Riggs eyed his Jello cup sitting just out of reach before glancing up at the equally hungry eyes sitting across from his bed. His system was moderately drug free since his move to the less stifling surroundings of the private room. The morphine drip served as the only substance to occasionally toy with his consciousness. He assumed one of the nurses had noticed his reluctance in its use, and saw fit to flood it into his system as he slept. He had felt the release the drug offered each time he had given into fatigue.
He tested the pain level with a slight shift of his weight. The challenge rest in reaching the cup before his competition. He was closer, but Ben was faster. Consequences be damned he jolted forward and felt the victory of the chilly cup against his fingertips. His celebration was short lived as Ben grasped the other end of the plastic. The motion caught up with him and he forced away the pain crashing through his center, a timid smile forcing its way to his lips and adequately masking the agony.
They each stood frozen in place, a contentious glare hovering between them.
"I leave you two alone for a few minutes and I come back to a Jell-O war?" Molly chided with a questioning smile as she strode into the space.
Ben released his death grip on the gelatinous treat and directed a desperate plea in Riggs' direction.
"I triple dog dared him that he couldn't get to the cup before I did." Riggs winked and tossed the jelly prize to Ben. He offered Molly a lopsided smile.
"Oh well, a triple dog dare? You can't ignore one of those." Molly ruffled the blond strands flopping over his head and Ben visibly relaxed.
"How are you feeling?" She asked.
"Peachy." He grinned. She wasn't fooled, but he was grateful for her silence.
The small bed shifted as Ben hopped up beside him and settled about devouring his Jello cup sans spoon. Riggs draped his arm over Ben's shoulders to allow them enough room for comfort. He winced at the motion, forcing a concerned glare from Molly.
A gentle shake of his head signaled his status. He punctuated the silent statement with a smile and squeezed Ben's shoulder in reassurance.
"When can you come home?" Ben asked between mouthfuls.
"Not long, kiddo." His eyes wandered to the challenging umber staring him down.
"Martin will be here for the rest of the week." She clarified, daring Riggs to refute the matter. She was very familiar with his habit of prematurely escaping from care. Luckily, she hadn't triple dog dared him.
"What your mom said." The energy fueling him had waned. Though his muscles no longer felt as if they had just come out of a blender, he could still feel the damage the bullet had torn through him. It wasn't the first time he had been shot, but this was the closest he had come to not making it back.
"Martin, why did the bad guy shoot you?" Ben's small form leant against him. He fiddled with the now empty plastic cup, waiting for his answer.
Molly took up arms against the query before the awkward question could drown them both.
"Sweetheart, it's complicated. You don't need to worry about that."
"Yeah, champ. The bad guys are always trying to shoot me, most of the time they miss." A wide grin consumed Riggs' face as he looked to Ben. His smile disappeared as he glanced at Molly. Her stern expression was a sure sign that he had said something wrong.
"What Martin means to say, is that his job can sometimes be dangerous. But he is very good at it so you shouldn't worry. Isn't that right?"
"Yep, that's what I meant." Riggs fussed at the top of his ear with a fidgety finger.
Ben wrinkled his brow and offered a steady nod. The motion most children made when they pretended to understand something an adult had failed to explain.
Roger strolled through the door, crushing the tension of another unasked question.
"Roger, Hey. Any news on...the er, bad guys?" Riggs' exhaustion fought its way into the sentence, his voice a shadow of its usual animation. Having Molly and Ben visit had lifted his spirits, but depleted what little of his energy reserves remained.
"Not yet." Roger waved his hand in greeting to Molly and Ben.
"When was the last time you took a shower?" His question directed at Roger, but in all honesty, both he and Molly looked as if they needed a nap and a hot meal. "I will be fine if you guys want to go home and catch up on some sleep."
"He's right, Molly. You take Ben and get some rest. I'll stay here with him."
"Rog, I was referring to all of you. I'm fine." He pushed the prickle of frustration aside. He hated when people spoke as if he wasn't in the room.
"Someone should stay…" Roger left the implication unsaid, but the looming threat of unfinished business remained present.
"Nobody's that stupid, Rog. Every cop in LA is looking for him." A few moments of uncertainty lingered as his partner battled with his conscience.
"Okay, just a quick shower and some food." Roger gathered himself and waited for Molly and Ben to say their goodbyes.
