Magnificent 7 Fic: Worth It (2/4)
By Sunrize83
Rating: GEN, PG-13
Characters: Vin, Chris
Summary: When does the cost become too high?
Word Count: 11,410
Author's note: Dabbling in another fandom in a desperate attempt to break a nasty case of writer's block. Unbeta'd, so all the mistakes are mine.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations portrayed here aren't mine. This story is for entertainment purposes only.
Three hours and twenty-seven minutes.
That's how much time had passed since Vin had disappeared through the double doors. He'd been surrounded by EMTs and hospital personnel calling vitals and instructions in clipped, business-like tones.
Three hours and twenty-eight minutes.
Chris pulled his gaze from the clock, tipping his head to rest against the wall and closing his eyes. Despite his relaxed posture, he felt as if he might explode at any minute from the impatience, anger, and fear simmering just beneath his skin.
Evidently his calm exterior didn't fool the rest of the boys. On the other side of the room Buck and J.D. squabbled, Ezra engaged Nathan in a game of poker, and Josiah prayed. A ten-foot bubble of empty space surrounded Chris and no one, not even Josiah, had ventured to breach the line of demarcation.
A lacerated kidney, Nathan had said. No way to be sure exactly how bad or whether there were other internal injuries until they got inside. The fact that Vin had already lost so much blood made the whole situation that much more dicey.
Vin--a good man, a damn fine agent, his best friend--might lose his life. Or his kidney, which could end his career with the ATF.
And for what? Some two-bit street punk who wasn't worth the dirt on the bottom of his shoes?
Chris shoved himself to his feet, answering the others' questioning looks with a glare. "Need some air."
He stalked down the hall and out the nearest exit. Leaning against a post, he lit up a cheroot, ignoring the stares of passing patients and staff. He'd managed to wash up some, and Josiah had brought him a clean shirt, but the knees of his black jeans were still stiff with blood, his boots stained crimson around the edges.
The morning was crisp but sunny, not a cloud in the clear blue sky. The kind of morning Vin'd be likely to show up at the ass crack of dawn, coaxing Chris to join him in an early morning ride.
Anger rose again, fierce and hot, but he clamped his teeth onto the cigar and pushed it back down.
The scuff of footsteps warned him that his brief moment of solitude was over. Chris turned, expecting to see Buck, but it was Ezra who touched two fingers to his brow and moved to stand beside him.
Chris raised an eyebrow. "You draw the short straw?"
Ezra smiled, the barest curve of lips. "Really, Mr. Larabee. When have you ever known me to lose a game of chance?"
Chris snorted, amused in spite of himself.
They stood for several minutes in comfortable silence, Chris puffing on his cheroot, Ezra walking a coin across the backs of his fingers.
"It's difficult to watch a good man wager so much at such deplorable odds," Ezra said. He lifted his eyes from the coin to Chris's face. "It's even harder to see him lose."
Chris ground the butt of his cigar into the concrete with the heel of his boot. "He's an idealistic fool."
Ezra inclined his head. "Perhaps. Yet I'd venture to say it's that very idealism that goes a long way toward making our extraordinary friend the man he is."
Chris gritted his teeth and didn't reply. Damn if Ezra didn't get under his skin like no one else.
Especially when he was right.
The glass doors opened and Buck stuck out his head. "Vin's out of surgery. The doc's ready to talk to us."
By the time they reached the surgical waiting room, the others were gathered around the doctor, who was still dressed in scrubs, a mask dangling around her neck. When they parted for Chris like the Red Sea, her lips twitched and she extended a hand.
"Mr. Larabee, I'm Dr. McCaffrey."
Chris distantly registered hazel eyes, a tumble of dark hair, and a firm grip; focused on the only thing that mattered. "How's Vin?"
She smiled, and he drew his first deep breath since Vin's phone call.
"He came through like a trooper. Fortunately, he sustained a grade 3 laceration, which is less severe than we feared."
"Would you mind puttin' that in dummy terms, darlin'?" Buck asked.
"It simply means that although the kidney was injured, the damage was fairly superficial and did not compromise the organ's ability to function."
Nathan sighed, the stiffness draining from his shoulders. "So he's not gonna lose it."
