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