Disclaimer: Characters not mine, never will be mine, but I'm in huge admiration of the Southland writers. What an amazing job they do. Some artistic licence taken here but hopefully not too much.

NOT ALONE

Neither of them was looking for trouble. Their watch was nearly at an end and, with early evening drawing in, they were parked up, playing a trashy game of I-Spy as they watched the fiery orange sun begin to set over LA.

"Hooker," John Cooper guessed in response to his partner's 'H' challenge.

"Nope," Jessica Tang grinned, confident in her choice. "Waaaay too obvious."

"Heroin."

"Nope."

"Herpes."

"Coop, where the hell do you see herpes?"

Cooper pointed a finger at the forty-year-old prostitute in the denim skirt, leaning back against a convenient wall in what she clearly thought was an enticing pose. "Right there."

"Still wrong."

"Damn." He thought for a moment. "Hydrant?"

"I thought we were playing Trash I-Spy. How is a fire hydrant trashy?"

"You just love playing God, don't you?" He couldn't help but grin. They'd been partners for a while now; he had come to relax around Jessica, enjoy her company. She was sharp and ballsy and good for a laugh. He valued her as a friend, occasionally went drinking with her, allowed her to drag him round every Asian culinary hotspot in North LA.

But, man, she was a pain in the ass to play I-Spy with.

"Give up?" she crowed.

"Hell no!" He looked around for inspiration, eyes landing on an empty bourbon bottle lying on the kerb. "Hennessey?"

"Shit! How the hell did you guess that?" Tang scowled ferociously as Cooper whooped in delight.

He held out one big hand for his winnings, waggling it under her nose to annoy her. She slapped five bucks into his palm as hard as she could.

"My turn," he announced, pocketing the bill before she could snatch it back again. "Your letter is...R."

"Rat," she said confidently.

"Also too obvious."

"Retard?"

"We can't use that poor hooker over there for every example."

"Rocket-propelled grenade launcher."

Cooper nearly choked with laughter. "Yeah, we got lots of them round here."

"Sure we do, they're just hidden."

"Wrong, regardless."

Tang's face lit up as a call for officer assistance came through. "Radio!"

"Trashy I-spy," Cooper reminded her. "Your rules." He grabbed his lapel mike, having not been paying attention to the information. "A-57, we're on it. Repeat location, please."

"I know the location." Being a woman, Jessica had that incredible ability to concentrate on two things at once. She coaxed the engine into starting and pulled the car away from the kerb. "Kid being assaulted on the Cartmel playground."

"You know what territory that is. It'll be a mini-banger getting jumped in."

"Give you a chance to see some great tattoos, then." Tang seemed to be concentrating on the traffic for a moment as they passed a kerbside vegetable stand. "Radish!"

Cooper shot her a confused look. "Radishes are trashy?"

She gave him a wink and a wicked grin. "You clearly have no idea what you can do with a radish."

"What woman can do?" He smiled, comfortable enough with Jessica for this sort of banter. "Not as if I'm likely to find out about that."

"I figure I could turn you if I wanted, Coop.

"Feel free to try," he laughed.

"You're not Asian. My mom would kill me."

"Sensible lady, your mom."

Jessica swung the car around a tight corner, switching off the strobe lights so as not to draw early attention. "You ready to bail?"

Cooper threw off his seatbelt and moved against the door, steadying himself to jump out the moment Tang stopped the car. No doubt the victim would try to run as well as the aggressor. If he got lucky and caught them by surprise, he might be able to tackle both of them until Jessica could join in the fun.

He spotted them immediately. One was young, not even out of junior high; the other in his mid-teens, wearing his gang colours with pride over a body that was just beginning to respond to weight training. No homeboys were watching, telling Cooper this wasn't a jump-in. Initiation beatings didn't happen without a baying audience eager to see blood being spilt.

No weapons either. The teenager seemed happy to use his sizeable fists; he was a big kid, naturally built like a running back, long and lean and strong. A product of the urban jungle he had been raised in. He would be hardened, mean and he wouldn't be afraid of pain; he would have already known too much in his young life. Cooper weighed him up, decided the kid would move like a cheetah if he had the chance to get going.

It wasn't so much an assault as a full-on fight. The younger kid was clearly losing but they were both on the ground and both were punching as hard as they could. Cooper seized his chance, threw open his door and hurled himself out. He didn't bother to shout his presence but the swift movement had caught the teen's attention.