McCaffrey raised a hand. "Well, he's lost a lot of blood, and there's always the danger of infection--not to mention the fact that the blow to the head left him with a mild concussion."
"But he's gonna be all right?" J.D. pressed.
She smiled. "Barring further complications? He'll mend."
Their collective release of tension was tangible--and audible.
Buck pumped his fist. "Yeah! Way to go, Junior."
Josiah lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "Thank you, Lord."
Nathan shook his head. "Boy's got more lives than a cat."
"It appears Mr. Tanner has beaten the odds after all," Ezra said, his gaze fixed firmly on Chris.
"When can we see him?" Chris asked, raising his voice to be heard over the hubbub.
McCaffrey looked at her watch. "They're settling him into the ICU now, but he'll probably sleep off the anesthetic for the next couple hours. If you'd like to go home, grab some breakfast--"
"What we'd like, is to see him." It came out harsher than he'd intended, but really, who gave a rat's ass about breakfast?
The surgeon blinked, then narrowed her eyes. "Mr. Larabee, I know you're in charge over at the bureau, but I'm afraid this is my turf."
Before he could get really pissy, Buck swooped between them, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Don't mind him, darlin', he doesn't mean to sound like an ass." He gave Chris a pointed glare, then turned the wattage back on McCaffrey. "What Chris was tryin' to say is that when you're part of a team, you back each other up. Especially when one of you is hurting."
"He may wake up confused and in pain," Josiah added quietly, "but he won't wake up alone."
The lines of irritation vanished from the doctor's brow. "I see." She looked warily at Chris. "You realize only one of you can sit with him at a time. There are some rules even I can't bend."
Chris nodded. "Of course."
"All right, then. Whoever's going first can follow me." She raised an eyebrow at Chris. "I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that'll be you."
It startled a genuine laugh from him. "Lead on."
"I'm sure you've heard this before, Mr. Larabee, but don't let all the equipment scare you," McCaffrey said as they pushed through the double doors and headed down a long corridor. "We just need to monitor Mr. Tanner closely until we're certain he's stabilized."
"I've heard it too many times before," Chris admitted. "And if you can forgive me for acting like a jackass back there, please, call me Chris."
She grinned up at him. "It's a deal, Chris."
They stepped into an open area with a central nurses' desk surrounded by glass-walled cubicles. Vin was in the nearest; Chris's feet started moving of their own accord as his gaze locked onto his friend's still form.
They had him lying on his left side, supported by pillows. McCaffrey hadn't exaggerated the amount of equipment. Two I.V.'s snaked into his arms, one containing blood, the other fluids. A clip--pulse oximeter, Chris recalled Nathan's teaching--was fastened to one finger, and a nasal canula delivered oxygen. A heart monitor softly beeped a reassuring rhythm. And… He winced at the bag of bloody yellow liquid that emerged from the blankets near the foot of the bed. Vin was going to love that one.
"His vitals all look good." McCaffrey had pulled Vin's chart from its clip and was flipping through it. "He really is doing well."
"Just hard to see him like this." Chris's voice was rough--too much emotion and too little sleep.
"You sound as if you've been here before." It wasn't a question, but she'd tucked the clipboard in the fold of her arms and was scrutinizing him with sharp eyes.
"Too many times." Chris ran a hand along his jaw; he needed a shave. "He's got a heart as big as Texas coupled with an underdeveloped sense of self-preservation."
"Ah, the classic hero complex," she said, switching her gaze to Vin.
Chris shook his head. "No complex about it, ma'am. Just the real deal."
"Then I guess we'd better do everything we can to get him back on his feet." She slipped the chart back on the hook and gave his arm a quick pat. "Debbie will be his nurse during this shift, so give her a buzz if you need anything."
"Thanks." He put feeling into the words, still a little ashamed at his earlier bluntness.
Her smiled confirmed all was forgiven. "You're welcome. I'll be back later to check on him."
Chris waited until she'd left before walking closer. He carefully moved a lock of hair that had tumbled across Vin's brow, obscuring his face. The normally healthy tan of his friend's skin seemed to have faded overnight, pallor darkening to bruised shadows beneath his eyes. Pain had etched fine lines around his eyes and mouth, and though the staff had cleaned him up, Chris could see traces of blood under his fingernails.
