A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys, they really are like cookies to me (except I don't feel guilty afterwards!) Here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy it


Chapter Four

A low groan broke the silence and Wordy looked across the room to its source. Ed's eyes flickered open, and Wordy watched him tense as he found himself unable to move his arms in their bindings.

"You mind if I check my buddy?" Wordy asked his captor.

"Whatever," Jesse replied.

Wordy slowly crossed the room, giving the gunman a wide berth, and crouched beside his team mate, pressing his fingers to his neck and feeling the fast but steady pulse.

"Take it easy," he said softly, holding eye contact. "You were knocked out." He watched Ed's eyes widen in comprehension and then narrow slightly as they slid past Wordy to the gunman behind.

"Good to have you back, Eddie," Greg's voice sounded in their earpieces. As Greg started filling Ed in, Wordy helped him carefully into a sitting position, his efforts hampered by the team leader's hands which were still bound behind his back. Gratefully, Ed leaned back against the wall, and Wordy watched him closely, looking for any signs of a concussion – Jesse must've hit him hard with the pistol, he'd been out quite a while. The blood on his head wound had clotted, but there's was no telling how much damage had been done. Though dazed, Ed seemed alert, which had to be a good sign.

"Guess it's two against one again, huh?" Jesse observed bitterly, echoing Tristan's earlier words.

"No-one's against you, Jesse," Wordy promised, switching his attention back onto the subject. "But if you want him to leave, he will."

"Yeah?" Jesse sneered, pushing himself to his feet and stalking over to the two cops. "Well I can think of a faster way of evening the sides." He levelled the gun at the team leader. "Why should he get to live, anyway?"

"Take it easy, son," Ed attempted to placate the youth. "You haven't hurt anyone yet."

"Haven't hurt anyone yet?!" Jesse drew his boot back and swung it into the cop's exposed midriff. Ed grunted in pain and surprise, collapsing forward without his hands to protect him. He kicked again, eliciting another grunt from his victim. Wordy moved forward instinctively to protect his team mate. Jesse saw the movement and turned the gun on him. Reluctantly, Wordy raised his hands and did nothing as Jesse delivered another brutal kick to Ed, his mind working frantically trying to work out what had triggered the attack.

"It wasn't your fault, Jesse," he said. "What happened to Tristan wasn't your fault."

Jesse turned and stared at him as his breathing subsided.

"I… It… happened because of me. Because he was with me."

Wordy was shaking his head.

"He made his own choice, and the guys who did this, the ones who are responsible, they've been caught, they're not going to hurt anyone again."

"Find out how Tristan's doing. Then I'll let your friend leave."

"Ok," Wordy nodded. "I'm going to start working on that. Boss, Jesse would like an update on Tristan."

"Yeah, copy that Wordy, standby. Jules?"

"They lost him twice on the way here, Sarge. He's in surgery now, I'll see what I can find out."

Wordy listened to his team mates with a sinking heart. It sounded like Tristan's chances – and his own – were worse than he'd thought. He needed to distract Jesse, because he knew that if came down to a choice between Wordy's life and Jesse's, the team would not hesitate to neutralise the subject.

"The doctors are with him now," Wordy said, watching Jesse's anxious face. "We'll know what's happening soon."

Jesse nodded and turned away, concealing his emotions from the two imposing cops. Wordy glanced at Ed's ribs and raised an eyebrow. You okay?

Ed nodded in response. I'm fine. He'd been through a lot worse, and it wasn't like they could do much about it right now anyway. He'd have a few bruises, and maybe a cracked rib or two, but his tac vest had protected him from the worst of the impact. Plus, they both had bigger concerns – Jesse was pacing the room, and Wordy knew that if the three of them were going to get out of this alive, he had to get him thinking about something besides Tristan.

"You hungry, Jesse?" Wordy asked.

The gunman stopped pacing and his stomach rumbled loudly. He scuffed his feet awkwardly and the cops ignored the noise and the boy's embarrassment.

"How long since you last ate, son?" Ed said gently.

Jesse shrugged and looked at his feet. "Couple of days."

Wordy concealed his look of sympathy before it reached his face – Jesse had reacted badly the last time he'd shown pity.

"Good thinking," Greg praised them over their headsets. Pain and hunger would be playing a part in the subject's mood swings and short temper. There wasn't much more they could do about the pain than he'd already done with the pain meds, but hunger was a different story. "I'll get some food organised."

"We can get some food brought in, if you want," Wordy told the youth.

"What's the catch?"

"No catch," Wordy promised. "We just want to help."

"Yeah, okay then."

Jesse lowered himself onto the floor on the opposite side of the room from them, leaning back against the wall, and clenched his jaw as a wave of pain washed over him. The two cops shared a look but said nothing. Wordy supposed it was too much to hope for that the subject might give in to the pain and exhaustion and simply fall asleep.

"Sarge," Winnie's voice came over the radio. "I've just spoken to Saint Luke's hospice. Jesse was a patient there, he's been diagnosed with stage four cancer. He checked himself out eight days ago. Some drugs went missing at the same time, including five days' worth of morphine patches, and a large number of Fentanyl pills, although at this stage the pills won't be doing much more than taking the edge off. I'm waiting on a complete list of the missing drugs."

"Copy that Winnie."

"There's something else, Sarge. He has a brother by the name of Anthony Oakes."