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After they’d survived Christmas dinner and the kids had been coaxed into bed, Riggs and Murtaugh sat out on the boat, nursing beers and staring out into the dark street. They’d talked out the case; they’d talked out making Riggs’ transfer to homicide permanent; and they’d talked around all the reasons why this partnership was going to work when so many of Murtaugh’s past partnerships had failed. Eventually, they’d lapsed into amicable silence, sitting for long minutes without saying a word, until Murtaugh fished the bullet out of his pocket and held it up, not missing the sudden stiffness in his new partner’s stance or the way Riggs pretended to be staring ahead when in fact he was watching Murtaugh carefully out of the corner of his eye.
Murtaugh closed his hand around the bullet, turned to Riggs, and said, “thank you.”
Riggs ducked his head. “We don’t have to do this, Rog,” he started.
The older man cut him off. “No, no, just listen, Riggs. Just hear me out.” Riggs looked miserable, but he nodded. Murtaugh continued, “I just want you to know that I understand what this means.”
“Okay.”
“And I want you to promise me something, Riggs.”
“Come on, Roger, I gave you the bullet. Let’s not do this.”
Roger barrelled on. “You don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to tell me anything. All I want you to do is promise that if it gets bad, you’ll get in your truck and drive straight over here. Okay?”
“I can’t do that. You’ve got your wife and your kids – I can’t just come over disrupting your life like that…”
“That’s the deal, Partner.” Roger replied. He reached back into his pocket and pulled out a key. “If we wake up in the morning and find you on our couch, we’ll just put another plate out for breakfast. No questions asked.”
“No, that’s – it’s too much, Roger, really.”
“Riggs, if you’re going to be my partner, you’ll have to be my friend. That’s how it works. And friends look out for each other. Okay?” Roger pinned the other man down, catching his eyes.
Riggs held the gaze uncertainly for a moment before cutting his eyes away. “Okay,” he said, nodding, his voice rough.
+++
Two weeks went by before Murtaugh, up late reading, heard the front door ease open. There was a soft bark, followed by Riggs saying “Quiet, Sam,” and then both man and dog entered the room. “Ah, hey, Rog,” Riggs stuttered when he realized the other man was still awake. He half-turned toward the door, as if the offer was only valid if the family was asleep.
“Come on in, Riggs,” Murtaugh replied, shutting his book. “Take your shoes off. Trish’ll murder me if she finds out I let you walk across her rug in those boots.”
“I – right,” Riggs hurried to comply. “I – I was just –“
“No questions asked, remember?” Murtaugh said gently. He stood, went to the hall closet, and pulled out a shabby old blanket they used for picnics sometimes. Riggs took it from him silently and settled onto the couch. “Good night, Riggs,” Murtaugh said, heading for the stairs.
“Night, Rog,” Riggs’ voice floated up to him, and he heard the TV click on as he turned the corner toward his room.
The blanket was folded neatly on the couch and there was a coffee cup in the dishwasher when Murtaugh woke up the next morning – and a fresh pot of gloriously strong coffee. When he got to work, Riggs said, “thanks.”
+++
The friendship felt to Murtaugh like trying to tame a wild dog. Trish seemed to get it, maybe even better than he did. Ordinarily, she’d have bent over backward getting the guest room ready for whenever Riggs wanted to stay, but in this case she kept her enthusiasm firmly in check. If Riggs happened to appear while she was still awake, she’d just arch an eyebrow and mock-sternly tell him not to track mud on her nice clean floor. Murtaugh did notice, though, that a proper comforter and down pillow had found their way into the front hall closet.
Even the kids seemed to understand that they weren’t to make any sudden moves, so to speak. On the rare occasion when Riggs would show up before bedtime, they were polite, quiet, and didn’t react when he appeared. As it if was normal. As if he belonged there.
Things went on like that for several months, with Riggs appearing sporadically, slinking in and settling onto the couch without speaking. Then one night, Riggs came up the stairs. It was midnight, or maybe a little later. Murtaugh was just dozing off; Trish was sitting up in bed writing, as she often did, inspiration not being known to keep banker’s hours. “Roger,” she said quietly. “Martin’s looking for you.” He sat up in bed and caught a glimpse of Riggs hovering uncertainly by their half-closed bedroom door.
“I’ll be right there,” Murtaugh replied. The face at the door vanished. By the time Murtaugh had found his robe and slippers and made his way downstairs, Riggs had helped himself to a beer and was slouched at the kitchen table. There was a second bottle waiting. Murtaugh sat down. Riggs didn’t move, a bleak expression on his face, until he’d finished his bottle.
Then he spoke. “It was a year ago today,” he said. “When the hospital called to say – when Vicki – it’s been a year.” He fiddled with the ring on his finger.
Murtaugh shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry,” he replied.
Riggs waved it off. He swallowed, blinking rapidly, and when he spoke again his voice cracked. “I started thinking. I don’t need a special bullet. I don’t even need a gun. There’re so many ways to go. I started thinking. I was afraid to even drive here. I kept thinking I could just turn the wheel and go over the edge. I didn’t bring Sam in case – in case I didn’t make it here.” He broke off, looking up for the first time, meeting Murtaugh’s eyes with a desperate look. Murtaugh kept his expression as neutral as he could, and nodded for the other man to continue. “I want to live, Rog, I swear I do,” he said in a rush. “I don’t want to... I just, I start thinking about it.”
“It’s okay,” Murtaugh told him. He dared to reach across the table and touch Riggs’ arm. “It’s okay, Martin. You kept your promise. You came here. You made it.”
Riggs nodded. “Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
Murtaugh patted his arm, leaning back to give his friend some space. As he did, he glanced down and saw a small puddle under Riggs’ feet.
“Why are you wet?” he asked, forgetting about ‘no questions.’
Riggs shrugged, uncomfortable. “I stopped to see her,” he replied.
Murtaugh nodded. It had been pouring rain for a week. “I’ll get you something to change into,” he replied. “Trish can throw your jeans in the laundry tomorrow.” He stood.
“Roger?” Riggs’ voice stopped him at the door, and he turned. “I’m – thanks.”
Roger nodded, smiling. “No problem, partner,” he said. “No problem at all.”