Chris Larabee ran his trembling hand over his tired eyes and shook his head. He simply couldn't believe it. How could he let this happen?

Images of the night before entered his clouded mind.

The carnage.

Impossible odds.

Bodies everywhere.

Chris remembered trying to pick Vin up, but not having the strength to do so. He remembered stumbling over J.D. sprawled at his feet. He vaguely remembered seeing Josiah slump and then rise like a phoenix with a roar of determination. Ezra had valiantly tried to make it to the door, but his legs had failed him. Only Nathan had come though unscathed.

Chris cursed and the sharp pain throbbing in his temples exploded. Why had he ignored the warning signs? Now they would pay the price.

"This is my fault. I could have... should have..." He swallowed and the ringing in his head increased.

Nathan glanced up from his examination of Buck and frowned. Chris was pale with grey bags under his eyes -- a result of too little sleep or food. "You better sit down, Chris, before you fall down."

Larabee drew in a deep breath, nodded and sank down into the closest chair. His eyes were drawn to Vin who was lying so still. "How long before...?"

Nathan stretched his back and headed across to Ezra. "Eight to twelve hours. Maybe longer. This isn't your fault. They knew..." Vin groaned, distracting Nathan and the medic moved swiftly to his side. "Easy, Vin."

The sharpshooter's eyelids fluttered and opened. His body ached. His nostrils pinched. The distinctive smell told him exactly where he was. His mind drifted and then he looked up at Nathan with hooded eyes. "Who won?

"Josiah, I think," Chris mumbled. "When I passed out, he and Buck were the only ones still standing."

Nathan muttered something under his breath and scanned his patients with disgust. Buck was lying along the bar, snoring loudly. J.D. was curled up in a ball under a table. Ezra was slumped against a wall, a bottle of whisky clutched tightly to his chest -- a look of serenity on his face. Josiah's head was resting on the table in front of him amongst a dozen empty whiskey bottles and Chris was balanced precariously on a chair. "If I live to be a hundred I'll never understand why you do this every New Year's Eve!"

“Never again,” Chris promised.

Nathan snorted. “You say that every year.”

Larabee grinned and winked at the doctor. “I do, don’t I.”

Jackson sighed. His anger and frustration drained away and a contented grin leaked onto his face. If the truth was known, he wouldn‘t change a thing. This was his life and these men, with all of their strengths and faults, were his family. “Happy New Year, boys.”

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© December 2005 Brigitta B. : This relates only to the creative property in this story. The distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations are mine. I acknowledge that some of the characters and settings belong to DC comics and I thank them sincerely for turning a blind eye so I can borrow them. (g) No infrigement of copyright was intended and no profit has been made from this story... so, please don't sue me. It wouldn't be worth your while.