On the Rocks

Wesv

Disclaimer: Not mine, just having fun. Definitely don't have any money.

Notes: Missing Scenes for Dosed and Iced and a frigging ending, which we were robbed of, I might add. More story, more angst, and more closure. Many thanks to Wolfpup and ~D, my lovely betareaders. If I missed any of their corrections, 'tis my mistakes that remain.

He tried not to be hurt. He really did, but all his effort was wasted. He was hurt. Okay, so things hadn't gone smoothly for the last couple of weeks, and they were getting on each other's nerves. Van had figured it was just the stress of the job though. He had honestly believed that once the bust went down he and Deaq could chill out, apologize for all the sniping they had done at one another and go on with their lives, their partnership, and their friendship. Deaq had other ideas apparently. "Van-cation," he'd said. Van sighed. He really missed Dre. Dre had never needed a "van-cation."

So, now he was supposed to relax. How could he when he felt so churned up inside? Hurt, loneliness, and the inevitable guilt that always came with the thought of Dre bubbled up from his gut to lodge in his throat. Maybe this was his penance for letting Dre die that day. To never have another friend like him. To be alone when he most needed someone to talk to. To have those he thought he could depend on tell him to go away, we're on "van-cation." It was his own fault. He'd gotten Dre killed, and then expected his brother to take his place. But Deaq was not Dre. He'd been forcibly reminded of that.

To make matters worse, they'd teased him, saying he couldn't relax if he tried. They thought it was funny that he was uncomfortable with the off time. It wasn't the off time, per se; it was the being alone. The moment Deaq made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with Van for the entire weekend, he'd felt strangled and lost. Didn't they understand? They were all he had. He didn't have other friends. He didn't have a real family. All he'd ever had since becoming a cop was being a cop. All his old friends pitched for the other team, and his family, never close to begin with, had drifted away, many for the same reasons his friends had. His father was the prime example of that. His mother, well, she was too interested in herself and her new life after Ray Ray to be there for him. Once the apple of both their eyes, he was now an unfavored child. Dre had understood that. He'd spent many an off day at Dre's or with Dre's family. They had made him feel welcome, like he was a part of something good after all.

But after that last fiasco when he'd led the bad guys right to Deaq's, and Dre's, family, he'd only been back once for dinner. He'd had a good time, but with Deaq's remark about getting anyone else in his family killed still hanging over his head, it hadn't been the same. He'd been invited back, but the feeling of inclusion was gone, and he didn't think he'd ever get it back.

He was brought out of his self-pitying trance by the sound of the big doors to the Candy Store closing. Deaq had already gone, making a hasty exit before Van could even get his feet to move. It was Billie leaving. He sat up straight in the seat of the old GTO and reached for the ignition.

"Aren't you gone yet? Honestly, Van, go, find something to do!"

"I'm going. See you later." He cranked the car and dropped it into gear. He didn't wait to see if she would reply. He pulled out, only glancing back once to see her get into her car. It was going to be a long, lonely 48 hours. "Geez, Van, what's 48 hours in the grand scheme of things? You can do this. Then you'll work all this out with Deaq and get back to normal."

His little pep talk lasted him until he got to his hotel and inside his room. Funny, how stark and cold a luxury hotel room could feel. Should be the lap of luxury, a worry-free, relaxed existence. There was that word again. Relax. Yeah, right. The walls were closing in. What the hell was he doing living in a hotel anyway? Of course, it was the ultimate transient lifestyle for the guy no one wanted around for long. But he'd had an apartment once. He'd had a real place to live. Until Billie and the Candy Store had come along. Now everything that defined him was in a storage locker near Venice Beach, not far from the small, but comfortable, place he used to inhabit. So what if it was above Madame Sylvia's Tarot Readings and next door to a place that proudly proclaimed it had once been a brothel. Of course, for all he cared or knew, it might still be a brothel. Venice was fun, and the apartment was him, a little shabby, yet charming. And here he was now, in this large and comfortable place, where the new would not wear off, with all the charm of a doctor's office. It spoke of no one, least of all him. Jesus, they were right. He had no life. He only had the job.

Their words and laughter taunted him, and he started talking to himself just to drown them out. If anyone had asked him later how he'd ended up in his underwear in front of a mirror attempting to talk down an imaginary perp, he wouldn't have had an answer. In fact, he hoped no one would ever find out. If they ever did, he'd never live it down. But even there in that weird moment, their words slipped into his consciousness, and he found himself talking to Deaq, arguing with him. But it wasn't really Deaq he was arguing with, was it? He looked at his own face in the mirror. It was himself. Had been all along. There was no perp; there was only a cop unable to put his gun down and live a life outside of the safety his job and gun gave him. As a cop, he was part of something good. With a gun, he couldn't be hurt. Or could he? After all, he was hurting now.

He decided to go to the pool. He put the gun down. But had he really won the argument? Truthfully, he didn't know.

Deaq had once lamented the fact that he might never have the chance to play golf with his dad again. However, that was exactly what he'd spent his first day off doing. It had been great. That was, until his dad had started in on him about Van. He had really wanted to go the whole 48 hours of his reprieve from his annoying partner without even having to hear his name, much less get scolded by his own father because of him. How could he make his dad understand how frustrating working with a bouncing, jabbering, throwback to the strange 70's/surf bum could be? Van Ray was never still and never quiet and just plain strange sometimes. Now, Van Strummer he could deal with. Most of the time. When Van was in the game, he could be still and quiet, although he was still strange. And speaking of strange, he was talking about the man as if he were two different people. But that's the way it seemed sometimes.

At any rate, their last bust, and his partner in the process, had just worked Deaq's last nerve. It had been a tense one, hard to predict and long. After too little sleep, and too much stress, some of it caused by Van, Deaq had simply had enough. He needed a break, and he refused to feel bad about that. Damn it, he refused to feel guilty! Okay, so once his dad was through, he did feel guilty, but a few beers and Rosalind would take care of that.

In the meantime, though, his father's words haunted him. The lecture had included the importance of supporting one's partner, the meaning of being a partner, and the brotherhood of the force in general. That was uncomfortable enough, but when he'd started on how close Van was to Dre, and how Dre would want Deaq to take care of his partner, and how Van had seemed a little distant at that last dinner, and how Dre had said that Van didn't have anyone to turn to, well, Deaq had just wanted to crawl under the damn 17^th green. Then the topper, the one that sealed Deaq's guilty doom was, "You know, son, it was Van who set things into motion to bring our family back together. He did that for you as much as he did it for Dre. That boy cares for you, just like he cared for Dre."

For several minutes, Deaq felt lower than dirt. He was pond scum, maybe. Was that lower than dirt? Then he shook it off. He'd fix things with Van after the weekend. He'd have his time away, and then he could make his apologies and mean them. Maybe then he would spring for an apology dinner. That would do it.

Right now, though, he had to get home and get ready for Rosalind. He wondered if Van would be going out on a date. Did he even know any normal, non-criminal type girls to go out with? Damn, the boy had no life. And, damn, he had to stop thinking about Van now! He had a life, and this was his time to live it.

Maybe he shouldn't have teased Van about having no life and not being able to relax. That had not been kind. Just because he'd been strung out and tired did not mean he should have been nasty. The "van-cation" thing was really over the top. Had he seen a little flash of hurt in Van's eyes when he'd said that? Van, the hypersensitive almost flower child? Of course he'd been hurt. What had he been thinking when he'd said that?

And what was he thinking now!? "Geez, Deaqon, let it go. Can't fix it right now. I'll beg forgiveness later. And he'll give it to me, damn him, without blinking, which will make me feel worse, because I don't know if I'd forgive me if I were him. And you're still not letting it go!" He stopped talking out loud to himself and turned up the radio as he pulled out of the club. He waved once more to his father who had stopped to talk to friends on the patio of the club's restaurant, The 19^th Hole, then sped off to a shower and a pretty girl.

Van glanced over at Hillary in the passenger seat of the car. He'd left the GTO in the hotel garage, opting for the little Porshe that Billie had signed out to him the week before and that he had yet to return. Hillary looked beautiful. Of course, she always did, and it by no means was a reflection of her wanting to impress him. After all, their little date was not really a date. It figured that the first time in ages that a nice girl had wanted anything to do with him was because she thought he wasn't a nice guy and could do some dirty work for her. Not that he minded getting rid of a dirtbag for her. It was something constructive to do, something he could do, and was pretty close to being on the job really. It had felt good to put the guy down and outline for him the facts of life. Well, not the real facts, but Mr. Dirtbag didn't need to know that. He was gone, she was safe from his advances, and that made Van feel better about himself for a little while.

However, dancing with her back at the club and looking at her now was just painful. She looked back at him with something a little too much like pity to be comfortable for him as she'd shot him down. He swallowed the ache and assured her that he understood. He really did, given the picture she had of him in her mind, a picture he could not risk altering. So this was the end, even before a beginning. She left him wondering if he'd ever be able to find something real with anyone when so much of his life was fiction. He hadn't thought his night could get much worse. Until the phone had rung.

Okay, Van thought as he closed the flip-top cell phone. Poisoned. Twelve hours to live. He tried to think which hospital was closest. Cedars-Sinai probably. He wanted desperately to believe that it was a hoax, a sick joke by somebody they'd sent up, but the invitation to check it out stepped on that hope and crushed it. His head was all tingly. He pulled over to the side of the road and tried to calm down. He took a deep breath, tipping his head back on the headrest for a long moment. He had to chill out because he had to call Deaq and Billie. Another deep breath and he opened the cell phone again. It was a good thing that both of them were on speed dial because, at the moment, he couldn't have strung seven numbers together.

He listened to Deaq's phone ring, even as Deaq's remark about his "van-cation" echoed in his head. Surely, his partner wouldn't begrudge him this interruption. At least he hoped not.

"Van! What part of 'don't call me' don't you understand?!" Deaq's voice echoed in his ear, confusing him for a split second.

Caller ID, of course. "But Deaq—"

"Good-bye, Van." The click hurt.

He hit the button again. He had to make Deaq listen. He started first this time. "Deaq, it's important, man."

"I'm on 'van-cation.'" Another click.

Third time was the charm, right? Or not. Connect, disconnect before Van managed one word. Tears came to Van's eyes, and he ruthlessly swiped them away. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat threatening to choke him.

Okay, maybe Billie would listen. She answered with his name, too, but he interrupted before she could yell at him. "Billie, listen, I have a problem."

"I'm aware of that, Van. Unfortunately, I'm not qualified to help you with it. Have you tried Ritalin?"

"Billie, please—"

"What? Oh, let me guess, you found out that the sage dealer on Venice Beach is not really selling sage, but a more interesting herb, and we should get right on it? It can wait. Or, wait, I got it! The Disney characters and the Universal characters are about to get into a turf war. I'll rent you a Goofy suit, but not until Monday. In the meantime, if you can't relax and enjoy a few days off, could you at least disappear so that I can?"

The tears were back. "Sure, I can do that," he choked out.

She sighed, "Is this really important, Van?"

"Well, let's see, I've probably been poisoned and probably have twelve hours to live. Is that important?" He didn't wait for her answer. He hung up and threw the phone into the seat next to him. He lowered his aching head onto the steering wheel. He needed to get to the freaking hospital. He sat up and put the car in gear. Before he could get moving, though, the phone rang. He didn't need to look at his caller ID to know who was on the other end. "Yeah?"

"If you're kidding, I'll kill you myself. But you're not kidding, are you?"

"No, Billie. I was out with a friend, and we had a drink—"

"Details later. Right now, where are you?"

"I was going to the hospital to find out for sure."

"Okay, which one?"

"Cedars-Sinai, it's the closest."

"Good. I'll meet you there, then you can give me details."

"Could you do me a favor?" he asked softly.

"Sure."

"Call Deaq for me. He keeps hanging up on me before I can tell him."

"Oh my god. Yes, Van, I'll call him. And Van?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm so sorry for what I said. I'm just—sorry."

"It's okay. Pretty used to it by now." He hung up. He was wasting his life away on the damn phone.

Billie raised her hand to cover her mouth. Van had said he was used to it. What did that say about their working relationship? What did it say about her? And Deaq hanging up on his partner while he was literally dying was just horrifying to think about. Poor Van. When had he become their whipping boy?

She shook herself. Thoughts for another time, she scolded. Right now she had to get to Cedars-Sinai. And call Deaq. She grabbed her cell phone and a set of keys. Deaq's phone was ringing as she got into the driver's seat of the red Mercedes they had just acquired.

"Yeah, Billie?" Deaq sounded less than happy and Billie could hear a woman's voice in the background urging him to hang up.

"Deaq, we have a problem. Your 'van-cation' is cancelled. I need you to—"

"Noooo," Deaq moaned. "What the hell is up with him now?"

"Well, get your ass down to Cedars-Sinai and find out. Unless, of course, you want a permanent 'van-cation.'"

"Billie, he just called here a few minutes ago. He sounded fine." Was there a little worry in his voice now?

"He's definitely not fine, Deaq! Your ass better be moving out the door right now, Hayes. This is serious. I'm serious. And Deaq, never hang up on your partner, never, ever again. Understand?"

"Yeah. I'm on my way."

"Thank you." God, Van couldn't die. He just couldn't. She had things she needed to say, and she knew herself well enough to know that twelve hours would not be long enough for her to swallow down her pride to make room for the words to come out.

So Van was hurt or something. What the hell could he have done to himself? Boy needed a keeper. He'd said it many times, and it was true. He just didn't want the damn job. Deaq refrained from throwing the phone across the room, settling for a disgusted sigh instead. Rosalind tilted her head at him in curiosity. He gave her a rueful grin. "Baby, can I ask for a rain check on the rest of our evening? Friend of mine is in the hospital." He rubbed the back of his neck as she pouted prettily. "I'm real sorry, Rosie. Forgive me?"