"Seen you look better, Cowboy," he murmured, pulling the chair close to the bed and sitting. He scrubbed both hands over his face, feeling weariness sink into his bones as the adrenaline rush ebbed. "I'm getting too old for this."
Fifteen years in law enforcement had taught him how to catch a few winks just about anywhere. Despite the uncomfortable chair, he let the heart monitor and Vin's soft, steady breathing lull him into a doze.
Sometime later the rustling of paper and whisper of crepe-soled shoes brought him fully awake. Chris lurched upright, relaxing when he saw the nurse, Debbie, checking read outs and jotting the information on Vin's chart.
She gave an apologetic quirk of her lips. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."
"No problem." Chris ran a hand through his hair, certain it must be standing on end. "How's he doing?"
"Everything looks good." She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Vin's arm and slid her stethoscope into her ears. "In fact, his vitals indicate he should be waking soon."
As if on cue, Vin's face scrunched into a frown and he made a small sound of protest in the back of his throat.
Chris stood, curling his fingers around the bed rail. "Vin? Can you hear me, pard?"
When he looked questioningly at Debbie, she motioned for him to continue. "Keep talking. He's likely to be disoriented. Hearing a familiar voice will help."
Chris nodded, more than willing to oblige. "Hey, Cowboy, it's time to wake up. There's a pretty lady here who's waiting to see those blue eyes."
Vin's breathing sped up and his lashes fluttered. When Chris saw long fingers scrabbling against the mattress, he clasped his friend's hand, ignoring the slight embarrassment he felt at Debbie's presence.
"That's it, Vin. You're doing fine."
The combination of words and touch seemed to do the trick. Vin calmed, cracking open his eyes to stare blearily around him. "Chris?"
Seeing his friend struggling to focus, Chris leaned into his line of vision. "Right here, pard."
"Where--?" Vin's voice broke on the raspy croak.
"You're in the hospital. You remember what happened?"
Vin stared blankly for a moment, then closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Knife."
"That's right. You were hurt pretty bad, but you're going to be fine."
Debbie came around the bed, copying Chris's position. "Hi, Vin. My name's Debbie, and I'll be taking care of you. So if the pain gets too bad or you need anything, just press this, okay?" She tucked the call button into his hand.
Vin gave her a little nod. "Thank you, ma'am."
As Chris watched, Debbie melted.
"A southern accent and manners too. I have a feeling you're going to be very popular around here." She took a large Styrofoam cup and a spoon from the bedside table and handed them to Chris. "Ice chips. They had to intubate for surgery so his throat will be sore for a couple days."
"Thanks."
As she moved on to her next patient, Chris pulled his chair a little closer and sat. "You up for some of this?" he asked.
Vin's eyes had already begun to droop, but he perked up immediately. "Hell, yeah."
Navigating the bed rail and Vin's awkward position wasn't easy, but Chris managed to feed him four spoonfuls with only a few misses.
"Don't quit yer day job, Larabee," Vin rasped as Chris mopped melted ice off his cheek.
"Smart ass." Chris settled back in his chair, frowning when he saw Vin shifting restlessly and trying to hide it. "You hurting?"
A twitch of a shoulder, and Vin wouldn't look him in the eye. "Some."
"I can call Debbie, get you something--"
"No." Vin's weak denial was backed up by a clenched jaw. "Don't want more drugs. They probably got me on a shitload as it is."
The only thing that kept Chris from arguing was the fact that Vin looked about two minutes from drifting off. "You change your mind…"
"Won't." Vin blinked owlishly, his eyes taking a little longer to open. He licked his lips, looking uncomfortable. "Wanted to say… Thanks for comin' for me, Chris. If you hadn't been there--"
"Not an option," Chris said gruffly. He'd promised himself he wouldn't bring it up until Vin was stronger, but somehow the words slipped out. "It was too damn close this time, Vin. Once you're feeling better, we're going to have a talk."
Vin pried open heavy-lidded eyes to glare at him. "Nothin' to talk about."
Before Chris could retort, he was gone, face smoothing and respiration deepening in the rhythm of sleep. Chris huffed. Hard to believe someone who looked so damn innocent could be such a pain in the ass.
"You're a stubborn, pig-headed bastard," he growled, even though Vin couldn't hear.
Thank God the little voice in his head whispered.
