Officer down.

Those two words hit every cop hard, right in the gut. As they echoed across the scene, fear gripped Eames' heart. She had no idea where her partner was. For the first time in far too many months, everything between them was good. Very good, in fact. She had succeeded in easing him back from the precipice his mother's death had thrust him far too close to, and she was certain it was only a matter of time before things progressed even further. She had known for years that she loved the big, gentle man she called partner. Now, she knew she was in love with him, too. She was getting closer to discovering his feelings on the matter as well. It was a slow, but rewarding process.

Officer down.

Frantically, she searched the area, looking for his unmistakable outline in the dark. More shots rang out, and people scurried like ants in a disturbed nest, searching for cover from the bullets. Dodging behind a tree, she caught her breath when a bullet buried itself in the bark near her head. Whoever was shooting at them meant business. Her eyes continued to search for him. Where the hell could he have gone? It was more difficult to keep track of her 6'4" partner at a crime scene than it was to keep track of her 3'4" nephew in a crowded mall.

Fear got the better of her, and she abandoned her cover to search for the downed officer, unable to swallow the feeling of dread that attempted to choke off the breath in her throat. She knew him too well. As the people around him scrambled for cover, he would be in the middle of everything, trying to figure out where the shots were coming from. That was her partner...watch out for the other guy, protect the innocent, never believe that anyone can hurt you...

She heard disembodied words filtering through the air as if in a nightmare...Bleeding out...get the bus here now...hang on there...losing him...

Losing him? Losing who? No! If she lost him, what would her life become? Boring...mundane...lonely. If she lost him, she would lose part of herself as well, a part she would never recover, a vital part of her being that made her whole.

The gunfire had subsided and activity around the crime scene resumed. More marked cars arrived as the search for the sniper began. She saw the cluster of cops gathered around the prone body of a fellow officer. Several men bent over him, frantically trying to keep him alive while sirens wailed urgently in the distance. Her eyes were drawn to a hand on the ground beside the knee of one of his rescuers. It wasn't Bobby, but that knowledge gave her little relief. A fellow officer was fighting for his life...

But the panic had subsided, taking with it the pounding rush of blood in her ears, allowing the sounds from the surrounding scene access to her brain.

Where the hell is that bus!

The blood flow has slowed...don't move your hand...

Is he dead?

No. Not yet.

She didn't recognize any of the voices, but she finally did recognize the broad back of the man kneeling beside his fallen comrade, his salt and pepper curls, in need of a trim, dripping with sweat, shoulders heaving from exertion or emotion. She wasn't certain which. She made her way through the knot of spectators to his side. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she looked down at the injured man. Her eyes were drawn to his wound. Shot in the back on his right side, the exit wound opened a fair-sized hole in his abdomen. And there, in the hole, was her partner's gloved hand, staunching the flow of blood with direct pressure to a damaged vessel, an act that would give the man a chance to survive. She saw a mixture of admiration and disgust in the faces of the cops around them.

Then her eyes found the face of the fallen officer and she understood that the tremor she felt coursing through her partner's body was not entirely caused by adrenaline. A soft gasp escaped from her as she recognized the injured man. Mike...

Immediately, her eyes went in search of his partner, finally locating her sitting on the ground near a large oak tree, her head buried in folded arms which were propped on her knees. Leaning closer to Goren, she brought her mouth close to his ear. "I'm going to take care of Wheeler."

He acknowledged her with a tight nod. It never even occurred to her that he had not said a word. As she left the small knot of officers, another shout went out for the paramedics, who had just arrived, to move their asses.

She sat on the ground beside Wheeler, who was trembling, and draped her arm over the young woman's shoulders. Wheeler leaned into her. In subdued tones, she spoke, "After the first shot, he knocked me down. I didn't see what happened, but he fell nearby. Even though there were bullets flying all over the place, Bobby never hesitated. He went right to Mike. Then more guys came and I just got out of the way. Did you see all the blood, Alex?"

"It'll be okay, Megan. He'll be okay."

"Eames..." She looked up at the officer who spoke. "Your partner went to the hospital with Logan. They wouldn't let him...well...he had to keep doing whatever the hell he was doing. They're going to NYU. My partner and I can give you both a lift, if you want."

"Thanks." She turned to the young detective beside her. "Come on, Megan."

She knew only too well the loneliness of sitting vigil in a hospital waiting room, holding your breath for news of an injured partner...

Several officers had been injured by the sniper, and the waiting room was full of cops. Eames had expected her partner to be there, but he wasn't and she figured he was staying with Logan. Several months ago, in a gesture of empathy, Logan had gone with Goren to O'Shaunessey's, a tavern in Logan's Irish-American neighborhood, after both teams had suffered an incredibly long and very difficult week. Eames had gone to her parents' house, knowing her partner was with Logan and doing okay. His mother had not had a good week either, dealing a double whammy to him. Logan had lost his abusive mother to a long battle with alcoholism, so he knew something of Goren's pain. Logan was not as emotionally sensitive as Goren was, but he was making an honest effort to reach out to a man near the edge, with only Eames keeping him from the abyss.

Logan had been successful, and the two men had begun spending more time together. They were bonding, she'd teased. But she had noticed an improvement in her partner's behavior and attitude, and for that she was eternally grateful to Logan. She'd had a very hard time with Goren when his mother had finally succumbed to her cancer, and Logan had been there to help. She owed him a lot, and so did her partner.

Doctors came and went, but still there was no word about Logan. And Goren had not shown up either. Within the first hour of their vigil, Ross arrived. Alert eyes scanned the room, quickly locating Eames and Wheeler, who were sitting together on the far side of the room. He strode with purpose to his two detectives. "What happened?" he demanded.

Eames let Wheeler explain while she withdrew and moved to stand near the fish tank, arms crossed, concern growing as time passed and still Goren remained absent. Ross approached her after giving Wheeler a hug of encouragement and comfort. He touched her arm. "Where's your partner?"

"I don't know, captain. He was with Logan."

"Was he injured?"

"No. He was...rendering first aid, and they made him go along in the ambulance. He was...applying pressure to an injury and they needed him to keep doing it."

"So why the hell did I get a report that two of my detectives were down?"

"I have no idea."

"It must have been a misunderstanding. Has there been any word at all about Logan?"

"No, sir. Nothing."

Ross remained with his detectives, intermittently talking to them as well as to the other captains who arrived to learn of the fate of their own men who had fallen to the sniper's gun.

A/N: I have two scenarios for this one, both partially written. Since I can't decide between the two, I'll let my readers decide. What do you want to happen with Goren?