"Sure, Deaqie," she purred as she got up from the couch. "But I'm holding you to that rain check."

He managed to control the wince at the annoying nickname and put one hand to his chest in exaggerated relief. "Thank you!" He grabbed his keys and started hustling her out the door. Billie was mad enough; he did not want to give her the impression that he'd taken his time.

Moments later, he was on the road to Cedars-Sinai. He knew he shouldn't be feeling the resentment that was building in his chest, but he couldn't help it. His first time off in what seemed like forever, and Van was screwing it up. He'd probably had some bizarre surfing accident or pissed some big somebody off just by being Van and had gotten beaten up. Whatever it was, it had better be serious, or Van was in for what could be a second ass-kicking.

But Billie had said it was serious. Deaq's stomach flip-flopped and churned. Damn it. Now he was feeling guilty again. He hated that. His father's lecture returned to him as did all the things he had realized after it. Yet, still, he'd done it again. "Van-cation," the word just seemed to slip from his lips before he even thought about it. If Van was really hurt, and through no fault of his own, well, Deaq was going to end up groveling before Van for his behavior. He really hated that.

What if he was really dying? What if he really died?! Van's breath caught for a long moment before he forced his lungs to work again. He had no idea what this guy wanted. What if he just wanted Van's death? Or wanted something Van couldn't give? Then he would die. It was that simple.

Who would care that he was gone? Who would come to his funeral? Man, that would be a pitiful sight. He wondered if there would even be enough people there to be pallbearers. Deaq would come. Of course, the way things were between them, would it be more for appearances than anything else? Billie would be there. Van thought she cared, at least a little, in her own way. His dad might show up if he found out in time. But then he'd be arrested at the wake. His mom, oh, she'd show up all right. She'd come and wail and fling herself over his coffin. She was nothing if not dramatic. It would be all a show, though, to garner sympathy for herself. It was all about her, always had been, always would be. It was a sure bet none of his former girlfriends would bother. Teddy was dead. Maybe, if he were lucky, enough of his father's friends could be rounded up to at least carry his coffin. Otherwise, strangers would carry him out and dump him in the ground.

But hadn't he run through his lack of friends and family once already today? He choked on a new lump in his throat as more tears threatened to fall. God, how depressing. Was this really his life? Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. Was the poison getting to him already?

The hospital entrance swam in his blurred vision, and he managed to make the turn. Mechanically, he parked the car and made his way inside. He was still struggling to catch his breath as he approached the woman at the desk. "Hello, I need to see a doctor."

"Okay, sir, fill out these papers and bring them back." She handed him a clipboard.

He took it and tried to read the top form. It made no sense, and his hands tingled as he gripped the clipboard tightly. He blinked and looked back at her. "I—"

"Someone will be with you as soon as possible."

She was fading away in a fog. Then there was a falling sensation. He realized too late that it wasn't just a sensation. The floor was hard. He heard her yelling something, then everything was silent and black.

"Mr. Strummer? Come on, Mr. Strummer, open your eyes." It was more the incessant patting on his hand than the woman's voice that brought him around. It was irritating, really. He opened his eyes and nearly yelped in her face. She was too close. He heard someone giving orders in the background. There were lots of letters strung together and the words "tests" and "scans" behind them.

"Doctor, he's awake." She smiled as she moved back.

Another face came into view. "Good! Okay, Mr. Strummer, glad you could join us. How are you feeling?" The tall man pulled out a penlight, and Van was suddenly blinded. He tried to turn away, but there was a firm grip on his head. The light went off; and through the flashing multi-colored dots that annoyingly swam around his vision, he thought he saw the doctor smile at him.

He swallowed hard and managed just one word. "Poisoned."

The smile disappeared. "Oh, okay. Shirley, let's get that blood drawn pronto. Do you know what you were poisoned with, Mr. Strummer?"

"No. What happened?"

"You tell me. You passed out. When were you poisoned?"

"An hour or so, maybe more. How long was I out?"

"Not long."

"He said I had twelve hours. Is it affecting me faster than that?"

"He? Was this intentional then?" At Van's nod, he continued. "Pat, call the police."

"Already coming," Van told him as the nurse on his other side prepared to draw his blood. She nodded in acknowledgement.

"Okay then. Twelve hours? Well, no, I don't think the poison caused this. Your oxygen saturation levels look good right now, but your blood pressure is up. Any nausea or cramping? Any tingling or numbness?" Van shook his head. "How were you feeling when you came in?"

"Couldn't breathe, head tingling, hands, too."

"But now you're breathing normally. You'd just found out you were poisoned, so I'm betting you were pretty panicked. I'm thinking panic attack. Ever have one before?"

"When I was a kid, but not since then. Now that you mention it, that's what it felt like though. Look, when my friends get here, don't say anything about this, okay? I'm feeling pretty silly now. I do not need them finding out I freaked out and fainted."

"Sure. There's no reason to feel silly. You have every right to be freaked out, but as long as you don't do it again, I think I can handle one little secret. In the meantime, let's see if we can figure out what we're dealing with. It's going to be a chore. We may or may not be able to identify it, you understand. If we can't, we're going to be in trouble. I'll be back in a few minutes to check your blood pressure again, just in case the elevation is due to the panic attack. If it doesn't go down, we're going to need to admit you."

Van frowned. He had maybe eleven hours and a precious few minutes to live, and he had no intention of spending them in a hospital bed. He said nothing though. He'd argue that point if it came to it. At the moment, he had to get himself together. Billie and Deaq were coming, and he would meet them sitting up tall and together. No way would he let them see him flat on his back.

When Van didn't answer him, the doctor went on, "I'm Dr. Grant, by the way. Just try to relax. I want you to be still and quiet for a while."

Van would have laughed in his face, except that Grant made a pretty quick exit then, leaving Van contemplating the word that he just could not seem to escape lately. Relax. And still and quiet? Deaq would have laughed in the good doctor's face had he been there for that one.

Van sat up and scooted down to the end of the gurney letting his feet dangle. Regardless of what Deaq thought, he could do still and quiet. He did yoga, after all. Of course, that revelation had further convinced Deaq that he was weird. Even finding out that Aquarius did yoga too did nothing to dissuade him from that perception. Anyway, Van took a deep breath and released it slowly, concentrating on also releasing the tension in his body as he did. Breath after breath, he continued until he was just on the edge of a light meditative state. But just as quickly as he'd gotten there, a sudden eerie feeling of something eating him up from the inside out yanked him back to stark reality. His eyes flew open, and he struggled to take his next breath. Okay, so much for relaxing. Yet again, the ability, even the comprehension of the word, was beyond him. He scrubbed his hands through his hair then over his face. He could not fall apart. He would not fall apart.

Deaq paced in front of the ER desk. "Okay, I know I don't have a badge, but I am a cop. I just forgot it at home," he insisted as the old Saturday Night Live tag line ran through his head… "Yeah, that's the ticket!" It nearly slipped out of his mouth. There were times when Billie's "no badges" rule caused problems, and this was one of them. The dutiful nurse would neither give him any information about Van, nor let him go back to see his partner.

She gave him a skeptical look. "Sir, you have no uniform and no badge. You are obviously not related to Mr. Strummer. I have my orders. Only an immediate relative or the police will see Mr. Strummer. That's it, and that's all. So if you could have a seat and wait until the police, the REAL police, the kind with badges, arrive, you can talk to them about seeing our patient."

"Look, if you'll just go ask him, he'll tell you I'm his partner! WE are cops! And he'll want to see me."

"The doctor is in with Mr. Strummer."

"And that means you can't talk to him? Come on, lady." He paused, waiting for a response. He didn't get one. "Fine! But you're going to feel really silly very soon." Deaq stalked into the waiting room and tossed himself into a chair. "Oh, good comeback, Deaqon. 'You're obviously not related to Mr. Strummer,'" he mocked the woman. He frowned as he assessed the situation. If it had been an accident or an illness, there would'nt be the same kind of restrictions on Van's visitors. So a crime had been committed. Van was a victim. And because of Billie locking up their badges in the vault at the Candy Store, Deaq couldn't even get to him.

If Billie didn't get there soon, he was going to go insane. He had hung up on Van. Van needed him, and he'd hung up for an evening with a woman who called him Deaqie. What was wrong with this picture? Once again, his father's lecture came back to him with the force of a good uppercut. He wasn't a very good partner. He certainly wasn't a very good friend. And Dre would have been very disappointed. Actually, wherever he was, he probably was disappointed.

"Okay, your blood pressure is still quite high. I'm going to call the lab and see if they've found anything. In the meantime, why don't you let Pat get you a gown and just lie back? I'll let you know something as soon as I can."

Van watched the man disappear from the room. No way in hell was he putting on any stupid hospital gown. Not voluntarily anyway. He was not staying.

Man, he had a headache. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to lie down for a minute. He leaned back, placing his elbows on the gurney then eased himself down. He needed to get a handle on things. Billie and Deaq were coming. Any minute now, in fact, they might be walking in the door. It was time to put a lock down on his fear and his emotions. He needed to put his game face on.

Well, not all his emotions needed to be locked away. He reached down for the anger than often sustained him during a tough case. This time, he focused on the bastard who had done this to him. If he gave into his fear, he'd probably not be there to see the son of a bitch go down. No, he would be there. To be the one who took the bastard down, Van had to be strong. He had to work it like any other case. He was a cop, not a victim. This guy would not make him a victim.

Though the headache was certainly no better, Van sat back up. He was ready. He just wished he knew what he was ready for. At the very least, though, he was ready for Billie and Deaq to get there.

"Have you seen him?" Billie all but shouted as she ran over to where Deaq was sitting.

"No, I haven't. 'Brunhilda' over there decided that I was neither a cop or Van's long lost brother and therefore would not let me in." Deaq let every bit of his irritation imbue his words. "I could really use a badge in times like these."

"Whatever. Let's just get back there now."

She flashed her badge to "Brunhilda" who gave them perfect directions to Van. He glared at her in aggravation as he passed her. She just rolled her eyes at him and turned her attention back to the clipboard she held. He wanted to say "I told you so," but somehow, that seemed as lame as his stellar comeback earlier. Apparently, he wasn't at the top of his game, so he kept his mouth shut and followed Billie through the maze of people and hallways to find his partner.

His heart gave a little start at the thought of facing Van. He'd hung up on the man while he was trying to tell Deaq he was in trouble. He realized then that he still didn't know what kind of trouble. "Billie, so what's going on?"

"He might have been poisoned. That's all I know. I told him to hold off on details until we got here."

"Poisoned? Why? By who?"

"Didn't I just say that was all I knew? Maybe if you had listened to him earlier you would know more. But, no, you hung up on him." She was pissed. That much Deaq knew, but he wasn't feeling too calm, cool, and collected himself. He was no fool. He knew she hadn't been the picture of grace when she'd heard Van's voice on the phone either.

"And you could have asked some questions, too, you know?"

"I was too focused on getting here, Deaq!" She stopped and whirled on him. "Whereas you were what? Getting laid?"

"Not yet, but yeah, that was the idea! Excuse the hell outta me for trying to have a life!"

"While your partner may be dying!"

"Oh, like you were all sweetness and light when you picked up the phone?! Please! How long did you yell at him before you let him get a word in edgewise?!"

"Shut up!"

They both turned to face a very irate Van standing in the doorway of the exam room. He turned and disappeared into the room again, leaving them to sheepishly follow.

"Van—" Billie started, but he cut her off.

"I can't take this shit right now, okay? So just shut up. Man, I wish I hadn't even called either of you right now. I know I'm a pain in both your asses, but you don't have to let the whole hospital know just how much my possible impending death is putting you out, okay?" Deaq winced at the defeat in Van's voice.

"V, it's not like—"

"Whatever. Look, I just want to tell you what happened and start trying to figure out how to save my miserable life, such as it is. Okay?"

"Okay."

A few minutes later, Deaq was torn between guilt, anger, and frustration. If Van's story wasn't bad enough, the doctor's arrival with the news that there was definitely a toxin in Van's blood added a cold lump of fear to the burning knot of seething emotions already in his gut. It was official; Van had been poisoned. According to the doctor, he was sick already. It took Billie being her usual bossy self to get Van to agree to stay at the hospital and let them help him. So, it was up to him and Billie to save Van's life. Damn, he didn't want that kind of responsibility. If they failed, if he failed, Van would die. He followed Billie out of the exam room and through the ER, only realizing when he got into his car that he had never apologized to Van for hanging up on him. Soon, he thought. Hell, it would have to be soon. Van might not have enough time left for later.

He'd been so sure when he'd left the hospital. She'd needed his help, huh? He'd really worked himself up into ferociously righteous anger as he'd driven to confront Hillary. Now though, after manhandling her, after the call, as she walked away from him, Van realized a few things. First, this guy was watching him pretty closely. Second, Hillary was too obvious and too easy. His involvement with her had simply given the guy the opportunity he'd needed. Third, he'd just really ruined any chance he ever had to convince this woman that he wasn't a crazed criminal. And fourth, fuck, his head really hurt. He found himself sliding down the wall. He closed his eyes for a long moment, trying to will the pounding in his skull to stop. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had to get up. Security was coming. Bracing himself on the wall, he rose slowly. The room and stairwell around him spun crazily, spinning into and out of focus. He was standing, though. He was nauseated and in pain, but on his feet just the same. He retrieved his keys from his pocket and took a tentative step. As the floor seemed to move under him, he had to stop. "Get it together, Van," he muttered to himself.

Movement off to his left caught his attention. Two burly security guards were coming for him. He held up one hand, the other remaining on the wall, as he didn't feel too steady. "I'm going, okay? I'm going." They stopped and Van was thankful, though he couldn't actually manage to say the words at that point. He just nodded slightly, as much as he could without his head trying to explode, and made his way out, moving past them slowly still holding on to whatever was handy.

