As was usually the case, Riggs was not asleep when the alarm sounded. Despite already having been awake, the noise still irritated him tremendously. Eyes closed, he turned onto one side, sweeping a hand across the low wooden shelf that ran along the wall by his mattress. Finding the offending object, he resisted the impulse to beat it into submission, instead turning it off before rolling over onto his back. He laid there for another couple of minutes in the dark listening to the drizzle bounce off the metal roof of the trailer. Finally threw off the pile of blankets he was under and scooted to the stairs at the end of the sleeping platform, goosebumps almost immediately forming on his naked body from the cold air. "Damn," he muttered in surprise. It felt practically freezing in his little home. The thin walls of the RV were not used to keeping this kind of temperature at bay. He did have a small space heater somewhere, but considering he lived it California, he'd probably used it twice. Might be time to dig it out. Lights still off, he headed for the bathroom, tripping in the dark over the small throw rug in front of the couch before then tripping over a pair of wadded up jeans, stubbing a toe on the small kitchenette table and then stepping on poor ole Sam's tail before finally making his destination. Shivering, he took a quick morning piss and then fumbled through the pile of clothes that had been thrown into the corner for the past week. Finally managed to find a pair of dirty sweats and t-shirt. He put them on and then went back to the entrance of the trailer, sliding away the heavy curtain that had been drawn shut.

He stared out through the fog soaked glass at the overcast sky. Another cloudy wet morning… this had to be the gloomiest June Gloom he could ever recall in all his time in California. The sun hadn't poked out from the clouds at his little secluded spot by the beach for almost a week and it was getting a little dispiriting. The marine layer was keeping everything blanketed in an abysmal gray haze that seemed to suck the life right out of a person. Even Sam wasn't interested in going outside.

Oh well…. In another month, they'd all be complaining about the hot sun frying the landscape, so maybe the reprieve wasn't such a bad thing. Only problem was that it did tend to make him a little moody… of course, he had to admit that usually it didn't really take much to do that anyway. Right now, there was one thing that would make him feel better, but all the same, he managed to ignore the beer that was in the fridge and went for the second-best thing. Setting up the coffee maker, Riggs let it do its thing while he took a quick shower. Afterwards, turning on the TV, he changed into his usual work uniform of faded Levi's and flannel button-down over the wrinkled t-shirt he had pulled out from the dirty clothes earlier. Martin was on his third cup of coffee and second bowl of cereal when the phone rang.

"Hello ... oh, hey, Rog. What's up?" He balanced the receiver precariously on one shoulder as he attempted to top off his coffee cup. "Nah," he said. "I'll be in first thing this morning. My doctor's appointment isn't until Wednesday and the PT session is this afternoon at 4:30." He gave a nod of his head. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be there by then. Don't worry, I'll beat you in as usual. Okay, okay, see ya." He hung up the phone and went back to his breakfast only to be interrupted a few minutes later. A hint of irritation beginning to settle in on his face, Riggs grabbed the phone again. "Hello. Yea, Rog… Okay, sure … I'll go ahead and swing by forensics first and then I'll meet ya afterwards. How's that sound? Okay…" Hanging up the phone, Riggs quickly scarfed down the rest of the cereal and threw the bowl into the nearby sink. Afterwards, he reached underneath, wrestling out a bag of dogfood from the lower cabinet; tried to get it open – a task that wasn't easy considering that his right arm was held captive in a sling. Finally managing to get food in the bowl for Sam, he sat down on the couch and attempted to now put on his socks and boots – another interesting task when hampered by the use of only one arm – when the phone rang again. Eyes narrowing in frustration, Riggs snatched up the phone. "Roger, I'll never make it in on time if you keep calling me this morning."

There was a brief silence followed by, "Hello, Riggs. How's the shoulder?"

Leaning over, Riggs quickly snatched the remote, muting the TV. "Just fine." He frowned at the unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line.

"Back on full duty?"

"No."

"When?"

