes were quickly followed by booming thunderclaps and the wind whistled around the window frames.

J.D. made his way to his bedroom window, making sure it was closed and then proceeded to the rest of the downstairs, doing the same. Once that was secured, he headed towards the stairs to check on the upper floor loft. Buck's bedroom was the only room up there and he was pretty sure that window was open. The day had been warm and breezy and the upstairs window provided nice cross-ventilation when left open. His foot had barely landed on the first step when a particularly sharp clap of thunder resounded, followed by the immediate loss of power. J.D. cursed quite colorfully and turned around to head to the kitchen. On the way, he picked up the phone receiver to check on whether or not they were down also. Dead silence greeted him.

His thoughts segued quickly into retrieving the flashlight he knew was sitting on top of the refrigerator for just such an occasion. It was now past 8:30 and there was very little light coming through the windows from outside. J.D. had to feel his way to the kitchen. Halfway there, he felt the sharp jolt of a stubbed toe on his right foot.

"Owww! Damn it, damn it, damn it!!" he yelped, immediately lifting the foot to rub the offended digit. It was the little toe; they always hurt worse than the big ones for some reason. J.D. hopped around for a few seconds, waiting for the pain to subside.

"Oh man, it must be broken, no way it ain't broken," he muttered in between clenched teeth. "I can just hear Buck now, that's what you get for going around the house with no shoes on." J.D. was in the habit of kicking off his shoes the moment he came in the house, walking around in just socks or even barefoot, like tonight; something Buck was always riding him about. He couldn't figure out why it mattered so much, most people wanted you to take off your shoes when you came in, to prevent tracking dirt on the carpet. J.D. expected that the only reason Buck rode him about it was because the older man was continually tripping over J.D.'s shoes. The fact that the younger man kicked them off at the door and left them there probably contributed to this phenomenon.

J.D. couldn't help but smile as these thoughts flitted through his mind. He knew he shouldn't leave his shoes near the door, but it was so much more convenient that way. He could slip them back on on his way out. That made sense to Dunne, even if it didn't make sense to his griping roommate.

Now that the throbbing had subsided in his toe, J.D. retrieved the flashlight from the murky kitchen and started up the stairs once more. He was barely halfway up when he heard a huge crash from upstairs. He ran the rest of the way up the steps, in full emergency mode. When he swept the flashlight beam over the room, the site that greeted him made him groan loudly. A large tree branch had broken through the window opposite the bed and at least a foot of it was protruding into the room. The drapes were fluttering wildly in the wind and they were already half-soaked from the rain, which was also spattering the rug. "Oh shit," he muttered, heading quickly to the window. Unfortunately, he had forgotten that a broken window usually meant broken glass. His memory came back when a large ragged shard embedded itself in the sole of his right foot, the same foot with the abused toe.

J.D. felt only the large piece of glass, but it was enough to send him to the floor like he had been sucker punched. He didn't notice all the other smaller cuts on his feet.

"Owwww, man, goddamnit, shit, fucking...." the stream of invectives that poured from the young agent's mouth would have made even Buck blush. His ungraceful fall to the floor presented another set of problems. In his pain and shock, he had dropped the flashlight and hit the floor with both hands outstretched, the action of which had embedded numerous pieces of glass in his palms. When he realized this, he rolled over onto his side, trying to get out of the bed of broken glass that right now seemed as big as an ocean.

"Damnit all to hell!!"

J.D. lay on the floor breathing hard, trying not to move for fear that more glass would find its way into his body. The pain from his foot was building to a crescendo and his hands were stinging like they were covered with bees. He sat up tentatively, bending down to look at his foot. The glass shard was glinting in the weak moonlight that was coming through the window. He reached out a shaky, bloody hand to see if he could extract it. It was in pretty deep, but he was determined to get it out, so he steeled himself and yanked hard. The shard came out, along with a gush of blood.

"Jesus!" J.D. yelped, shocked by the feel of the warm, wet fluid coming out of his foot. Panicking, he scooted over to the bed and grabbed the first thing his hand could find. It turned out to be one of Buck's pillows. He pressed the pillow to his foot, trying to stem the flow. The forceful pressure made him groan and bite his lip, but he held tight. After a few seconds, he slowly removed it to examine his foot. The pillow had a nice dark stain right in the middle. "Oh man, Buck is gonna have a cow." The pillow and case were ruined; the blood would probably soak all the way through. Not to mention the trail of blood drops on the bedspread that bore witness to where his hand had been. Also, the rug underneath him was sporting a smaller stain. This just keeps getting better.

J.D. remained seated on the floor, holding the now ruined pillow to his foot. He knew he had to get up and put a bandage of some kind on it, but he wanted to wait for the throbbing pain to subside. He could still hear the wind and rain outside and knew that he had to get something to cover the window soon. The wind seemed to be purposefully driving the rain into the window and across the floor, soaking the rug in an outward pattern. The drapes were beyond hope, slapping themselves against the sides of the window and then out again into the room, looking like they were drying on a clothesline in a stiff wind. J.D. cringed when another flash of lightning gave him a quick glimpse of the damage. The clap of thunder rattled the window frame and J.D. started. Enough of this, I gotta get up.

J.D. scanned the area near him and spotted the dropped flashlight. He scooted over and picked it up, then stiffly got up and limped towards the bathroom in Buck's room, managing to avoid stepping in any more broken glass. Leaning on the sink, he opened the medicine cabinet, brushing aside bottles and various tubes with his right hand, holding the flashlight in his left, leaving red smudges on everything from his bloody palms. Where the hell are the band-aids? We gotta have some band-aids! No antiseptic cream, not even some iodine.

On the last shelf, his hand connected with a soft roll and when he managed to maneuver the light towards it, he realized it was an ace bandage. That'll have to do. Rolling the bandage around his aching foot, J.D. couldn't help but wonder if he got all the glass shards out of it.

He decided to wrap his palms with the bandage as well; they still stung, but they weren't bleeding anymore. While wrapping his hands, he happened to glance at the shower curtain. That'll do too. He got up on his tiptoes to unhook the curtain. It might not be too sturdy, but at least it would keep the rain out of the window for tonight. All he had to do was shove the branch back outside and nail the tarp over the broken window.

It sounded simple enough, but he hadn't accounted for a few things; having to hold the flashlight under his chin so he could see what he was doing while holding the hammer with one hand and the nail with the other; fighting the wind and rain coming in through the window; and his impaired hands. A bright flash of lightning startled him, sending his already battered body staggering backwards. He tried to regain equilibrium, but with an injured foot and the growing darkness, he quickly lost that battle. He hit the floor flat on his back, right into the sea of broken glass and wet carpet.

After the initial yelp of pain, J.D. could not make a sound. His body had had enough, his power of speech was gone, replaced by the overwhelming dizziness and pain that seemed to have become his world. He lay there for a few seconds, trying to orient himself and ride out the sensations. His vision was blurred, perhaps from the tears that had filled his eyes. He squeezed them shut, thinking it would help, but quickly opened them again. With his eyes closed, the dizziness was worse and he felt like he was riding a roller coaster.

J.D. stayed on the floor for at least a minute, staring at the ceiling and taking stock of his condition. His foot hurt, his hands hurt, his back hurt and his ability to keep the floor from rolling underneath him was severely curtailed. Maybe it would have easier to count what didn't hurt. His vision was also a bit blurred. As he lay there, one thought dominated his mind. I'm gonna nail that frigging window shut when this is over.

J.D's next thought concerned getting off the floor. He had to get downstairs to his cell phone, which was sitting on the dresser in his bedroom. Surrendering to the fact that he probably needed some help, the battered young man decided that he would swallow his pride and call one of the guys. There was no way he was going to be able to fix the window with head throbbing and his hands shaking so badly he wasn't sure he could even grasp the hammer let alone use it.

Groaning loudly, J.D. raised his upper body, trying to support his weight on his aching hands. His head felt as heavy, yet disconnected from his body. The combination was almost enough to make him give up and flop to the floor again, but he knew if he did, it might be hours before he woke up.

"Jesus, Buck is never going to let me forget this," he mumbled, not noticing that how shaky his voice sounded. He managed to crawl towards the head of the stairs, wincing every time his hands made contact with the carpet.

He stopped at the top of the steps, looking down at what appeared to be an abyss. When did the top floor get to be so high? And when the stairs get so steep?

J.D. contemplated these wonders for a few seconds before he started the difficult task of standing up. Getting down the steps would be hard enough with the growing dizziness, but doing it on his hands and knees would be impossible. Slowly, J.D. grasped the banister with one hand and shakily got to his feet. The storm was still raging outside, but he couldn't hear it anymore; he was too intent on just the act of standing up. His legs felt like rubber, but somehow he managed to stay upright, leaning heavily on the rail to take some weight off his painful foot.

"Damn...flashlight!" he cursed, turning his head to see where the object had fallen. It was at least four feet away, where it had rolled to a stop after his last fall. J.D. stood there trying to decide if it was worth it to retrieve it. Of course it's worth it, it's pitch black in here, you can hardly see the steps.