When he got to the car, he ended up letting the seat back and lying there for a little while. He wasn't sure how much time passed before he could see straight and function again. He looked at the clock in the dash of the car. Twelve hours. Yeah, right. He began to wonder if he'd last that long. Well, technically, he had a little less than ten hours now. Still, at the rate he seemed to be going, he'd never make those ten hours. Jesus, why did his head have to hurt so badly? He was exhausted, too. He felt like he'd been trying to run a marathon.

Well, if this was as good as it was going to get, he'd better get his ass moving. He let the seat up and fought the wave of dizziness that resulted. He guessed he needed to head to the Candy Store. By now, Deaq and Billie might have already found out that he'd skipped out on the hospital. He could only hope that he could forestall the yelling and screaming until after he'd explained, and maybe even until his head quit hurting. Maybe even until after he was dead. Then he wouldn't have to hear it at all.

Van wasn't a bad partner. Deaq had had worse in his career. Like that one rookie who'd nearly gotten him killed about four times before the brass decided he needed to ride a desk or find another line of work. Then there was his first partner as a detective. "Mr. Damn, I'm so Good You Wanna be Me" was both a royal pain in the ass and a liability. The rookie had just been stupid. The second jackass had been too damn cocky and stupid.

He tossed yet another file onto the desk and picked up the next one. So far, none of their collars had been recently released. Not recognizing the name of the perp, he realized that he was getting back into cases than Van had worked with Dre while in Vice. Unfortunately, he, too, was still in prison. He sighed and tossed the file with the others.

Okay, so Van occasionally got too involved, and yes, he'd slept with a mark or two. But fact was, sometimes undercover officers did have do some pretty unsavory things at times. Poor Van just felt too much. He cared. He fell, and fell hard, for any hard luck story. Van Ray wanted to save the whole fucking world. Van Strummer, now, he knew the real score. He knew everyone couldn't be saved. He understood the criminal mind and could outplay many of them at their own game. Problem was, both of them lived in one body and were constantly at odds with one another. There he was again, turning Van into some kind of Sybil. He wondered if Billie saw Van the same way. He'd have to ask her one day, but not today. There were more important things to do today.

The files were a dead end. The people who he and Van had sent up didn't know they were cops. That would defeat the purpose of the Candy Store. And the people who Van had busted when he was in Vice wouldn't know about the Candy Store. "This is a waste of time, Billie."

"I know. I'm coming up empty on the hotel's employees. Why don't you start on the employees of the bar?"

He nodded and picked up the list of names the bar's manager had given him. They had to find something. The alternative was not acceptable.

They were a good team, most of the time, he and Van. Van was a good partner—that one little shooting Deaq in the ass incident aside. He bet Van wouldn't have pulled that little stunt with Dre. Dre would have kicked his ass, but good, for that. He smiled a little at the thought. He knew Dre. His brother would have adopted Van quickly. From what his father had said, that was exactly what had happened. Van was the little brother who Deaq had refused to be for so long. A tinge of jealousy twisted in his chest for just a moment, then was gone. His lack of a relationship with his brother was his own fault, and Van had needed Dre. Dre had probably needed Van, too. After all, Deaq was finally admitting to himself, he kind of needed Van. Van was a good partner. He'd already said that, but he was a good friend, too. A good brother, if one was in need of one. In Dre, they had both lost a brother. Maybe it was fate that they found a new brother in the other. God, that was so sappy. Yet so true, he realized. When had it happened exactly? When had the weird, hyper, surfing, white boy become so damned important to him? Did it make a difference? He had become important, and that was all that really mattered.

Van couldn't die. He just couldn't. Deaq needed his brother. How could he have ever thought differently?

Resolved, he turned his attention back to the names in front of him. One of them could be responsible for trying to kill his partner. He typed the first name into the police database and began his search.

At the end of his search, he'd been feeling pretty hopeless. Then Van had shown up. So much for staying in the hospital. He should never have believed that Van would sit on the sidelines. It just wasn't Van—either Van. Van Ray couldn't not do something, and Van Strummer was too pissed off not to do something. So pissed off that even with his own life hanging in the balance, he wanted a way around giving in to this bastard. The phone call seemed to solidify his resolve. Van wanted no part of a prison break for Vinnie Jax. He insisted they find another way. So they began looking.

Later, as they drove to the pub to find Jax's cronies, he watched Van rub his temples and take long deep breaths as though he needed the extra oxygen just to live. Vaguely, he wondered which Van was going to be up front for this. Deaq examined his partner. Quiet, but not still. His hands fluttered as though he was trying to grasp onto something intangible. The face was a mixture of stress, anger, and fear. It was hard to tell.

When they walked into the pub though, Van Strummer was in full force. The sarcasm gave him away even before the confrontation with Baldy. Then as Deaq watched in horror as his normally "let's talk this out" partner tried to poison their unwilling snitch, shoving a bottle of cleaner into his face and almost down his throat, he knew. He saw with a new clarity just how far Van Strummer would go to save Van Ray's life.

If that didn't scare him badly enough, when Van started bleeding, Deaq's heart nearly stopped. Van admitting that he was not okay was yet another shock. They had to get out of there. They had the information they needed, though it wasn't good news by any means. They made it to the parking lot before Van collapsed. Deaq managed to catch him before he hit the pavement.

Billie freaked and did something Deaq would never have expected. She started babbling. Deaq struggled to catch a few words here and there. Hospital was one of them, and then she was apologizing to Van, over and over. What she was apologizing for was only clear enough to understand once. She'd apologized for calling him her bitch.

She was almost no help at all getting him into the car, despite the fact that she kept insisting that they hurry and get to the hospital. Part of Deaq wanted to scream at her to pull herself together, while the other part of him wanted to fall apart along with her. Deaq finally got Van into the front seat and let the seat back. Billie climbed into the back and leaned over Van like a mother bear protecting her cub. Deaq ran around to the driver's side, all the while calculating how far Cedars-Sinai was from their location. He glanced over at his partner as he cranked the car. God, this made it real. Van's unconscious form was too lifeless, too still. As he slammed the car into reverse, he swore he would never tell Van to be still again.

He remembered the horror of realizing that he was bleeding and the awful pain in his head. He remembered the look on Deaq's face when he told his partner that he was not all right at all. He remembered leaving the pub, but he didn't remember getting into the car. He knew that's where he was, though. He could sense the movement. Someone was stroking his hair, too. Who the hell could that be? Surely not Deaq. If it was, man, was that scary or what? Dre, okay, Dre would do that. But Deaq, never, not in a million years. His brain wanted him to open his eyes and see who it was. His heart wanted to just relax and let it happen, not worry about who, or even why, but just revel in it. It was nice. It would even be nicer if his head wasn't pounding, but beggars couldn't be choosy. Why was his head hurting anyway? Oh yeah, the same reason he'd been at that pub at four in the morning. He was dying. He'd been poisoned. Shit. How much time did he have left anyway? To find out, he'd have to open his eyes. Well, his brain wanted to know who was being so nice to him, so he might as well.

"Billie?" He would have been astonished had he had the energy to be so.

"Oh, thank God! Van, we're taking you to the hospital. Just hold on," she told him.

"No. The Candy Store," he insisted as strongly as he could.

"Van, no, you collapsed on us. You need to be in the hospital!" Deaq was agreeing with her.

He had to make them understand. "Please, don't make me go back there. Don't make me wait there to die."

He heard Deaq swear and saw Billie bite her lip in frustration. They looked at each other then, and Van witnessed the decision being made. He sighed in relief when Billie stroked his hair once again and nodded.

Van closed his eyes. Keeping them open was just making his head pound again. Sleep overtook him fairly quickly because the next thing he knew, Deaq was helping him out of the car at the Candy Store. His partner led him straight to the white couch and put him down there. Van was not of a mind to argue with him either. He desperately wanted to lie down. He knew he couldn't stay that way; he had a bad guy to catch or else he would die, but at the moment, he had to rest. He felt, rather than saw, Deaq sit down near him because he had already let his eyes drift shut again. He didn't know where Billie had gone.

"Listen, V, um, look, I'm sorry about, you know…"

Great, not a subject he felt like broaching at the moment. Maybe he could pretend to be asleep again.

"I mean, I understand that you're mad. Hell, I'd be mad too, but I'm asking for forgiveness, man."

The sleep act was obviously not working. Right now, he didn't want to forgive. Right now, he just wanted to be left alone. He nearly laughed at the direction of his thoughts. Earlier, he'd wanted nothing less in the whole world than to be left alone. Now, he wanted nothing more. He just didn't have the energy to be gracious. "You hung up on me. Three times, man. God, am I that much of a burden for you? Do I bother you that much?"

"No, V, dawg, I'm so damned sorry. I was being an ass, okay?"

"Yeah, you were. Sorry I ruined your 'van-cation.'"

"I'm sorry I ever said that, Van. That was harsh. I just—"

"Needed to get away from me. Gee, that makes me feel so much better. I just wanted a chance to talk it all out and apologize, get back to normal. I know the case was bad, and I know I wasn't the most pleasant guy to be around, but neither were you, Deaq." Jesus, he thought, I was wrong. Van realized that he didn't have the energy to be mad. Gracious would have simpler. A simple "I forgive you," and he could have had a little peace. "Look, I can't talk about this right now. My head hurts, damn it. Please, just leave it alone. If I live, we'll talk about it later. If I don't, then I'll forgive you in the afterlife. Okay?"

Silence. He finally opened his eyes and tilted his aching head to look at his partner. Deaq gave him a chagrinned half-smile and a nod, and Van closed his eyes again. There, it was shelved for the time being. Time being, he thought bitterly, time being short.

"The headaches are probably due to the high blood pressure, Lt. Chambers. He really needs to be here where we can at least try to support him."

Billie frowned into the phone. Why didn't Grant tell her something she didn't know? "But you still don't know what he was poisoned with, right?"

"Right, but we can use drug therapy to lower his blood pressure and painkillers for the headaches, that kind of thing. Maybe we could even deal with any other symptoms that arise until the poison is out of his system."

"You said that wasn't likely, though. That's what you told Van."

"Well, yes, it is unlikely. But we could at least try if he was here. Truth is, many poisons don't really have direct antidotes. There are things that counteract the symptoms, ways we can limit damage, that sort of thing in the case of those types of poisons. However, some, such as derivatives of natural toxins like venom, do have direct antidotes, and if it was one of those we won't be able to save him without knowing what it is."

"Doctor, I'd love for Van to be in the hospital, but he doesn't want to be there, and quite frankly, we need him in order to save his life. I know that doesn't make sense to you, but there it is. As soon as it is possible, I will drag him in there by his hair myself. In the meantime, how can we keep him functioning?"

"He needs rest. As much as possible, he needs to be somewhere quiet. He needs to be still. He needs to avoid stress and exertion."

"What about Tylenol or aspirin?"

"No, until we know what he's been given adding drugs without medical supervision is a bad idea. If he gets another nosebleed or passes out again, you're just going to have to bring him in. Lieutenant Chambers, he could be in danger of a stroke."

"Shit," she muttered, running one hand through her hair.

"Yeah. Also, look for labored breathing, seizures, other pain anywhere. Right now, we don't even know what, besides his blood pressure, is going to be affected. Anything at all changes with him, get him here as fast as you can. Whether he likes it or not."

"Thanks, Dr. Grant." She hung up the phone and stared out at her men. Deaq sat hovering over Van, staring at him like he was going to disappear at any time. Van was motionless. He might have even fallen asleep. The doctor's words had set her heart to racing. Van was running out of time. She still had things she needed to say. Screaming incoherent apologies at Van while he was unconscious didn't count. She needed to him to hear those apologies. He needed to hear them.

She got up from her desk and made her way to where he and Deaq were. She opened her mouth to begin those apologies, but Deaq raised one hand to stop her.

"I think he's sleeping," he whispered.

She nodded. "Unfortunately, we can't let him sleep for long. You know we're going to have to break Jax out of prison. It's the only way, since Jax doesn't seem to have much more time than Van."

Deaq leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "I'd give anything if I could say you were wrong, but I can't. Now we just have to convince him." He pointed to his partner.

"We will. I will. I'm going to get started on the plans." She walked away without waiting for any reply.

Okay, so it was a really bad joke. Their stricken faces as he walked away drove that point home well. Deaq wanted forgiveness, and Billie, who the hell knew… control, probably. The fact that his life or death was beyond her control was probably driving her insane. He'd walked out with a bad joke and without giving either of them what they'd wanted. Was he a bad person for that? He might find out soon enough. One-eighth of his life, he thought as he looked back down at his watch. He could not believe that he had just agreed to a prison break. But he had. If he wanted to live, he had no choice.

Right now, though, he had to try to make sure that if indeed he didn't live, one person would not be left with just bad memories of him. He had felt better. He hadn't been lying. Now, though, the headache was creeping back up on him as he drove to the hotel. He would tell Hillary—what would he tell Hillary? That he was sorry, of course, but what else? There was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her the truth. He couldn't.

For a moment, his temper flared. Why the hell did it matter what she thought of him? It shouldn't. Who was she anyway? Just another girl that even if he had convinced her that he was worth her time, would eventually leave him. Why? Because he wasn't worth her time, or because he couldn't tell her the truth, or because, because, because, and forever into infinity. He'd lost count of all the reasons why his relationships didn't work out. What it all came down to was that he was somehow lacking in key areas. He couldn't offer honesty because of the job, or was that just an excuse? He couldn't offer commitment for the same reason, another excuse? Oh, for god's sake, he would drive himself mad before the poison killed him with this shit. The fact was he suffered from poor judgment. In a room full of Ms. Rights he'd pick the one Ms. Wrong amongst them every time. But Hillary felt different. Didn't they all, whispered the annoying pessimistic streak he had developed of late.