"Doc said I'm probably looking at another month." His frown deepened. "But then I'm sure you already have that information, so I don't know why you're asking me." When there was no further response, Riggs grabbed the nearby coffee, taking a swig. "Who is this anyway?"

"Does it really matter what name I use?"

Riggs sighed. "No, of course it doesn't … so I think I'll just call you shit-head."

The voice laughed. "I'd prefer Dave. I rather like the sound of that."

"Well then … what do you want, Shit-head Dave?"

"Such hostility does not make for a good working relationship." Riggs noted the hard edge that had crept into the other man's voice. "Just … reaching out to you. A friendly reminder… to make sure you haven't forgotten our earlier deal."

"Don't worry. I haven't."

The other voice on the line just said, "Good." And the call disconnected.

Riggs sat there for a minute with nothing but an annoying buzzing noise ringing in his ear. Now he really WAS grumpy. He tossed the phone aside, one hand coming up to rub his furrowed brow. His gaze fell downward as Sam suddenly nuzzled up against his lap. Running his fingers through the animal's long fur, he gave a sigh. "What in the hell did I do this time," he muttered sarcastically. Unfortunately, Sam had no answer for him. Shaking his head as he gave the animal another head scratch, he stared out the door. Would he never learn?

Roger Murtaugh scratched his name across yet another piece of paperwork before adding it to the stack of completed files that sat on the corner of his desk. He glanced about the squad room, a satisfied smile playing across his mouth. After so much time away, after fearing about the demise of his long and stellar career at LAPD, being back on duty was like a dream come true. So far, their first two months back on the job had been strictly desk duty. Although it was a tedious and yawn inducing of a task, it still made him happy; at least it meant he was back on the force. He wasn't risking life nor limb; although it was a bit irritating as the two had no excuses for not getting caught up on paperwork. And, if he really admitted it, the truth was, it did feel good to get home at the same time each evening – and before dinner, no less – and Trish and the kids were thrilled … yet even with how much he enjoyed the current schedule, he still sometimes found himself wishing for a little excitement to break up the monotony. Wait a minute … Did he just actually wish for something exciting to happen? Especially after all the craziness they went through apprehending Evanston in Las Vegas? Crap. Riggs had really proven to be a terrible influence on him. Speaking of his partner … Roger glanced over at the desk across from his, eyebrows angling downward in worry. Riggs was staring out, chewing absent-mindedly on a ballpoint pen, his eyes focused on something a million miles away. He would occasionally snap back into the squad room, read a report, scribble a signature, or make a quick notation before drifting off again for long stretches of time, deep in his own private thoughts. It was pretty much the same behavior he had been exhibiting from the beginning of their return to Robbery/Homicide and it had gotten only worse over the last couple of weeks.

Roger continued to regard Riggs with an appraising eye. Poor guy, he thought to himself, he just can't deal with not being on the streets working regular duty. Don't know what in the hell he's gonna do when he has to retire… The very thought of Riggs retiring at some point was enough to make Roger give a shake of his head. It was hard to even imagine. If Roger was honest with himself, he had to admit he loved the shot of adrenaline that his partner had injected into his life - had loved it enough to put his own thoughts of early retirement on the backburner - but all the same, he also knew that when that day did come, despite the regrets he would feel, he would also feel great relief. Of course, no longer having that nagging feeling in the back of his mind every time he walked out the front door - the fear that it could be for the last time – would be a great weight lifted from his shoulders; however, that wouldn't be the only reason he'd be feeling relief. Once retired he would finally have uninterrupted time for all the things he couldn't do with a cop's crazy schedule. Time for spending all day in his workshop … fishing on his boat … traveling with Trish … But Riggs didn't have any of that. What in the world would he do to occupy his days when he was no longer a detective? Roger shuddered at the thought then took in a deep breath.

"Hey, Riggs, you still coming over for dinner tomorrow?"

Martin continued to stare off blankly into the distance. "Uh-uh, Rog …"

Despite his answer, Roger could tell that the man hadn't heard a single word he was saying. He stuck his lower lip out in thought then after a brief pause, continued. "Great, Riggs… one thing though… Just remember, it's a formal affair."

