One More Day More

Following the season 2 (arguably series) finale.

Shots fired. The phrase echoed through Murtaugh's head as he sped toward the call location. For a moment, he nearly tried to tell Riggs not to shoot first, but the empty passenger seat gave him pause. Things were so different now. He was Captain of the department and Riggs was heading back to Texas. No more insane risks, no more unexpected… he didn't need to go on this call at all, but something made him want to do it. Trish would holler at him later, but he wanted one more ride in the saddle, one more thrill- Damn Riggs for that anyway, he thought.

As he approached the cemetery, Murtaugh slowed. An elderly couple, phone still in hand, pointed down the street from their home toward the cemetery where they had heard the gun shot. Murtaugh gave them a nod and proceeded with caution. According to the dispatch, the shot was heard but no one had seen the shooter. There was no way to know if they were still hanging around or long since fled.

"I'll be damned if I'm gonna get shot now," he whispered to himself, imagining his comfy office.

The houses thinned and gave way as Murtaugh reached the outer edge of the cemetery. He began scanning every inch for a car, a person, movement of any kind. Empty air, the occasional flag flapping, and acres of headstones were all he saw. As he neared the far edge, his eyes scanned one last time. His breath stopped when he saw it. The bullet hole ridden heap parked along the street just around the corner from him.

"Damn," he muttered. "Just couldn't leave quietly, could you." He shook his head as he stopped the car and gathered his gun from the glove box. Murtaugh exited the car and began a slow approach toward the truck, gun drawn.

"Riggs?" he called, expecting the man to fall out of a tree or toss a whiskey bottle.

No response.

"Riggs?" he repeated louder.

Again, no response.

A cold chill ran the length of his spine. Murtaugh didn't know what scared him more- the empty graveyard or the silence from an otherwise boisterous ex-partner.

He reached the truck, only to find it empty. No sign of a shot. Murtaugh reached in and popped the glove box- the gun was still stowed away. The chill turned to ice. Murtaugh spun around and began a hurried creep toward Miranda's headstone. He hoped any trail would start there.

Two more squads pulled up behind his car, one with Bailey and Bowman.

"Cap?" Bailey inquired as they exited.

"Keep your eyes pe..." Murtaugh began, freezing up when he spotted the familiar boot.

"Sir?" Bowman frowned, waiting for the rest of the instructions.

"Bailey! Tell dispatch we need the ambulance here NOW!" Murtaugh ordered as he tucked his gun into the back of his pants and ran to Riggs.

Bailey looked at Bowman and nodded for him to call. He returned to the vehicle to radio dispatch while Bailey gathered the first aid kit from the trunk.

"Dammit, Riggs! I'm here." Murtaugh collapsed on his knees next to his friend. He could hear the ragged breathing. Riggs' eyes were still open, but glazed over.

"Hang on," Murtaugh choked as he jammed his palms into the wound. He could hear a faint groan. The blood oozed over his hands, causing him to pull away. As he reached to place his hands again, Bailey reached him with gauze. Murtaugh rolled up a wad and jammed that back into the wound.

"I got this-secure the area," he ordered. Bailey nodded and signaled to Bowman to work around the side.

"Don't you do it, Riggs. You're going to Texas with Molly and Ben. You're going to live happy ever after. Don't you make me explain this to Molly. Come on, Riggs. We were passed this. You can't quit on all of us now. We put too much time into fixing you. You hear me? No dying. Don't you start my tenure with this."


Murtaugh plopped into the driver's seat with a sigh. He stared at his blood soaked hands, fighting the voice trying to remark about getting it on the upholstery. A slow, dark video played in his mind over and over- seeing Riggs in the dirt, the blood running over his fingers, all the way to his best friend coding as they placed him in the ambulance.

He felt bad asking Bailey and Bowman to secure everything- he was their friend too- but he knew the inevitable phone call he was about to make was going to take everything he could muster.

It didn't help much, but instinct made him wipe his bloody hands on his pants. There was still enough to transfer to his phone as he dialed.

"Hello, Roger," Trish chirped. She stood in the kitchen with Riana and RJ, cleaning up the Farewell Riggs party mess.

He hesitated responding.

"Roger?" Trish's face and voice both fell as she repeated his name.

"Trish, I need you to grab Molly and bring her to the hospital."

"Hospital?!" Trish gasped. The kids' faces froze as she said it. "Roger, what happened?"

"Riggs was shot."

"Shot? Oh my god," she swallowed. "How bad is it?"

"It's not good," he replied shortly.

"Understood." Trish hung up the phone, swallowed her tears, and took a deep breath.

"Did Dad get shot?" Riana demanded.

"No..." Trish sighed. "Riggs."

"Seriously? How..."

"I don't know. I need you to watch Harper for me."

Riana nodded.

"RJ, come with me," Trish continued as she began to head for her keys.

"Why?" he asked indignantly.

Trish glared at him. "You really want to argue right now?"

"No." He hung his head slightly.

"Get in the car."


Roger paced, watching the doors. The admitting nurse begged him to take a seat. Just before he could retort, he heard a voice behind him.

"Roger." Trish called. She stood next to Molly, just off his back shoulder. Both women appeared shaken, their eyes bloodshot from the held back emotions.

"Molly, I'm..." Murtaugh began.

"Is he?" she stated, trying to remain stoic.

"No, no. He's in surgery. Pretty touch and go there for a while..."

"It's okay, Roger." Trish grabbed his hand to stop his babbling. She winced at the blood still coating his hands and noticed it all over his clothes. The revelation hit Molly as well. She felt the wave of emotion soar over her walls and fell into the first chair she could.

"I'm not sure why I'm surprised. It had to happen, right?" Molly muttered as she stared at them. "He couldn't have 'normal.' He wouldn't know how."

Trish took the seat next to her and placed her non bloody hand on her shoulder. "It isn't anybody's fault."

"HELL YES it is!" Roger interjected. "It IS somebody's fault. Somebody pulled that trigger and I'm gonna nail them."

Trish shot him a wide-eyed 'shut up' look.

"You nail that bastard before I do," Molly spat.


"I appreciate you guys doing this. We were supposed to be on the road by now," Molly wrung her hands as she glanced around the Murtaugh's kitchen. Trish handed her a glass of water.

"It's what family does," Trish offered. Molly tried to smile as she swallowed.

Trish inhaled loudly. "So Ben is in RJ's room, you can sleep in Riana's room since she's in with Harper."

"I don't think I can sleep."

"It's hard, but you need to try. Roger will call us the moment he's out of surgery. Until then, the only thing we can do is take care of ourselves. No use to anybody to drop from exhaustion."

After a moment, Molly nodded her understanding and took one last swallow. She slid the glass towards the center of the island and made her way upstairs. Trish sighed as she realized she had to try and follow her own advice.