"Feel sorry for yourself much, Van." He let the valet park the car and went in search of Hillary. He still had no idea what he would say to her; he only knew he had to say something. He'd figure out the rest when he saw her. Which meant he'd probably ramble and not make very much sense. Oh well, that was the story of his life.

She wasn't at the front desk, but the man there said that she had gone out to check with someone at the pool cabana. Van thanked him and weaved through the lobby to the doors of the pool deck. He hesitated for a moment at the doors, just watching her speak with whoever had captured her attention. As the stranger walked away, Van took a deep breath to drum up his courage and stepped outside. She had her back turned to him, and he tapped her shoulder lightly then stepped away as quickly as he could. He didn't want to be too close; it would probably scare her. He tried to look harmless and contrite as she faced him.

The resulting conversation was not what he'd wanted it to be, but was probably as good as it was going to get. When she'd asked him if he was checking out, he felt as if his throat was going to close up on him, not allowing him to answer. He did manage to speak, however, obscure as the answer was. He couldn't tell her he was dying. He wanted understanding, not pity, after all.

As he retrieved his car and headed back to the Candy Store, he attempted to mentally prepare himself to pull off the prison break. Again, he thought of Dre. There were times that he missed the guidance and wisdom of his older partner, and never more than now. Right now, he just didn't feel very steady, and the feeling was not all physical. His mind was in turmoil. Anyone's would be, he supposed, if that someone knew he was going to die in a few hours with his only hope for salvation being in the hands of criminals. But that wasn't all of it. Sadly, he realized that if Dre were beside him in this, things would be different. Truthfully, though, if this whole mess had even happened just a few weeks ago, he would not be wishing for Dre. He'd trusted Deaq, just like he'd trusted Dre. Then the Super G case, and then Deaq hanging up on him, and now that trust was shaken.

He knew Billie always thought of him as a nuisance. He was used to that. As a matter of fact, he often wondered why she kept him around. Deaq was different. Not like Dre, he never would be Dre, but different. He'd always thought Deaq had been mostly teasing when he called Van weird and said he was annoying. Van had chalked it up to male bonding type stuff. Deaq had more of the macho man thing going on than Van did, or even Dre for that matter. So he'd let the comments slide. Deaq was his friend. He'd meant it when he'd told Deaq he was one of the most interesting people he knew. He had had no idea Deaq liked soccer. Van didn't watch it, but he knew how to play it. Sort of. It had been a while. Maybe he still remembered the rules. Anyway, point was, he'd thought Deaq liked him, too. Now he wasn't so sure. He wasn't sure what to believe. He wasn't even sure what to feel anymore.

Billie had been openly nice to him and obviously concerned. Deaq was worried about him, too. Part of his troubled mind, though, whispered doubts. What if their concern was really guilt or pity? How long would they really grieve if he died? Would Billie replace him the same day he died or wait a few days for the sake of appearances? Was she already looking for a replacement now? Would Deaq like the replacement better than him? And last, but certainly not least, would they be better off without him? All those questions had no suitable answers because no matter what the answers were, they left him feeling some crippling emotion—Sad, mad, freaked out. Jesus, his head hurt.

No, he had to believe that Deaq cared. Really cared. If he didn't, then Van had been living a lie, deluding himself into the feeling of security he usually felt working alongside Deaq. Deaq was his friend. He was a good partner. He'd been there for Van many, many times. Deaq cared. Billie did, too, in that non-demonstrative, loud, "I'm the strict parent" sort of way. It wasn't pity or guilt.

He was just feeling sorry for himself. That was all, and he needed to get over it. So he would. Just get over it. All this emotional crap was just self-indulgence. It was the same kind of bullshit that drove him crazy about his mother. Whine, whine, poor me, whine. Buck up, his father would say. Be a man. How many times had he heard that? Take it like a man. That one was often heard too.

Okay, so his life sucked, but death would definitely suck more. Given time, he could fix his life. He had friends willing to fight to give him that time. Whether things were perfect or not, they were there, fighting for him and with him. That was what mattered. Right? Yet, he couldn't stop the whispers.

He pulled up to the Candy Store. It was time to get the show on the road. He couldn't be late for what just might be his last performance.

Billie's plan was a good one. She'd even managed to get a few names for them to drop in case they were questioned, which they were. It had worked pretty well until the guard came to quicker than Van would have liked and raised the alarm. They'd made it though; they'd broken into and out of prison in less than ten minutes. If he felt better, he would have celebrated both their skill and good fortune. Deaq wanted him to hang on, and he was trying, but the headache was blinding now. His chest felt tight. Jax was an asshole, but punching him in his smug, ugly face was beyond Van's capacity to accomplish at the moment.

Van thought back to the conversation he and Deaq had had on the way to the prison. Deaq had tried to keep it light, joking about Van's fascination with Hillary and saying Van had to live just to get to know her. Van didn't tell him that it would never happen. He just let Deaq go on. It had felt good really. It felt pretty normal, and Deaq was teasing him like Dre used to, almost always about women too. Part of him had wanted to say something, get out how he'd been feeling, and clear the air between them, but he never could get the words out. Now it was just too hard to talk at all. Two words, and he was exhausted.

When they switched cars, Deaq had to catch him as he got out of the van. By the time they pulled into the airplane hangar, Van's world had started to blur around the edges a bit. Getting out of the car brought waves of nausea and dizziness. He concentrated on staying upright as his surroundings took on a surreal quality like he was walking in a dream. Light shifted around him in colored waves so bright he had to blink.

There was a problem. He was aware of that much. There was another person there. A cop. He glanced at Billie and Deaq. They seemed calm considering. Maybe they would handle it. Hell, they'd have to. He certainly couldn't. He swayed slightly, then decided he'd better just focus on his feet. The next thing he was aware of was pain. Pain and falling. He was falling. Deaq was beside him. What the hell had happened? He couldn’t breathe. He told Deaq, or at least he hoped he did. He wasn't sure.

His cell phone rang, and Deaq took it and handed it to Billie. He tried to put together what was going on. Something was wrong. He tried to sit up a little, but Deaq put his hand on his chest to stop him. Not before he saw Jax though. The man was dead.

That was it then. He was dead, too.

Deaq pulled him up and supported him. They were going somewhere. The hospital, he realized. What was the use?

In the car, Deaq kept looking at him. He wouldn't let Van lie back, wouldn't let him close his eyes. Wouldn't let him die. Any time Van's eyes would close, Deaq's insistent voice made him open them again. Okay, fine. He was just delaying the inevitable, but okay. Whatever. He was too tired to fight about it.

Suddenly, there were hands on him. Too many hands and he tried to fight them off. Then Deaq was there again, urging him to relax. Relax! He wanted to laugh. He couldn't. There wasn't enough air to laugh. He was looking up at them now. The doctor, Deaq, a few strangers. Whatever.

Grant announced that he was blue, and Van had the absurd thought that he bet that wasn't a good look for him, at least not as a skin tone. He almost missed the doctor's next words. No! Deaq had to be there. Deaq had to come with him. Otherwise, he'd die alone. "Deaq!" he gasped, the effort almost enough to send him into unconsciousness, only fear keeping him awake. Damn, he wanted to breathe! Where had all the oxygen gone? Wasn't he supposed to be getting some air here? His head tingled. The world blurred even further. Tears came to his eyes; he felt them roll down his temples and into his hair. Maybe he'd see Dre pretty soon.

When had Van gotten so bad? Deaq's mind raced through the last hour. Right after the prison break, he decided. The doctor had said avoid stress and exertion. That's what Billie had told him. The prison break had been too much. The bastard who'd poisoned Van had to know that, too. He'd wanted Van to suffer. Deaq vowed to kill the SOB with his bare hands if Van died.

On the way to the hospital, he'd been so afraid to let Van go to sleep, lose consciousness, whatever. What if he never woke up? There was still hurt between them. Van just couldn't die.

When he'd looked up at Deaq from the gurney and called his name, Deaq's heart felt like it had shattered. He had treated Van so badly at times, especially lately, and Van had trusted him implicitly from the very beginning, accepted him just the way he was, and just wanted to be his friend. Hell, he'd hardly ever even fought back when Deaq had said some pretty cutting things. He'd just taken it, just like the whole "van-cation" thing.

No, there was no way he was leaving Van alone. He'd be there, damn it, whatever happened. "Don't worry, I'm staying right with you," he told his partner. One glance at the doctor let the man know that this wasn't a fight he could win.

Once inside the trauma room, they rushed to get Van on oxygen. The doctor explained that they wouldn't intubate unless Van lost consciousness and stopped breathing on his own. He gave some more orders then told Deaq there was nothing more they could do. What was left of Deaq's heart fell into his stomach. This could not be happening.

It was easier to breathe once they got the air turned on. Van listened as Grant talked to Deaq. He was amazed that he heard and understood it all. However, just as he suspected all along, it was not good news. He decided to take advantage of the fact that, for the moment, the world seemed a little clearer than before and try to talk to Deaq before it was too late.

Deaq tried to reassure him. Told him Billie was still out there. She would try, Van knew. Succeeding in time to save him, well, that was another issue altogether. He got a little playful bit of revenge, teasing Deaq about being a pain in his ass. Deaq just kept insisting that Van was going to live, and that he was his partner. Van would have smiled, if he hadn't been too tired, if it wasn't so hard to breathe. Did they turn the air off again?

The alarm was loud. Deaq panicked. "Do something!" he screamed at Grant. He got shoved out of the way as more machines and more people crowded into the room. More words than Deaq could decipher tumbled into his ears, but he knew what the metal paddles were for. He winced as Van's body convulsed from the shock to his chest.

"Again!" Grant shouted.

Once more, Deaq flinched then he prayed. The alarm stopped. The monitor beeped, then beeped again. They'd gotten him back. For however long, Deaq didn't know.

The phone rang. It was Billie. "Thank you, God." Deaq whispered as the doctor hung up with the knowledge he needed to save Deaq's best friend. Damn, that was a revelation. Van was his best friend. He'd admitted it. There. Van Ray was his best friend and his brother. He shook his head, ruefully. It was exactly like that. First, Van was the annoying kid brother, the one that followed him everywhere, and got all up in his business. But brothers grew up, and, unless they were stupid like he was with Dre, they got closer. Now, he and Van had grown, maybe not up, but grown as partners, and Van had become the one person Deaq knew he could count on in any situation, the one who told him the truth, the one who knew his faults and stood by him anyway. That was a best friend.

He stumbled back against the wall and continued to watch as Grant and his people worked on Van. He had to look away as they pushed the tube down his partner's throat, though. Man, that had to be uncomfortable. He swallowed in sympathy. Of course, Van was completely out now and didn't feel a thing, but still, it looked painful.

Finally, the room cleared out a little, and Deaq was able to get back to his partner's bedside. Van still looked awfully blue to him. He hooked the metal and plastic chair that sat against the wall with his foot and pulled it over. Once he had positioned it just right, so that he could see Van's face, he sat down. He was exhausted. Going without sleep could do that for a person. He leaned forward in the chair, placing his arms and head on the edge of Van's bed. Maybe he could get some rest that way.

Deaq was just about to drift away into sleep when the bed moved a little. Thinking Van was waking up, he sat up quickly and nearly fell out of the chair.

"Be careful," a motherly nurse warned kindly. She had moved the bed and was removing Van's shirt. "The doctor is admitting him, so we're going to get him into a gown. He'll be more comfortable, and we'll be able to work on him better that way," she explained, her voice as gentle as her handling of her patient. The shirt was off Van's arms now.

"Here, let me help." Deaq stood up and moved to the head of the bed. "Tell me what to do."

She smiled. "Just lift him up a little bit, and I'll slide the shirt out from under him. Put one hand behind his neck and slide the other to the middle of his back and lift. Try not to catch the shirt. Ready?"

"Yeah." He did as she told him. Working together, they got Van in the gown in no time at all. She smoothed a sheet and blanket over him when they were done. "Thanks," Deaq told her as he sat back down.

"You're welcome. Thank you for your help. We don't have a bed for him yet, so he'll be down here for a while longer. But he'll have this area to himself unless there's some major incident. Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Some coffee, maybe?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure, though you look like you could use some sleep. Are you sure you want coffee?"

"Yeah, I doubt it'll keep me awake anyway as tired as I am."

She nodded and disappeared. Deaq remained sitting up. It would be rude to ask for the coffee and then be asleep by the time she brought it. He glanced at his watch. Billie would probably be there any minute, too. She'd want a rundown of Van's condition. He rolled his head on his shoulders. Damn, he was going to need a week to get over this weekend.

Billie crashed through the ER doors and went straight for the exam rooms.

"Ma'am! You can't go back there!" someone yelled.

She turned the corner just as the big double doors closed behind her and ran headlong into Dr. Grant. "Van? Where's Van?"

"Whoa! What the hell happened to you? Come on, let's get you looked at." He grabbed her arm with one hand even as the other examined the gash at her hairline. "That's going to need stitches, I think."

"Van?!" she yelled at him, snatching her arm away.

"Is holding his own right now. When we get you cleaned up, you can go see him." He reached back and grabbed a roll of gauze and a sterile pad from a cart in the hall.

"No, I want to see him now. Then we can deal with this. Where is he?" she demanded even as he put the pad to her forehead and wrapped the gauze around it.

"All right. But just for a minute. He's in the trauma area in the back." She started away from him. "Wait, wait. Let me tell you what's going on. We have him intubated so don't let that scare you. At the moment, he is not breathing on his own, but that should change very soon. He coded, and we had to shock him. Now, that being said, I honestly think he's going to be fine. We'll have to watch him for the next several days to make sure there's no organ damage and that his sat levels stay up. Also, his blood pressure is probably going to stay elevated for a bit. Hopefully not dangerously elevated, but higher than normal." As he spoke he grabbed tape and secured his makeshift bandage. He was stalling her. Did he really think she didn't know that? Then again, he'd said something that she wasn't clear on.

