"Yeah. I guess we did."

Thank God.

Soon after Bull left to retrieve his gear, Pop left as well, ostensibly to get fresh water, rags and soap with which to wash Ice's blood and gore covered body so that Bull could do what he needed to do to fix the worst of her injuries.

Left alone with my lover, I crawled carefully onto the large bed, then stretched out beside her. Reaching out, I gently gasped a lock of her hair and ran it between my fingers, looking down at her battered, still face. "Hi, sweetheart. It's me." I paused. "Well, I suppose you know that already, don't you. You always seem to know when I'm around and I don't think now is any different, right?"

I stopped, then laughed a little. "Yeah, I'm rambling. Par for the course, huh?" I sighed, sniffing back my tears. "I missed you, Ice. I felt . . .I don't know . . .dead inside. Like someone had taken my soul and ripped it right out of my body. And when I thought you were dead . . . ."

I let the tears fall for a moment before strengthening myself against their still-seductive lure. "Enough of that. You're not dead. You're alive, and we're all gonna make sure you stay that way, alright?"

Then I smiled, picturing that sardonic eyebrow lift in my mind. "Yes, you heard me right. 'We'. When you wake up, I think you're gonna be in for one hell of a surprise, my love. You, the person who believes she is incapable of being respected and loved, are loved by many more people than you think. You wouldn't believe the number of people who put themselves in deliberate danger just to hunt down those idiots who kidnapped you." I could feel my smile broaden. "You'd be proud of them, Ice. God knows I am."

Anything I might have said further was interrupted by the return of Bull, and right behind him, Pop. Bull was toting a large green backpack with a red cross emblazoned across the front.

"Present from Uncle Sam," he said, grinning and lifting the pack when he saw me staring at it. "I heard you talking. Did she wake up?"

I blushed a little. "No. I was just . . .talking to myself, I guess. Telling her I missed her and stuff like that." I shrugged.

"Good."

"Good?"

Laying the pack down on the bed, he nodded. "Yeah. Whatever place she's in, she knows she's safe. But it's good to be reminded of that sometimes. Especially when you're hurting." Smiling slightly, he put one large hand gently down on her shoulder. "Whatever she went through, it wasn't pleasant. She needs to hear your voice to remember that it was all worth it in the end."

"You think she can hear me, then?"

"Oh, yeah. Even if she isn't responding right now, she hears you. I'm sure of it. So don't stop talking on my account. It can only make my job easier." He grinned crookedly. "Especially if she wakes up while I'm still working and decides my face would look better completely rearranged."

Remembering what she had done to the poor doctor who had tried to shove a tube down her nose when she seemed unconscious, I couldn't help but laugh. "Then I promise to do my best to keep your face looking as handsome as it does now."

Oops! In the year that had passed, I'd completely forgotten about the crush he had on me.

Bull's blush could have set fire to the lake outside.

Then Pop laughed, which caused Bull to scowl, and then everything was alright again.

Or at least as alright as it could be.

"C'mon, Tyler, let's get 'er cleaned up some so this lug c'n do what he came here ta do."

And so we did, each of us using towels and plenty of soap and water to tenderly minister to her torn and swollen flesh. The going was slow, at first, especially as I was trying my best to be gentle with her, not wanting to cause my already horribly injured lover any further pain.

But when Bull told me--rather sternly I thought-to put some muscle into it, I began to clean her more thoroughly and, by necessity, less tenderly, wincing every time the cloth swiped over the angry, swollen redness that circled her cuts like an obscene brand.

She wasn't wincing, though, nor even twitching. Not even when Bull used his washcloth to clean the edges of the bullet hole in her thigh, probing it to loosen the encrusted blood and dirt which had fouled it.

I looked up at him, sure my expression of worry was showing easily on my face.

After a moment, he dropped the dirty rag to the floor and came up to the head of the bed, bringing with him a small penlight he'd liberated from the depths of his army issue backpack. Using his huge hands tenderly, he felt around her skull beneath the thick and tangled mat of her hair, frowning once or twice as he did so.

