Disclaimer: not my show, just my prediction/hopes for next weeks plot.
A/N: ok I started writing this family thing with Carlos in math class on Friday and I typed it up, then I noticed Liquid Thalassa just wrote one…so I made it about next weeks episode instead. Hope you like it.
WARNING: contains some minor spoilers as too how Doc obtains the gun for next week's episode.
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I had nothing better to do. Staring out the window seemed better then staring at Doc. His eyes were filled with guilt, betrayal, sadness, but yet no remorse.
That's what worried me. His heart was set on revenge; he hadn't been all there since Alex died. But Doc isn't the guy you look at and think "Shooter." I can still see it in his eyes though, the pain, he wasn't ready for this. And when I look into Kim, or Levine, or Walsh, or DK's faces, I know they're just as unprepared as he was going into this.
I turned to look back at Steeper. Doc meant to shoot him, not me, I made this decision on my own. The window drew my attention again.
The rain was coming down harder then I had ever remembered. It sent a beautiful cascade of water droplets onto the windows. They shone, reflecting and refracting light from the spasmodic bolts of lightning.
I used to hate storms. As a child I would run to whoever would silence my tears, or burry myself under a sheet with an old comic. Growing up in the system wasn't a great way to fight fears; you can only conquer them with help, and there was very rarely help.
I remember a family I stayed with for a while. They had brought another older kid and me to their home from Child and Family Services. When I was there, it actually felt like a home, as opposed to just a roof over my head. Things all had a purpose there; they kissed each other goodnight, and goodbye.
They're all gone now though. I still remember it, they were only my second or third family, long time to still remember a single night. A night that lasted longer then very few in my life.
*~*
It was January eighteenth 1982. The weatherman had predicted New York City would be covered in a thick blanket of snow. I remember making plans with my brother to sneak into "Rocky III" if we got a snow day. But that night the winds died down and it turned into a heavy onslaught of rain and sleet. By midnight the streets of lower Manhattan were under two inches of water.
I was sitting on my bed again, hunched under the sheets with a flashlight. The lighted illuminated the pages of the latest edition of "The Hulk"; almost as brightly as the lightning hit the sky. For some reason I always thought it was the rain and thunder that would hurt you, if anything. It never occurred to me that the beautiful breaks of blinding light were dangerous at all.
My "brother", Jordan, had fallen asleep hours ago. We had had a light war, he would turn the lights off to go to bed, then I would turn them back on to read. But he won. He always one, being fifteen, he was older and stronger. . . and more brave.
Though the light was dim in our room, and the dead of winter was upon us, I became suddenly aware of an intense heat producing light. Fire, ironic now, huh?
I hadn't yet learned to stay low to the ground, or the whole "Stop-drop-role" thing, so I jumped carelessly out of bed and ran to Jordan. He took me out and went back in for them. It was the last time I'd see any of them. I remember looking down at my bare feet, covered in the cold water in the street, the fireman taking me away. And I landed myself with a new family within a week. That's how it goes.
*~*
"Doc," I choked out. The pressure was building in my chest and I subconsciously ran my hand over the temporary bandages over my collarbone. I saved him though, as soon as the window broke, I knew I didn't have a choice; he didn't have a prayer.
Doc's head craned in my direction, the gun still limp in his right hand.
"It's over," I whispered to him. Kim, next to Levine across the room, raised her head and shot a look between us. Her tired eyes switched rapidly from Doc to me, then back again, "Give it up man."
"I didn't want it to go like this," he said in a whisper, running his left hand over his face. He stood up and walked over to the wall I was leaning against and slid down next me.
Across the room I saw Levine flinch, turning her eyes down to the floor. See she was new, she had only seen this current "phase" of Doc's. I'd been his partner for five years, this wouldn't change that, I wasn't scared of him.
I looked over at Steeper, "Doc, he's not dead," I paced myself to avoid loosing my breath, "Yet. . .just let it go."
"There's no letting go now, Carlos, its over for me."
"If I thought," I coughed out, still trying to keep this conversation private, "thought it was over. . .I wouldn't have pushed you out of the way."
"I still don't understand why you did it, I'm a dead man walking either way you cut it. Just a matter of time," he said morbidly. He rose to his feet again and walked back to his previous seat.
I strained to push my self up using my good arm, able to sit up more straight; I bent my knee and rose to a wobbling stand. Kim was quick to help silence me, but I waved her off. I knew I should stay still, but my wound wasn't bleeding as bad, and Doc had me worried.
The walk to his chair seemed to take forever, I ran over a scenario in my mind, but none of this had any logic. I needed to know what went wrong, what wire had snapped in him that made him do this, what, if anything, I could do to stop his downward spiral.