"What's a sat level again?"

"Oxygen saturation level. A sat level tells us how much oxygen his red blood cells are carrying. Normal is in the upper 90^th percentile. The poison kept his red blood cells from carrying oxygen to the rest of his body. His sat level when he came in was less than 60 percent. On oxygen, he came up to 70 percent before he crashed. Now, on the respirator, it's slowly coming up. I want to make sure it stays up before I proclaim him completely out of the woods. It was a very near thing with him, you realize." He dabbed at the blood on her face with another sterile pad.

"Yeah. Thank you for saving him."

"That's my job. There. At least now you won't bleed on my patient. You have two minutes before I come after you."

"Gotcha." She mumbled another thank you and rushed off to see her officer. She had not given much thought about how she looked, even after the doctor's reaction, but Deaq's reaction as she entered the room told her all she needed to know.

"Holy shit, Billie. Are you okay? Damn, girl, sit down." He pulled her over to the chair he had vacated and put her in it. He knelt beside her.

"I'll live. Dr. Grant is going to fix me up in a few minutes. I just wanted to see Van first. I heard Grant's version of what happened. Give me yours."

"We almost lost him. That's what happened. I was standing right next to him, talking to him, and he was talking to me. Then, he just turned his head and stopped breathing. His heart quit, Billie. The monitors went off, and…" he trailed off and Billie put her hand on his. "I thought he was gone," he finished. "Now, well, you see. That thing is breathing for him, but his heart is going. And at least he's not blue anymore. Grant says he'll come around soon, that everything is getting better."

"Some 'van-cation,' huh?"

"Man, Billie, if I ever hear that again, it will be too soon. After this, I don't know if I'll ever let him out of my sight again."

Billie couldn't help it. She had to laugh. The irony was too much, the call too close, the emotions too raw that something had to give. She didn't want to cry, so she laughed. Deaq looked at her as if he thought she had lost her mind and perhaps she had.

Then she saw a grin tugging at his lips. "Jesus," he whispered then chuckled. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

She shook her head.

"Damn, Van. Even unconscious, he causes me trouble."

She could only laugh harder. When Grant entered the room, he gave her a puzzled look as she struggled to get her giggles under control.

"Did you bump your head, Lt. Chambers?"

That was funny, too. Now Deaq was laughing. Grant just came over and helped her out of the chair.

"Okay, time to get proper medical treatment. You're scaring me now."

She managed to straighten up and give Deaq an order. "Take care of him."

"I will," he promised, and she believed him.

Choking. He was choking. He tried to swallow whatever was in his throat, but he couldn't. Something was in his mouth. He reached for it. He had to get it out, but someone stopped him. He tried to talk. That didn't work either. He tried to breathe. It was all wrong. He had to breathe! He fought the hands that were holding him. His ears caught pieces of sound. Parts of words? A voice. It was getting clearer.

"-an, stop. Open—"

The hands were still keeping him from breathing. Frustration made his eyes burn with tears.

"Open your eyes, Van. It's okay." That was Deaq. Deaq was with him? Why wasn't he helping him? "Stop fighting."

No. Didn't Deaq understand he was choking? He needed help.

"Yeah, I need help in here. He's awake, and he's fighting the respirator."

Who was he talking to? Damn it, Deaq, help me, he thought. Van opened his eyes. Maybe if he could make eye contact with his partner, he'd understand. There he was. Van locked eyes with him, pleading silently for his help.

"Hey, hey, calm down. It's okay, V. It's the respirator. You have to stop fighting it. It's breathing for you, okay? You understand? Just relax."

Fuck, he hated that word! He snatched his hand loose from Deaq's grip and tried to pull whatever was in his mouth out, but Deaq grabbed him again. "Stop, Van. The doctor's coming. Let him do it before you hurt yourself."

The words "respirator" and "doctor" finally sunk into Van's panicked brain. That's right; he was in the hospital. There was a tube in his mouth and down his throat. Somehow though, the knowledge was not all that comforting, considering he still felt like he was choking. He tried to calm down, but, no, it wasn't working. Please, please, come get this thing out of me, he thought desperately. Instead of fighting to get away from Deaq, now he grabbed on with both hands, trying to steady his emotions on his partner's strength.

Deaq had been in that strange place between asleep and awake, once again with his head and arms resting on the edge of Van's bed, when he heard the odd choking-gasping sound. It penetrated his uneasy half-slumber and pulled him into full awareness just in time to grab Van's hands before he yanked out the tube in his throat. Van was panicked; Deaq could understand why. He tried to sooth him with calm words, but he wasn't sure he was even getting through the terror Van must have been feeling. When Van finally opened his eyes and looked at him, he knew he was getting through, but he could also tell that even though Van knew Deaq was there, he didn't understand what was going on. The moment Van's mind clicked into reality his partner stopped trying to get away and instead held on for dear life. "Good, Van, just chill. I'm here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Grant's coming."

The doctor picked that exact moment to arrive. "Okay, Van, nice to have you back. Let's get that tube out, shall we?"

Deaq smiled as Van nodded his head vigorously. His partner was back. He'd made it. Relief flooded through him, making his knees tremble. The stress that had kept him going was fading, and he felt as though he'd aged a hundred years in a moment. When Van let go of his hands, he stepped back and leaned over, putting his hands on his knees. He didn't want to watch the tube come out anyway. He tuned out the instructions that Grant gave Van and was only vaguely aware of the whole extubation process. He didn't look back up until he heard his partner's weak, scratchy voice.

"Deaq, man, you okay?"

He stood, scrubbing his face in his hands to remove some suspicious wetness there, and moved back over to the bed. "Damn, V, you nearly check out on me, and you're asking if I'm okay? Well, no, I'm not okay. You scared the shit out of me."

Grant chuckled as he checked Van's heartbeat. Deaq was not amused.

"Sorry," Van mumbled.

"Not your fault, V. Not your fault. I don't mean to sound like I'm bitching, 'cause I'm not. I'm just so damn glad you're still around, man!"

A shy smile touched Van's lips. "Really?"

"Are you fishing for compliments, dawg?" Deaq teased.

Van shook his head. "Not really, I just—" Maybe teasing wasn't such a good idea. Van seemed to deflate a little.

"Shut up and let me finish." Deaq thought for a split second and decided to just say what he felt. "Van, you're my partner. That means something in itself, but the truth is, you're more than that. I lost my brother, man, but he left me a replacement. You. We're brothers, Van. No matter what 'Brunhilda' thinks." Grant seemed to know he was intruding and slipped out quietly.

"Who?"

"Nobody important. I'll tell you about it later. What is important is that you understand something. Yeah, we get on each other's nerves. We're different people, we do things differently, so that's going to happen every once and a while, but that don't matter. 'Cause family always forgives, and you are family. So you're going to forgive me for being an ass, right?" Deaq grinned. He was quite proud of himself, working that in like he had.

Van smiled for a moment then grew serious again. "I haven't felt much like family lately."

Deaq frowned. The hurt was deep. "Look, V, I said some stupid shit, and I'm sorry. I wish I could take it back, but I can't. Tell me what I can do to make this right."

"I didn't mean to get your father hurt, you know? And I never meant to get Dre killed. I'll never forgive myself for that. I just want you to know that. I promise you, Deaq, I'll die before I let any one else in your family get hurt."

Fuck, Deaq thought. He had really fucked up. What had his mother always said? Words spoken in anger hurt forever. This wasn't just yesterday's hurt. This was also from previous words spoken in anger. Van had held on to them, hurt over them, but suffered in silence. Deaq couldn't let him hurt forever though. He had to try to fix it. "Van, I didn't mean what I said that night. I was freaked out, scared, you know? I know you never meant for that to happen. You just wanted to help me. I do know that. Man, you're not responsible for all that. The people responsible are paying for it. And I read the report on the day Dre died. You were unarmed, Van. There was nothing you could have done to save Dre. You're not responsible for his death. But I'll tell you what you are responsible for. You're responsible for bringing me back to my family. I spent yesterday with my dad on the golf course. That never would have happened if not for you. You chose to give a damn about me, and I should have thanked you. I'm sorry. Can I thank you now?"

"You don't have to."

Instead of arguing with him, Deaq reached out and pulled his partner into a hug. "Thank you, Van," he whispered. There were tears in Van's eyes when Deaq released him. His own eyes weren't feeling too dry either. Damn, he hated this emotional shit.

Van choked a little and cleared his throat, and Deaq winced in sympathy. His throat had to hurt. "Need some water?"

Van nodded.

Deaq poured some water from the pitcher the nurse had brought with his coffee earlier into a cup and gave it to Van, who sipped a little, cleared his throat and then sipped some more. He handed the cup back to Deaq. "Better?" Deaq asked.

"Yeah, thanks."

"No problem."

"Where's Billie?"

"Went home to change. Man, V, she looked rough. You should have seen her. Apparently, she and Big, Bald, and Ugly got into a slugfest. She had blood all over her. Not all of it hers. Anyway, Grant fixed her up, then insisted she change clothes before coming back to see you. I think he was worried you'd freak out if you saw her. She'll be back soon."

"So, she got what the bastard wanted, and he told her what the poison was?"

"Yeah, man."

"But he's still out there?"

"Yeah." Deaq hated telling Van that. He would have loved to tell him that the bastard was dead. Arrested would be okay, but dead would be even better. But he couldn't tell him either. "We'll get him, V."

"How? We don't even know where to start. This is not over, Deaq. There's more coming. I can feel it."

"Just more opportunities for us to nail him then. It'll be all right, dawg. I know! I saw a pack of cards earlier at the nurses' station. How about I go borrow them and I whup your ass at, well, whatever; you name the game. I'll still beat you." He wanted to get Van's mind off his dire predictions.

Van rolled his eyes at him. "Fine, go get 'em. Gin?"

"Gin? I was thinking poker."

"I'm thinking gin. By the way, how'd I get into this stupid hospital gown?"

Deaq felt his face heat up. "Um, let's just say there's not a lot left of you for me to have to imagine."

"Oh, man!"

Deaq laughed. "Hey, it's your own fault for going commando. I don't know how you do that in those pants, man. Don't that chafe? Anyway, the nurse said that you were sure to make some girl happy someday. I assured her I could make her happier."

"Oh, Jesus H. Christ!" Van sunk down into the bed and pulled the covers over his head, and Deaq laughed all the way to the nurses' station.

He'd known. He'd told Deaq it wasn't over. Now, as he pulled on his clothes, he cursed Nick "Candy Store Operative, Version 1.0" McKussick. He'd poisoned families, children, for god's sake. Van had believed that he couldn't have been any angrier if he'd tried, but he was wrong. This guy needed to die. Die badly. Part of him even cursed Billie for creating the maniac to begin with. She'd stood there like some bad actor out of some bad cop movie telling Van that she was Frankenstein to the monster who'd nearly killed him.

But he had to let that go. Being pissed off at her did none of them any good. He sat on the bed to tie his shoes. He was almost done when Grant came in. "Hey! What are you doing?"

"I thought Billie and Deaq talked to you. I gotta go."

"They did talk to me, but that doesn't mean I'm discharging you. I've got a room ready with your name on it, buddy. You're in no shape to go anywhere. I told them, and now I'm telling you. They can handle this without you."

"That's not an option we've been given, Doc. He was kinda clear on that. I can't let those people die. I feel fine."

"You feel fine because you've been resting. The effects of poison do not just magically disappear, Van. You are still recovering."

"I don't have a choice. I'll—"

"You'll what? Not get stressed? Not exert yourself? We both know that's not true. I'm not discharging you."

"Then I'm going anyway."

"I can't change your mind?" Grant was obviously frustrated.

"No. I have to do this. I'll be okay."

The doctor sighed in resignation. "If you start to feel—"

"I know. I'll come back."

"Unconscious on a gurney. That's the only way you'll come back. You and I both know it. Go. Get out there, find those people, and nail this guy."

"Thanks for everything, Doc."

"You're welcome, Officer Ray. I'm going to send someone in here with some papers for you to sign. They will state that you are leaving AMA, against medical advice. Clear?" Van nodded and Grant left the room still shaking his head.

Van sighed heavily. He didn't want to wait on any papers. The clock was ticking. They had instructions. They couldn't be late.

Deaq saw Grant coming and prepared himself for a second lecture. The good doctor had already given them hell one time for even suggesting that Van leave the hospital. What Grant didn't realize was that Deaq and Billie were not exactly thrilled about the idea either, but what could they do? Deaq stood up and met the man halfway. "Brunhilda" glanced at him as he stopped in front of the desk. He still wanted revenge, damn it. Instead, he just glared at her for a split second. She ignored him. Man, he hated her!

"He's getting dressed," Grant started talking, reminding Deaq what he had gotten up for in the first place. "He'll have to sign some papers and then he can go. Whether he should go is another matter altogether, but he can. Listen to me. He seems better. He is better than he was, but he's not well. His blood pressure is still up, though not as high as it was. His sat levels are near normal, but that could change. Exertion or stress could cause sudden spikes in his blood pressure and/or sudden drops in his sat levels. If he complains of severe headache, dizziness, shortness of breath, fatigue or even if you think he's having any of those problems, he needs to take a break. Also, look for uncharacteristic behavior. Things such as being overly aggressive or overly passive, too nervous, too happy, too calm, too sad, or if he starts having periods of absence, like he's drifted off. He could have blackouts or seizures still. Serious depression is a concern, as well. I just don't know, because we haven't had time to assess any damage that might have been caused."

"What are you saying?" Deaq asked, afraid of the answer he might get but needing to know just the same.

"I'm saying that Van's brain was deprived of oxygen. There might be temporary or even permanent effects of that. This doesn't just magically go away, folks. Just because we gave him a counteragent does not mean that he's cured. His body and possibly his brain have been damaged. That damage has to heal, if possible, on its own."