In a second, he was on his feet and running. Cooper had been right; he had the speed and power of a savannah cat. The younger kid was also up in a second and sprinting in the other direction.

"LAPD!" he yelled as he took off in pursuit of the teenager, just in case the dumbass didn't understand what the uniform signified. "Stop now!"

Of course, that only made the kid put on a burst of pace that Cooper would have given wholehearted admiration on the football field. Jeez, if this punk ever got to graduate high school, lived long enough to reach eighteen, he would have college scouts queuing up for him.

As it was, however, there was no time for admiration. Cooper was not built for speed; Sherman had always been the whippet who could outsprint almost anyone. Cooper was the battering ram who broke down the doors and crushed peoples' ribs in bone-jarring tackles.

The kid hurdled the fence, hit the street and was off. Cooper cleared the fence easily and followed him. He could see the rear lights of the cruiser barrelling around the block ahead of them; Jessica had clearly taken off after the younger kid. He didn't like her going off without him to back her up but he could hear her calling for assistance over the radio.

Reassured his partner was safe and wouldn't be on her own for much longer, he charged on after the fleeing teenager. One block was covered at full pace and the damn punk showed no sign of tiring. Cooper cursed idiot teenagers and their stupid mothers for giving birth to them in the first place.

A screech of rubber alongside him announced the arrival of other units. Sherman spilled out of the car and Sammy sped off again immediately, presumably in pursuit of Tang and her suspect. Cooper didn't bother to slow or look back but he could hear the thud of Sherman's boots closing in behind him.

"Hey, John!" Ben caught up with annoying ease before lengthening his effortless stride and going past his ex TO.

Cooper was breathing too hard to swear so he just threw one of his legendary looks at the young officer. From somewhere he found another burst of speed and managed to get into pace with Sherman.

The kid was now seriously freaked out at the sound of two pairs of heavy feet chasing him. He swerved left, down one of the alleyways.

"Shit, he's goin' for the tyre factory," Cooper panted.

"What?"

"Got closed down last year, fuckin' place is abandoned. Loads of places for the little shit to hide himself."

Sure enough, the kid headed straight for the wire fence and hurtled over it with annoying agility. Cooper sprang up and vaulted it with one big hand, wishing he had enough time to be amused by Sherman's uncoordinated scramble.

He was less amused when Sherman's sprint start left him standing. Now also cursing P1s who were more like Labrador puppies than respectable police officers, Cooper took off after him.

They were inside the abandoned building, a cavernous hulk filled with the kind of detritus that factory owners never saw fit to dispose of. The teenager had gone for height advantage, running along the metal walkway platforms that criss-crossed the factory to provide a first-floor level.

Sherman shot up the ladder first, running the length of the walkway, yelling for the kid to stop. Cooper took the steps at the other end of the floor, ready to cut him off. Trapped, the kid skidded to a halt. Ran down another length of platform that led to nothing but a ladder than had lost its lower half, coming to an end in midair.

Cooper lunged forward and, even with his long arms, missed. Landed flat on his face. Saw Sherman spring from behind, pouncing on the kid.

The kid jumped. Landed easily, dropped a shoulder, rolled to take the impact. Back on his feet in a second, running for the exit. Goddamn little parkour shithead.

Ben slid, swiping at thin air, helpless to stop his momentum. Went over the end of the platform. Lunged for the ladder, got hold with one hand. Swung wildly in mid-air, unable to get a foot up to secure himself.

Cooper didn't hesitate.

X X X

Sherman tried to prevent himself from yelling out.

He was losing his grip. His sweaty fingers couldn't keep hold of the slippery metal. He was about to plunge to the concrete floor below. Images of a smashed skull, broken neck, flashed in his mind. He struck out, scrabbling desperately for a grip.

Then a hard, strong arm was around him and suddenly he wasn't falling anymore.

"Ben, quit struggling! I got you."

Sherman's brain instinctively reacted to the voice that had always given reassurance and security. He stopped fighting, even though he was gripping the rock-solid bicep with both hands as tightly as he could. He found he couldn't draw enough breath into his lungs to yell.

"I got you," Cooper repeated.

And that old belief was telling Sherman that as long as John Cooper was there, no harm could come to him.

