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The suddenness of Argen Rudd's attack had taken them both unaware, and with little time to react. For Martin Riggs, the only reaction possible was pain. Pain, and fear. He didn't want to die, damn it! But he wasn't sure he had a choice. He could feel himself slipping into oblivion... but the pain brought him back to awareness again, and he wondered where Roger was. He called out his name, but wasn't sure if it was even audible. The blackness reached for him, again, and he didn't have the strength to fight it.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Roger Murtaugh was trembling with leftover adrenaline. He wondered if the bastard would try to use his "diplomatic immunity" to get out of Hell.
He shakily got to his feet and ran to the edge of the hold. They had been so close! Another few feet, and Martin would have been out of danger. He tried calling to him, but got no response. He tried not to think about the possibilities as he climbed down the ladder to the bottom of the hold. Just put one foot in front of the other for now. Martin needs you, Roger. Gotta keep a level head, for his sake.
When he could see Martin clearly, he stopped short to catch his breath. Was he even still alive? Fear and grief warred in his mind, until he saw the almost invisible rise and fall of Martin's chest. He was still alive! And while he was alive, there was hope...
Roger ran to the prone form, and gently cradled Martin in his lap. He seemed so frail, not at all like his usual manic self. He was having trouble breathing, and Roger knew one of the bullets must have hit a lung, at least. He heard the wail of approaching sirens, and thanked God that someone had heard the shots and alerted police. He only hoped an ambulance was on the way as well.
He felt Martin's breath catch again, and tried to stay calm as he began speaking to his semi-conscious partner. "No, don't die... if you breathe in, you're alive, not dead. You're not dead until I tell you... ya got that? Ya got that, Riggs? You're not dead until I tell you... you got that, Riggs? You're not dead until I tell you. Now breathe, with me, breathe... now breathe... breathe..."
Breathe? Huh! Martin would have laughed, but laughing hurt too much. But as long as he still could feel pain, he knew he was still alive. He stirred, aware of being held in strong arms.
"Hey, Rog... you know something?"
"What?"
"You really are a beautiful man." He laughed again, because if he didn't he was going to scream. He couldn't do that, couldn't let Rog see how bad he was hurt. It would only make him worry more.
"C'mon, give us a kiss before they get here..."
Roger laughed, too. But the sound had a frantic, desperate edge to it. Where were the sirens he'd thought he'd heard? He tightened his grip on his partner as he felt the younger man strain to get his breath.
"Hey, where'd that bullet hit you, anyway?" He purposely kept his tone light, not wanting Martin to pick up on his distress.
"Dunno, man, but everything's going numb now."
And indeed, Riggs' body was going slack in Roger's grip, and he felt panic settling in again.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Martin floated on a red sea of pain. He was aware of someone (Roger?) calling his name. He moved toward the sound, but the pain forced him back. He also became aware of the sound of someone chopping onions.
Onions? Where the hell was he?
On, yeah, that's right... he was in Rog and Trish's kitchen, chopping onions for his "gourmet chili."
But wait a minute... if he was in the Murtaugh's kitchen, what was Victoria Lynn doing here? She stood with her arms outstretched, beckoning to him. If she was here, then was he dead?
But he didn't want to die – not anymore. Vicky's absence was still a source of pain, and discovering why she'd died didn't make things easier, but life was short enough, and he had no desire to see his life shortened anymore. Besides, someone had to keep Rog out of trouble!
As quickly as he'd thought that, Victoria's image wavered and disappeared, as did the image of the Murtaugh's kitchen. His awareness of his surroundings faded to black.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
As Roger had suspected, one of the security guards employed by the docks had heard the shots and called in the police. Medical personnel had also been notified, even though there were few people left alive in need of their services. Upon realizing there was no way to get Riggs above by conventional means, they radioed for a rescue helicopter. While they waited, they worked on getting the injured man stabilized for transport. It wasn't an easy task – he'd lost a lot of blood, even before the bullet wound.
