Disclaimer: These characters are not mine and I make no money from this.

Author's Note: L.M. Lewis suggested I write something so here goes. Not betaed or anything. Heck, barely proofread. This is what happened after Poker Night. Remember, Frank got shot.

Post Poker Night

Frank stared up at the ceiling and sternly reminded himself that he was not a fidgety kind of guy. He tentatively stretched and felt the slight pull of the stitches in his side. Everyone kept telling him how lucky he was. The bullet had hit only meat and muscle. A slightly rueful smile touched his lips. Some luck. Twenty two years on the force without major injury only to be shot down at a poker game. This Tonto business wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

A glance at the clock showed that it was almost visiting hours. Claudia would be here soon. Not exactly at nine becuase that would mean she was worried still. No, she'd come a little later. That was her way of dealing with some of life's scarier stuff. Like if she didn't act like it was a big deal, then it wouldn't be. He had dim memories of her when he first came out of surgery. She was holding his hand and staring down intently at him. When she'd noticed he was awake, she gave a wry, shakey smile. "Hell of an ante, Frank."

So when he heard the light knock on the door, he was pretty sure it wasn't her. But he didn't anticipate the curly head that poked in the room. "Mark," he said with genuine pleasure.

Mark stepped into the room and shut the door gently behind him. "How you doing, Frank?"

Frank smiled at him, "I'm getting there. Supposed to be discharged tomorrow."

He got a grin in response. "Hey, that's great!" Mark looked around and spotted the empty chair near Frank's right elbow. He walked over and seated himself and then cocked his head and critically examined the man on the bed. "What's your scar look like?"

"I haven't seen it. They won't take the bandage off yet."

"Oh yeah, I guess it is a little early. It'll probably look kind of disgusting for a while."

"So you're here to cheer me up?" Frank said dryly.

"What can I say, voice of experience, Frank. Don't worry, the chicks really dig scars. Makes you all dangerous and intriguing."

"Uh huh, I'll be sure to tell Claudia."

Mark smiled and pointed his chin at the door. "She's out there with Hardcase."

"She is?" Frank frowned. "What are they talking about?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Well geez, Frank either you or her lasagne recipe. And I don't think she'd give that out."

Frank looked at Mark suspiciously. "What's Milt up to?"

"Don't look at me. Tonto only fetch and carry. White man one with heap big plans."

"Mark." Frank drawled out the name.

Mark shrugged. "Just relax. It's nothing bad."

"So you do know." Frank said with a strongly implied "gotchya."

Mark rolled his eyes. "You know Frank, I already know you're a cop. You don't have to interrogate me to prove it."

"Mark."

"No way. The Judge will skin me alive if I say anything."

Frank scowled at him. "Just answer me this. He's not doing anything stupid, is he? I mean, I have insurance. I'm covered here."

"Nah, nothing like that. Not that he wouldn't, but he knows you're okay in that department."

"Okay," Frank said firmly. "We just need to be clear on that. I mean none of this was his fault. He shouldn't feel guilty or anything."

Mark stared down silently at him, his smile suddenly a bit fixed. "No, he shouldn't feel guilty."

Frank caught the slight emphasis on the pronoun and his eyebrows lifted. A suspicion formed in his mind. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What? Nothing." And Frank was reminded that Mark McCormick definitely was a fidgety kind of guy.

"Sit still Mark. What's up with you?"

"Nothing's up with me. Hey look," Mark held up the television remote. "Pretty fancy. Think we can find a John Wayne flick? The Judge always can, but it's hit or miss with me." Mark flicked the on button and Frank looked up as the wall-mounted TV came to life. "Bowling, Smurfs, commercial, commercial..."

Frank watched the images flick across the screen and just let Mark babble. A suspect had to be ready to talk before you could learn anything from him.

"Hey, there we go."

Frank squinted at the TV. "The Roadrunner?"

"It's Saturday morning, what do you want?"

"Surely someone, somewhere is playing baseball."

"Not on this TV. Anyway, this is a good one. The Coyote talks in this one."

Frank glanced at Mark in surprise. "What, did you memorize the episodes?"

"I used to watch this show a lot."

Frank looked back at the TV. The roadrunner was speeding along some canyon floor, a brown blur in hot pursuit. "I get it, racing, right?"

"What?"

"You like it because it's basically two guys racing, right?"

Mark snorted. "Geez, Frank, don't give up your day job. You're a lousy analyst. It's not about two guys racing. It's about the Coyote."

Frank tried again. "I see. You like it because it's a got a coyote in it."

"What did I say about not giving up your day job? I watched this long before I got the car."

If you kept a suspect talking, sooner or later they'd circle around to the main point. "So why then? I mean Bugs Bunny I can understand but this is just running. In the desert."

"It's nostalgic, okay?"

"Hey, for you disco is nostalgic. What's so great about the Roadrunner?"

"I can't watch cartoons?"

Frank caught the slight note of defensiveness and got a sudden sense that there was something here. Maybe connected to Mark's earlier discomfort. Maybe not. But hell, he was a cop. Questioning people was what he did. "Sure you can watch cartoons," he said easily and stared at Mark's profile. Silence filled the room and, predictably, Mark started to squirm. Nice to know he hadn't lost his touch.

"Damn, you're good at this."

"I didn't say anything, Mark." Frank said mildly.

Mark glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "Yeah, you didn't have to, did you Detective?"