Chris had to agree.
Go to part 3
Rating: GEN, PG-13
Characters: Vin, Chris
Summary: When does the cost become too high?
Word Count: 11,410
Author's note: Dabbling in another fandom in a desperate attempt to break a nasty case of writer's block. Unbeta'd, so all the mistakes are mine.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations portrayed here aren't mine. This story is for entertainment purposes only.
Three hours and twenty-seven minutes.
That's how much time had passed since Vin had disappeared through the double doors. He'd been surrounded by EMTs and hospital personnel calling vitals and instructions in clipped, business-like tones.
Three hours and twenty-eight minutes.
Chris pulled his gaze from the clock, tipping his head to rest against the wall and closing his eyes. Despite his relaxed posture, he felt as if he might explode at any minute from the impatience, anger, and fear simmering just beneath his skin.
Evidently his calm exterior didn't fool the rest of the boys. On the other side of the room Buck and J.D. squabbled, Ezra engaged Nathan in a game of poker, and Josiah prayed. A ten-foot bubble of empty space surrounded Chris and no one, not even Josiah, had ventured to breach the line of demarcation.
A lacerated kidney, Nathan had said. No way to be sure exactly how bad or whether there were other internal injuries until they got inside. The fact that Vin had already lost so much blood made the whole situation that much more dicey.
Vin--a good man, a damn fine agent, his best friend--might lose his life. Or his kidney, which could end his career with the ATF.
And for what? Some two-bit street punk who wasn't worth the dirt on the bottom of his shoes?
Chris shoved himself to his feet, answering the others' questioning looks with a glare. "Need some air."
He stalked down the hall and out the nearest exit. Leaning against a post, he lit up a cheroot, ignoring the stares of passing patients and staff. He'd managed to wash up some, and Josiah had brought him a clean shirt, but the knees of his black jeans were still stiff with blood, his boots stained crimson around the edges.
The morning was crisp but sunny, not a cloud in the clear blue sky. The kind of morning Vin'd be likely to show up at the ass crack of dawn, coaxing Chris to join him in an early morning ride.
Anger rose again, fierce and hot, but he clamped his teeth onto the cigar and pushed it back down.
The scuff of footsteps warned him that his brief moment of solitude was over. Chris turned, expecting to see Buck, but it was Ezra who touched two fingers to his brow and moved to stand beside him.
Chris raised an eyebrow. "You draw the short straw?"
Ezra smiled, the barest curve of lips. "Really, Mr. Larabee. When have you ever known me to lose a game of chance?"
Chris snorted, amused in spite of himself.
They stood for several minutes in comfortable silence, Chris puffing on his cheroot, Ezra walking a coin across the backs of his fingers.
"It's difficult to watch a good man wager so much at such deplorable odds," Ezra said. He lifted his eyes from the coin to Chris's face. "It's even harder to see him lose."
Chris ground the butt of his cigar into the concrete with the heel of his boot. "He's an idealistic fool."
Ezra inclined his head. "Perhaps. Yet I'd venture to say it's that very idealism that goes a long way toward making our extraordinary friend the man he is."
Chris gritted his teeth and didn't reply. Damn if Ezra didn't get under his skin like no one else.
Especially when he was right.
The glass doors opened and Buck stuck out his head. "Vin's out of surgery. The doc's ready to talk to us."
By the time they reached the surgical waiting room, the others were gathered around the doctor, who was still dressed in scrubs, a mask dangling around her neck. When they parted for Chris like the Red Sea, her lips twitched and she extended a hand.
"Mr. Larabee, I'm Dr. McCaffrey."
Chris distantly registered hazel eyes, a tumble of dark hair, and a firm grip; focused on the only thing that mattered. "How's Vin?"
She smiled, and he drew his first deep breath since Vin's phone call.
"He came through like a trooper. Fortunately, he sustained a grade 3 laceration, which is less severe than we feared."
"Would you mind puttin' that in dummy terms, darlin'?" Buck asked.
"It simply means that although the kidney was injured, the damage was fairly superficial and did not compromise the organ's ability to function."
Nathan sighed, the stiffness draining from his shoulders. "So he's not gonna lose it."
McCaffrey raised a hand. "Well, he's lost a lot of blood, and there's always the danger of infection--not to mention the fact that the blow to the head left him with a mild concussion."
