.naM niT nwo ton od I :remialcsiD

Author's Note: You know what makes me happy? Discovering that the Tin Man miniseries was shot in B.C., 'cause that means I can locate Gulch and DG's hometown near whatever geological features found in Kansas that suit my fancy. Convenient that.


...

DG couldn't remember being so frightened in her life, though she had the haunting feeling that she had been. She was lost, trapped, tumbling, and drifting. The weight was pushing down on her from all sides, she couldn't breathe, couldn't find air, couldn't break free. The darkness was coming, it ate at the edges of her vision, she was falling...

...and then, like a déjà vu, something tugged at her, sorting out the chaos and confusion as life rearranged itself into a gentle, soothing flow. Her head broke the surface and DG breathed.

Not too far away several someone's burst into laughter.

"Nice cast!" a man's voice chortled.

"And I once caught a kid thiiiiiiiis big," quipped another.

"I don't know," a third said dubiously, "it looks a bit small to me, best throw it back."

Spluttering and coughing, held in place against the current by a rather uncomfortable pull on her clothes, DG glanced up to discover Officer Gulch, standing amidst four strange men, staring back at her in utter surprise. For a moment they formed a cartoon tapestry, then the cop blinked, handed one of the men his fishing pole and waded forward to haul DG out of the river, removing the fishing hook snagged in her shorts as he did so.

"You know, Elmer," the fourth stranger mused, "I appreciate you taking us out to fish in your favourite spot and all, but if catch of the day is child I think I might just want to try a new location."

Ignoring them, the policeman started towelling her off as best he could with his jacket. "Found the river did you?" he asked drily, "You alright?"

Spitting out the last of the river water she'd inhaled, DG pondered his question. "I like the river," she said at last, "but it's hard to breathe."

"Yes, well, most people try to keep their head above water when they swim," the cop informed her.

"Don't know how to swim," she explained.

"Then one might consider staying out of the river until you can," Officer Gulch pointed out, "I'll talk to Hank and Emily about it."

"You think I should learn?" she questioned, for some reason it seemed like a strange idea.

"I think you should add every last survival skill you can to your toolbox," he opined, "it should increase your chances of surviving to your next birthday by about this much," he added, holding his thumb and index finger all of an eighth of an inch apart, "Knowing you, you ought to learn how to parachute."

"Aw, would you look at that," said the first of the four men who'd had been watching with delighted amusement, "he's had a kid not five minutes and he's already gone all paternal."

"This is why we need to change fishing holes," the fourth man said, "I'm not ready to be a father."

"Really?" inquired the third, "Then you and your girlfriend really need to have a talk."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, "Hey, where are you going?"

Rolling his eyes, Officer Gulch replied, "I have to take DG home before her parents call out the National Guard to go looking for her."

"DG? The DG?" the second man exclaimed, "You're DG?"

"Of course I'm DG," the eight year old responded, glaring at the stupid man indignantly, "Who are you?"

"They're just some buddies of mine from police academy out for the weekend," the cop answered, trying to herd the girl towards his truck, "don't mind them."

"Oie," his friends objected, "Don't be like that, we want to talk to her a little."

"Yeah, did you really set his hair on fire?"

"That was an accident," DG asserted firmly.

Crowing with delight, the first man begged, "Did he really let you try and fix it?"

"And we're going now," the blushing Officer Gulch interjected, practically dragging DG along with him. He hadn't got more than a few steps, however, when he stopped short. Glancing up curiously, the eight year old was confused to see him counting something out on his fingers. "Crap," he huffed after a moment, "we're gonna hafta walk."

"Damn," one of his pals swore, "And here I was hoping to cite him for a DUI."

"You know," another put forth, "it's been bothering me, we've all been drinking, how are we supposed to get home?"

"We are less than a five minute walk from my place," their host informed them.

"Then why did we bring the truck?"

"So we wouldn't have to carry the beer, stupid."

"I say we should all escort the young lady home, that way we find out more about the adventurous DG and any stories Elmer is unwilling to tell."

"Sure no problem," the local cop agreed before adding shrewdly, "it's only a bit over five miles to the old Gale place."

"And I vote for staying here and seeing whether we can actually catch an actual fish," the, ah, avid fisherman suggested promptly, "Elmer ought to be nice and sober by the time he gets back, then he can drive us back to the land of heavenly food."

"Amen to that, if Elmer were a girl I'd marry him in a second just to get regular access to his mom's cooking," a fellow enthusiast chimed in, settling back down beside the river.

"What, you don't think he is pretty enough as is?" their chum chortled, much to the amusement of the group.

"When I get back I am throwing you all in the river," Officer Gulch growled, "Come on, DG, I'd best get you out of here before they forget the audience is PG."

But DG had decided that she didn't very much want to walk another five miles that day, either. She had such little legs and they were so very tired. "Can I have a piggy-back ride?" she asked hopefully.

One of the fishermen choked on his beer. "She wants to ride the piggy," he quipped.

"You do realize that's an insult to all of us don't you?" another pointed out.

"Think we can convince him to carry us home?" wondered a third as their fellow cop gave in to the soulful blue eyes staring imploringly up at him and bent to let DG climb on his back.

"I don't think you're cute enough," opined the fourth with a shake of his head.

"They really your friends?" the eight year old inquired as her particular piggy strode off in the direction of home.

"That's what they keep telling me," he confirmed.

"They all cops like you?"

"Yup."'

"Are their badges all wrong, too?"