Jeremy and Henry stumbled out of the door of The Grind, one of the hottest nightclubs in New York City. Darren suggested it and they'd all agreed it was the perfect place to celebrate Henry's 21st birthday. The rest of them had already turned the magical number that meant they didn't have to try and convince someone to buy their liquor for them.

"Where too?" Darren asked, looking around, his eyes more than a little dazed. He was hammered.

"The hotel?" Jeremy suggested. He needed a hot shower and bed. He hadn't drank as much as the rest of them, but he'd had enough to get just this side of good and truly hammered.

"The night is still young," Darren argued. "We can find another club..."

"They're all closing." Henry yawned. "I'm beat man and I'm seeing two of you. Why don't we go sleep it off at the hotel. Maybe order some room service?"

"Hell yeah." Jeremy was all for that option. Food and sleep, maybe not in that order, but still. Darren, who still looked ready to argue, swayed where he stood and Jeremy caught him before he hit the pavement.

"Yeah, okay," Darren agreed. "Food and sleep, but let's walk. The hotel's only a few blocks from here and the exercise will wake us up enough to binge pizza. My Pops told me they have some of the best pizza in NYC and they deliver all night!"

Jeremy took one of Darren's arms and threw it over his shoulder to keep his friend upright. D had partied harder than any of the rest of them. He'd be snoring before they even found an all night delivery pizza place.

"Who remembers which way the hotel is?" Henry stood staring off into the distance, more than a little unsteady.

"Left." Darren yawned.

Jeremy could have sworn it was right, but when Henry agreed, he decided to just go with it. Both of them couldn't be wrong.

Fifteen minutes later, he decided they'd been wrong. The streets they found themselves on were not the bright street lights of downtown. Instead, they'd wandered into a neighborhood with gang signs everywhere.

"This was the wrong way guys, let's go back." He turned too fast and Darren stumbled. "Sorry man."

"Dude, I'm gonna hurl all over you if you do that again," Darren warned, his words slightly slurred.

Henry wasn't moving though, he was looking down the street where an older model car was creeping toward them. He frowned, stepping closer to us.

"H, you okay?"

"Yeah, man, let's jet."

The three of them started up the street, aware of the car getting steadily closer. The hair on Jeremy's arms stood up and an uncomfortable feeling rolled through him. He had this urge to turn and look at the car, but he didn't. His uncle always told him if you're in a bad situation don't make it worse by freaking yourself out. And he could easily do that right now.

So he kept his focus on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping Darren upright.

"I don't like this," Henry whispered. The car had slowed and seemed to be following them.

"Me either." He quickened his step and Darren mumbled, but he kept up. "It'll only be another minute before we hit the lights."

But as it turned out, they didn't have another minute.

The cars lights switched to high beams and they heard the engine rev and then what sounded like the car backfiring.

Only it wasn't the car.

Bullets ripped through the three men and Jeremy staggered, trying to keep his hold on Darren and not scream as two bullets hit him. He heard shouting and then he was falling, his strength giving out. Darren slumped over onto him as the car moved away.

He lay there staring up at the night sky. There were no stars looking back. Clouds or smog or whatever the hell it was seemed to shield the sky. Footsteps pounded the pavement and all he seemed to be able to do was stare up at the blank canvas above.

A gurgling sound distracted him and he turned his head to see Henry laying a few feet away, his eyes trained on Jeremy as blood ran out of his mouth. The gurgling was coming from him. His friend was dying.

Jeremy knew they'd all been shot, but aside from that initial pain, he felt none. Shock. Maybe his body was in shock?

Hands grabbed and rolled him. He felt pressure on his chest and side.

Garbled words sounded above him, the tone frantic.

All he could do was stare at Henry and watch the light fade from his friend's eyes as he died.

Darren called his name. It sounded far away, but he was insistent and Jeremy was forced to look at him, to hear him, and when he did all that physical pain came rushing back. It stole his breath and he became aware of shouting. Darren was holding his arm and had his phone pressed to his ear.

"Ambulance is coming, hang in there, J. It's going to be okay. Help is coming."

He blinked, his gaze skittering back to Henry, blood pooled all around him and his unseeing eyes trained on Jeremy. Darren was wrong.

It would never be okay again.

***

Jeremy rolled over, flinging his hand out, only he kept going, falling onto the hard floor. He came awake, his entire arm engulfed in pain. He'd landed on his injured shoulder.

He groaned and fought to sit up, the room pitch dark, the nightmare still right there with him and even after all these years, the pain of losing his best friend since before they were even in kindergarten rushed him. It was a nightmare he hadn't had in a while, but being shot must have pulled it back to the surface.

Rubbing his head, he managed to drag himself off the floor without inflicting more pain on his shoulder and turn on the bedside lamp. The guest room was sparse and barren. A double bed with a dresser and chest. That was it. Not even a painting to break up the stark white walls. Conner probably didn't bring guests by here often considering the security measures he had in place.

Fuck, but his shoulder hurt. Jeremy had been shot before, but that old adage, out of sight out of mind held true. A person forgot what getting shot felt like. The mind's way of shielding itself from fear and allowing you to do what needed to be done. Jeremy was a special agent with the FBI, he couldn't let the memory of getting shot interfere with his duties and his subconscious knew that and surpassed the memory. Or at least that's how he rationalized it.

He did however remember the first time he'd been shot. He relived it often in his nightmares when his mind was too tired to fight it off. His best friend died. That night was the reason he went into law enforcement.