"Carlos, you're just gunna make this whole thing worse, sit down!" he yelled in frustration. He was cornered in a lose-lose situation.
"I'm not going to sit down, Doc," I spoke softly and deliberately. I put my hand out, offering him a sign of forgiveness, offering help. He silently looked up at me, then down at his gun.
"Nothing can FIX what I've done!" His voice rose and he brought both hands up to his temples. The cold metal of the guns barrel against his skin made him flinch, and I looked away. I just caught glance of Kim, a single tear rolling down her cheek.
"Look," I breathed, "you're right, but it wont look so bad. . .if you just turn –yourself- in now!" the tension in my voice rose, and my chest constricted further.
"Don't you see? I can't DO that!" he stood up again, this type his gun lay erect in his hand. Aimed at me, he cocked it slowly, "I can't go back Carlos!"
At this point he had broken down and the tears in his eyes flowed freely down his cheeks.
"Doc, don't," came Kim's feeble cry.
My right hand subconsciously rose, the left one still slackened in pain, "Doc, this is over now, OK? I know you, this is not you."
His eyes closed and he cursed away his tears, "I don't want to do this Carlos," he choked, and I saw his finger twitch on the trigger. He was going to do it. I saved his life, tried to redeem him, and he was going to throw it all away. Why couldn't he understand that it would only get worse?
"You don't have to Doc, please, just put the gun down," my voice was shaken and I knew something else was going on. I'd been on my feet too long, blood had been rushing in all unnecessary parts of my body; to the bullet in my chest.
I closed my eyes briefly to erase the dizzy spell that I had succumbed to. The sound of a gun going off isn't a very comforting one, but the sound that followed gave me more of a relief then any other.
There was no thump of a body crashing to the floor, no screams, but just the sole clatter of metal on floorboard. My eyes opened and I saw dust fall from the ceiling, a small hole its source. The previously cocked gun lay aimlessly thrown to the floor only inches away.
I took a step closer to Doc, put my foot over the gun and kicked it away from his grasp. He sunk to the ground, totally defeated. I found myself hiding my collapse; I fell carefully to the ground next to him, a hand on his back. All eyes fell on us and Kim exchanged silent words with all in the room.
Levine ran, out of the firehouse, as far as she could across the street and the rush of police followed her path back. Kim walked closer, tried to get me to relax, leave, but I remained at Docs side until the police came.
That image, Doc being hauled away in handcuffs, wasn't one I'd soon forget. This whole day wasn't anything that could possibly be erased from memory.
*~*
I wasn't sleeping to soundly so the sudden knock at my door jarred what little rested I'd gotten. I really couldn't tell you what happened to get me here, the hospital, it was familiar domain for Doc and I.
Now I had a feeling I'd find out. My eyes opened in time to see Ty closing the door behind him. A forced smirk crossed his face, it wasn't real, no one could smile after today.
"That was a stupid ass thing you did today," he nodded and sat down beside my bed, "you lucked out," he reverted his gaze from my face to the thick gauze around my upper chest and shoulder and the sling which held my arm.
"What about Doc?" I asked, looking him in the eye.
"He's, uh, in police custody in the psych ward upstairs."
"He's not psychotic, Ty," he flashed him a painful glance, "he's saved my ass more then once. . . he's just stressed. Since Alex. . ."
"I know, but he shot a man, his superior. He's partially responsible for landing you here too, they aren't going to just wave this off," he ran his hands over the guardrail.
"So Steeper is alive?" I winced, moving myself more upright.
"Uh, yeah," He sighed, "Carlos, the gun was filled with blanks."
I looked up at my room mate, trying to register what he just said, "What!? All this and Steeper was never in danger of dying, Doc was never going to kill anyone! You were going to have someone shoot him, gun him down, over a gun full of blanks?" I excited myself and threw my head back in a mixture of pain and frustration.
"Carlos, relax man," he turned to me and waited for the color to return to my face, "look, they're charging him with theft, assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted homicide."
I took another second to absorb that new piece of information, and something struck me as odd, "Theft?"
"It was Sasha Monroe's gun, she keeps blanks in it when off duty, he took it last night, she reported it missing this morning; we put two and two together."
I nodded; it wasn't even his gun, filled with blanks, this whole thing shouldn't have happened.
"So look, Proctor's gunna kick me out of here soon, and I think you need to rest," he slid out of his chair and pulled it away from the bed.
"Hey, Ty?"
"Yeah?" he turned too look at me as he opened the door.
"Make sure they don't screw him over; this wasn't Doc. . ."
"Yeah, OK, man," he nodded and closed the door behind him. I let the darkness of the walls consume me, and I drifted into a listless sleep.
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THE END
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