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Daniel held one hand on the crumpled t-shirt he had taken off his back on Blair's head where a chunk of tossed up rock had left a profusely bleeding wound. His other hand was firmly on Blair's chest, holding him down.

"You can't get up."

"Sure I can," Blair glared owlishly at Daniel.

"You were unconscious for five minutes or more. You probably have a concussion."

"Hold up those fingers again – I'll get it right this time." Blair protested.

"Sure. Forty-four is a great answer." Daniel said seriously, though the corners of his mouth twitched.

"I said four..."

"Yeah, but I held up two..." Daniel lifted up the t-shirt cautiously and was pleased to see that the bleeding was definitely slowing down to a sluggish crawl. He ignored Blair's muttering comment of 'cheater', and shifted a bit to keep the sun out of Blair's eyes with his shadow.

He looked up hopefully when he heard the sound of another car coming. With a stubborn look on his face of grim determination he would stop that car.

"Stay." He barked at Blair, who gave a faint woof back, and Daniel stood up his hands held up in what he hoped would stop the car.

The vehicle began to slow and as it's shape began to be discernible from the dust cloud, Daniel slowly lowered his hands as his mouth hung open in amazement. It slowed down and stopped in front of them. Blair had also raised himself, somewhat shakily, to one elbow to also stare. He let out a soft "Wow!"

The vintage 1955 black hearse, despite the coating of travel dust was magnificent. The chrome detailing twinkled in the sun and the front bumper projections gave the hearse the demeanor of a snarling beast baring its teeth. A shapely leg, clad in a black mesh stocking and a colorful dress Minnie Mouse would be proud to wear, stepped out of the passenger side of the car.

"Did those cretins in the pick up do this?" She knelt carefully over Blair, who had quickly laid back down, his head swimming. "Poor dear," she cooed and patted his arm.

The driver, had also stepped out of the vehicle, and joined them with a handy black lace parasol, and plopped down an old doctor's satchel next to Blair. Despite the 100+ heat she was dressed all in black except for some bright red ribbons tied to her pig tails. She had the tattoo of a spider web on her neck, something Daniel hadn't seen on a young pretty woman since doing a freshman course in tribal markings and customs.

"They tried harassing us a couple of miles ago," the young woman in black explained, "but our Sally," she glanced at the hearse which was ticking over coolly next to them, " she is no light weight."

"Sally forth and defeat the dragon." Blair said. Daniel would have kicked him if he wasn't down already. But, both women beamed at the out and out romanticism. Why couldn't he say something neat like Blair, he got so awkward around females. Especially those of the opposite sex.

The girl in black opened up the satchel revealing a plethora of bright instruments, that Daniel hoped were of a medical nature, rather than torture.

"Are you a doctor?" he asked.

"Forensic scientist." She snapped on a pair of rubber gloves, picked off Daniel's t shirt with a pair of forceps and just as neatly placed a gauze pad over the wound without a drop of blood falling elsewhere. "Stone flew up and hit you. Right?"

"Uh huh." Blair winced theatrically. Daniel really wanted to hit him now.

"Did you lose consciousness?" She produced a bigger bandage and expertly dressed the wound.

"No."

"Yes, he did."

Blair and Daniel said at the same time.

"It doesn't look too bad." the forensic scientist said.

"Don't worry, we'll take you to a hospital, sweetie." The brightly dressed woman carefully stroked Blair's curly soft hair away from the bandage, her bangled wrists making a delicate chiming sound. It was strange to have someone his age, (he guessed) call him sweetie, one of his mother's pet names for him.

"Blair. I'm Blair. He used his big blue eyes and dark lashes to his advantage.

"Penelope." she cooed back.

"I'm D-daniel. Thank you for stopping."

"Abby." She went to stick out a hand and then laughed shedding the glove, to Daniel's surprise and embarrassment she gave him hug. "We'll see if we can make room in the back for Blair to lie down."

At first they seemed ready to even dump some things to make room, but after some pushing and shoving and some whispered consultations, looking often at the two very handsome young men, Blair even though blood-stained and pale was quite delicious with his long curly dark hair and Daniel without his shirt showed a well-muscled physique and seemed quite awkwardly cute.

Penelope came over where Daniel was still squatting next to Blair. "Blair, sweetie, you wouldn't mind lying down in a coffin would you?"

"No, not at all." Blair said brightly and the two batted eyes at one another.

When helping Blair into the coffin Daniel gave him a pinch. "Behave yourself," he hissed. "these are ladies."

"I know." Blair drawled back.

It seemed his old friend had become a first class skirt chaser. He himself was immersed in academics and had no time for light flirtations. Yet, once Blair had been ensconced in the red flannel-lined coffin (satin was hard to clean) which Abby had explained was her bed, he discovered it wasn't so hard to talk to them.

Daniel, who was sitting between the two ladies, found out that they were moving to Los Angeles, thus the loaded hearse. They exchanged academic credentials, although Penelope was a bit vague about what she did, something to do with the burgeoning field of computers. Abby was currently working on doctoral thesis which led to stories about idiot classmates and equally idiot professors.

They checked on Blair from time to time, who assured them that he was quite comfortable in the coffin and didn't seem to mind listening to the stories drifting back from the front seat, though he would have liked to add a few of his own when he felt better.

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Charlie had already counted the holes in the ceiling tiles and created a formula for determining how many holes would be present in a a roof covering a football stadium. He was considering applying it to the surface of the moon, something Fleinhardt would appreciate, but the lady at the reception desk had refused him any more pencils, when she caught him scribbling on the walls. The ugly green walls would have been improved. He had left several more messages with Spencer, which brought to mind changes he would have to make on his 11th grade paper, "The Mathematics of Friendship".

A harried doctor had spent two minutes with him, explaining that his mother was in surgery, they didn't expect problems and that he could see her 'later'. How long 'later' was, was left nebulous. About an hour later, a less hurried lady, explained that she was a social worker for the hospital. She took time to ask if he was hungry, had him introduced to the cafeteria ladies, who promised to feed him, and inquired genuinely on how he felt. Luckily, he was over 18, so social services wouldn't have to incarcerate him - leaving Dad or Mom to spring him. He was gratified and thankful, for that little bit of attention, but wished Spence would show up. She left him with a smile and a pat on the arm when her pager called her off to some other person in need.

He was tracing random equations concerning orthogonal symmetry on the glass windows near the emergency entrance, only to see them fade away. His eyes widened in surprise when a dusty black hearse pulled up and someone familiar looking and two strangely dressed women got out and started to pull out a coffin. A rather lively, and familiar looking corpse popped out of the coffin.

"Blair! Daniel!" he cried out.

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