The moment he removed his hand from the banister, JD regretted the decision. Just the slight pressure against his wounded foot shot a bolt of pain up his entire leg, making him dizzy enough to start him on his journey down the steps much earlier than he had anticipated. His body pitched forward, his left shoulder making a juicy crack as it met the top landing and his head bounced off the opposing railing. Darkness enveloped him from the inside out as he felt himself sliding downward, then landing face down on the carpet. At that moment, the storm had stopped for J.D. There was no sound now, only the murmuring of his own mind as his brain sunk into the mysterious region of unconsciousness.

Time approximate: Friday, 9:32 p.m.

At the same time that J.D. was tumbling down the stairs, Buck was maneuvering his way up Chris Larabee's long driveway. The rain was slashing sideways across the windshield and Buck was squinting between the motion of the wipers, trying to stay on the narrow gravel driveway. There weren't any streetlights out at Chris' ranch and since the team leader didn't know Buck was coming, there wasn't even the faint glow of a porchlight to help him.

"Damn! This one's for the record books," muttered Buck as he pulled to a stop at the end of the driveway. The storm had cancelled Buck's flight to Las Vegas and since his girlfriend's cat had decided to fall sick at the same time, she had opted to go home to take care of whatshisname. Since Buck didn't want to ruin his roommate's 'perfect weekend of solitude', he decided to crash at Chris'. But now, as he was running towards the front door, holding his suitcase over his head in a futile attempt not to get soaked, Buck started to think that maybe he should have just gone home. If the rain kept up, the road to Chris' place might get washed out and then he'd be stuck here longer than just two days. Well, if that happens, I guess I'll just enjoy the extended weekend, the kid'll be jealous cause Chris and I will be out here fishing and riding horses and just havin' a ball while he's stuck going in to work doin' all our paperwork. That is, if this damn rain ever stops, if it doesn't, we'll be stuck inside for awhile. Buck chuckled at the thought of a bristling mad J.D. having his 'perfect weekend plans' blow up in his face.

"Hey Chris, let me in! I'm gettin' soaked!" yelled Buck, pounding on the door at the same time.

The door opened to reveal a surprised Vin Tanner.

"Buck, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you were in Vegas."

"Can we talk about this inside? I'm drowning here," answered Buck.

Vin stepped aside and let Buck in.

"What are you doin' here Vin? Your roof leaking again?"

"Be kinda hard considering there's an apartment above me," answered Vin.

Chris had walked up a few seconds before and now stood staring at a dripping wet Buck.

"So what are you doing here Buck? Terri get a better offer?" he asked, glancing down at the puddle of water forming on his newly polished hardwood floor.

Buck shrugged out of his raincoat, spraying even more water onto the floor and walls.

"Very funny, Chris," said Buck, shoving his coat and suitcase at Vin, almost knocking him over in the process.

"Let me take your coat and bag there, Buck," drawled the Texan, not without a small amount of sarcasm.

"The flight got cancelled, ain't you looked outside? It's the mother of all thunderstorms out there, they said most of Denver is without power, although I see you ain't considered most of Denver," continued Buck, taking in the fact that Chris' power was still on.

"So why didn't you go to her place and spend the weekend? Or even your place?" asked Chris.

"Cause her roommate called and said her cat was sick and she just decided to go on home...and I didn't go home cause I don't want to ruin the kid's perfect Buck-free weekend, remember?"

"Well, come on, I'll put some coffee on. You hungry?" asked Chris, heading towards the kitchen.

Vin joined them in the kitchen, where Chris got the coffee started and rummaged in the refrigerator for sandwich ingredients. "Ham and cheese okay?" he asked from behind the door.

Buck sat down heavily at the table and sighed deeply.

"Yeah, sounds fine, all I've had is coffee since lunch," he answered.

"You call J.D. yet? Tell him you're trip was cancelled?" asked Vin. He knew the phones were out, but all of the guys always carried their cell phones with them at all times.

"Naw, I don't want to bother him, for all he knows, I'm in Vegas having a ball. Hey Chris, you don't mind if I hang out here this weekend, do ya?"

Chris set a sandwich and a mug of black coffee down in front of Buck.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Thanks Chris, that was one of your warmer invitations," cracked Buck. "So Vin, you never did answer me, what are you doin' here?"

"Place is being fumigated," Vin answered. "And save the jokes Buck, I heard 'em all. Buck, ya know, your place is probably without power, what do ya think the kid's gonna do without his computer, the TV, lights...."

Buck's mouth was still open, poised to make a wisecrack about the futility of spraying for bugs in the rattrap that Vin called home, so he decided to take a huge bite of his sandwich instead. He smiled around the food and made a big production of swallowing. Once that was done, Buck spoke again.

"Hell, the power'll probably be back on before morning. He'll sleep through most of it. So what are we goin' to do for two days, boys? If it don't stop rainin', we're stuck inside and even if it does stop rainin', neither Vin or I can go home anyway. Too bad Ez ain't here, we could at least play some poker."

"We can try not to kill each other, I suppose," answered Chris.

Vin let out a short laugh, "Yeah, that'd be a start."

"Aw come on boys, we been cooped up before on stakeouts and such, it won't be bad, we can play some cards, or checkers or something and if the weather clears up, we can go to a movie, if we can get down that gravel path you call a road out here."

"Two days in one place with no relief? No stakeouts ever lasted that long and I'm not going to any movie that you would pick." said Chris.

"Checkers? Why not just reorganize Chris' spice rack while we're at it?" said Vin.

Both Chris and Buck laughed at the other man's remark. It suddenly occurred to all three men that they might be stuck inside for the whole weekend if it didn't stop raining before that, and they had no idea what to do with the time. A person could only play so many hands of three handed poker and watch only so much sports on television before going a bit crazy. Without all the outdoor activities that Chris' ranch provided, the choices were limited. On top of that, they wouldn't even have the other four members of the team to entertain them. Buck was really starting to think he made the wrong choice. At home, J.D. was always a source of entertainment; nothing like teasing and torturing to make time fly.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to make do," said Buck with finality. "But for right now, I'm taking a shower and gettin' into some dry clothes." Buck left the kitchen and headed for the bathroom, leaving Vin and Chris to consider the situation.

"Two days of Buck without J.D. to torture....I don't know Chris, sounds like we're in for one hell of a weekend and I don't mean that in a good way," said Vin.

Chris sighed deeply, dropping his head onto his folded hands on the table.

"Why me?" he whispered.

Time approximate: 9:56 p.m.

Ezra Standish was not enjoying the start of his weekend. It was 10 o'clock on a Friday night and he was staring two days of menial labor in the face. Oh, it was necessary, loathe as he was to admit it, but he would also never let the rest of the team know how he was planning to spend his weekend. Sighing pitifully, Ezra finished draping the old sheet over the couch and stepped back to observe his work so far. Various other sheets were covering all the furniture in his living room. This same furniture had been moved away from the walls and gathered into the center. The drapes had been taken down and a large vinyl tarp covered the floor. The storm and power outage hadn't interfered with his preparations in the least. He had merely set up a few high powered flashlights around the room along with a few decorative candles. The effect turned out to be rather romantic; too bad he didn't have anyone to share it with.

Ezra stepped back and slapped his hands together to shake off the last vestiges of dust.

"I am now prepared to paint."

He knew the other men would find it hard to believe that Ezra Standish was prepared to paint his own living room walls. In fact, the man in question was having a bit of trouble believing it himself. But as much as he hated menial labor and made sure everyone knew how he felt about this sort of common activity, he was equally as determined to prove to himself that he could do it. After all, one doesn't dismiss something without experiencing it first. He believed most implicitly that it was uncouth to profess a loathing for something out of ignorance. If he accomplished this task, he could then honestly admit to an abhorrence of painting any walls, baseboards or even furniture in the future. It satisfied his personal integrity. Not to mention he was loathe to part with his money and painters cost money.

He turned from the room and headed to his bedroom. A nice long night of sleep was on his mind as he prepared for bed. He set the alarm for 6 a.m., another test to pass on this most trying of weekends. Ezra settled into bed, turned out the light and smiled.

"Courage, Ezra, courage, you can do this and you will be a better man for it."

With that proclamation, Ezra Standish closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

He would not need the alarm.

Time approximate: 10:05 p.m.

J.D. Dunne's world slowly came back into focus, but the sight confused him. One eye had opened and all he could see was gray, or was it dark blue, or maybe brown.

Maybe focus had been the wrong word; all he could see was a blur and his face felt like it was lying on sandpaper. He wasn't even sure if the rest of his body was still attached, but the ludicrousness of that thought didn't even occur to him. If he could concentrate, he would notice that the rain was still falling, but the thunder and lightning had abated somewhat. He would also have noticed that the power was still off. But all J.D. noticed right now was that he was lying face first on something that reminded him of rough carpet. Connections slowly formed in his brain and he realized that it was the floor and the blur he was looking at was indeed carpet. I think I need to get up, but I don't know if I have legs anymore. A giggle erupted from J.D.'s mouth as he considered this problem. It wasn't the least bit funny, but somehow it became the funniest thing he had ever heard, even if it was in his own mind. Maybe I'm tied up, that's why I can't move. Wouldn't be the first time. Another laugh came forth and he tried to control himself. This is serious, for crying out loud, you're on the floor and can't move...why the hell are you laughing?