"Oh, shit." Deaq muttered, hearing much the same sentiment being expressed behind him. He hadn't even realized that Billie had returned from the ladies room until he heard her curse along with him.

"Some of those things that you mentioned are worst case scenarios, right?" Billie asked.

"Yes, that is true, but I'm telling you, it's a risk for him to leave here right now."

"We weren't given any choice." Deaq rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

"I understand what you were told. I know you don't think I do, but I do. I just don't have to like it, and I am concerned for my patient. Then again, part of me realizes that there are people out there who will soon either be my patients or guests in the morgue." Grant sighed. "Just look out for him and bring him back here if anything happens. When this is all over, I'm going to want to evaluate him. Okay?" He walked away without waiting for an answer.

"McKussick knows Van's still at risk," Billie said absently, as though she were talking to herself. "That's just like him. Gives him some control. Divides our attention. Puts us under pressure."

"What the hell kind of monster did you create here, Billie?"

She didn't answer. She didn't have to; her eyes said it all.

They kept staring at him, Deaq through the rearview mirror and Billie just blatantly turning in the seat to look at him. It was making him paranoid. It was like they were expecting him to keel over at any moment and die. Damn, he wished they'd quit. "I'm okay," Van told them.

"Okay," they said simultaneously then looked at one another.

Van rolled his eyes. "I know all about the possible brain damage thing, all right? I heard it all from the nurse. I don't feel any different than before. And don't you dare make the joke that's no doubt running through your minds right now. I mean it. I will hurt the both of you."

"What joke?" Billie sounded sincere.

He measured her tone and decided to drop it now before he actually gave them the idea of teasing him. "Nothing. Never mind."

"No, Van, what joke do you think we'd make about you almost dying and being brain damaged? Do you think us that cruel?" She glared at him.

"Well, you know, now that you mention it." Now he was mad.

"Van—" Deaq started but Van was having none of it.

"Both of you have been known to make a few disparaging remarks to me before. Why stop now? Let's see. 'You mean you weren't brain damaged before, Van?' Or, 'Well, now at least you have an excuse, Van.' If you don't like those, I'm sure you can come up with some of your own."

He waited to be yelled at, ridiculed, or both. He got neither. Billie turned back around in the seat and was silent. Somehow, that was worse. It was Deaq who finally spoke.

"Van, I know I tease you. And I know I've said some things that have gone too far—"

"You apologized before, Deaq. Look, never mind. I'm just overreacting, I guess. I should be used to it by now." He turned his head to watch the world go past the car window. He didn't want to talk anymore. He didn't want to see them watching him anymore either. Let them look. He refused to notice. If he didn't notice them, they weren't really there, right? There was just him and the blurry world beyond the glass.

He'd just been dismissed. That was what it felt like anyway. His partner had effectively ended the conversation and dismissed him. Or perhaps Van had dismissed himself. That was really it. Van had just said that the way he felt about their treatment of him was unimportant. Maybe even that he was unimportant. That sounded like depression to Deaq. He was tempted to turn the freaking car around and take Van right back to the hospital.

He glanced in the rearview mirror once again. Van was staring out the window in a way that clearly said, "Leave me alone." He looked then to Billie, only to realize that she was doing the same damn thing. It was his turn to roll his eyes. This was certainly going to be a lovely day. Uncomfortable silence held court, judging them each liable for its cause and unable to affect its cure.

When the silence was finally broken, it startled him.

"Used to it by now." The phrase seemed to echo in her head, but it was getting louder rather than fading away like any good little echo knew it should. He'd said that the other night, too. Deaq had hung up on him, and she'd made fun of him and told him to disappear as poison had spread through his body.

She'd never made her apologies. At least not when he could've heard her. He wasn't dying anymore, though. There was no need to hurry, right? She could take her time. Couldn't she?

The echo got impossibly louder, making her head hurt. "I'm sorry, Van."

Deaq's head jerked in her direction, but Van didn't respond. She tried again, louder this time. "I'm really sorry." She released her seatbelt so that she could turn to face him. It took him a few moments, but he finally met her eyes. Now to say what she was sorry for. "I'm sorry that I've made you feel like you're going to be insulted every time I say something to you. I'm sorry I ever insulted you enough in the first place to make you expect it. You're a good cop, or I wouldn't have recruited you."

"You trust and respect Deaq more though. I know that. Don't you think I notice? Contrary to popular belief, I'm not stupid."

"I know that. Van, if anything, I think sometimes that you get too emotionally involved. Even you can't deny that. You care too much. Deaq tends to be more objective. Most of the time, anyway." She gave Deaq a pointed look to remind him of the times when he hadn't been objective. He was sufficiently sheepish so she turned her attention back to Van. "As a fault, Van, caring too much is not a bad one to have. I don't worry about you doing your job. You've proved plenty of times you can do the job, and will do the job, even in horrible circumstances. You're not stupid. I do trust and respect you. I really do." She held out her hand to him. He looked at it then at her face again. Those green eyes seemed to be reading her heart and soul. When he took her hand, she knew they were at peace.

None too soon either, she thought, as Deaq turned into the rail yard. She looked at the other man and saw that he was smiling slightly. She took a deep breath. "Okay, back to business." She resumed her usual no-nonsense professionalism.

She heard Deaq snicker and pinned him with a glare. He held up one hand in surrender. Maybe they could get back to being a team now, damn it. This emotional stuff was just too hard on her nerves.

It was taking too long. Van paced as Grol was loaded into the coroner's wagon. Forensics had the area marked off and was searching for physical evidence. Billie gave them a few more instructions then came back to where he and Deaq were waiting. "Let's go. They can handle it from here."

"About time," Van mumbled. He climbed into the back seat again, accidentally kicking the briefcase Billie had stashed on the floorboard while they waited for the clean-up squad. Gas, timers—that did not bode well at all to his mind. "So what now?"

"We wait until Nick calls again."

"This is never going to be over." His head was hurting again. He rubbed his temples. When he looked up, he saw that both Deaq and Billie were looking at him again. "I'm fine," he rushed to say. "Really." They still didn't look convinced. "Are we going or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, we're going." Deaq cranked the car and pulled out.

He'd gotten his clothes dirty, damn it. Van frowned as he brushed dust from his shirt. He thought he had some clothes at the Candy Store. Deaq might think he didn't care what his clothes looked like, but that couldn't have been further from the truth. He prided himself on being different. And clean, for god's sake. He hated to get something on his clothes. He tried again to restore his shirt to its proper state, but the discoloring dirt remained. He sighed and immediately felt eyes on him yet again. He was going to kill them both if they didn't just get over it. He thought about ignoring them again. Let them worry if they wanted to. No, he couldn't do that. "I got my shirt dirty," he told them. "I hate that."

Billie blinked then looked at him as if he had grown a second head. Deaq was grinning and shaking his head.

"No offense, V, but you are strange."

"It's the brain damage," Van said, making a joke out of it. Keep it light. Maybe that was the best solution.

Deaq laughed, but Billie scowled at them both. "That is not funny. Don't say that. You're fine."

"That's right, Billie. I am. Now stop worrying." He gave her a little smile.

She sighed then returned the smile with a shrug.

Van completed the ride back to the Candy Store without feeling like a bug under a microscope.

Almost flatlining, hell, Deaq thought. He didn't say it out loud. Either Van didn't know or he was choosing to forget, but he had flatlined. Van was worried. Deaq certainly understood that. He was quite worried himself. However, one of them had to be an optimist, right? Or not. Parish's arrival with news of Hill crushed that optimism, fake though it was, right under his big size 12's. As if they didn't have one jackass to contend with—and this one was supposed to be on their side. Deaq's fertile imagination began to devise bizarre and painful accidents that could befall Roland Hill. He glanced over at his partner and could swear he saw the same ideas in Van's green eyes. At least he hoped that's what he saw and not one of those periods of absence that Grant had warned them about. Van was looking off, away from the conversation, back somewhere behind Deaq's shoulder as if there was something interesting there. He was tempted to reach out and touch him, but he didn't. He just watched for a moment longer. When Van spoke, the tension that had been building up in Deaq's shoulders released. He was there after all.

The group moved into Billie's office, still discussing Hill. Deaq did continue to surreptitiously watch his partner though. Grant's warnings were just too ominous to ignore.

When Parish was gone, Billie told them the whole story behind Nick McKussick. Deaq sat in astonishment at the sordid mess that had been the first incarnation of the Candy Store. He couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't been given an IQ test though. Did she think he and Van wouldn't do well? He wanted to take that test, damn it. Van seemed none too thrilled at the prospect, however. His partner claimed he didn't test well. Well, Deaq was just going to have to insist. Whether Van took one or not, he would be taking an IQ test sometime in the very near future. Couldn't have Billie thinking that chump McKussick was smarter than him. However, he didn't get a chance to really argue his point since the SOB in question decided to show up right on their doorstep. The next few minutes were tense, to say the least. It was hard to determine whether Van's reaction to McKussick was overly aggressive or not. Truth was, Deaq wouldn't have minded knocking the man around some himself, but Van was all over him. Overly aggressive or justifiable rage? Who knew?

Then McKussick took Van with him when he left! The very last thing Deaq wanted was for Van to be out of his sight, damn it. Even with Van's health aside, Deaq had to wonder which one of them would survive.

"…lesbo rumors are true, huh?"

What? Van resisted the urge to look at McKussick. He tried to recall what the hell the guy had been talking about. Lesbo rumors? He had to be referring to Billie. Hell, Deaq and he had been wondering about that themselves, but McKussick needed to mind his own damned business. Since he wasn't really clear on the conversation though, he decided to keep silent.

Obviously, he had lost a little time there. How much, he wondered. He looked out the window to try to gage how far they had traveled since the last thing he could remember. It was useless. All of a sudden, he couldn't recall the last landmark or road sign he'd seen. Shit. This was what Grant had warned him about. Okay, wait; he did remember something. That doughnut place that Dre had always liked, he remembered passing that. Dre had always said that they made the best French Krullers in the city. Van had preferred the apple crumb doughnuts, which Dre had teased him about. He had claimed that Van was trying to trick himself into believing he was eating healthy by getting a fruit filled doughnut. Why was he thinking about this now? Oh yeah. He sighed. Focus, Van, he scolded himself.

McKussick turned into Van's own hotel and a wave of red-hot anger swept through Van's head. It would be the first of many as he sat there with McKussick and his bimbo. Then when the bimbo was gone and Hillary arrived, Van had had enough. His head was hurting as the son of a bitch had threatened Van's latest romantic failure. If that wasn't bad enough, he had to listen as Hillary compared him, quite disparagingly, to the bastard who had tried to kill him, was killing families still, in his quest for both revenge against Billie and stolen wealth. Reason deserted him and before it returned, he had thrown McKussick through the decorative glass behind their table to the floor below. Fuck it, the bastard deserved it, and Hillary was a lost cause anyway. Still, he attempted to provide an apology before confronting McKussick again. Damn, that little moment of payback had felt good. He was amazed that the man didn't try to retaliate, even after they left the hotel. He never touched Van though, or even said a word to him as they drove back to the Candy Store. He was pissed. Van could see that, but he did nothing about it. Maybe he'd managed to shock the bastard a little bit. Good. But he wasn't finished yet, Van promised himself. He'd make McKussick pay for making him feel like a victim.

He had to bide his time, though. First, they had to rob a bank vault. Damn it, that pissed Van off, too. Not only was he a victim, he was made into a criminal. A real criminal, not just a make-believe one. No, not this time. This jackass had accomplished in one day what his family and friends had not in twenty-eight years of life.

His phone rang then, breaking him out of his fantasies where he found more and more ingenious and thankfully painful ways to bring about McKussick's demise. He answered it.

"Don't say anything," Deaq's voice warned him. "Just listen a minute. Parish talked Hill into actually helping us try to find those families, but in the meantime, we have to play this through. Where are you?"

"On the way back to you."

"Good. Billie's getting this thing set up. We have to get ready."

"Okay." Van hung up the cell.

"Well?"

"Billie's setting up your plan. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

Van turned away to stare out the window.

They arrived back at the Candy Store, and Van went on autopilot. The next few hours passed with Van in a dream within a dream. His body was in one dream, the bad one where he was participating in a robbery, while his mind was in another dream, a good one in his opinion, where he held McKussick's life in his hands then crushed it. When those two dreams merged into one, he was a little surprised. It was too quick, damn it. Too fast. It couldn't possibly have hurt as long as the man had deserved. He looked at Deaq for the first time since the radio argument to see a look of surprise on his face, too. But his look was directed at Van. Oh shit, it hadn't been a dream at all. He'd just killed the bastard. He didn't have time to deal with that just then though. The diamonds were scattered all over the parking lot behind them. He shook off the rest of his dream state and got out. People were gathering. This was going to be a problem.

Deaq was shocked at first that McKussick was firing at them instead of trying to move his damn car out of the way, or at the very least getting out of the car. It was a good idea though. Wreck McKussick's car and the truck, and leave him with no escape route. Cool. But McKussick didn't move. Then he realized that Van wasn't going to stop. McKussick did finally try to move only to have Billie cut him off. He still didn't get out of the damn car! Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he should have seen it. Van was too passive, too calm, too agreeable, then the snap on the way over, and over Neil Diamond no less. Very unreasonable, definitely irrational. Then, depressed over a girl in the next heartbeat. Yes, Van had been all of those things that Grant had warned them about since they had left the hospital, and Deaq had been too wrapped up in trying to help Billie outmaneuver her own creation to really pay the attention he had promised to pay to Van.

The crash was loud and jarring, but not as jarring as the fact that McKussick had to be dead and that his partner had just killed him. At the very least, it would be considered excessive force. At worst, it could be called murder. Well, Hill would undoubtedly just add it to the charges they would surely already be facing. Time for a little damage control.