Roger, who was still holding on to his partner, felt his stomach churn as the paramedics started cutting away the leg of Riggs' jeans. He hadn't been aware of the wound; Martin hadn't mentioned it. What other injuries had he sustained in the brief time they'd been separated?
He was brought out of his reverie by the soft gasp of one of the medics. "Christ, Joe... this wound looks like it penetrates the whole damn leg!"
"Yeah, I see. Poor bastard'll be lucky if he ever walks normally again. Hand me some of those large gauze pads, Chris."
Left unspoken between the two men was the thought that this man would be lucky if he lived, period. They worked in silence, moving around Roger, who'd made it clear he wasn't moving from his partner's side. Neither medic felt they could spare the time to argue, and as long as the detective wasn't hampering their treatment, they'd let him stay where he was.
All three of them breathed sighs of relief when the sounds of an approaching helicopter became clear. Martin's condition was stable, for now, but he needed to get to a hospital, and soon.
The chopper's pilot wasn't happy about the low altitude he had to maintain in order to get Martin safely aboard. The chopper had its own medics, so the ground crew offered to transport Roger to the hospital. He desperately wanted to go with Martin, but knew that was impossible, so he agreed.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
When the ambulance arrived at the Emergency Room entrance, Roger leaped out and thanked the medics. Upon checking at the Reception Desk, he learned that Martin was already on his way to Surgery. Before he could turn away, the nurse handed him the usual forms for Martin's admittance. With a resigned sigh, he headed for the nearest chair and began the tedious process of completing them. At least it would keep his mind off Martin's condition for a short while.
He handed the completed forms to the nurse and headed for a phone. It dawned on him that he should call Trish and let her and the kids know he was okay. If they'd heard anything on the radio or television news, they'd be frantic with worry.
It took two tries before he got through to Trish's sister in Belleflower. She sounded relieved to hear from him, and quickly got Trish on the line. "Roger? Is that you?"
"Yeah, baby. I'm here. I'm okay."
"Oh, thank God! When we heard about all the others..." She couldn't finish. She'd known most of the officers who'd been killed by Rudd's henchmen, and she knew how easily it could have been Roger. "Did you get all the bad guys?" She managed, keeping her tone light.
"Yeah, baby. We got 'em all. They won't bother us anymore." He didn't know how true that was. He would have a lot of explaining to do to Captain Murphy. But he was sure the Captain would back the actions he'd taken tonight, especially in view of what Martin had discovered.
"Is Martin okay? Where are you guys? Is it safe to come home now?"
"Whoa, honey. Slow down. I can only answer one question at a time!" He had to stall her for a moment, otherwise she'd know how bad it really was. But something in his voice alerted her anyway. "We're at the hospital..." He couldn't keep his voice steady, and let it trail off.
"Roger, what's wrong? It's Martin, isn't it?" The fear was back in her voice, almost as strong as before.
Her affection for her husband's young partner made it seem as if he were one of the family, which was encouraged by Roger. He firmly believed that it was having the love and support of a family, even if an adopted one, which had pulled Martin back from the edge when they'd first met. He could only hope that that same "family" could keep him around a bit longer.
Roger's voice became soft, as if to cushion the shock. "Yeah, honey. It's Martin." He should have known he wouldn't be able to keep it from her. But it was almost a game to them now, after all these years together. He had to at least try.
"How bad?" Trish knew Martin was at least still alive. If he'd died, Roger would have said so by now, of that she was certain.
"He's in surgery, and I haven't had a chance to talk to his doctor yet. But he had a bad stab wound in his leg, and he took a couple bullets, at least. One punctured a lung, I think." He couldn't quite manage to keep his worry from telling in his voice.
"I'm coming home, Roger. Right now. I want to be with you." Her voice was soft with compassion, and he didn't have the strength to refuse her.
"I need you, baby. I'm scared for Martin – scared he won't want to live." His voice cracked on the last phrase, and Trish picked up on what he left unsaid.