Frank smiled at him. "Come on, it's just a cartoon. I'm not asking for the secret password to the Lone Ranger's campfire."

Mark looked at him for a moment and then laughed. "Yeah, okay." He paused and then said, "Remember Flip Johnson?"

"Sure." What Frank meant was that he remembered hearing about Flip Johnson from Bill Giles and other cops. Mark didn't talk about his past much. Frank kind of got the feeling that there was some stuff there that the ex-con didn't want to share with a cop. Even if the cop was a friend.

"Okay," Mark continued, "back when I first hooked up with Flip, he let me sleep on his couch for a couple of months. Just until I could find a place I could afford, you see?"

Frank nodded carefully, not wanting to derail him.

"Yeah, so this was in his living room and there was a TV in there. And sometimes on Saturday mornings when we'd do some race prep, we'd have the TV on."

"The Roadrunner."

"Yeah. Ten o'clock, Saturday morning. It got to be kind of a joke. Flip always said I liked it because the Coyote and I were like, I don't know, soul mates or something."

Frank looked quickly up at the TV. The Coyote was still racing away, a fixed, manic look on his face. He looked back at Mark. "I don't get it."

Mark sighed. "He didn't really say why, but I think he meant that I was always chasing something and then right when I was about to catch it, an anvil would fall on my head. So a Coyote, get it?"

Frank frowned and nodded slowly. "Flip Johnson gave you that car, right?"

"Well, Barbara actually gave it to me if you want to be all legal about it. But Flip meant it for me, yeah. I knew that when he told me he wanted me to drive it. But I really knew it when he told me the name of the car."

"The Coyote."

"Yeah. Kind of a joke but see, it's me."

Frank looked back at the TV and watched as the Coyote peddled furiously in midair, a despairing look appeared on his face as he began his inevitable plummet. He winced as a plume of dust rose from the canyon floor.

"Foiled again," Mark said.

Frank gently chewed his lower lip and then finally spoke. "You know, I never liked that damn bird."

"You have to like the bird, Frank. He's like the protagonist."

Frank shook his head. "Nah. All he does is eat birdseed and run around. How interesting is that? The Coyote is the one with the brains. All those plans. All those inventions. A mail order catalog."

"All the Coyote does is fall off cliffs."

Again Frank shook his head. "Nah. He thinks. His problem is that he's chasing the wrong thing. He's got some smarts. If he stopped racing around he could be another Bugs Bunny."

The corner of Mark's mouth crept up. "Or another Lone Ranger?"

"Now you've gone and changed channels on me," Frank grumbled.

Mark leaned towards him. "Well, between you, me, and the IV drip, the Coyote stopped chasing that damn bird a while ago."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Frank chuckled softly and winced as the stitches pulled. Mark's worried voice cut in. "Ah, geez Frank, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to make you laugh."

"It's not your fault."

Mark just frowned in consternation.

And there it was, Frank thought. "Mark," he said firmly. "It's. Not. Your. Fault."

Mark sighed. "Look Frank, maybe I'm not a coyote anymore, but I am so supposed to be Tonto. I should have been there."

"Mark," Frank said patiently, "you're not a coyote and you're not really Tonto either. You're just a hell of a good guy and I'm glad you weren't there. I'm a cop. It was my job to protect everyone, not yours. I screwed up and got hurt but the bad guys went down. It's done."

Mark didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue either. Instead he said, "You didn't screw up, Frank. From what I hear you were pretty damn brave."

"Ah," Frank said dismissively and to his horror, he felt himself blush.

Mark grinned in delight. "Yeah, that's right. You hero, you. We make you honorary scout."

Frank gave up and started laughing. This time it didn't hurt much at all. He was still chuckling when the door opened and Claudia and Milt entered. Claudia looked at him curiously, "Okay, what did I miss?"

Mark stood up, smiling a welcome. "Nothing Claudia. Just comparing scars. It's a Faithful Companion thing."

Claudia moved towards the head of the bed, absently patting Mark's arm as she passed him. "Don't give him any ideas." She looked Frank over and gave a quick satisfied nod. "Well my big hero, Milt and I have some news for you. Go ahead, Milt."

Frank shifted his gaze to Milt who was standing at the foot of the bed. Mark stood next to him wearing a wide grin. Milt cleared his throat. "Okay, you'll get official word of it later, but we're going to tell you now 'cause I doubt some people will be able to keep their big yaps shut about it for very long."

"Some people?"

"Shut up, McCormick." Then Milt continued in his prepared speech voice, "Anyway, for your role in ending a hostage situation and for your role protecting the lives of valued members of the Judiciary-"

"Including this donkey."

"McCormick! Where was I? Oh, anyway, the Los Angeles Police Department is going to award you a commendation for distinguished service. So, okay. There you go."

Mark clapped the Judge on the shoulder. "Great speech there Hardcase. Practice in front of a mirror?"

Milt snorted, "You'll have to excuse the kid Frank. He's a little miffed that he didn't get to be the hero."

Frank smiled and caught Mark's eye. "Nah, he did fine. And tell the Los Angeles Police Department I said thanks."

Claudia gently punched his shoulder. "Thanks, he says. All the plotting you guys did and all he can say is thanks."

Frank smiled gently and looked over at Milt. "I mean it Milt. Thank you."

"You earned it," Milt said gruffly.

Frank looked over at Mark and his smile turned sly. "I just got to say, it's the Acme of my career."

Mark stared at him and burst out laughing. "Well, meep meep to you too, Frank."

END