Or not. Screw it. They couldn't possibly be in more trouble anyway. Van seemed to think the idea of one handful of diamonds per person was not only funny, but genius as well. Then again, Van was not in his right mind. Maybe he shouldn't judge his success by Van at the moment. But Billie didn't object either. When he thought about that later, he would have to say it was shock that made her so amenable to his spur of the moment so-called solution to their problem. At the time though, his only thought was how to avoid a riot. Then the people went away relatively easily, and they were left to try to gather up what was left, if that was even possible, and wait for a real clean up team to get there. If he hadn't been so worried about Van, he might have been tempted to pocket a few of those diamonds himself, but as he swept the glittering rocks along with his feet into a pile, he kept one eye on his partner. That was why he was able to react so fast when he saw Van stumble. He was there before Van hit the ground.

"Billie!" But she was already on the phone asking for an ambulance.

Grant was scowling as the paramedics rolled Van in through the ER doors. "Unconscious on a gurney, just like I said." Deaq opened his mouth, but Grant flung up one hand. "I don't want to hear it. Let's get him on oxygen," he said turning his attention to his staff as they surrounded Van, pushing Deaq back. They weren't going to get rid of him that easily though. He followed them right into the exam room; ironically the same one Van had been in before. And Billie was right behind him.

Several minutes of flurried activity later, Grant turned to them. "His sat level is down to 82 and his blood pressure is up to 160/110. Don't tell me that there were no signs."

Deaq looked down at his feet. "There were signs. We just missed them for awhile, then we were kind of stuck." Thank god, the clean up team had arrived before the ambulance so they could come in with Van.

"Well, he's here now, and don't think he's getting out of here this time until I say so." The doctor was about to walk away when Billie grabbed his arm.

"What about the other family?"

"They're responding well. We got to them in time. Unlike your friend here, they don't seem to feel the need to run off prematurely either. They'll be fine. As for Van, he'll be in ICU until we can get his sat level back up into the 90's, then we'll run some tests and go from there. Excuse me." He was back at Van's bedside before Deaq could say thanks. They were hustled out of the room by a nurse that Deaq belatedly recognized as Brunhilda. Damn that woman.

Robert Parish sat at his desk, staring out the window. What a mess. Okay, they had broken the law. Several times. However, Bob didn't see what other actions they could have taken under the circumstances. The only possible exception was the death of McKussick. Van Ray might end up being charged with murder over it. Not fair, his mind argued. Ray was not well, thanks to McKussick. He was under stress and medically and emotionally unsound. And the good Lord knew that Bob couldn't bring himself to feel anything but relief at Nick McKussick's death.

To top everything, Hill was actually trying to get himself appointed as the new head of the Candy Store. Bob was not naïve enough, or stupid enough for that matter, to delude himself into believing that Hill would not be the death of the unit. The man just did not understand how such a unit was supposed to operate. Neither did he care. He had had it in for Billie and the Candy Store from the very beginning. Bob suspected that it was jealousy and chauvinism, but what could he do?

The words "civilian oversight committee" had been tossed around. Talk about driving the nails into the coffin. How long would it take for the news of the unit to hit the streets after that? How long before the enemy knew everything?

No, he couldn't let that happen. As nerve wracking as Ray and Hayes could be at times, the unit did work. It was important. He picked up the phone. He had to stop this disaster before the damage was irreparable.

Every day Van had asked about McKussick's accomplice, Gabriella. Had they found her? Any leads? Every day, Deaq had to tell him no. His pHartner was getting out of the hospital today. Deaq was surprised not to hear the question right away when he arrived to pick Van up. For four days, it had been the first thing out of Van's mouth. Now, Deaq supposed he was just glad to be getting out from under Grant's ever-observant eyes.

Deaq pulled into Van's hotel. Van was checking out. Well, Deaq was going to have a surprise for him when he did. Van had been moping about Hillary long enough. Deaq had arranged to have the girl meet him in the restaurant while Van put his luggage in the car. He had to imagine Van's face when she greeted him by his real name. He waited until Van's protest to reveal himself. True to form, Van babbled something about Batman and Kim Basinger. Yep, he was back to normal. Deaq reveled in that and his own ingenious match-making.

It had to be a quick match though, because they were expected at the Candy Store. He watched as Van said a few shy words to her, even telling her that he might not be a cop for much longer. Deaq had been thinking the same thing, but he damn sure wasn't going to say it aloud. That would make it too real. It was going to be real soon enough as it was. They both knew that the other shoe was about to drop. It was time to face the music. It had been too damn quiet while Van was recovering. Billie had been hedging the subject, too. Deaq's imagination had run the gamut of possibilities, from both of them being reassigned to being arrested. All the way to the Candy Store, he was reviewing the scenarios. As they entered the building, Van finally asked the question he had been expecting some time ago, and Deaq was so preoccupied that he had to take a second to answer. No, still nothing from Gabriella.

Damn, Hill and Parish were there. Neither man's presence could be good from Deaq's point of view. Moments later, he was proven right. He figured things could not get much worse. Until the phone rang.

Luckily, Nick had been the brains of the operation, Billie thought. Gabriella had injected the heroin into her muscle. In the vein would have only given Billie seconds before she felt the effects. But into the muscle gave her several minutes. She faked an immediate response and watched as Gabriella bought the act. Now, she only had to wait until Gabby got careless. She would get out of this. She knew Hill would stand in the way of her guys, but it wouldn't matter. Billie could free herself. Gabby was no mental giant. A few minutes were all she would need. Unless Gabriella overdosed her before she could find her opportunity.

"Please tell me this changes things." Van looked to Parish.

"We need those diamonds!" Deaq insisted.

"Don't you mean what's left of them after your little stunt?" Hill asked.

"Whatever!" Van screamed. "Captain Parish, don't let this jackass get Billie killed."

"Gee, why would I do that? Then I'd have to forgo seeing her brought up on charges along with the two of you. I think I'd like to rescue Ms. Chambers. The alternative would be no fun for me at all." Hill was smirking and Van wanted to knock that damn smug smile right off his face. He didn't get the chance though.

"That's Lieutenant Chambers to you, Hill." Parish spoke up.

"Of course. At least for the time being, right?"

The phone rang again, forestalling Van's tirade. Parish answered it. "Let me put you on speaker, Julianna," he said after a few moments. "Okay, we're all here but Lt. Chambers. She's been abducted by our missing perp."

"Oh dear, I'll let the commissioner know that. Hello, I'm Julianna Longtree from the Commissioner's Office. First of all, the commissioner sends his regards. Let's just get it out up front that he is not exactly pleased with what's been going on, but he does understand that much of it was unavoidable. Given that, here's his decision. There will be no civilian oversight committee. Such a thing would undermine the usefulness and efficiency of this unit. A unit that he thinks is beneficial, by the way. Secondly, Mr. Hill, you are report back to IA immediately. Your appointment there has been rethought. Officer Ray and Detective Hayes?"

"Yeah." Van held his breath. This was undoubtedly it.

"Both of you are to report to IA for a hearing in the death of Nicholas McKussick this afternoon at 3:00. Clear?"

"Yes, m'am."

"It's not as bad as it sounds, gentlemen. I've been in touch with Dr. Grant, at Captain Parish's request. Your doctor is going to be testifying in your behalf. According to him, you were medically compromised in such a way as to preclude you from being responsible for your actions. Do you understand?"

"Yes, m'am." It was not what he was expecting. The knot in his stomach began to unravel. He looked at Deaq to find his partner smiling at him. He gave a shaky half-smile in return.

"Good. Now, from this day forward, this unit is under the Commissioner's direct supervision. As you answer to your lieutenant, and your lieutenant answers to Captain Parish, Captain Parish will answer to the Commissioner. In addition, any questions about the operation of this unit will come through his office. This means, Mr. Hill, that if you happen to be allowed to continue in your assignment, you have absolutely no reason to contact the unit. You will come to this office and only this office. Is that clear?"

"Now wait just one damn minute here!" Hill was turning an alarming shade of red, and Van couldn't control the smile on his face. Glancing back at Deaq confirmed that his partner was loving this just as much as he was.

"Hill, do not make me repeat myself. Commissioner Douglas hates it when I tell him I've had to repeat myself. Hit the road. Your boss is waiting for you. He has things to discuss with you. Goodbye."

Hill did leave, cursing under his breath all the way out the door.

"Thanks, Julianna," Parish said quietly when the door slammed after Hill.

"You're welcome, Bob. Least I could do for my dad's partner. Oh, I'm to tell you that any time you're ready, there's still a place for you. Just do me a favor, okay? Don't screw this up. Right now, Frank is trusting our judgment, but one more problem, and I'm not sure that he won't really shut you down."

"Thank you, and thank your dad for me." Parish told her.

"Sure thing. Anyway, Frank has instructed IA to drop it, all of it. He's already been there this morning to explain to them, since they didn't seem to comprehend, just how a unit like this one works. I think you'll find Hill to be much less of a problem now. Then again, of course you will. Apparently, now he's my problem. One I can handle quite well, I assure you. Well, this was my good deed for the day. So go get your lieutenant, gentlemen. Anything you need, just call. Good luck."

"Does that anything apply to getting the diamonds back for Billie's ransom!?" Deaq blurted before the woman could hang up.

"Consider it done. Bye, Uncle Bob." She hung up.

"So, you have friends in high places, huh?" Deaq asked.

"Yeah."

"You had us worried, you know?"

"I didn't know if she was going to be able to pull any of it off. They could have decided not to listen."

"Who are they?"

"They are Assistant Director of the Governor's Council for Crime Prevention and my former partner, Charles Longtree and Police Commissioner Frank Douglas. Now until we get Billie back, you'll have to put up with me. And like the lady said, do not screw this up. This just may be our last chance." Parish got up and came around the desk. "Keep me posted. Let me know as soon as the woman calls back."

"Yes, sir," Van said quickly.

Parish nodded and left.

"Well, how about that?" Deaq grinned. "I was sure we were toast."

"You! What about me? I was trying to prepare myself for prison, man."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. Look, V, I'm sorry I didn't see that you were having problems."

"Deaq, we went through all that in the hospital. It's okay. Right now, we gotta get Billie back, man."

"You know it, partner. There are still a few things to settle first, though. You have no place to live, my brother."

"I thought maybe I could stay with you. You know, just until we find Billie, or actually, I was thinking, Deaq. I don't think I want another hotel room. I want a real place to live."

"Cool. Billie can set you up with a confiscated house. 'Bout time, really."

"No, Deaq. I want my own place."

"What? My place is my place. I know the PD technically owns it, but it's my place. It's got my stuff in it; I live there. Get my groove on there. Mine."

Van shook his head. "And next week the PD may decide to sell it at auction, and you'd be moving."

"Now, that ain't nice to remind me."

"But that's what I'm talking about. Budget cuts coulda put me out of that hotel, and a need for cash could put you out of that house. Then where would we be? I'm gonna have somewhere to go, man. I've got to."

"I feel you, Van. Okay, one week. One week, then you have to be elsewhere. And there will be rules, player."

"Of course, there would be."

"Rule number one, no Neil Diamond will be played in my house."

"Man, what is your problem with Neil?"

"V, normal people do not listen to Neil Diamond, which naturally explains why you listen to him. Rule number two, you can only talk to me for a total of one hour from the time we get home until we go to bed. As a matter of fact, that may be too much."

"Deaq!"

"And not all at once. You know, five minutes here and there. Twenty minutes at dinner, that kind of thing. Otherwise, I need my peace and quiet."

Van rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples. Maybe this was a bad idea. Parish could get him another hotel approved. Deaq was still talking, but Van tuned him out. Instead, he focused his eyes on the telephone on Billie's desk. Gabriella was taking her time calling back, and Van's brain began to imagine what she was doing to Billie in the interim. He sighed.

"Do I need to write these down? Van, are you even paying attention to me?"

"Yeah, sure. I wish the phone would ring."

"You are not paying attention." Deaq frowned and leaned back in his chair. "I understand why though. I wish the damn phone would ring, too, V."

But it didn't ring. They spent the time until their appointment with IA trying to track down information on Gabriella. The last name she had given the bank when she applied for the job was a bust. Her references were non-existent. They ran her picture through the national database of wanted criminals and online mugshot books. In the end, they still had nothing. Maybe McKussick had introduced his lady to a life of crime. Either that, or she was so good she had never gotten caught. That last option was not an attractive one.

The clock ticked away until finally they had to leave for the dreaded IA interview. Despite everything Julianna Longtree had said, Van just could not believe that he was going to come out of the whole mess with his badge.

He told them about the heist. He told them about the argument over the radio on the way to the meet and even the Hillary discussion. Then he told them about the dream, that wonderful dream about killing McKussick that wasn't a dream after all.

They sat on the other side of the table and asked questions. But the questions were not what he'd expected. Instead of, "Do you really expect us to believe you?", he got "When did you realize that you had hit McKussick with the truck?" This was IA. They were supposed to be skeptical, hard-nosed and hostile. The panel he faced now was supportive, even nice. Of course, Dr. Grant and Deaq had already testified. Van supposed they had been very convincing from the way his interrogation was going.

"Thank you, Officer Ray. You can return to duty," the female captain told him.

"What? That's it?"

"That's it. We're clearing you, with the provision that you agree to see the department psychologist. We'll file the ruling tomorrow."

"But, usually…And Hill probably—I mean—"

She held up one hand to interrupt him. She turned off the recorder in the middle of the table then smiled at him. "Officer Ray, don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Between your doctor's testimony, your partner's testimony, and some friends in apparently high places, this interview was just a formality. You were going to walk on this one, one way or another. Of course, it doesn't hurt that we believe you should. Back to work, Officer Ray. I hope we don't see each other again."