"We'll be back soon. Behave yourself, Martin." She planted a gentle kiss on his cheek and gave him one of her enchantingly energising smiles. The kind of smile she had mastered when they were kids.
"Yes, mam."
Ben wrapped his arms around Riggs' neck. Riggs reciprocated to the best of his limited ability without pulling on his wound.
"Be good for your mom, huh?" Ben's overly enthusiastic nod assured him that he would be on his best behavior. Riggs stifled the unfamiliar sensation in his chest. The physical pain toying with his body was dampened by the rising warmth within. He didn't understand the feeling, but he didn't want it to disappear. Ben wasn't his son by blood, but he had become a part of his life that Riggs couldn't see living without. That terrified him. He remembered another time when he had belonged.
Roger flanked his bedside, forcing Riggs to clear his throat to hide the mounting crescendo of buried memories.
"Cahill is gonna stop by soon. Don't worry, she's visiting as a friend, not a shrink."
He caught sight of Roger's hand as it slipped out of view and felt the tantalizing dull fall over his mind as the morphine blocked his pain receptors.
"You just drugged me! Maybe Cahill should come all shrinky. I wonder what she would say about drugging unsuspecting victims." He moaned, raising an accusative hand to his partner.
"I did no such thing! You must be high." Roger's voice raised an octave defensively.
"Well, I amnow!" Riggs slurred, grateful for the drugs coursing through his system.
"You know if you would just press the button yourself, I wouldn't have to do it for you." Roger accused with a little more reservation.
"Pains not so bad, Roger. You get used to it." The look that fell across his partner's face as he gave in to the seductive tug of the drug indicated that he had, yet again, said something wrong. No longer possessing the energy to correct it, he fell into blissful oblivion.
The sound of the door closing pulled Riggs from fitful slumber. He had been chasing wakefulness for what felt like hours, fighting to rise only to be doused in the compelling stream of unconsciousness produced by the Morphine.
The fall of footsteps that followed were unfamiliar, the stride too short to belong to his partner and too heavy to be the nurse.
He cracked open his eyelids. Bleary brown eyes met their reflection in the blade of the knife above his neck. Riggs shifted his weight towards his attacker and thrust his palm up and away from his chest just in time to avoid getting skewered, the motion forcing the man's arm awkwardly across his own body. Riggs capitalized on the surprise that the sudden motion had elicited, propelling his knee into the man's stomach while pulling his head and shoulder towards him to intensify the blow.
The intruder crumpled to the floor, allowing Riggs time to gain ground. He took a few unsteady steps onto the cold tile. Adrenaline fueled his fury as he drove his fist upwards and hit the man square in the jaw. Riggs couldn't suppress the tearing sensation that drilled through his torso with the action and dropped to one knee clutching his chest.
Short-stride stood, his knuckles white around the hilt of the blade as the dazed look in his eyes cleared and morphed into rage. The shock of scarlett adorning his scalp reminded Riggs of The Leprechaun. He allowed a short hoot of laughter to escape his lips as he pushed off one knee and side stepped the smaller man's charge.
He realized a little too late that his assailant, while slightly below average in height, was not small by any measure of the word. Unable to avoid the rush entirely, due to the sluggish remnants of the painkillers, Short-stride's shoulder smashed him toward the ground. The exchange left a shallow gash across his side and expelled the air from his lungs.
Another step put short-stride in striking distance once more, this time Riggs kicked up with his foot, forcing the man reeling backward. He had just enough time to struggle back to his feet and replace his breath before the persistent man was upon him again.
Riggs shielded himself from the incoming blow with his forearm and felt the sharp sting of metal on flesh as the knife slipped through his skin. He grasped the man's fist with his opposite hand, bringing his free yet bloody arm down in an arcing motion. His elbow collided with short-stride's temple. He followed the attack with a headbutt for good measure, pummeling short-stride to the tile with a satisfying thud.
Riggs swayed on shaky legs as he studied the rip in his forearm. That was kinda a lot of blood. He peered downwards and noticed more of the sticky red warmth coating his side. That couldn't be good.
He pitched forward into small yet comforting arms and felt his form lowered gracelessly onto the chilly floor as the familiar but frantic call of Maureen Cahill permeated the room.
"I need a doctor in here now!"
"Hey Doc. Good timing." He offered his best grin in attempt to lift the concern adorning her small, sharp features. "I think I may be bleeding."