"But I thought that was all over a long time ago! He's been fine since that first Christmas." There was genuine surprise in her voice.
"He found something out tonight, Trish. Something that may just push him back over the edge." She didn't say anything, just let him get his thoughts in order. "His wife's death wasn't an accident, Trish."
"Roger, you're not making sense. Of course it was. She lost control and ran off the overpass." Even as she said it, she felt uneasy.
"No, baby. That's what Rudd's henchmen wanted Martin to think, to keep him off their trail. They forced the car off the road, and when they realized they'd gotten his wife instead of Martin, they backed off to see what he'd do next. In the condition he was in, he didn't realize they were after him, and he was taken off the case, so he was no threat, 'til now."
Her horrified gasp broke in sharply. "You mean... they... the people you and Martin were after were the people who were responsible for Victoria Lynn's death?"
"Yeah, and I don't know if Martin can deal with it right now. We got the bastards, but that doesn't bring Vicky back, or change the reason behind her death. And knowing Martin, he's blaming himself totally for her death."
"Oh, Rog, after all he's been through, now this?"
"Yeah, I know." He sighed heavily, leaning against the wall. As he looked up, he noticed one of the surgeons headed his way. "Honey, I gotta go now. They're looking for me."
"Okay, baby. I'll see you soon. I love you. Take care of yourself."
Roger hung up the phone and headed toward the doctor. He was a young man. Too young, Roger thought. He knew that was unfair, and quickly shelved the thought. This was one of the best trauma centers in the state, and youth was not a sin.
"Sergeant Murtaugh? I'm Dr. Mark Boyle. I've been assisting with your partner's surgery. They're preparing to close him up now, and I thought I'd let you know how he's doing. Why don't you come with me to the doctor's lounge where we can talk in private?"
Roger nodded, falling into step beside him. Neither man spoke until they'd entered the lounge.
Dr. Boyle poured a cup of coffee and offered it to Murtaugh, who accepted it gratefully. Then, pouring himself a cup, he gestured to some nearby chairs. "Have a seat, Sergeant, and I'll fill you in on your partner's condition."
He watched the black man carefully, not exactly sure what he was looking for. But something was definitely off. As if he was too controlled. Maybe that was it. Boyle knew that too much control for too long often took a hard toll on the human body. When this man finally crashed from his adrenaline high, he was going to be out for awhile. He decided he'd better keep an eye on him for now. He didn't want both partners in the hospital.
Dr. Boyle cleared his throat and began. "Your partner's a very lucky man. He's lost a lot of blood, and he's going to be quite weak and sore for awhile, but it looks like he'll be okay. There's considerable muscle damage to his leg, and his left shoulder, but again, it's nothing permanent. It's going to take awhile for Sergeant Riggs to recover fully, but rest assured, he will recover. Both the knife wound and the bullets missed major arteries and nerves. The blood loss and shock were his biggest threat. We've transfused him, and his vital signs have been stabilized."
The relief on the black man's face was obvious. There was an almost instantaneous relaxation in his posture. He tried to stifle a yawn, and Dr. Boyle hid a grin.
"I know you'll want to see him, but they're finishing up in surgery now, and then he'll be moved to recovery. Why don't you relax here for awhile? I'll have a nurse come and get you when he's settled."
Roger wanted to protest, but he was too tired. He knew the doctor was right. There would be time to see Martin when he was in a room. "Yeah, okay. And, hey, Doc?"
Boyle turned. "Yes?"
"My wife's on her way. Can you make sure the nurses show her where I am?"
The young doctor nodded, smiling. The high level of tension he'd noted earlier had dissipated with the good news. There'd be no need now to keep watch on this man. With luck, he'd be able to get some much needed rest. Boyle quietly left and headed to the nurses' station to leave instructions not to disturb the man in the lounge unless his wife arrived.
Roger sank onto the couch with a sigh of relief. It had been close. The doctor hadn't needed to tell him, he could still feel the leftover tension.