Now the fact that he was scolding himself struck him funny. Oh God, I'm going nuts, that's all there is to it. Get up, damnit, get the fuck up off the floor!

With his mind clearing up enough to consider getting off the floor, his various injuries started to make themselves known. He felt the shoulder first. He had separated his right shoulder when he was in high school, but this was the left shoulder and he honestly thought this one hurt worse. Of course, it was probably just due to the fact that the older injury happened a long time ago and he had forgotten the agony. This agony was right now and it was excruciating. Now the blurry vision was due to tears as the pain swept over him. Christ, I haven't even moved and it's killin' me! J.D. moaned, the first real attempt at talking he had made since waking up. The ache in his head battled with his shoulder for dominance. "Ohhhhgeeeshhhuuuss," he moaned again.

Hello, said the nausea, burbling up from his stomach and threatening to bring that Whopper and fries back for a return visit. Oh man, I do not want to throw up right now, I can't lift my head and if I....oh God, that's gross, don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it......

The nausea abated for the moment and J.D. tried to take a deep breath. It always helped to breathe deeply when the urge to vomit occurred. He had learned that a long time ago, but now it wasn't working too well. First of all, he was still on his stomach and taking a deep breath seemed to be the most impossible of tasks. Secondly, his head hurt so badly that halfway through the attempt, he stopped when the slicing pain threatened to plunge him into unconsciousness. Not a good idea, breathing not a good idea right now.

J.D. lay still for a few seconds, trying to ride out the sickening feeling in his stomach and the pain in his head. The sensations seemed to go away, but what was really happening was that J.D. Dunne was sinking back into the gray world of unconsciousness; a world that would hold him captive for another hour.

Time approximate: 11:05 p.m.

The tinny notes of Ezra Standish's cell phone played the 1812 Overture while Ezra slept. Only after about ten curtain calls did the sound penetrate the sleeping man's brain. Ezra opened one eye and stared at the clock near his bed, which of course was dark. No power, Ezra, the clock won't work without power.

He felt for his watch on the nightstand and brought it up his face, trying to read the small hands in the dark. He pressed the light on his watch.

Ezra's thought processes turned abruptly when he realized that he usually wasn't even in bed before midnight, so it was perfectly reasonable for someone to call him this late. It wasn't unheard of for Chris to call them together for some assignment at any hour of the day or night. He reached over to the nightstand, feeling for the familiar shape of his cell phone. Grabbing it as he sat up, he pushed the button and barked into the small object.

"What!?"

"ezzaahh."

"What? Who is this?"

"Mmmmhhh."

Standish swung his legs onto the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. He was now fully awake and rather piqued. An obscene phone call? A crank? A drunk?

"Listen, you prehistoric troglodyte, I do not appreciate being awakened at the...ungodly hour of eleven p.m. to be made sport of. You undoubtedly got this number by randomly stabbing at your phone with your apelike fingers, so I suggest you forget this number and never call here again. I am armed and if I trace this call, I will not hesitate to come after you and shoot you between your beady little eyes."

He hit the 'end' button and secretly wished that the regular phone lines were working; it would have been much more satisfying to slam a receiver down in the miscreant's ear.

Ezra's satisfaction at having 'told off' his unwanted caller was fleeting at best. Something was nagging him about the call. When he calmed down, he realized that the caller hadn't really said anything obscene. It hadn't sounded like a crank either. A drunk? Perhaps, but the sounds the poor wretch was making did bear a faint resemblance to his name. The 'ez' sound could have been a coincidence, but Ezra was losing his own argument to believe that. Then there was the coincidence of someone randomly hitting his cell phone number. The only people who had it were the other team members, Judge Travis and his mother. What were the chances that an obscene caller had hit on his number?

With a start, he pushed a button on the phone, shaking his head at his forgetfulness. Of course, he could find out who called him, all he had to do was access the last caller feature. He leaned over and switched on the nightstand lamp, cursing when nothing happened because of the power outage. He squinted at the phone, trying to make out the number as it appeared in the digital readout on the face of his phone. The number was familiar and he ran it through the rolodex in his head. Perhaps if he hadn't just been awakened, the connection would have come sooner, but instead it took a few more seconds. J.D. He put the phone to his ear and waited for an answer. It rang once, twice, three times. No answer. Finally, on the fifth ring, just when he was about to give up and disconnect, the ringing stopped. At first, Ezra couldn't tell if anyone had answered, but since there was no dial tone, he decided that there was someone on other end.

"J.D.?" he said. "Are you there?"

"Ez...hel...." came the muffled response.

"J.D.? Is that you?" he asked.

Breathing, rough, harsh breathing, but no words, no answer was forthcoming.

"J.D.? What's wrong?" Ezra was fighting the urge to just hang up and get the hell over to Buck and J.D.'s place, but he wanted to at least confirm that it was indeed the young agent who was in distress.

"Ez...help."

Two simple words, two words that brought Ezra fully awake and alert.

"I'll be right there, J.D., hold on." It occurred to him to ask the kid where he was.

"J.D., are you at home?"

The faint sound of breathing greeted his question.

"J.D., wake up, are you at home?"

Still nothing.

"Damn," Ezra muttered. He thought about the situation for a minute, then decided he would head to J.D. and Buck's place.

He cast a glance around the room, looking for something to throw on. Sweat pants and sweat shirt would have to do. He had planned on wearing it tomorrow to paint the living room. When he was dressed, he hurried out the door and into his car, still holding onto the phone.

"J.D., you still there?" he asked, breathless from the exertion and burgeoning fear.

No answer, but Ezra could still hear the young man's breathing. He had to wake the kid and get him to hang up the phone because he wanted to call 911. At least the paramedics could meet him there.

"J.D.!" he yelled into the receiver. "J.D., wake up!"

Still nothing but breathing. It was useless. Ezra threw the phone down on the car seat as he maneuvered his car through traffic. The rain was still coming down, but not nearly as heavy as before. The thunder and lightning had stopped, but as Ezra sped past storefronts and houses, he noticed that there were no lights on. The power was still out in this part of town. He didn't live very far from Buck and J.D.'s condo, only about eight miles, but it seemed like eighty right now. Finally, he spotted the underground parking entrance and swung the car in, heedless of where he parked.

He grabbed his phone, ran up the steps to the door and tried the doorknob. Buck and J.D. mostly kept their door locked, but sometimes they forgot. He fervently hoped this was one of those times. The knob didn't turn and Ezra cursed. He didn't have a key, something he would definitely put on his 'to do' list, so he stepped back and launched a kick at the door. He could hear a slight splintering of wood and knew it would take a few more kicks. Good thing Buck never bothered to install a heavier door. Cheap, thin door, no deadbolt...come to think of it, why the hell doesn't he have a deadbolt?

He would save the lecture for another time. On the third kick, the door sprung open, leaving the flimsy chain lock swinging from the force of the blow. Ezra barreled inside, forgetting the darkness and promptly tripped over J.D.'s discarded shoes near the door.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed as he skidded to a halt, hands first, on the hardwood floor. He narrowly missed bouncing his chin off the hard surface and the phone went skidding out of his hand. Ezra got up from the floor and scanned the room with his eyes. His vision began to adjust to the semi-darkness and he spotted J.D. lying on the floor in the doorway to his bedroom. A few steps later, he was kneeling by the kid's side.

"J.D.?" he asked, touching his fingertips to the boy's throat to check for a pulse. He still couldn't make out specific injuries in the gloom.

"Dear Lord," he whispered. Why the hell didn't you bring a flashlight, Ezra?

He noticed the flashlight a few feet away where it had landed when J.D. had tumbled down the stairs. He was about to reach for it when the only lamp that had been on when J.D. had been watching television earlier flicked on. The power was back and Ezra said a silent thank you to the heavens above.

J.D. was unconscious, but his breathing was steady. Ezra noted blood on the kid's outstretched hand and both feet. His left arm was underneath his body and Ezra was afraid to move him for fear of injuring him further. He remembered the cell phone and quickly retrieved it from its landing spot. After disconnecting the line between his and J.D.'s phone, he called 911 and requested an ambulance, before returning his attention to J.D. Ezra laid his hand gently on the kid's back, not knowing what to do other than wait for the paramedics to arrive. He glanced around the room to see if he could determine what had happened. Nothing seemed to be amiss downstairs, so what the hell happened?

Thoughts of what might have happened left Ezra's head when he realized he still held the cell phone. I can't call Buck, he's in Vegas...Chris, I'll call Chris...

Ezra was just about to key in Chris' cell number when the sirens stopped him short. I can call him from the hospital. Decision made, he pocketed the phone and got up to direct the paramedics inside.

Time approximate: 11:45 p.m.

Buck was having a perfectly lovely dream. He was stretched out on the twin bed in one of the four bedrooms that Chris had in his house. His feet were a few inches away from hanging over the bottom and both arms were flung out from his sides. The width of the bed wasn't enough to contain his long arms, so both hands were hanging in mid air.