"But he's gonna be all right?" J.D. pressed.
She smiled. "Barring further complications? He'll mend."
Their collective release of tension was tangible--and audible.
Buck pumped his fist. "Yeah! Way to go, Junior."
Josiah lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "Thank you, Lord."
Nathan shook his head. "Boy's got more lives than a cat."
"It appears Mr. Tanner has beaten the odds after all," Ezra said, his gaze fixed firmly on Chris.
"When can we see him?" Chris asked, raising his voice to be heard over the hubbub.
McCaffrey looked at her watch. "They're settling him into the ICU now, but he'll probably sleep off the anesthetic for the next couple hours. If you'd like to go home, grab some breakfast--"
"What we'd like, is to see him." It came out harsher than he'd intended, but really, who gave a rat's ass about breakfast?
The surgeon blinked, then narrowed her eyes. "Mr. Larabee, I know you're in charge over at the bureau, but I'm afraid this is my turf."
Before he could get really pissy, Buck swooped between them, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Don't mind him, darlin', he doesn't mean to sound like an ass." He gave Chris a pointed glare, then turned the wattage back on McCaffrey. "What Chris was tryin' to say is that when you're part of a team, you back each other up. Especially when one of you is hurting."
"He may wake up confused and in pain," Josiah added quietly, "but he won't wake up alone."
The lines of irritation vanished from the doctor's brow. "I see." She looked warily at Chris. "You realize only one of you can sit with him at a time. There are some rules even I can't bend."
Chris nodded. "Of course."
"All right, then. Whoever's going first can follow me." She raised an eyebrow at Chris. "I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that'll be you."
It startled a genuine laugh from him. "Lead on."
"I'm sure you've heard this before, Mr. Larabee, but don't let all the equipment scare you," McCaffrey said as they pushed through the double doors and headed down a long corridor. "We just need to monitor Mr. Tanner closely until we're certain he's stabilized."
"I've heard it too many times before," Chris admitted. "And if you can forgive me for acting like a jackass back there, please, call me Chris."
She grinned up at him. "It's a deal, Chris."
They stepped into an open area with a central nurses' desk surrounded by glass-walled cubicles. Vin was in the nearest; Chris's feet started moving of their own accord as his gaze locked onto his friend's still form.
They had him lying on his left side, supported by pillows. McCaffrey hadn't exaggerated the amount of equipment. Two I.V.'s snaked into his arms, one containing blood, the other fluids. A clip--pulse oximeter, Chris recalled Nathan's teaching--was fastened to one finger, and a nasal canula delivered oxygen. A heart monitor softly beeped a reassuring rhythm. And… He winced at the bag of bloody yellow liquid that emerged from the blankets near the foot of the bed. Vin was going to love that one.
"His vitals all look good." McCaffrey had pulled Vin's chart from its clip and was flipping through it. "He really is doing well."
"Just hard to see him like this." Chris's voice was rough--too much emotion and too little sleep.
"You sound as if you've been here before." It wasn't a question, but she'd tucked the clipboard in the fold of her arms and was scrutinizing him with sharp eyes.
"Too many times." Chris ran a hand along his jaw; he needed a shave. "He's got a heart as big as Texas coupled with an underdeveloped sense of self-preservation."
"Ah, the classic hero complex," she said, switching her gaze to Vin.
Chris shook his head. "No complex about it, ma'am. Just the real deal."
"Then I guess we'd better do everything we can to get him back on his feet." She slipped the chart back on the hook and gave his arm a quick pat. "Debbie will be his nurse during this shift, so give her a buzz if you need anything."
"Thanks." He put feeling into the words, still a little ashamed at his earlier bluntness.
Her smiled confirmed all was forgiven. "You're welcome. I'll be back later to check on him."
Chris waited until she'd left before walking closer. He carefully moved a lock of hair that had tumbled across Vin's brow, obscuring his face. The normally healthy tan of his friend's skin seemed to have faded overnight, pallor darkening to bruised shadows beneath his eyes. Pain had etched fine lines around his eyes and mouth, and though the staff had cleaned him up, Chris could see traces of blood under his fingernails.