Then he pulled back each slack eyelid in turn and flashed the beam from his penlight into her eyes several times before lowering her lids once again and tossing the light back with the rest of his gear.

"Well?" Pop asked before I could voice the same question.

"She's got a couple pretty good sized lumps on the right side of her head, and her left pupil is a little sluggish, so I'd guess she's got a pretty nice concussion to add to the mix." He turned to look at me. "Did she seem okay when she talked to you?"

I thought for a moment. "Well, she didn't seem to recognize Pop at first, but then again, he had a gun pointed at her, so I'm sure she could probably be excused for that one. And, for a minute there, I don't think she recognized me either, but when I called out to her, she lowered her own gun and came to me." I closed my eyes, remembering. "She told me that she'd killed them all and that they wouldn't ever hurt me again. Then she passed out."

He nodded. "That's good, then."

"So, is the concussion why she's not showing any response to pain?"

"Partly. Add to that a good dose of sheer exhaustion and we've most likely got our answer."

"Most likely?" Pop asked, his bushy brows knit low over his eyes.

Bull spread his hands. "I'm sorry. It's my best guess here. Only a CT scan could tell us for sure, and since the chances of sneaking her into one of those things without being seen are remote . . . ."

Both men turned to look at me and I once again felt the weight of the world settle about my shoulders as if planning to stay for a good long while.

Instinctively, I looked to Ice, searching for answers in that still, battered, beloved face. What would you do in my place, Ice? Would you trust Bull's decision, or would you want to make absolutely sure?

Then I laughed a little, causing my companions to look at me as if I had suddenly sprouted another head, a little off to the left of the first one.

I know what you'd do, my love. You'd get me to the hospital so fast, the tires would bleed.

I reached out once again to finger a lock of her hair, desperate to have some sort of link with her. A link that wasn't cold, or pale, or bloody.

But you're not me. And as much as I hate to admit it, you can't help me with this one, can you.

I sighed.

So, either I trust Bull and hope he's not wrong, or I take you to a hospital to be sure and run the almost guaranteed risk of seeing you carted back to the U.S. in chains.

That exact vision, the one that had haunted my nightmares for the past year, came into my thoughts, and suddenly, the decision wasn't a hard one to make at all.

Then I looked up into the waiting faces of my friends, meeting their eyes steadily and without hesitation. "I trust you, Bull. And I know Ice does too." I smiled. "So, let's get this show on the road and put Humpty Dumpty back together again, ok?"

Grinning in return, Bull gave me a gentle slap on the shoulder and returned to his pack, which he opened and began pulling out amazing quantities of medical gear, like a magician pulling a dozen rabbits from his top-hat.

"What did you do?" I finally asked as all the gear was laid out on the table by the bed, "rob a hospital?"

"Nah. I got a friend down south who keeps me supplied." He shrugged. "No big deal."

"And you keep it all in your truck?"

He chuckled. "Well, when you take a group of great white hunters out on a trek and spend a night or two picking a load of buckshot outta someone's backside with nothing but a pair of eyebrow tweezers and a Zippo lighter, ya soon learn that the Boy Scouts have the right idea." Then he pulled himself back to his feet. "Lemme go wash my hands and then we can get started."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

He smiled tenderly. "Just . . .hold her hand. Best medicine in the world for her right now."

I nodded.

That I could do.

Several hours later, it was done.

Ice lay quietly in the center of our large bed, looking impossibly small and impossibly fragile beneath the vestments of brilliant white bandages which swaddled her from head to toe.

From beneath one such bandage, wrapped around her left arm, snaked a coil of IV tubing which was connected to a clear bag of fluid hanging from an impromptu IV pole, which doubled, in happier times, as our coat-rack.

Swabbing one of the IV ports, Bull injected another dose of Morphine into the line, then discarded the used syringe and stripped off his bloodied gloves, grunting in satisfaction and stretching his massive body in all directions. "That should keep her out for awhile," he said, twisting his neck so that the vertebrae popped noisily.

"Is there anything more we can do?" I asked from my position beside the bed. My knees were killing me, especially the injured one, but I wasn't about to complain.

