I apologize for killing one of our beloved characters, but I was in a funk-ed out mood and my muse was poking me with a pointy stick. This is was came out. I seriously just wrote it in like, 15 minutes and read it through once, so keep that in mind if you find errors. Other than that, enjoy! ~Jed
The noon summer sun birthed an army of sweat drops on Metro P.D. Officer Garrett Browne, primarily on his neck and back. He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably, his dark uniform shirt sticking to his wet skin. He looked around him and wished his shift was over already. He and his partner weren't the first on the scene, but they were the second to see the aftermath of the gunfight—two corpses lay in the alley, each with a blood pool slowly spreading out from the new holes in their bodies. Metro's forensic team was moving about the alley, setting out evidence number cards and taking pictures.
An ambulance sat in front of the lane, a single patient sitting on its bumper. The EMTs were working on her, but she seemed to be in shock, not noticing any of the action around her. A Dodge Charger was parked half in the alley, half still on the street, both doors open. A hot breeze shot through the alley, sending the gut-roiling tang of warm blood straight into Garrett's face. He swallowed down the gag.
Another Charger came to a screeching halt at the alley's mouth. Two men jumped out before the engine had even stopped churning. They both immediately went over to the woman, who looked up, startled, at their arrival. After a moment, the younger of the two rubbed his hand over his face and walked to the other side of the alley. Garrett winced as he kicked a metal trashcan, again and again, until the thing was a dented mess, barely recognizable.
The other man, the older of the two, waved the paramedics away and sat next to the woman. After a few seconds, her face contorted, and the tortured cry that escaped her lips echoed down the alley. The man put his arm around her shoulders and tucked her face into his chest. Garrett turned away and noticed all the others in the alley making a point of looking away too. Yet it was hard to ignore her loud sobs.
Garrett's partner walked up to him. The older cop's eyebrows were slightly pinched together, the only sign of his sympathy for the woman. Garrett wasn't sure what he himself was feeling.
"Come on, Garrett. Dispatch wants us across town."
Reilly walked away, but Garrett didn't follow. He couldn't get his feet to move. Reilly stopped when he realized his partner wasn't behind him.
"Browne, get a move on."
Garrett looked at him. "That's it? We just leave in the middle of this?" He looked toward the young man, now sitting next to the mutilated trashcan, leaning against the wall with his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. His shoulders were shaking.
Reilly stood toe to toe with his partner. His voice was low enough that only Garrett could hear. "We weren't first on the scene, it's being taken care of. We're not needed here. Perp shot the fed, the fed's partner shot the perp. It's a done deal. Now get in the car."
He reluctantly began to follow Reilly, but paused by the crying man. "Sir, who—who was he?"
The man wiped his face on his jacket sleeve and looked up at the cop before him. "His name is—was—Tony. Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. NCIS."
"And his partner?"
The man squeezed his eyes—his whole face, really—in an attempt to stop more tears. "Special Agent Ziva David. His wife."