Jesus, kid! How many lives have you got? And how many more chances before I'm left alone again? Roger realized that he was becoming maudlin, but he couldn't stop himself. Martin had become an integral part of the Murtaugh family, and Roger could not imagine life without his slightly crazed young partner.
The same crazy attitude Martin had toward life and loving had almost brought his death, when he couldn't deal with his wife's tragic death. But he'd been able to reach out and silently ask for help, and Roger had responded, although unwillingly at first.
Martin had a very compelling personality, which was hard to resist. Even after all he'd been through in Viet Nam and as a Narcotics officer he'd managed to retain an almost child‑like wonder about the way the world worked sometimes. Martin Riggs was no innocent, not by a long shot, but he could sometimes give that impression.
Roger fell asleep with a smile on his face, contemplating the enigma who was his partner, and thankful that he was going to pull through.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
He was aware, vaguely, that a substantial amount of time had passed. And, as he woke, he also realized he wasn't alone. Trish was there. Trish, with her soothing hands and warm heart. She was crouched on the floor beside the sofa, gently tracing the lines of his face. He caught the hand closest to him, and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss.
"Hi, honey... how's Martin?" Her voice was soft, and full of concern and compassion. She knew how hard the past couple days had been, and what losing so many colleagues at one time was doing to him emotionally. Add Martin's injuries to all of that and you had the recipe for disaster, especially if Martin was in danger of not pulling through.
Since Martin and Roger had become partners, there had been a big change in the younger man's attitude. There were still days when grief threatened to swallow him whole, but he'd learned to reach out, not to hold the pain in. And having a surrogate family to share with eased that pain.
Roger had also become dependent on Martin, in a way. Roger had always had the tendency to take life, and himself, too seriously, but with Martin around, that was usually hard to do. Unless, of course, he was working on a case, then Martin was like a dog with a bone, gnawing away at it with steady determination. "He's gonna be okay. The Doc says he's gonna be weak and sore for awhile, and he's gonna have to have physical therapy, but he'll make a full recovery."
There was a note of triumph in his voice, and Trish smiled. At times Roger displayed an almost paternal pride and protectiveness about his partner, which was returned, in a sense. Martin would listen to Roger's voice of caution before any of their superiors. Trish leaned her head against their clasped hands. "Thank God!"
"Yeah, Doc Boyle says they'll let me see him once they've got him settled. It should be soon. Guess I've been sleeping for awhile." He sounded somewhat sheepish, and Trish smiled gently.
"You needed it, baby. After what you've been through…" She couldn't finish for the tears that were threatening.
Roger knew what she was leaving unsaid, and tried to smile through his own misty eyes. "Yeah, I guess I did." He sobered. "We lost a lot of good cops last night, Trish. And good friends... " He couldn't continue for the lump in his throat. Trish gently brushed his unshed tears away, trying to somehow soothe his pain.
At that moment a nurse appeared in the doorway. "Sergeant Murtaugh, you can see Mr. Riggs for a few minutes now. He's in Room C12. He's conscious, but only just, so don't overtire him. If he starts to get upset, for any reason, I'm afraid you'll have to leave immediately. No arguments."
"I understand, and don't worry, I won't upset him." He turned to his wife. "Trish..."
"It's okay, honey. I'll wait for you here." She gave him a quick kiss and pushed him toward the door.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Roger's steps slowed as he approached his partner's room. Number C12 – wasn't that the room Leo Getz had been in at the hotel? He shivered, cursed himself for a fool, and opened the door.
Seeing Martin for the first time was a shock, even though Roger had known what to expect. Seeing him lying so still and pale was difficult, nevertheless.
Martin stirred, vaguely aware that his door had just opened. He hoped it wasn't someone to take more blood samples, or his temperature again. Taking a gamble he called, "Rog?"
Footsteps approached, and he was rewarded with the sound of his partner's voice. "Yeah, kid. I'm right here. Everything's gonna be okay now." Roger continued his reassuring litany as he took a seat near his partner.