His door burst open and Conner came running in, naked except for a pair of boxers. Red boxes that did nothing to hide his junk.

"What happened?" Conner flipped the light switch and white light flooded the room and Jeremy winced against the bright invasion.

"Nightmare," Jeremy muttered, doing his best to look everywhere but at Conner whose build was that of a professional football player, only more defined and more powerful. As his sister would say, the man was built.

And just like that, all the sensations sleep had washed away came rushing back. He blinked trying to clear his head of the image of Conner's very obvious hard on from earlier. It had been staring him right in the face. For all of Conner's reassurances that he'd been too tired to try anything, he'd obviously been thinking about it.

And then he'd gone and stroked Jeremy's cheek with the gentlest of touches. Never had he experienced anything like what he'd felt when Conner touched him. No woman had stirred those feelings in him and it confused him.

Men did nothing for him. Never had.

Until Conner.

Kade once told him Conner could entice a straight man into bed with a few words and a smile. He hadn't believed him at the time, laughing it off. Then Florida happened.

Conner wasn't just handsome. He had this vibe, this very dangerous vibe that invited you to come and get into trouble with him. Invited you to want to be part of his world for just a little while.

Jeremy admitted he thought about it sometimes when he was alone. But he could think about it because he knew he'd never see Conner again, especially when Kade left the BAU and the FBI behind. Jeremy got a new partner and life went on.

And then this shit happens and Conner's thrown right back into his life.

"Fuck, you're bleeding." Conner shook is head and came over to the bed. "It must have been a hell of a nightmare."

"It was." Jeremy looked down at the patch of gauze covering his should and sure enough, blood was soaking through.

Conner pulled the gauze off and made this tsking sound. "You pulled two stitches loose. I'll be right back."

He turns and goes back into his room to where the only upstairs bathroom is. He's back a moment later with his big ass first aid kit. He sets it on the bed and rummages through it, pulling out iodine, what looks like the thread they use for stitches and a needle.

"You are not stitching me back up."

"It needs to be closed or it won't heal right. Stop acting like a chickenshit."

Jeremy gritted his teeth. "Is that thing even sterile?"

Instead of answering him, Conner pulls out alcohol swabs and uses them to sterilize the needle. He sets it aside on a piece of gauze. A spray bottle is pulled out of the kit and when Conner uses it on, he hisses, but the pain lessens.

"What's that?"

"Numbing spray. Did you expect me to stitch you up without it?"

He glances up and those black eyes are alight with amusement.

"Fucker," Jeremy muttered and Conner laughed. It was a deep rumble and sent shivers through him.

"Stop it," Conner said as he took hold of the iodine.

"Stop what?"

"Thinking about kissing me."

Jeremy gaped up at him. "I was not!"

"You were," Conner answered calmly. "I saw you shiver when I laughed. That shiver leads to kissing and I need to stitch up your wound. You shivering screws with my needlework."

"I'm just cold."

"Uh huh." Conner winked and threaded the needle. "Now hold still. It'll only take a second."

He leaned close, his body right in Jeremy's personal space. All he could see was bare skin. The urge to touch him took hold and he sat on his hands. Conner laughed again.

Conner finished the stitches in less time than he thought he it would take. He'd rushed but not so fast his stitches wouldn't hold. Jeremy's breath kept fluttering across the skin of his chest as he worked and it unnerved him. He wanted to get this shit done.

When Jeremy sat on his hands, he laughed. He couldn't help it. As much as he was working to keep his hands to himself, it looked like Conner wasn't the only one who wanted to touch and was fighting the urge.

"Having nightmares about tonight? Getting shot can be traumatic."

"No." Jeremy shifted and Conner picked up a pair of surgical scissors to cut and tie off the thread. "I was dreaming about the first time I got shot. My best friend died in that shooting. It was his twenty-first birthday and we were celebrating."

"I'm sorry." It was an automatic response. Years of good manners drilled into him by his mother and his grandmother.

Jeremy shrugged and winced. He'd been shot in is good arm. People always shrugged from the shoulder attached to their writing hand.

"Try not to move that shoulder. It'll be sorer tomorrow the more you use it tonight. I'm not going to bandage it just yet. Those stitches need to dry out from the idoine."

He stepped back and gathered all the trash before returning everything to the first aid kit. Instead of putting it back in the bathroom, he left it on the dresser. Who knew when Jeremy would need it again.

"You need anything? Motrin?"

"I'm good, thanks."

"I'll be downstairs if you do need something." He took the trash and closed the door behind him, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been internally holding.

Twice he'd almost kissed him.

It wasn't going to happen. He was his bodyguard.

Running a hand through his hair, he threw the trash away downstairs and grabbed a beer. Alcohol was necessary tonight. He couldn't sleep and had been taking stock of his arsenal and cleaning the guns that needed it when he'd heard the thump and the Jeremy cry out. The man probably hadn't realized he'd done that, but Conner had heard him and flown upstairs, afraid he'd injured himself further.

This whole gig was a bad idea. The moment he'd felt his skin under his hands, he'd wanted to do so much more then stitch him up. He was currently sporting a very painful hard-on, but he didn't find a cold shower. He used it as a way to make himself stronger, a way to keep his emotions under control.

Still...

Part of him wanted to go watch the fucker sleep to be there if the nightmares came back. He knew something about nightmares and how they fucked with your head and your ability to sleep.

Client, he reminded himself. Client.

His subconscious laughed at him and he told the fucker to shut the fuck up and go to bed while he went back to cleaning his guns.

It was going to be a long fucking night.