"Thank you, Captain." He made good his escape without another word. He knew Parish had gone to bat for them, but this was too easy. Too easy for his own conscience, as a matter of fact. After all, he had killed the man. Mitigating circumstances aside, his actions had resulted in a man’s death. He was supposed to be a cop. He was supposed to arrest the bad guys, not run them over with really big trucks. God, why did he feel so guilty all of a sudden? It wasn’t so bad before. As in, before IA let him off the hook without so much as a reprimand. They were supposed to punish him, right? Then he could get on with his life sans guilt. He would have served his penance. That was the way it was supposed to go. Any good Catholic boy knew that. "Oh, for Christ's sake, you aren’t any good Catholic boy," he muttered to himself as he watched the floor tiles move under his feet.

"What?"

Van looked up just inches from his partner’s face. He nearly jumped back. "Nothing. It’s over. They were nice. 'Go back to work, Officer Ray.' That's what she said. Just like that."

"Then why the lost puppy look, my brother? Let’s get back to work. We gotta find Billie and finish this."

"Yeah, we gotta finish this." He nodded and pasted an unsure half-smile on his face for Deaq’s benefit. While silently berating himself to get his head in the game, he followed Deaq out of the building.

They spent a sleepless night pacing the floor of the Candy Store. They half-heartedly tossed the basketball in the general direction of the goal for a while; then Van tinkered with a few of the cars while Deaq tried the computer for information on Gabriella once again. It was useless. The woman was an unknown. Deaq rubbed his tired eyes and tried to determine what was wrong with his world at the moment. Well, other than Billie being abducted. Something wasn’t right. His eyes sought out his partner. He’d been over by the Ferrari a few minutes before, but he wasn’t there now. Deaq stood up and moved around Billie’s desk and out of the office. Where the hell was Van? And why wasn’t he talking? Van was always talking. That was what was wrong. It was too damn quiet. He didn’t want Van to be quiet. A quiet Van nearly died on him just days ago. "Van!" he yelled.

"What?" came a reply from above his head. He was on the balcony.

Deaq took the stairs two at a time then took the seat next to Van who was contemplating his shoes apparently.

"We'll get her back, V. Everything will be fine."

Only a nod.

"Okay, forget rule number two."

"What was rule number two?"

"That talking thing. Talk to me, Van."

"I'm okay. What was rule number one again?"

"The Neil thing."

"Oh yeah."

Okay, he'd been fine before the IA thing. As fine as anyone would be before going up in front of an IA inquiry. Mad about Billie, yes. A little psyched about Hillary and a little pissed that Deaq blew his cover, but he hadn't been like this. What could it be? He was still trying to figure it out when Van broke the silence.

"I killed him, Deaq. I just killed him. Why did I do that? I'm a cop. I'm not supposed to do—I mean, if they are shooting at me, I can shoot back, but I ran him down with a truck, Deaq."

"Van, he was shooting at us," Deaq reasoned.

His partner rolled his eyes. "A truck, Deaq. I ran over the man with a big truck." Van held out his arms to indicate just how big the truck was. "His gun against a truck? Gee, wonder what was going to win that one."

"Van, he could have moved. He had the chance. Instead, he decided to stay there and shoot at us."

"That's supposed to make it okay? A truck was excessive force, at the very least. I killed that guy."

"Yes, you killed that guy. You killed the bastard who tried to kill you, who was willing to kill lots of people, tried to kill them. All for money. He was shooting at us. I chose to shoot back. Your weapon just happened to be a truck. In my opinion, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. And Van, you weren't exactly—"

"Yeah, yeah." He tapped his head. "Brain damaged."

"Hey! Don't talk about my partner that way." Deaq bumped Van's shoulder. "You should try to get some sleep."

"I'm not the only one," Van reminded him.

"Yeah, you're right. Kinda hard though."

"I know."

Neither of them slept.

The call came at 6AM. Deaq nearly fell flat on his face trying to get to the phone. He got it before the second ring ended. "Hayes."

Van waited anxiously as Deaq scribbled down the instructions for the swap. He hung up the phone and met Van's eyes. Van sighed. So, first they'd made a deal with the Devil and now they had made one with the Devil's bitch.

"Are you familiar with this area?" Deaq handed him the paper.

"Yeah, it's near Venice. I used to live near there. It's not the best area, mostly abandoned buildings and homeless people."

"Why am I not surprised that you used to live there?"

"I said near there. Not there, Deaq. I was right off the beach, man. It was great. I'd like to be there again actually."

"Whatever. We need to get on the road."

That was when it hit him. Van turned and looked at the truck that had been dropped off while they were at IA the day before. Somehow, he'd managed to ignore it until now. There it was, right in the middle of the Candy Store, but he'd been able to pretend it wasn't there. Oh, it wasn't the same truck. No, he'd broken the axle on that truck when he drove over McKussick, McKussick's car, and the concrete wall. It was a very similar truck though. He couldn't drive it. There was no way he could get into the driver's seat of that thing. His heart pounded, and he felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs.

"Think I'll drive this time," Deaq remarked lightly.

He could breathe again. "That's cool," he replied, just as lightly, he hoped. The look Deaq gave him, though, let him know that he had failed. In fact, Deaq knew exactly what had been running through his head. "Deaq—"

"Let's go, partner." Deaq opened the driver's door and climbed in.

It was Deaq's way of saying he understood. Van smiled. He went around to the passenger's side and got it. They didn't listen to the radio.

Gabby snatched her head up by her hair, and Billie glared at her through half-closed, unfocused eyes.

"Got your fix for you. Your last one. At least from me anyway. I'm sure you'll be getting your own pretty soon, huh? Your boys are on the way with my diamonds though, so you and I are about to part company. I'll be sorry to see you go. I've had a blast. How about you?"

Billie didn't reply as the woman untied her wrists from the chair. She left them tied together behind her back, but at least she could stand up.

"In the meantime, we have to get ready." The needle was jammed into Billie's leg once again. Gabby looked into her face for a moment then let her hair go. Billie let her head drop again and waited.

Gabby was untying the ropes on her ankles. "You're gonna be a good girl, aren't you, Lieutenant? We're going to move out into the main part of the warehouse now. I have a little ambush set up out there and I want you to see it all. You see, your Van killed my Nick, so now I'm going to kill him. Eye for an eye. I think that's fair, don't you?"

Her legs were free. Gabby never saw it coming. Billie's kick caught her under the chin and the woman fell back choking. Billie moved swiftly to deliver two more kicks to the head and one to the ribs. She wasn't quite unconscious, but Billie didn't have any more time. Soon, the full effect of the heroin would kick in, giving even an injured Gabby a distinct advantage. Billie ran.

She could hear Gabby screaming behind her. If she got to her gun, she'd shoot Billie in the back. There was no doubt in Billie's mind of that. Still, she ran. She made it out of the building and kept on running. She tripped at the sidewalk and struggled back to her feet. It wasn't easy, given that her hands were still tied behind her. Plus, all the activity seemed to be speeding the heroin through her system. Gabby was still behind her, but now there would be witnesses if she shot Billie down. If the various junkies and homeless people who now watched her flight could be counted on to testify, there would be witnesses. One small worry in Gabby's mind could keep her alive.

There was just one problem. Billie had no idea where she was going, and while eyes watched the chase, none of them seemed to be inclined to stop it or attempt to find a policeman. Well, that was two problems, wasn't it? She was tired. She just wanted to sit down. Maybe she could call a time-out. She almost giggled out loud at the thought of the look on Gabby's face if she were to give her the T sign. She fell against a chain link fence but managed to stay on her feet and keep going. Screeching tires scared the hell out of her though, and she flung herself on the fence and held on. Gunshots. Was that gunshots? She instinctively dropped to the ground.

"Holy shit. Deaq! It's Billie."

Deaq was in a zone, driving and planning, when Van's voice derailed his train of thought. Sure enough, there was Billie. He might have mistaken her for someone else, though, had Gabriella not been following her. Billie had obviously been through hell. Deaq slammed on the brakes, fishtailing the truck about halfway between Billie and her abductor. Van was out of the truck before Deaq had gotten out of his seatbelt. He heard Van's warning. Shots were fired, and Deaq swore as he finally rounded the front of the truck. Van was still standing; Gabriella was not. But she was not giving up either. Van had clipped her shoulder.

"Don't do it!" Van warned her again.

"Drop it, lady! Don't make me shoot you." Deaq added his own warning as he moved slowly toward Billie, but with his gun trained on McKussick's crazy girlfriend.

"You killed Nick!" she screamed. "He was everything to me!"

Deaq took a quick look at Van. Would Van's unresolved guilt make him hesitate? "Van, get Billie. I'll get her." Deaq changed directions even before he'd finished his sentence. "Drop the gun!" he called out again.

She seemed to be ignoring Deaq though. Her eyes remained on Van as he knelt beside Billie. The gun lowered after a long moment, however, and Deaq thought it was over. He took another step toward her. "Now put it down and kick it toward me."

But that was not what she did. The gun snapped back up, her intended target clear.

"Van!" Deaq shouted a warning as he pulled the trigger of his Desert Eagle. She went down, the hole in her chest insuring she wouldn't get up again. But she had gotten her shot off, he realized, and he spun around, praying both his partner and boss were still alive. They were flat on the ground.

"Billie?! Billie? Are you okay?" Van was gingerly trying to get Billie off of him. Obviously, she had shoved him down and covered him. Deaq rushed over.

"I wasn't hit," she mumbled. Her voice was slurred, though. Deaq helped her up into a sitting position, allowing Van to sit up as well. "But we have a problem, guys."

Van got it first. He closed his eyes tight and swore. Then Deaq clued in.

"Damn it."

Billie was in the hospital a few days before she was transferred to rehab. She was doing really well. As long as she finished her rehab and tested clean every few months for the next year, she'd keep her job. Van had no doubts that she'd be back.

Hill was back, too. He was not quite the asshole he had been. In fact he was much more agreeable—when they saw him at all, that was. However, Van wasn't holding out much hope that he wouldn't revert back to an asshole as soon as the Commissioner wasn't looking. At the moment, however, his only comment was that at least they didn't lose any more of the diamonds.

Living with Deaq had turned out to be an adventure. A short, and not to be repeated ever, adventure, but an adventure. Van had tuned out on the rules. Besides, it was a stupid signal. A flower on the porch? Why would Van even notice that some flower was on the porch that hadn't been there before? What the hell did a daylily even look like? So it wasn't really his fault that he'd gotten that quick flash of Deaq's goods, so to speak. Deaq had apparently seen his in the hospital, so Van figured they were now even. Hearing Deaq's little pet name had been a bonus. Deaqie. Van laughed to himself.

One week ended, though, and Van didn't have a place to live yet. "Yet" being the operative term. So he'd moved into another hotel until the closing. Well, probably a little longer than that, he admitted, as he surveyed his pending purchase. Ironically, he'd spotted it on the way to get Billie back from Gabriella. It needed some work, most of it cosmetic, except for the new windows and the new front door. He had to have those before he could move in. Removing the graffiti from the little stucco cottage would take a few coats of paint. The floors needed to be refinished. He'd always liked hardwood floors over carpet. Less static electricity, after all. The kitchen needed to be updated, and the laundry room plumbing was broken. Otherwise, it was perfect. Just two blocks off the beach, right in the middle of Venice. He was home again.

A car door signaled Deaq's arrival and Van stepped out of—well, where the front door would be once it was installed.

"You have got to be kidding me." Deaq shook his head. "This is what you're going to live in?"

"Yeah. It just needs a little work."

"V, I know we don't make a shitload of money, but can't you afford something with a door and some windows at least?"

"I can afford to put a door and windows in this place. I like it."

"It's a shack." He moved to one of the broken windows and looked inside. "'Shuggy B was here,'" he read from the living room wall.

"But he's not here now. And won't be again. Come on, Deaq. It's got character! It's got a story!"

"I hope it's not a long story."

Van smiled. "It is, so I'll spare you. Just—people were happy here once. I'll be happy here. It suits me. As far as the job, I'll stay in the hotels and fancy houses when I need to keep up appearances, but this will be home. I need a home, man."

"I feel you, Van. I do. But here?"

"It'll clean up nice. You'll see."

"Okay, okay. Change of subject. How's Hillary?" Deaq asked in that smug way of his.

"Fine."

"Oh no, no one word answers, Van! Spill."

"Things are going okay, I think. At least as well as you and Rosalind, Deaqie."

"I will kill you, Van."

"Nah, you won't. You don't want to break in a new partner," Van replied. It was an offhand remark, said in jest, but Deaq suddenly looked away. When he looked back, Van knew the conversation had just turned serious. He wasn't sure he was happy about that.

"Van, I—"

"Deaq, what about rule number two?"

"Screw rule number two. Why is that one the only one you remember, Van? You forget them all but the one I should never have made. I'm sorry about rule number two, okay?"

"O-kay."

"Besides, I was just going to say that I was glad you're still around."

"Thanks. Glad to still be around."

"And…"

"And what? Can I invoke rule number two?"

"No. And McKussick, well, he deserved what he got. He brought it on himself."

"Look, I'm dealing with that with the department shrink. Could we not discuss this?"

"Okay."

An awkward silence followed.

"You better get a burglar alarm for this place." A pointed change of subject if Van had ever heard one.

"Yeah."

"Let's go see Billie, partner."

"Sure."

Then he was suddenly wrapped up in a hug. Just as suddenly, it was over. He couldn't help the little snicker that escaped.

"Shut up and get in the car." Deaq strode away from him. Sentimentality time was over. Deaq was back in his usual form.

Too late though. He knew Deaq cared now. He knew Billie cared. Plus, he had a potential relationship with a woman who was not a criminal. Maybe he wasn't quite as alone as he had thought. And he had a home. He was getting that life that Deaq, and even McKussick, damn his soul, said he needed. Cool.

The End.