"Seen you look better, Cowboy," he murmured, pulling the chair close to the bed and sitting. He scrubbed both hands over his face, feeling weariness sink into his bones as the adrenaline rush ebbed. "I'm getting too old for this."
Fifteen years in law enforcement had taught him how to catch a few winks just about anywhere. Despite the uncomfortable chair, he let the heart monitor and Vin's soft, steady breathing lull him into a doze.
Sometime later the rustling of paper and whisper of crepe-soled shoes brought him fully awake. Chris lurched upright, relaxing when he saw the nurse, Debbie, checking read outs and jotting the information on Vin's chart.
She gave an apologetic quirk of her lips. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."
"No problem." Chris ran a hand through his hair, certain it must be standing on end. "How's he doing?"
"Everything looks good." She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Vin's arm and slid her stethoscope into her ears. "In fact, his vitals indicate he should be waking soon."
As if on cue, Vin's face scrunched into a frown and he made a small sound of protest in the back of his throat.
Chris stood, curling his fingers around the bed rail. "Vin? Can you hear me, pard?"
When he looked questioningly at Debbie, she motioned for him to continue. "Keep talking. He's likely to be disoriented. Hearing a familiar voice will help."
Chris nodded, more than willing to oblige. "Hey, Cowboy, it's time to wake up. There's a pretty lady here who's waiting to see those blue eyes."
Vin's breathing sped up and his lashes fluttered. When Chris saw long fingers scrabbling against the mattress, he clasped his friend's hand, ignoring the slight embarrassment he felt at Debbie's presence.
"That's it, Vin. You're doing fine."
The combination of words and touch seemed to do the trick. Vin calmed, cracking open his eyes to stare blearily around him. "Chris?"
Seeing his friend struggling to focus, Chris leaned into his line of vision. "Right here, pard."
"Where--?" Vin's voice broke on the raspy croak.
"You're in the hospital. You remember what happened?"
Vin stared blankly for a moment, then closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Knife."
"That's right. You were hurt pretty bad, but you're going to be fine."
Debbie came around the bed, copying Chris's position. "Hi, Vin. My name's Debbie, and I'll be taking care of you. So if the pain gets too bad or you need anything, just press this, okay?" She tucked the call button into his hand.
Vin gave her a little nod. "Thank you, ma'am."
As Chris watched, Debbie melted.
"A southern accent and manners too. I have a feeling you're going to be very popular around here." She took a large Styrofoam cup and a spoon from the bedside table and handed them to Chris. "Ice chips. They had to intubate for surgery so his throat will be sore for a couple days."
"Thanks."
As she moved on to her next patient, Chris pulled his chair a little closer and sat. "You up for some of this?" he asked.
Vin's eyes had already begun to droop, but he perked up immediately. "Hell, yeah."
Navigating the bed rail and Vin's awkward position wasn't easy, but Chris managed to feed him four spoonfuls with only a few misses.
"Don't quit yer day job, Larabee," Vin rasped as Chris mopped melted ice off his cheek.
"Smart ass." Chris settled back in his chair, frowning when he saw Vin shifting restlessly and trying to hide it. "You hurting?"
A twitch of a shoulder, and Vin wouldn't look him in the eye. "Some."
"I can call Debbie, get you something--"
"No." Vin's weak denial was backed up by a clenched jaw. "Don't want more drugs. They probably got me on a shitload as it is."
The only thing that kept Chris from arguing was the fact that Vin looked about two minutes from drifting off. "You change your mind…"
"Won't." Vin blinked owlishly, his eyes taking a little longer to open. He licked his lips, looking uncomfortable. "Wanted to say… Thanks for comin' for me, Chris. If you hadn't been there--"
"Not an option," Chris said gruffly. He'd promised himself he wouldn't bring it up until Vin was stronger, but somehow the words slipped out. "It was too damn close this time, Vin. Once you're feeling better, we're going to have a talk."
Vin pried open heavy-lidded eyes to glare at him. "Nothin' to talk about."
Before Chris could retort, he was gone, face smoothing and respiration deepening in the rhythm of sleep. Chris huffed. Hard to believe someone who looked so damn innocent could be such a pain in the ass.
"You're a stubborn, pig-headed bastard," he growled, even though Vin couldn't hear.
Thank God the little voice in his head whispered.
Chris had to agree.
Go to part 3