Chris had furnished the three extra bedrooms with twin beds to serve as guest rooms since the guys often spent weekends there. The room that Buck had chosen had been Adam's, but Chris had long since cleared it of his son's things and put them in storage. He had tried to keep things as they were, but every time he had walked past the room, he felt the pain all over again. The only way to stop feeling that pain was to store the stuff and redo the room.

The dream that Buck was enjoying immensely had to do with his current girlfriend, Terri, a cat, a slot machine, fuzzy dice and a heart-shaped bed. While Buck was anticipating a pleasant turn of events in his dream, down the hall Chris was being rudely awakened from his dreamless sleep in his own room by the ringing of his cell phone.

"Larabee," he croaked into the phone. He hadn't managed to sit up yet, still reluctant to return to the waking world.

"Chris? It's Ezra," the voice sounded tinny and small in Chris' ear.

Now he sat up, knowing immediately that something was wrong. Standish didn't dispense with formalities unless it was important.

"What is it?" Chris rasped out, clearing his throat of the last vestiges of sleep.

"It's J.D., he's had some kind of accident." Standish's answer was short and concise.

Chris was already out of bed, balancing the phone at his ear while trying to get dressed.

"Accident? How is he?" he asked, grabbing his wallet and watch from the nightstand.

"I'm not sure what kind, I found him at home, unconscious. His hands, feet and back are pretty badly cut up and the paramedics said his shoulder is dislocated. They're pretty sure he has a concussion also. He woke up a bit in the ambulance, but he was disoriented and I couldn't really find out anything. "

"Which hospital?"

"Memorial."

"We're on our way," said Chris. He had finished dressing and was on his way to wake up Buck and Vin.

"We? Who's there with you, Vin?" asked Ezra.

"Yeah, and Buck."

"Buck? I thought he was in Vegas."

"I'll fill you in when we get there," answered Chris, severing the connection. He wanted to wake up Buck and Vin and get on the road. Waking Buck with this news wasn't going to be at all pleasant and the sooner he did it, the sooner it would be over. For a fleeting moment, he almost wished Buck had made it to Vegas.

He entered the room and turned on the light. Buck didn't stir. Chris walked over and nudged his old friend slightly on the arm.

"Buck? Come on, wake up," he said.

Buck's arm flailed out and caught Chris' shoulder.

"Mmmm, darlin'...." he mumbled.

Chris shook harder.

"Come on Buck, wake up, dammit."

Buck finally came awake, blinking at the light.

"What? Chris? What is it?"

"J.D., he's in the hospital, we gotta go." Chris purposefully kept it blunt. He knew Buck would have a million questions, but he had to get him moving as quickly as possible and this was the best way.

Buck shot up from the bed, wide awake.

"What? What happened?"

"Get dressed, I'll fill you in on the way, I gotta wake Vin." Chris left the room before Buck could ask anything else, leaving him gaping at the doorway.

It wasn't long before the three men were on the road, riding at a barely survivable speed towards the city. Buck was riding shotgun and they had hardly gone a mile before Chris had filled him in on what Ezra had said on the phone.

"Accident? What the hell kind of accident? Was he at home, did Ezra say anything else?" Buck said, finding it hard to stay silent even after Chris had given him a word for word account of the phone conversation.

Chris gripped the wheel tighter and navigated a turn through a just turned red stoplight.

"I don't know Buck, I already told you what Ezra said. We'll be there in a few minutes and we'll find out," answered Chris through gritted teeth. If we survive this trip, that is.

"Damnit! Why didn't you let me talk to Ezra? I woulda..."

"Because Ezra doesn't know either, Buck. We'll be there in a minute, just hold on." Because if you don't shut up, I'm gonna smack you into the next county. Vin and I'll have to peel you off the ceiling of this car any minute. Chris bit back words that were rattling around in his head. He knew Buck was worried, hell, he was worried, but the man was notoriously impatient when it came to matters of J.D. Impatient when J.D. was hurt, when J.D. was in danger, when J.D. was sick...hell, when J.D. was late for dinner. It didn't matter the occasion, Buck had an almost physical need to know that the kid was okay. A lot of people would see this as a weakness, a vulnerable spot that needed to be eliminated or if that wasn't possible, at least hidden from others. But Buck wasn't most people; he was devoid of self-consciousness when it came to his feelings for J.D. He didn't care if the whole world heard him bellow like a wounded bull whenever he feared for the kid's safety, be it in the hospital emergency room or on the job.

For his part, J.D. usually made it clear that he wished that Buck would be a bit less vocal sometimes, especially when they were in a public place or working with other agents on a case. His face would flush red, his eyes would flash with embarrassment and everyone could see the angry words rushing from the pit of his stomach to his mouth, yet they never seemed to make it past his lips. Chris knew how hard it was to be angry with the man for caring so much and he admired the fact that J.D. usually had enough restraint to take Buck aside and read him the riot act. He would tell Buck not to do that again, it's embarrassing as hell, no one will respect him, blah, blah, blah. But the outburst wouldn't last long and the mere act of Buck ruffling his hair or lightly squeezing the back of his neck would immediately diffuse all anger. Then the soft, silky sound of Buck's voice near his ear saying something like, 'you do that again, kid and I'll kill ya myself, ya hear me?' or 'you trying to give old Buck a heart attack, kid? Next time I yell for you, you answer, ya hear me?' would drive all thoughts of yelling at him from J.D.'s mind like a puff of smoke in a windstorm. Gone, poof, as if the anger and building temper tantrum had never existed. Next would come the whispered, 'yeah, I hear you' and then he would look at his best friend and see the beginnings of the famous Wilmington smile; then he would smile back and it was all over. Back to normal, everything in its place, the universe was balanced again. Within a few seconds, J.D. would go from being so angry and embarrassed he couldn't see straight to laughing and playfully shoving Buck away from him, only to have to dodge quickly as the big man came running after him to 'teach him to respect his elders'. Then the 'horseplay', as Ezra called it, would begin and would usually continue until Buck ran out of breath or Chris called a halt to it so they could wrap up whatever they were doing.

Chris shook his head as he thought about Buck's attachment to the youthful agent as he pulled up at the emergency room doors and parked. Please let him be okay...please....

It didn't take them long to find Ezra. He was pacing back and forth near the automatic doors, anticipating their arrival, and all three of them nearly ran him down.

"How is he? Where is he?" Buck's questions came in a rush, his hands planted firmly on the other man's chest like he was afraid Ezra would flee before he could answer.

"The doctor will probably be here in a minute," he answered, gently steering Buck towards a nearby chair.

Vin and Chris followed the pair and they all found seats in the waiting area. Before they had a chance to settle, a ridiculously young looking doctor approached them.

"Are you here for Mr. Dunne?" he asked.

All four agents shot up simultaneously from their seats. If the situation had been different, they might have laughed at the impeccable timing.

"Doc, how is he, can I see him?" asked Buck.

"Well, Mr...?"

Chris stepped in to provide introductions. The doctor looked like he needed rescuing from a very anxious Buck Wilmington.

"Sorry, doctor, this is Buck Wilmington, he's J.D.'s...Mr. Dunne's partner, this is Vin Tanner and Ezra Standish and I'm Chris Larabee. We all work together, we're ATF agents."

"Oh, I see, well, Mr. Dunne is resting right now. He still needs to go to orthopedics to get fitted for a sling. But if his vital signs remain stabile, he can go home after that."

"Dr....?" Chris went fishing for the doctor's name. I wonder how long this kid's been out of medical school? Three days?

"Shrier..sorry, it's been a long night, the storm and all," he answered, shaking Larabee's hand.

"What happened?" Buck was practically hopping around on the balls of his feet.

"We don't know what happened, Mr. Dunne hasn't been able to relate that yet. He's still disoriented. He did mention something about a window and a pillow, but that's about it. He has a concussion and sustained numerous cuts and punctures from broken glass and he needed several stitches in the sole of his right foot. We also cleaned out slivers of glass from his hands, feet and back. He also suffered a separation of his right shoulder, which will be immobilized with a sling and he'll have to curtail physical activity for a while also. He'll need some help for a while, getting around and such...."

"I'll be doing that Doc, he lives with me, I can take care of him," interrupted Buck, still trying to wrap his brain around the various injuries J.D. had sustained. Just what the hell went on there tonight? Cuts, concussion, dislocated shoulder? Christ, all hell was breaking loose and I was dreaming of Terri over at Chris' place.

"Fine, I'll get them. As far as medications go, Tylenol is fine for the pain. He'll most likely have a headache and of course, there will be some discomfort from all the other injuries. I'll give you a prescription for something stronger, but he can't have any for at least 24 hours. That's the amount of time he needs to be observed because of the concussion. If there aren't any complications from that, he can have the stronger pain medication."

"Doc, where is he? Can I see him?" Buck had listened to the doctor's speech, but he hadn't forgotten his single- minded determination to see the kid.

"He's behind here, but I'm afraid I can't let all of you in there, it's a bit crowded as it is," answered Dr. Shrier, pointing to a curtained area behind him.

Buck didn't wait to find out if anyone was coming with him, or even if they were allowed to; he stepped around the doctor and stepped behind the curtain.

