A/N: So...it's been a while. But I'm super excited about this story! I absolutely adore Tucker and I just love the connection that he and Hank have. So here's a little behind the scenes look at what I think happened during "Am I Blue?". Enjoy!

"Why?" Tucker moaned.

"Because you love me," Libby said, batting her eyelashes at him.

Tucker let his head fall back against the couch as Libby reached across him for the remote and changed the channel to TLC. "I should have known better than to let you come over here on a Friday night at 9:00."

Libby smiled at him. "It's not my fault that 'Say Yes to the Dress' is the must see show of the summer," she said, tilting her face up to kiss him.

Tucker sighed with good-natured long suffering. "It's a good thing I love you."

Libby responded by snuggling closer as Tucker put an arm around her.

"Hey there, Lovebirds."

Tucker felt Libby stiffen at the sound of his father's voice, and pulled her closer for reassurance. "Hey Dad."

"I hate to interrupt but I need a moment of your time Tucker."

"Yeah," Tucker shifted Libby off his shoulder so he could rise.

His father disappeared into the kitchen as Libby grabbed his hand. "Tucker," her voice conveyed her worry.

He smiled at her, a smile he didn't altogether feel, and squeezed her hand before following his father. "What's up, Dad?"

"I scheduled an appointment for you to get immunizations tomorrow at 11:00," the elder Bryant informed his son as he searched through the cupboards.

"I thought Hank was going to take care of all that," Tucker said with a frown.

"We will not be in need of Dr. Lawson's services anymore," Marshall told him. "Where the heck…"

Tucker looked at him in shock. "Are you kidding? Again Dad? We need him!"

"No we don't."

"Yes, we do."

"That's enough, Tucker."

"Dad, I-"

"Enough!" Marshall roared and slammed a cabinet door with a loud bang. "Hank is not your father! I am your father and I will decide who is welcome in my home!"

Tucker recoiled at the smell of alcohol on his father's breath. "Okay, I'm sorry!" he said quickly. "Can't we talk about this? Please?"

"Where the hell do we keep the glasses around here?" Marshall Bryant muttered, continuing to rummage through the cabinets. "Ah!"

"Dad?" Tucker tried again.

"What?" Marshall looked at his son, his eyes unfocused as he put a glass on the counter. "Oh, right. Tucker I am really tired right now and I do not want to discuss this anymore tonight."

Marshall finally managed to locate the bottle of wine he was looking for and popped the cork. Tucker watched as his father poured wine not only into the glass, but also over a good deal of the counter. "Are you sure you need that?" Tucker asked, feeling a little angry.

"Was I not clear?" Marshall said harshly. "I don't want to talk anymore tonight."

Something snapped inside Tucker. He grabbed the glass off the counter. "I think you've had enough."

"Tucker, give me the glass," Marshall said, his eyes growing dark.

"No."

"Tucker-"

"No!" now it was Tucker's turn to yell. "You're drunk, Dad. I'm cutting you off."

"You are on dangerous ground," Marshall warned.

"Really? Because I think you're the one in danger," words were just pouring out now. "How much have you had tonight, Dad? Five glasses? Six? Did you take some pills too?"

"That is none of your business!" Marshall yelled. "Give me the damn glass!"

Tucker shook his head. "Fine. Take it. Drink your life away. See if I care."

He slammed the glass on the counter, wine sloshing everywhere, and stormed from the room.

"Where are you going?" Marshall yelled after him.

"Away from you!" Tucker yelled back.

Libby appeared and tried to catch his arm. "Tucker, what is it? What's going on?"

"I have to go," Tucker said, his head aching with the pressure of tears he wouldn't let fall.

He brushed away Libby's hand and started down the stairs as quickly as he could. Suddenly his foot met empty air and the next thing he knew he was in a heap at the bottom with a sharp pain in his right knee.

"Tucker!"

He heard Libby yell and then her footsteps flying down the stairs.

"Tucker, Tucker, oh my God, talk to me," she said frantically as she knelt beside him.

Tucker struggled to sit up. "I'm okay. Ow!" he moaned, half in pain, half in frustration.

"What is it? What hurts?" Libby asked anxiously.

"My knee. Ow!" he looked down to see bruises blossoming across the skin of his knee and hands. "Lib, I think I need-"

She was already up and running to where he stashed his Factor VIII. "Here," she said as she knelt beside him once more.

"Okay, hold this for me," he said as he ripped open the packaging.

"Tucker?" his father appeared at the top of the stairs somewhat belatedly. "Oh my God, what happened?"

"He fell trying to get away from you," Libby spat.

"I'm fine, Dad," Tucker winced as he shoved the needle into his arm. "It's just bruising. Lib, can you help me up?"

Libby made to do so.

"Tucker…" Marshall started down the stairs.

"Just, stay up there, Dad. I'll be fine," Tucker said tiredly, as he gingerly lowered himself onto a lounger.

He felt drained, physically and emotionally. And he definitely did not want to be anywhere near his father right now, no matter how injured he was.

"We should call Hank," Libby said in an urgent whisper as Marshall slowly made his way back up the stairs.

"I'll be okay, Libby. We don't need to start World War III for a bruised knee. The Factor VIII's working. It's all good."

Libby looked at him, her unhappiness and worry written all over her face. At last she sighed. "Well at the least you need ice to keep the swelling down. Stay here, I'll be right back."

"I'm not going anywhere," Tucker assured her.

Libby waited until she had turned the corner before pulling out her phone. She stood impatiently while it rang, looking around nervously for any sign of Marshall Bryant. "Hank?" she said when he finally picked up, "It's Libby. We need you. Tucker's hurt. Yeah his house. Okay. Bye."

She grabbed the ice from the freezer and hurried back to Tucker. "Thanks," he said, putting it on his knee.

Libby said nothing and simply reached for his free hand. Tucker looked at her. "You called, didn't you?"

"You're hurt, Tucker!" Libby said defensively. "Do you remember what happened last time? Because I do and I don't think-"

"Lib, Libby," Tucker cut her off. "Thank you."

She looked up at him. "Really?"

"Really."

She sighed in relief. Tucker squeezed her hand and smiled. "Just don't expect me to stop the fireworks when he gets here."

A/N: Any and all reviews are welcome!