Hanging In
"Come on, lets pull him over."
Chris puts the flashing red light on the dashboard. The shiny black car in front of them swerves all over the narrow road, but moves off to the shoulder once the driver sees the light.
Ray climbs out first, smiling slightly. He does like busting drunk drivers. Especially when its been an eventful day. He likes the irony of something so normal, so standard, after everything else that goes on in NYPD. Chris smiles at the way he can read his partner's mind. He's had a pretty good day. Full of what he signed up for.
Chris follows Ray's confident step toward the tinted windows of drunk's car. The night is moonless, the street lights casting a yellow glow over the wet pavement. The clacking of his dress shoes echo down the empty street the only other sound the purr of two car's engines.
The two men approach the car. Ray says something, but in Chris's mind his words are overshadowed by the drunk's not-so-drunk words, and then the two hand guns he pulls out of nowhere.
Chris recognizes the gangster just as the guns fire, and it takes a few moments before he realizes he's lying on the wet asphalt, pain shooting through his side. He can't move his eyes from the starless night sky, but he hears Jimmy's car pull away in a hurry, and then they are alone. On the road, bleeding.
Just the thought of movement is like jabbing a knife in his side. He's been shot before, but never in the torso, where he's probably nicked a couple of organs. He feels warmth spreading over his shirt, and knows what it is through the haze of pain and fear. His lungs can't quite fill, breathing causes a sharp jabbing pain down his entire body.
This is so not good. Is the thought that penetrates the haze of his terrified mind.
He manages to stay conscious until the paramedics arrive, though he can't quite figure out how they found them. He can hear people saying things around him. Are they directed at him? He can't tell. He thinks he can hear Ray's voice, but as they lift him onto a stretcher, the pain is too much and he blacks out.
c c c
When Chris comes to again, he's only half aware.
His ears seem to be working, but he can't process what he's hearing fast enough. His eyes are too heavy to open, and moving is out of the question.
"Two cops shot. One in critical condition." He hears the squeak of wheels on a hard floor. Which one's in critical condition? He thinks.
Urgent voices are melding together, and someone is shouting. Chris can figure out what they're saying, but only after he's left the room.
"Hey, that's my partner!Where you taking my partner? You better not let him die!" Ray screeches. He's alive. That's good.
The thought that Ray cares what happens to him warms Chris's heart, before it stops, and everything is crushing blackness.
c c c
Ray is released from the hospital a few hours later, his shirt still covered in blood. Physically, he is mostly fine. Mentally, he is buried by the weight of his own guilt.
Why didn't he be more careful?
Why did he let Chris in front when approaching an unknown vehicle?
Why didn't find the strength to perform first aid on the much more wounded man?
How is he going to get vengeance on the mother fucker who nearly, and may have, killed his young partner?
And he is young. Just became a full detective in the last few months, and hasn't even had time to enjoy it. Has a full life ahead of him, doesn't even know what to think about the world yet.
Ray is very sure of one thing, though.
One way or another, Jimmy McManus will get what's coming to him.
c c c
He dreams.
He doesn't know how long, and he doesn't remember most of them, but he does know that they are happy dreams. Not nightmares. He'll be the first to admit he's an optimist. He can't help but smile for no reason sometimes. It's in his blood. His mother was just like that, always looking for the good in life. People say that that's the only reason he's partners with Ray. Because Gene figures he's the only one who won't kill Ray and then kill himself.
At some point he opens his eyes.
He's in a hospital, that's apparent. Midmorning sun is streaming in through the window, and he's comfortable under the cotton sheets and thick blankets. It takes him a little while to realize that he's not alone.
Gene and Ray are standing by his bed. They're both smiling at him, and of course, he can't help but smile back.
"Welcome back, Junior." Gene says. "We knew you'd make it. You are, as I've told more than one asshole, a tough little bastard, despite the baby face."
Chris chuckles. "You okay, Ray?"
Ray smirks. "Better than you. You look like hell."
"Thanks." He knew Ray didn't mean it. They all did.
"Anyway," Gene rose from his perch on the hard looking plastic chair next to the hospital bed. Chris wondered how long he'd been there. "We have some things to sort out. We'll see you later tonight, okay?"
Chris nodded, glancing hungrily at Jell-O on the tray next to his bed. Gene headed out, but Ray lingered.
He tapped Chris's foot and gave him a genuine smile, without a hint of sarcasm. "Good luck, kid. Glad you made it. Thanks for... hanging in there. Don't think I could have dealt with not having you around."
"You don't think I'd be in hell, would you? Sitting behind the window, looking at the going ons in Heaven?"
"Course not. You'd be right in the middle of all the sex and pizza, that's the rule in heaven."
Chris smiled contentedly.
He left, and Chris's smile doesn't fade for a long time after that. He always thought that if he was ever shot, it would be the worse thing that ever happened to him, that he'd be scarred for life, or something. But...he doesn't feel scarred. He feels okay, actually. Maybe it would be scarring for a different man, with a different outlook, but for Chris, well, he knows this is temporary. It's his job.
Everything's pretty good, He thought. Everything's pretty good.