I really hate this part, I've been here a few times before and I really hate this. He always looks so....awful... and this time is worse, I wasn't with him when he got hurt, so I'm not even prepared...shit, I shoulda been there...

Buck's mind was awhirl with thoughts as he approached the bed. Guilt was eating at him like a bad case of indigestion. It had no basis in logic; he knew intellectually that there was no way he could have known what was happening to the kid at the same time he was at Chris', but it wasn't his intellect that was in control right now.

Oh man, there he is, laid out like he's in a coffin...shit, I didn't mean that, of course he ain't in a coffin, he's on a hospital gurney with a flimsy hospital gown on and that godawful gray cast to his skin.

J.D. was indeed 'laid out' on the bed, but that was only because he was afraid to move for fear of hurting something; right now so many things hurt, he couldn't decide which to concentrate on. He wasn't unconscious, but all his cylinders weren't firing. The events of the evening were coming together in his head, after some muddled thinking, but there was no one to tell them to. That is, until Buck came peeking around the corner of the curtain.

Buck? He's not supposed to be in town, I must be dreaming, or confused again...it is still Friday night, isn't it? What's he doing here, he's in Vegas...or I am in Vegas? Shit, my head hurts.

"Hey kid, how're you doin'?" asked Buck, making his way over to the bed. He knew it was a stupid question, but somehow one's ability to say intelligent things vanished in a hospital.

J.D. looked up at Buck with slightly unfocused eyes. He knew it was Buck standing there, but the connection to his mouth didn't seem to be working. Inside his head, he was saying all sorts of things; 'oh I'm doing just great Buck, can't you tell, I love catching a nap in the local emergency room, the beds are so comfy and the atmosphere can't be beat. Not to mention all this pain I'm in, yep, shoulder, head and foot are throbbing like a bitch and if someone doesn't turn down these damn lights in here, my freaking head is going to explode...how you doing?'

But all that came out was, "mmm."

Buck leaned in close to J.D., anticipating more of an answer than that, but none was forthcoming. So he reached out and patted J.D.'s bandaged right hand, the one attached to the uninjured shoulder.

"It's okay kid, you can tell me all about what happened when you're feelin' better. The doc says you can probably go home pretty soon. You'll look like the walkin' wounded though, sling on your arm, bandages on your hands," whispered Buck, smiling slightly down at the young man.

J.D.'s foggy brain registered the words and even some of the meaning, but he was so damn tired he couldn't retain it for long. His mouth curved up slightly to form a half-hearted grin and his eyes slid shut.

Buck gently enveloped J.D.'s hand in both of his own and leaned in close to his roommate's ear.

"Sorry I wasn't there, kid."

Time approximate: 1:05 a.m.

Buck left the cubicle after J.D. was taken up to orthopedics and returned to the waiting area. The other three men rose to greet him.

"How is he?" asked Ezra, tugging at the sleeves of his sweatshirt. The garment was old and worn, which is why he had chosen it for the painting task he had planned for the next day and Ezra only now realized how unkempt he must appear.

"He's okay, pretty banged up though. He's kind of out of it too, could barely keep his eyes open," answered Buck, pausing to take his first real look at Standish. "What the hell happened, Ezra?"

"I don't know, Buck. When I got inside, I found him in his bedroom doorway, unconscious, so I called 911 and then I called Chris. Then I accompanied him to the hospital."

Buck's mind was whirling with 'what ifs' and 'should haves'; what if the storm hadn't cancelled my flight, what if I hadn't gone directly to Chris', what if J.D. hadn't been able to call someone for help, what if the kid had laid there all damn weekend before I got home on Sunday night.

"Buck, you okay?"

Chris' voice snapped him out of it and he focused again on the other men. He brushed aside the thoughts for now; later he would have time to completely rake himself over the coals.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just thinking," he said. Turning to Ezra, he spoke again, "Ezra, thanks...you know...for being there for J.D."

He almost choked up at the words, thankful that Ezra was there to help, but angry at himself for not being there. He knew the other men would do anything to help J.D. and be glad that they could do it, but he couldn't suppress the feeling that it was primarily his job to look out for the kid and he had failed miserably tonight.

"You're quite welcome Buck, but I assure you I did nothing that any of us wouldn't do for young J.D. I'm just glad I was able to help."

"Well, thanks anyway, for me and for J.D., I'm sure he'll thank ya as soon as he remembers where he is," answered Buck, a hint of a smile breaking some of the tension. Buck's stomach was still clenched with worry, but it was letting up little by little.

Vin took the cue and reached out to pluck at the edge of Ezra's sweatshirt.

"Hey, Ez, I didn't know you were a Broncos fan," said Vin.

"I assure you, I am not, this was a gift from a past acquaintance who obviously had no idea what my preferences in clothing were," he answered, grateful for the slight return to normal behavior among the men. Ezra took a deep breath and felt some of the tension ebb away.

"So what was her name?" asked Chris, joining in on the game.

Buck and Vin laughed slightly, amusing themselves with visions of Ezra trying to remain chivalrous while accepting such a gift. Not only was the shirt too big, but the logo on the front was large and colorful, making it easy to spot the wearer from several feet away.

"Hey Ez, why's it all worn out? You been wearin' this thing in secret or something?" Vin hadn't even waited for an answer to the previous question. It was too much fun just watching Standish squirm.

"Gentlemen, I think we had best concentrate on our young friend's predicament now and leave my attire to another time, don't you?" he asked, looking pointedly from Vin to Buck.

"Just promise me you'll let J.D. see you in that outfit, I know he won't remember seeing you earlier," said Buck, smiling slightly.

"As you wish, Mr. Wilmington and speaking of J.D., how long before you can take him home?"

"Well, the doctor said once he's fitted with his sling, he should be able to go home, if his vital signs are stable. But you boys don't have to wait around, I think I can handle him by myself."

"You sure Buck? We don't mind waiting," said Chris.

"Nah, I'll be fine, I'm sure he'll be half-asleep anyway, I'll just take him home and put him to bed."

"It's gonna be a long night ya know, checking on him every few hours and he can't take those pain pills for at least 24 hours," offered Vin. All of the guys knew the rules about concussions and pain pills; mostly from personal experience.

"Yeah, well, not like I ain't been there before," said Buck, scowling slightly at the realization that this wouldn't be the first time he had to play nursemaid to his young friend.

The doctor returned with Buck's instructions.

"Here's the information on concussion and here's the prescription, you can fill it at the pharmacy, but like I said, he can't have any of these for 24 hours," recited Dr. Shrier, handing the papers over to Buck.

"Thanks Doc, how long before I can take him home?"

"They'll bring him down from orthopedics when he's done, I'll do a final check on him and if everything's okay, he'll be discharged," answered Dr. Shrier, not really answering Buck's question, but engaging in 'doctor' speak quite proficiently. He may as well have said, 'he'll be down when he's done.'

"Thanks again Doc," Buck called at the doctor's retreating back. He turned to the others. "Well, you heard him, you all go on home and get some sleep, I'll take care of things here."

Chris nodded at Ezra, "Come on Ezra, I'll drive you home."

"Thank you, but I brought my own car, remember?" he answered.

"Well, I thought you could leave the car for Buck and JD; Vin's staying at my place anyway and we can take you home. I can come by tomorrow and take you over to their place to pick it up."

Ezra thought about it for a minute, contemplating whether or not he wanted Buck driving his car, but the look on Chris' face made the decision easy.

"Sounds like a plan," he said, handing over his Jag key to Buck.

"Don't worry Ezra, I'll take care of her," said Buck, smiling slightly.

Ezra wasn't entirely convinced, but he decided that in this case, he would relent. But he reminded himself to make an appointment for a thorough detailing for the car as soon as he got it back.

"Call me later," said Chris, as he started to leave. The other two men followed and Buck found a chair to settle in for his wait.

Time approximate: 2:30 a.m.

Buck stifled another yawn and stretched his arms above his head, eliciting a few pops and cracks. He was about to stand up and pace again when a nurse stepped in front of him.

"Mr. Wilmington? You can sign out Mr. Dunne now," she said. She waited for Buck to follow her to the counter where he took care of the paperwork.

"Thanks, where is he?" asked Buck, looking around for his absent partner.

"They'll bring him down in a few minutes," she answered, leaving to return to her work.

Buck wandered towards the elevators, assuming J.D. would be coming down any second. He was rewarded a few minutes later when the doors opened and J.D. appeared in a wheelchair, sling in place. An orderly pushed the chair out of the elevator and continued on, with Buck trailing alongside.

"Hey, kid, how ya doin'?" he asked, taking in the kid's battered appearance. Both hands were swathed in bandages, as were both feet. He was leaning forward in the chair, trying to keep his abused back from making contact with the back of the chair. He glanced up at Buck, trying for a smile, but falling short, and Buck noted the dark circles under his eyes and sallow cast to his skin. His mouth was drawn tight, indicating the amount of pain he was in.

"Tired," answered J.D., his voice a rough whisper.

Buck commandeered the wheelchair with a nod to the orderly and pushed J.D. the rest of the way out the doors to the curb outside. Spotting Ezra's car, he smiled slightly, remembering how Chris convinced Standish to leave it here for Buck's use. He really hoped the kid didn't throw up in it on the way home. He leaned over the back of J.D.'s head and spoke softly.

