Chris Larabee looked out the window at the pouring skies, clutching the ledge in a white-knuckle grip. After sitting beside Ezra's hospital bed the entire night, he felt drained and exhausted. He knew he should go home and try to get some sleep, but couldn't make himself leave. Not yet. Not until the other man opened his eyes.

He was only vaguely aware of the usual buzz coming from the hospital corridor, his mind lost in the events of the day before. He and Ezra had both been undercover, a first contact with a gun dealer. Things had been going smoothly until the dealer's brother had shown up at the meet. Chris had arrested the man years earlier, while still with the Denver PD, and the brother had recognized him immediately.

He had been helpless to prevent what happened next. The man had reached for his gun and taken aim at him. Chris had looked at the barrel of the gun, knowing he was going to die, that he wouldn't have time to draw before the other man fired. He watched the finger squeeze the trigger and then suddenly something had hit him in the chest, knocking him backwards. By the time he had recovered from the impact and extricated himself from beneath the weight pinning him down, the man had been ready to take another shot. Instinct had taken over, and Chris had brought his own gun up and fired with deadly accuracy.

The others had arrived at that moment, avoiding a bloodbath, but Chris was hardly aware of what was happening around him. All he could see was Nathan trying to prevent Ezra from bleeding to death from the bullet meant for him. Ezra had saved his life, had taken the bullet meant to end his life.

Shuddering, he remembered the trip to the hospital, the five long hours waiting for Ezra to come out of surgery. Finally, the doctor had arrived with the news that Ezra had come through the operation -- and although it had been touch and go -- would make a full recovery. The bullet had hit him in the left side of the chest, close to the heart, but thankfully had missed any vital organs. If all went well, he would go home within a week's time, providing someone would be there to care for him.

The others had remained throughout the night, leaving in the morning to change and get some rest. They should be returning soon. Chris had stayed behind, watching every rise and fall of the other man's chest, every breath, needing the assurance Ezra was alive.

He looked back at the pale man on the bed, anger overriding any trace of relief. Why had Ezra jumped in front of him that way? He must have known he could die. And yet, he hadn't hesitated to give his life for Chris'. Why?

"Somethin' on your mind, Cowboy?" a voice asked softly from behind him.

Chris resisted the urge to sigh; he hadn't heard Vin walk in the room. He should've known the other man would know something was wrong the moment he took a look at him.

"I don't understand him," he confessed, just as softly.

There was a long silence, then Vin asked, "What do ya feel for Ezra?"

Chris frowned. "I don't follow."

"What comes ta mind when ya think of him?" Vin explained. "Do ya think of him as your agent, someone who works for ya? Or is there somethin' more?"

Chris looked thoughtfully at the man on the bed. "All of the above, I guess. But... he's also my friend."

"Just friend?" Vin prompted.

"Still don't get what you driving at."

Vin grinned. "Wouldn't ya have done the same thin' for him yesterday if you were in his shoes?"

"Yeah, but that's because I --" He froze then, finally realizing where the conversation was leading.

Vin smirked at him. "'Cause ya love him? If ya love someone, you'll do what ya have to to keep them safe."

Chris frowned at the cryptic meaning in Vin's words. "So, you're saying Ezra loves me too?"

"I think so. He's been sending ya a message for a long time now, Cowboy. Ezra doesn't trust easily, yet he does trust ya. You've given him a second chance and ya don't beat 'round the bush with him. Ya say what ya have to say, good or bad. I'd say you've given each other enough cause for trust. And for someone like Ezra, that's the basis for love. 'Sides, there are other signs."

"What signs?"

"Well, for one he's still here, still with the team. If he didn't trust us or feel comfortable enough 'round us, he wouldn't make the effort. He would've just taken off. Then there's the way ya two fight. In the beginning it was egos clashing, no doubt about it, but it changed. He picks fights with ya now because he can see that you thrive on it. It's a challenge and you both love it. He lights your fire, no two ways about it."

"You think you're really smart, don't you?" Chris grumbled half-spitefully, because everything the other man was saying had hit home.

Vin smirked again. "Yep."

Chris rubbed tired, bloodshot eyes. "This isn't going to be easy. He's stubborn, headstrong, independent...."

Vin chuckled lightly. "Pot and kettle, Larabee, pot and kettle. Ya just remember nothin' worthwhile is ever easy and ya'll be okay. Now, I think I'll go wait for the others outside, give ya some time ta think."

After Vin left, Chris walked over to the bed, his eyes focusing on Ezra's pale features. He smiled as he realized there was a change in the younger man's breathing; Ezra was waking up. He waited patiently, a hand brushing away a few strands of unruly hair from the waking man's forehead.

"Chris?" A mere breath. "Tired..."

He leaned forward and let his lips rest lightly against Ezra's, the softest of kisses. "Yeah, it's me. Go back to sleep."

Ezra's eyes fluttered open for a moment before an exhausted smile appeared on his face and he drifted off again, this time into a normal sleep pattern.

Chris watched him for a while, wondering about destiny and close calls, knowing once Ezra was back on his feet he would be in for the ride of his life. He chuckled softly; suddenly he couldn't wait for it to begin.

THE END