X X X

Cooper was wishing he'd had time to take off his belt before saving the boot from certain death. The damn teargas canister was digging in so hard he was sure his stomach would have dents in it when he finally got up.

"Fuck, Boot, how you this damn heavy when you're half the size of me?" he grunted. "OK, can you swing your feet up to get a grip?"

"No chance," Sherman gasped. "Coop, I can't reach the ladder."

"I told you, I got you. Quit panicking." Cooper waited until Sherman's scared eyes met his. "I'm not gonna let go, Ben."

He swore he saw the panic recede slightly in the young eyes locked on his.

"I'm gonna grab your belt," he said calmly. "You're gonna let go with one hand and reach as high up as you can. Get hold of my vest and pull yourself up. I got my feet round the rail; I'll haul us both back."

He heard Sherman swallow hard, draw in a long breath. A sharp nod and one hand released its death grip on Cooper's bicep. As Sherman lunged for the shoulder strap on Cooper's bullet vest, Cooper's free hand grabbed hold of Ben's duty belt.

Cooper's brute strength was enough to drag Ben up. He felt the kid's hand grasp his own belt, hauling himself higher until his feet found a grip. With one hard kick, he was up and lunging over Cooper's body to land safely on the platform.

Exhaling an extremely shaky breath, Cooper pulled himself back from the edge and persuaded his feet to release their death-hold on the rail. He rolled over to face Sherman, sprawled on the cold metal, panting as if he had run a marathon.

"You alright, kid?"

Sherman managed to nod. "Thanks, Coop," he gasped.

Cooper sat back, gave him his space, knowing the younger man well enough to be certain he would calm quickly now the danger was over. Sure enough, within a couple of minutes, Sherman's breathing had returned to normal and he was getting to his feet. He offered his hand to pull Cooper up.

"Thank you." His shakiness had gone from his voice; he was back in control.

"Anytime." Cooper flashed a grin. "Can we go find that fucking ballerina now?"

They descended with great care and Cooper didn't miss the fact that Sherman stayed very close to him.

"You're OK, Boot," he said quietly.

Sherman glanced across at him, nodded, drew himself up and thrust out his chest as if to assure himself of his physical capabilities. And even though Ben was no longer his rookie, Cooper felt the same old surge of responsibility for him.

"Collar's yours when we get him." He held eye contact.

Sherman nodded again. "Yes sir."

"Not sir anymore."

He saw a flash of surprise in Sherman's eyes before the younger man looked away. They both broke into easy jogs, heading out of the big factory into the yard.

"Just like old times, huh?" Cooper flashed a grin.

Sherman looked at him for a moment, then a smile curled his lips. "Not quite."

Cooper acknowledged the point with a tilt of his head. "Spot anything, Bright Spark?"

They both paused to survey the yard. No tell-tale flash of red tee. Just various oxidising carcasses of cars that would never drive again. A mountain of unusable car tyres up against the far wall.

"Surprised no one's set these on fire yet," Cooper grunted as they surveyed the hill.

"It'll go up tonight now we've drawn attention to it."

"Fire department's problem. I'll check this out; you go play in the car graveyard."

Sherman didn't seem to mind doing as he was told after his little brush with doom and he turned towards the piles of abandoned cars without complaint. Cooper began a steady climb of the tyres, watching out for any sign of movement.

Saw a glimpse of red buried in the middle of a stack. Stopped. Didn't want to give away that he'd spotted the little punk. Started moving slowly upwards.

The kid waited longer than he should have before realising he had indeed been found. He leapt out of his spot, scrambling for the top of the tyre mountain. Cooper took off, yelling the standard warning even though he didn't have a chance of pulling his gun while trying to keep his balance on the unstable terrain.

The teenager reached the top first, swinging himself up onto the wall. Cooper lunged, managed to get a hold of the baggy t-shirt. The kid actually had the balls to try and fight back, not standing a chance against Cooper's strength. He decided it was easier to drop. Threw himself over the wall. It just hadn't occurred to him there would be a ten foot drop to the street below on the other side.

Cooper let go a second too late.

If he'd had time, he would've cursed his lack of forethought. However he was distracted lunging for the wall, trying to grab the brick before he was dragged over it as well. His left hand got a grip but he hadn't accounted for the heft of his own body weight as he went over the edge. His fingers tried vainly to hang on but the wrench of his 200 pounds on his shoulder was too much.

He dropped. And the street rushed up to meet him.