"Well, we'll be home in no time and you can sleep as long as you want."

Buck was rewarded with a quiet grunt. J.D.'s whole body felt like one massive bruise and his mood was sour because he knew he could get no real relief for quite a while. And Buck's cheery attitude wasn't helping either. His roommate and best friend was close to becoming intolerable with his promises of sleep; how could he sleep when he felt like he'd been run over by a steamroller and dragged a couple of miles?

Buck's voice continued to buzz in J.D.'s brain as they got nearer the car. So far, Buck hadn't pressed him to relate the events of the evening and J.D. was glad. He was in no mood to humiliate himself by telling the story of his mishaps. No way could he put a good spin on that tale. He almost wished he had been shot on the job, or gotten too close to an explosion or anything that sounded more macho than what had really happened. He vaguely remembered calling Ezra on the phone, but after that, things were a blur. For some reason, a wildly colorful Broncos logo kept flashing in his mind, but he had no idea why. He'd have to ask Buck if he knew anything about it.

"Weren't you supposed to be in Vegas?" asked J.D.

"Yeah, well, the flight got cancelled and I went to Chris' place. I didn't want to bother ya and all; I know how much you were looking forward to the weekend by yourself," answered Buck, grateful that he was still behind J.D., pushing the chair. He hoped the kid was still groggy enough not to notice the edginess that had crept into his voice. He was still feeling a lot of guilt over the events of last night and he didn't want J.D. to pick up on it. The kid would definitely want to lecture him about misplaced guilt and the whole mother hen subject would surely play a large role in the conversation.

"Okay, kid, up and at 'em," said Buck, coming around to the front of the chair.

"I can do it," replied J.D. He started to stand when he realized his immobilized arm couldn't possibly help him achieve a standing position. He was just too weak, tired and bruised to accomplish a task of that magnitude. J.D.’s whole body seemed to sag in disappointment.

"Here, let me get that for ya," he said, as he gently helped J.D. from the chair, supporting him under his one good arm. J.D. remained silent, head down and gaze averted. He knew Buck was only waiting until they got home before he started his interrogation. So kid, what the hell happened here tonight anyway? My window! Jesus, what happened to my window, there's glass everywhere, the rug's soaked, the drapes are ruined...and the inevitable...my bed!

J.D.'s face burned with embarrassment yet again as he thought about what his roommate's reaction would be. If only he could relate some danger filled story to him instead of the truth. Well, you see Buck, these guys broke in and....they were looking for you, yeah, they wanted you to pay for busting them when you were a cop, but since you weren't here, they thought they'd just beat on me for a while. I ran up the steps because I heard the window break...one of them came in that way, yeah, he climbed that tree outside and used it to break the window...I fell in the glass when he hit me...no, pistol whipped me in the head, that's how I got this massive bump..well, I was turned around at the time...yeah, he stunned me and I fell down the steps. The men? Well, when I woke up, they were gone. I called Ezra and he came over. That's all there was to it.

J.D.'s fantasy was smashed when the car door slammed and Buck started the engine. Somehow a few minutes had passed without his notice and he was now belted into the passenger seat; the passenger seat of Ezra's Jaguar, no less. He hadn't even noticed until he was settled in the seat. He attributed all of this to his pounding headache and general fuzzy state. Buck hadn't spoken, at least J.D. didn't think so, and the silence was now noticeable to the young agent. They had driven a few miles before J.D. couldn't stand it anymore.

"I know you're dying to ask, Buck, so why don't you get it over with," said J.D., staring out the side window, pointedly not looking at the other man in the car.

From the time he helped J.D. into the car until now, Buck had remained silent. He knew this mood; borderline surly. For some reason, the kid always got angry at himself when he was injured or sick, as if it was somehow his fault it happened. Buck had one way of dealing with the temporary mood. He backed off and let J.D. work it out of his system, which usually entailed the silent treatment for a few hours or more. So he was a bit taken aback when J.D. broached the subject.

"Ask what?" asked Buck.

J.D. slid his gaze over at the other man and narrowed his eyes. His vision might still be a bit blurry, but he needed to see if Buck was teasing him. He couldn't detect any amusement in the other man's voice, but he wasn't entirely trusting his perceptions right now.

"You know, the 'what happened' question," he answered, maintaining eye contact.

"Well, I figured you were feeling too crappy to talk about it right now, but if you want to tell me, I'd sure like to know what went on there tonight," Buck said. He took the gamble, keeping it casual so J.D. wouldn't think it was any big deal.

"The storm is what happened, then the power failure..." J.D.'s voice trailed off, as if he was either too tired to continue or had changed his mind about relating the events.

"That was some storm, uh?" said Buck, sounding like he was talking to a total stranger. I thought you were too tired to talk, kid, can't this wait til later, after I figure out a way to apologize for being the biggest doofus in the world. .

"Yeah, some storm," said J.D., flatly. What's with the weather report? Where are the questions..'.so kid, the storm, the power failure, what happened?' I know he's not going to let it go, no way, no how, that's not Buck...he'll keep dogging me and dogging me until I tell. I could clam up and just wait to get home and he can see the mess for himself. Then I'll have to tell him..damn...I don't like that either.

"Listen kid..."

"Buck, look..."

Both men had started talking at once and then stopped just as suddenly. Buck nodded his head and waved his hand towards J.D.

"Go ahead, you first," he said.

J.D. considered insisting Buck go first, but then discarded the impulse. They might spend the next few minutes arguing over who should go first and he was too tired right now for that kind of discussion. He looked over at the older man and started in on his story.

"Well, I was trying to get all the windows closed once the storm started, but the power went out before I could get upstairs to your room. I was on my way up there with a flashlight when there was this huge crash..."

Buck's gaze left the road for a second to look over at his passenger.

"Crash? What was it?" he asked, looking back at the road.

"The window in your room; a branch from that big tree outside must have gotten hit by lightning and it came through the window," answered J.D.

Buck shot another look over at J.D.

"It's toast, Buck, the window, the drapes, the rug...water everywhere, glass everywhere, blood everywhere..."

Buck cringed at the word blood.

"Anyway, I stepped in the glass when I went to the window...I didn't think, I mean, I forgot there would be glass and this one really big piece stabbed the bottom of my foot. So of course, I fell down, which cut my hands since I used them to break my fall. That's when I got blood all over your sheets and pillow."

J.D. stopped to take a breath and to gauge the other man's reaction, or perhaps he was stopping to give Buck the opportunity to 'insert part one of lecture here'. But the other man remained silent, never taking his eyes off the road.

"I grabbed the pillow to use on my foot, you know, to stop the bleeding. I got some blood on the sheets too and the rug. I'm sorry about that, I'll buy you new sheets and a pillow. The rug might be beyond hope, unless I can find something to get the stain out."

Buck was listening to the story, but he wasn't giving it his full attention. Another part of his mind was picturing the events as J.D. described them and the result was a dark scowl that had firmly planted itself on his face. He couldn't care less about the damn rug or the pillow or the bedding, something that J.D. obviously didn't grasp. Buck knew he should interject to assure the kid that all that stuff didn't matter, but didn't trust himself to speak just yet.

Since the older man still didn't speak, J.D. continued.

"So...I used an ace bandage on my foot, I couldn't find any real bandages, you know, we really have to buy a first aid kit or something...anyway, I saw the shower curtain and thought it would make a good cover for the window, so I went to the closet to get the hammer and some nails. Long story short...I shoved the branch back outside and was trying to get the shower curtain in place when this gigantic bolt of lightning hit and it scared the shit out of me. I fell and managed to land right in all that broken glass."

J.D. stopped to take a rest. The long speech was wearing him out and he was sure that Buck would want to interject by now. Still nothing from the man behind the wheel. J.D. took a deep breath and went on. He's probably trying not to laugh.

"Anyway, I got up finally and tried to get down the steps. I figured I needed some help and I was going to call one of the guys, probably Ezra since I knew he was home this weekend, but I was too dizzy or something and the next thing I knew I was bouncing down the steps, head first. When I woke up, I crawled to my bedroom to get my cell phone and called Ezra, at least I'm pretty sure I called Ezra. I just pushed the button and prayed he was home. Then I don't remember much else until I woke up in the ER."

J.D. finished his tale and sat back to wait for the reaction. His whole body had been tense while relating the story and now it slumped in resignation.

Buck had refrained from interrupting his partner not because he was holding back laughter, as J.D. thought, but because he was afraid he would start apologizing and never be able to stop. It was the only way to make it up to the kid; give him the respect he deserved and treat him like the grown man that he was. But then again, if he did that, he would have to tease him; isn't that what guys did, after all? Make smart ass remarks about some other guy's stupid ass mistakes?

Now that the kid was finished with his story, Buck had to say something. He wracked his brain trying to figure out how to say he was sorry, not coddle the kid and give him a hard time, all at the same time. It was an impossible task.

He looked over at J.D., noting how the kid seemed to have sunken into the seat, his head resting on the headrest, eyes closed.

"Helluva night you had there, kid," he said.