Martin's hand moved weakly, as if searching, and Roger quickly grasped it between his own and gave a gentle squeeze.
Martin relaxed. Roger was here. That meant he was safe; everything was going to be okay.
"Rog?" he said again. "I'm still alive? I'm not sure... not sure I believe..." His voice trailed off, the effort to speak plainly exhausting him.
"Whoa, kid. Take it easy. You're gonna be okay, but you've got to rest easy for awhile." Keeping his grasp on his partner's hand, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his other hand coming up to smooth the unruly dark hair back from the still-too-white face.
"We made it, eh, Cochise?" Martin laughed weakly, tensing as a spasm of pain hit. "Hey, partner... stay for... awhile? Don't go... yet, okay?" His voice was breathy with the effort to draw enough breath to get the words out without too much pain.
"Don't worry, kid. I ain't going nowhere, not for awhile. Now, go back to sleep, you hear?" Roger gave the hand he was holding another gentle squeeze, and was reassured at the faint return of pressure.
Roger watched as his young partner slipped into a deep sleep. He gently disentangled his hand, and got up from the bed, taking his former position in the chair. He wasn't aware that he had fallen asleep until he felt the gentle touch of a nurse's hand shaking him.
"Sergeant Murtaugh? I'm sorry, you'll have to leave now. You can come back tomorrow morning. I'll stay with him." Her voice was soft, and her tone was reluctant, knowing he had no desire to leave his partner yet.
Roger wanted to argue, say that his place was here, with his partner. But in all honesty he was exhausted. And Trish and the kids were waiting for him. He got up without protest and silently left.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Trish had gone home, to try to see how much damage had been done this time. At this rate, they'd need a new house soon!
Roger had warned her, the house was really a mess this time, what with the bathroom and the garage. She signed. Thank God for the main bathroom! They could put a temporary wall in for now, and fix it when things weren't so frantic.
She laughed wryly to herself. With Martin around that wasn't likely to be any time soon! Sobering quickly, she thought how close he'd been to not being around, and started to pick up some of the debris. She really didn't want to think about how close both her husband and his partner had been to not making it, and how she would have dealt with it.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car in the drive. She glanced out of the nearest window and saw Roger getting out of a squad car. He'd gotten one of the boys to drop him off. That must mean Martin was stable, since he wouldn't have left otherwise.
She was glad he was home; they had some things to discuss. She'd been thinking as she cleaned. Unavoidable, really. Where would Martin go when he was released from the hospital? He had no home now, and no family. At least none that he'd ever told the Murtaugh family about. As far as Trish knew, she, Roger and the children were Martin's family. She wondered how long he'd be in the hospital, and if they would have enough time to implement the plan that was beginning to take form in her mind.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Roger wearily got ready for bed. Trish was already under the covers. At least they didn't have to worry about the kids tonight. They were still with Trish's sister. The contractor had been in earlier to put plastic over the gaping hold that had been their bathroom, promising to return early the next morning with a crew to start repairs in earnest.
"Rog..."
"Yeah, honey?"
"Do you think Martin will go for our plan?" While beginning the work of clearing some of the debris, she had brought up her idea.
Roger crawled into bed and pulled her close before replying. "I don't know, sweetheart. Martin's unpredictable, hard to say how he'll react."
The "plan" as Trish put it, called for Roger's "hobby room" to be fitted as an efficiency apartment, with a small kitchen and bathroom. The contractor had assured the Murtaughs that he and his crew could have it livable in six to eight weeks. Roger had no idea how long the hospital would keep Martin, but he did know the younger man would need some place where he could have privacy, but still be where Roger and the rest of the family could keep an unobtrusive eye on his recovery for a while.
He let the subject drop, content for the moment to let things stand. There was time enough for planning. Time enough to help Martin grow accustomed to the idea. And later on, there would be time enough to help him relocate to a more permanent residence.
Thank God.
~ fin ~