"Hmmm-hmmm… okay, Rog."

"You'll wear your tuxedo, right?"

"Hmmm-hmmm… okay, Rog."

"Good. I mean you understand why we have to dress up with the Queen of England being there and all."

"Yea, Roger … sure."

"Oh, and don't forget to bring Sam along. Trish is planning on serving him for the main course."

"Okay …"

Shaking his head, Roger opened his desk drawer, rummaged around a minute until he found a decent sized rubber band. Put one end against his forefinger as he stretched it out taut. Squinting his left eye, he cracked his neck and let loose, a grin splitting his face as the rubber band hit the intended target dead on – popping Riggs right in the ear. Hey, maybe he wasn't the one around the department that was a former sniper, but he still was a damn good aim.

"OUCH!" Riggs spun around, eyes blazing fire in the direction of his partner as one hand went up to rub his ear. "What the FUCK was that for?!"

"THAT was an attempt to get you back here on planet Earth with the rest of us."

"What are you talking about?"

"You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying."

"Yes, I have."

"Really? What was I just talking about?"

"Uhmm … well … it was …" Riggs' voice trailed off as he tried unsuccessfully to recall their last conversation.

"My point exactly… by the way in case you were wondering, you just agreed to eat Sam as part of the meal for tomorrow night."

"It wouldn't be the first time in my life that I've eaten dog." Riggs gave a shrug. "Who knows, maybe that's something Trish can actually cook without burning."

Ignoring Martin's comment, Roger frowned. "Ever since we got back to work you've been about as focused as a fart. What is up with you?"

"Nothing. Just trying to get through these mind-numbing reports." Standing up, Riggs grabbed a stack of files with one hand and deposited them on Roger's desk. "There. These are finished."

Without a word, Roger grabbed one of the files and opened it, his eyebrows arching upward in surprise. "Shit, Riggs, you really should stay a leftie. I can actually read your scribbling now."

"Yeah, you're a riot." Riggs adjusted the sling; grumbled something ominously under his breath as he headed back to his desk.

Roger gave an exasperated sigh. "Don't worry, Riggs. It will all be over soon."

Stopping short, Riggs jerked his head around, narrowed eyes focused intently on the other detective. "What do you mean by that?"

"Desk duty." Now it was Roger's turn to narrow his eyes as he picked up on the sharp tone that had suddenly come to Martin's voice. "I mean, that's what's been bothering you, right?"

"Yeah, of course."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Okay, DAD?" He slammed back into his chair. "Like you said, I'm just sick of desk duty." Leaning over, he grabbed another file and flipped it open. "Just because I have one arm in a sling doesn't mean I can't be running street investigations. I mean, what kind of invalid do they think I am?"

Roger had a good idea that Captain Murphy was using Martin's injury as an excuse to keep the younger detective out of trouble for as long as possible, especially considering everything that had gone down in Las Vegas; but he wasn't about to tell him that. "Look, Riggs, believe me when I say that nobody wants to keep you in the squad room. You're driving everyone crazy. Even I'm about to gag and tie you up and keep you prisoner in the supply closet until we're cleared for being back on the streets. The captain just wants to make sure that you're 100%, that's all." Roger quickly signed another report. "Besides, didn't you say the doctor should be giving you the OK around the beginning of next month?"

"That's what he told me."

"Riggs, that's only eight days away. You can hold on that much longer." Riggs just nodded his head, his focus already starting to drift off yet again. "AND," Roger added loudly, "we expect to see you for dinner tomorrow." He frowned in warning as he took in the expression that flitted across Martin's face. He knew well and good that his partner was about to come up with some lame-ass excuse for skipping out and it worried him. "Trish will not be taking no for an answer."

Riggs sighed in defeat. He had already declined the last couple of invitations and he knew that another one would really start to raise all kinds of questions. Questions he didn't want to discuss even if he had any answers. "Okay, I'll be there."

"Good." Roger gave a satisfied smile and went back to the paperwork.