J.D.'s position didn't change and his eyes remained closed. No reaction, no reproach, no disappointment, no anger. Nothing. At first, Buck thought he had fallen asleep, but the slight trembling of J.D.'s hand resting on his own thigh belied that assumption.

"Look, J.D., I'm sorry I didn't come straight home from the airport when my flight got cancelled, " he said quietly.

J.D. didn't respond and when Buck glanced over, he noticed that the kid hadn't even opened his eyes. Maybe he is asleep.

Oh man, Buck probably thinks it's all his fault cause he didn't come home. He probably would have handled things a lot better. Probably would have repaired the window in a snap, had the mess cleaned up and candles lit, just like that. Regular Boy Scout, that's Buck. Always prepared and never klutzy enough to wind up in the emergency room for trying to repair a broken window in a storm.

J.D.'s mood blackened the more he thought about how inept he'd been. The guys would never let him forget this and any hard fought shred of respect he had attained up to this point would be gone.

"It's not your fault, Buck," whispered J.D. He hadn't raised his head nor opened his eyes. His voice sounded tired.

Buck heard the resignation and fatigue. He knew that the kid was anticipating the back and forth between them. Buck would insist he should have come home; J.D. would insist it wouldn't have changed anything, it wasn't his fault, if J.D. couldn't even stay home for one night without ending up in the emergency room, then it was obviously his own shortcomings, not Buck's, etc., etc.

The argument spun around in Buck's head and he let out a sigh. He didn't want to go through it, not this time. A gut feeling was telling him that the last thing J.D. needed was to think he was indeed accident prone or how he always managed to make the wrong decisions in situations just like this and those bad decisions somehow always got him hurt. Buck figured he could point out that the choices never got other people hurt, but he didn't think that would console him much.

But he couldn't let J.D. go on feeling like a piece of worthless crap either. There was nothing worthless about J.D. Dunne and he was determined to get that fact through to him.

"J.D....I'm just saying that maybe if had come home instead of going to Chris', we both could have fixed that window and maybe you wouldn't have gotten hurt. It's not a one man job, you know."

J.D. almost laughed at the absurdity of Buck's statement. The stifled laugh quickly changed into a huge lump in his throat. He knew what his friend was doing; he was trying to make him feel better with faulty reasoning. It was so like Buck. His intentions were always good, even if his execution lacked finesse.

J.D. fought to retain control, but his weakened physical condition combined with all the stress of the last few hours defeated his efforts. He could feel the lump in his throat tighten, burning its way up to his eyes. Hot tears seared behind his eyelids and he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, trying to prevent their escape. Just what I need now, not only am I a total klutz, but a crybaby as well. Can this night get any worse?

Buck was stealing glances over at J.D. as he drove the last few blocks home. He didn't expect a response to his last statement; he could read the exhaustion in the kid's body language and figured that any more discussion could wait until morning.

Buck pulled the car into the parking garage and into their space. He turned off the engine and looked over at his silent passenger. J.D. hadn't responded to Buck's words and he thought that maybe the kid finally had succumbed to fatigue.

"You coulda handled it," J.D.'s words were barely a whisper, but they may as well been a shout.

"What do you mean?" asked Buck, keeping his voice almost as quiet as J.D's.

"You heard me, you could have fixed that window with no problem," answered J.D., looking over at Buck for a second before returning to studying his hands. He continued without looking up.

"You sure as hell wouldn't have ended up in the emergency room." It was said with such a combination of resignation and self-pity that Buck felt another twinge of guilt.

Buck turned in the seat so he was facing J.D. The young man didn't acknowledge the movement, but he could feel it. Please Buck, don't get all 'meaningful' with me now, I won't be able to take it, okay? I'm tired, I hurt all over and I don't want to end this night by blubbering all over. Just help me get out of the car and up to bed, I really want to sleep now...please...

J.D. wished fervently he could voice those desires, but he couldn't seem to force the words past that cursed lump that seemed to encompass everything from his chest up to his throat. He swallowed, feeling his Adam's apple bob up and down, but it didn't help. What the hell is wrong with me? I can't even blame this on Percodan or Demerol, for crying out loud. So why do I feel like if he says one more word, I'll crumble like a stale cookie?

Buck was wrestling with how to respond. He could plainly see how upset J.D. was by this whole incident and even though part of him wanted to just shake him and say something like, 'geez, J.D, it ain't that big a deal', another part of him knew that there was more to this than just a series of clumsy accidents. Somehow what had happened tonight had undermined J.D.'s self-confidence and the last thing Buck wanted to do was exacerbate the problem by dismissing it as 'no big deal'.

The silence stretched on a few more seconds while Buck decided on his response. He was still facing J.D. in the front seat of the car and now he reached over and placed his hand on the younger man's knee, willing him to look him in the eye. J.D. knew what the gesture meant and he struggled to meet his friend's gaze. Once that was accomplished, he prayed his eyes wouldn't betray how he was feeling. They failed him miserably.

"J.D., listen to me." Buck's voice had taken on that whispery quality that came involuntarily when he was being serious. J.D. nodded his head slightly, not even daring to speak.

"You got nothin' to be ashamed of. You know, most folks wouldn't have even tried to fix that window, they would have just sat there and waited the storm out. But you ain't most folks, you did something and maybe it didn't work out because fate was against you or something, but at least you tried. It don't matter that it was just a stupid window and not a person in trouble or something, you reacted because that's the way you were trained and because that's the kind of person you are."

Buck stopped his long speech, gauging the other man's reaction. J.D. hadn't been able to maintain eye contact, but he was listening.

"It's instinct, kid, you know, involuntary, you act without thinking," explained Buck. As soon as he said the last words, he knew it was the wrong choice. Although it was accurate, it sounded bad and he quickly tried to remedy it. "I mean, well, it's not exactly that, but more like you act using the training that's been drilled into you, you know what I mean?"

"I think you were right the first time, I'm pretty good at acting without thinking," said J.D., who had gone back to studying the view out of his side window.

"Well, that's not always a bad thing, kid, in fact, it's a good thing to be able to act on instinct, you know people train a long time to be able to do things without thinking; soldiers, cops...."

"Buck?" interrupted J.D., turning to look at the other man.

"Yeah kid?"

"You're trying too hard."

"I am?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, I ain't doing a very good job here," said Buck.

"It's the thought that counts, right?" asked J.D., allowing a hint of a smile to creep onto his face.

Buck returned the slight grin with a somewhat bigger one.

"Yeah, it is," he answered. "And I am sorry I wasn't there. It might not have been my fault, but I damn sure feel guilty about that."

J.D. shook his head in resignation.

"You're hopeless, Buck. You know, everything bad that happens to me is not your fault, sometimes it's all me, believe it or not. I mean, let's face it, I'm sort of a klutz sometimes...or maybe it's just bad luck, I don't know..." J.D. trailed off, exhaustion pulling at him. He continued on, in an even quieter voice than before. "I'm the one who should apologize for being such a pain in the ass."

Buck could hear the exhaustion, along with the insecurity in the young man's voice. He knew this probably wasn't the best time for this discussion since the kid was hurt and not thinking too clearly, but he couldn't let it end like this. If they waited until morning, he knew they wouldn't pick up the 'talk' where it left off. More than likely, they wouldn't address it at all. Buck wasn't going to let that happen.

"You're not a klutz and even if you sometimes are a pain in the ass, you're my pain in the ass and I ain't gonna sit here and listen to you doubt yourself, you understand?"

"Buck, it's okay, you don't have to give me the pep talk," said J.D. He was tired and really just wanted to get inside and sleep for about ten or twelve hours. Also, he was beginning to realize how pathetic he was sounding. The self-pity was thick enough to choke a horse and he was suddenly ashamed for giving voice to his feelings. The more sensible part of his brain was telling him that it was just an overreaction brought on by the awful night and his injuries and he was determined to salvage some dignity and put this whole disastrous night behind him. He was even too tired to realize that Buck had just referred to him as 'his' pain in the ass.

But Buck was not to be deterred.

"I know you're tired kid, but just give me a few minutes here, okay?" said Buck, patting J.D. on the knee. J.D. met his gaze and nodded slightly, giving his okay.

"All right then," Buck paused, making sure that J.D. didn't break eye contact. "I know you're feelin' kind of low right now and I understand why, but you can't let this keep you down. You'll feel better in the morning after you get some sleep. You'll see that it was just a run of bad luck, a bunch of accidents that happened to find you tonight, nothin' more, okay?"

J.D. nodded. He knew the older man was just trying to make him feel better and that what he said did hold some truth, but he really wanted to just go to bed and try to forget this whole evening.

Buck knew the nod wasn't sincere, but it would have to do until at least the morning, when J.D. would be thinking a bit more clearly.

The trip upstairs to the condo was uneventful. J.D. quietly allowed Buck to help him out of the car and support him all the way up the steps. He didn't really have much choice; with his right foot throbbing under the heavy bandage, walking proved to be quite a problem. Side by side, the two men managed to get to the door to their unit, even if J.D.'s feet had only touched the floor a few times in the process. Once inside, Buck helped him to his bedroom, where J.D. plopped down heavily on the edge of his bed.