"Nope. The rest is up to her. Give her time to rest and start healing. She'll come out of it when she's ready."

Struggling to my feet, I limped over to Bull and wrapped him in the tightest hug I could manage, tucking my cheek against his huge chest and hanging on for dear life. "Thank you," I said, my voice muffled against his shirt. "Thank you so much. I don't know what we would have done without you, Bull. You saved her life. I won't ever forget that. Ever."

He didn't say anything, but I could feel his acceptance of my thanks in the return squeeze I received before being lifted off my feet and deposited into the bed beside my partner. "Time to look at your injuries," he said, grinning.

"Oh, no. Really," I demurred as his hands reached for the towel still somehow wrapped around my leg. "I don't need . . . ."

"Hush."

Surprisingly, I did.

Giving the man my best put upon expression, I crossed my arms over my chest and watched as he gently unwrapped my leg to reveal my injury. "Not bad. Someone did a pretty good job of cleaning it up."

"That was Tom," I replied. Then I looked up at Pop, who'd been mostly silent as Bull worked on Ice, lending help as needed but doing little else, his thoughts seemingly far away. "Speaking of which, where is he?"

"Talked to him a little while ago. Said he couldn't raise Johnny on the CB so he was goin back out ta see what was goin' on."

I sat up straighter. "Is there a problem?"

Pop shrugged. "Nah. They was probably outta their trucks investigatin whatever in the hell it was they found."

"That was quite awhile ago, though. Shouldn't someone have reported back by now?"

Pop didn't seem particularly worried. "Give 'em a little more time. They'll be alright."

Nodding, I looked back to Bull, who was staring at me with a large syringe in his hand and a grin that Dr. Frankenstein must have worn just before he threw the fateful switch.

"Wha--?"

"Oh, come on, Angel. It's just a little needle," he teased mercilessly.

"Little for you, maybe . . . ."

"Alright," he replied, moving as if to put the syringe away, "but those stitches are gonna hurt a lot more without it."

"S-stitches?"

I heard Pop chuckle off to the side and I shot him a glare before returning my attentions to the big man with the big needle. "It's not that bad," I countered, flexing my knee to show just how bad it wasn't, and nearly biting my tongue in half when a bolt of pain shot up to my groin. "See?" I said through gritted teeth.

Bull grinned. "Oh, I see alright." Using his free hand, he gently pushed on my shoulder until my back was against the backboard. "Just close your eyes and think happy thoughts. It's just a little prick. You won't feel a thing."

"You know," I said when my jaw finally managed to loosen, "you're just lucky you're armed, Bull, or I just might be tempted to make an unkind remark to rebut that last statement." Then I smirked. "Or confirm it."

His face went blank for a moment as he internalized my threat, then he blushed again; a deep, fire-engine red. Pop coughed in the background, nearly choking when he, too, got the joke.

My own quiet laughter was quickly cut off at the feel of a sharp needle sliding beneath my skin, followed by an intense burning sensation as the medication spread through my tissues. "Ow," I said, scowling.

"Serves you right," came the unrepentant reply. "Now just sit still for a minute and give it a chance to work."

Though tempted in the extreme to let loose with a volley of expletives that would have curled his beard, I wisely held my tongue, choosing silence as the better part of valor.

At least as long as he had pointy objects close to hand.

A couple minutes later, he returned, suture materials in hand, and almost before I knew it, I was staring down at a long row of neat stitches where a gaping cut had been just a short time before. "Thanks, Bull. Sorry about giving you such a hard time."

He grinned, snapping off his gloves. "Don't worry about it. You were a hell of a lot better about it than a whiney hunter with a butt-load of buckshot, that's for sure." Then he looked at me, eyes narrowed. "Ya know, those circles under your eyes are gonna be asking for their own zip code pretty soon. When'd you sleep last?"

Embarrassed, I looked down at my hands, clasped in my lap. "I . . .um . . .don't remember."

"Thought as much. You need some rest. So just lie down next to Morgan and try to relax. I'll keep an eye out for both of you."