"I think I can take it from here, Buck, thanks," said J.D., avoiding the other man's gaze. Buck had knelt down in front of him and placed both hands on the kid's knees.

"You sure? You gonna sleep in those clothes?" he asked, indicating the hospital scrubs that had been provided to replace the clothes he had been wearing when he was brought in.

J.D.'s good hand came up weakly and brushed away errant bangs from his forehead. It proved to be a futile gesture because he hadn't raised his head and the hair just flopped back down.

"Just wanna sleep," he answered, exhaustion slurring his speech.

Buck patted J.D.'s knees once more and stood up.

"Okay, kid, you do look pretty ragged. Let's get you settled then."

Buck was about to help J.D. stand up again so he could turn the bed down when the younger man started falling backwards. Buck reached out and grabbed him by both arms.

"Whoa there, you don't wanna sleep on top of the covers, do ya? Here, lean on me for a second and I'll turn the bed down," said Buck, pulling J.D. towards him and lifting slightly. With one hand holding J.D. against his chest, he turned down the bed with his other hand and eased the kid down onto the bed.

J.D. had practically fallen asleep while leaning against Buck and once his head hit the pillow, he was gone.

Buck sighed and ran his hand over his face, pausing to rub at eyes gritty from lack of sleep. He hadn't slept since Friday morning, which now seemed like years ago. If he had been in Vegas right now with Terri, he probably wouldn't be asleep, but this was a different kind of tired. He felt worn out from worry and guilt, not just a lack of sleep.

Buck was still perched on the edge of the bed and now he turned his attention from inside his own head to his roommate. He was a bit surprised that the kid had fallen asleep so quickly; he was dead tired, but he was also in enough discomfort to make sleeping difficult. Guess the tired part won out.

Buck glanced at his watch; 3:46 a.m. He knew he had to keep an eye on J.D. for awhile because of the concussion, so he figured any prolonged periods of sleep were out of the question for him. He glanced at the desk chair across the room and then slowly got up to drag it over to the bed. It wasn't a recliner, but it would do. Buck leaned back in the chair and carefully put his legs on the edge of the bed. He crossed his arms over his chest and settled in.

After a few minutes of glancing from his sleeping roommate to the clock and back again, Buck realized that this scene probably looked pretty odd. Most people would most likely just set an alarm and sleep for a few hours, wake the patient up, make sure he was coherent and not having a seizure and then go back to bed to sleep for a few more hours. That was the normal procedure, wasn't it? Buck contemplated this for awhile, watching J.D.'s eyelids flutter slightly as he dropped into deeper sleep. He almost got up to do just what he had considered, but he couldn't manage the simple movement of getting up from the chair. A quick glance at the clock told him almost thirty minutes had passed. Buck shook his head slightly, not entirely believing it. When did a half hour go by? Christ, I must be more tired than I thought.

Buck looked over at J.D., taking in the furrow of lines in the young man's forehead and the slight sheen of moisture glistening on his face. The kid might be sleeping, but he sure wasn't enjoying it.

"What am I gonna do with you, kid?" whispered Buck, leaning forward and brushing a hand lightly on J.D.'s forehead, trying to gauge the temperature.

"Who else could end up lookin' like a train wreck because of a thunderstorm?" He removed his hand, making a mental note to check the kid's temperature with a thermometer in the morning. He felt a bit warm, but it probably was just his body's reaction to the injuries and trauma.

Buck leaned back and sighed, running a tired hand down his face. His mind started working overtime with the silence that had enveloped the room. The dreaded 'what ifs' had returned and with them, the guilt. He knew it was illogical to feel guilty over what had happened, but he just couldn't stop the emotion from taking hold. He had every right to spend a weekend with a woman, but it didn't help dispel those pesky guilty feelings. He kept thinking of how angry he had been when the flight was cancelled, ruining his weekend of debauchery in Sin City while J.D. had probably been lying unconscious on the floor, bleeding and helpless.

He grimaced at the thought and closed his eyes, willing the image to disappear from his mind's eye.

"Jesus, kid, you're gonna age me before my time, ya know that? I spend so much time worryin' about ya, then I lose sleep watchin' over ya, then I wear myself out takin' care of ya...you're a full time job, ya know that? And in case you've forgotten, I already got a full time job as a badge carrying fed."

Buck shifted in the chair, chastising himself for speaking out loud, even if it was a whisper and J.D. was still sleeping soundly. What the hell you sayin' those things for? Even if he can't hear...hell, it ain't true anyhow. Well, it's true that he wears me out sometimes, but I didn't mean it to sound like I resented it.

"Hell, kid, I didn't mean that...I know you don't need no one takin' care of ya, you ain't a kid, even if you act like one sometimes," said Buck, wincing at his own words. He was speaking aloud again to make himself feel better; he knew J.D. couldn't hear him and yet he still had included a zinger at the end. He shook his head in consternation. What was it about J.D. that brought that out in him? He would walk through the fires of hell for the kid, but he couldn't help lapsing into a scolding parental unit once in a while. He reasoned that it was just because the very thought of a sick or injured J.D. terrified him more than he wanted to admit. The only defense was a good offense, right? So he lectured, he teased, he yelled and there were times he even embarrassed him. All for his own good, Buck told himself. He had to teach the kid not to make mistakes that could get him hurt or killed; he had to try to give him twenty years worth of knowledge without the twenty years of experience. If the kid got pissed at him once in a while for being a nag or mother hen, it was all right with Buck. He'd rather deal with a pissed off J.D. for a few days than living the rest of his life without him. Small price to pay.

But Buck wasn't really being a martyr. He knew the kid wouldn't have stuck around if he really didn't appreciate the feelings behind Buck's behavior. They seemed to have an unspoken understanding; Buck lectured and worried, J.D. yelled back but listened and remembered the lesson. It was what Josiah would call balance.

"Ain't we a pair?" Buck said, chuckling slightly.

"What am I gonna do with you, uh J.D.?

J.D. groaned slightly in his sleep and Buck started forward, jostling the bed with the movement of his legs. Cursing under his breath, he lowered his feet to the floor slowly, hoping that J.D. wouldn't wake up. He didn't, but he did look like he was trying to move in his sleep to get more comfortable. Unfortunately, his assorted bandages and bruises prevented him from doing that, even while semi-conscious. The faint scowl on his face was further testament to his discomfort. Buck was torn between letting him sleep and trying to help him find a more comfortable position, but he would have to wake him up to do that and he wanted the kid to get as much sleep as he could.

He was spared from having to make the decision when he realized that J.D. was squinting at him with one eye. Buck's heart skipped a beat and he leaned forward.

"Hey kid, did I wake you up? I'm sorry about that..."

"sssokay," answered J.D., his speech slurred from sleep.

"Well, as long as you're awake, I guess I can make sure your head ain't scrambled. Do you know where you are, kid?" asked Buck, leaning in to await the answer.

"Home," he answered, letting his eyes close.

"Who am I?" asked Buck, wondering if he was asking the right questions to ascertain whether or not the concussion was affecting J.D.'s brain functions. Guess I shoulda read that pamphlet again.

J.D. sighed, sounding almost annoyed at the question.

"Buck," he managed to whisper.

"You remember what happened tonight?"

J.D.'s breathing had evened out into a sleep rhythm and Buck wasn't sure if he had heard the last question, so he wasn't quite ready when J.D. answered quietly.

"Screwed up."

Buck scowled at the answer. Now the kid had fallen back asleep and this time it looked like it might be awhile before he woke up again. Buck reached over and placed his palm on J.D.'s forehead. He kept it there, noting the slight warmth and then ran his hand up into J.D.'s bangs, letting it rest there entwined in the silky hair. The physical contact helped ease the knot of guilt that was still sitting like a lump in his chest.

"You didn't screw up, kid, no way, no how, you just had some bad luck is all," whispered Buck, moving his fingers slowly through the black hair. That's what you get for wantin' a 'Buck-less' weekend, haven't you learned by now that you can't have fun without old Buck along for the ride?"

Buck paused, resting his palm on the kid's forehead every few seconds to check for fever. The knot in his chest had risen to his throat and his eyes had started to burn slightly. It occurred to him he might be overreacting to the situation, but it didn't stop the feeling from happening. Buck's emotions were never far from the surface and it didn't take much to get them to come out. Sometimes little things, things that seemed insignificant, would trigger them. Things like sitting in the dark, watching J.D. sleep fitfully because he was in pain, but too tired to fight it while awake; things like the feel of the kid's hair between his fingers and the feverish warmth radiating from his body.

Buck took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind and quell his churning emotions.

"So, what am I gonna do with you kid?"

The whisper was faint, but Buck had no trouble hearing it in the quiet room. When did he wake up again? Or maybe he was awake the whole time and heard everything. "Same as always, Buck," said J.D., not even opening his eyes to respond.

"And what's that?" Buck asked, quietly.

J.D. sighed, and with eyes still closed, he breathed out his answer before finally falling deeply asleep, content that maybe it was just bad luck and not his own shortcomings that had caused the disastrous evening.

"Always be here."

Buck smiled and smoothed his palm over J.D.'s forehead once again, trying to ease the lines of discomfort that were still present.

"You got it, kid."

The End