Carter Shaw lay strapped to a gurney in the back of a speeding ambulance while Ciarin Falconer sat next to "Mouthy" on the squad bench and listened to the lawyer as he whined about his broken nose and, now that he'd found out she was a cop, police brutality. Carter groaned and the paramedic bent to check his vitals once again. His skin was palled and his face was covered by a thin sheen of sweat. His breathing was labored and every time he coughed, pain shot through his chest and flecks of blood dotted the oxygen mask.
"Listen Lieutenant," the attendant told him, "I know you're in pain and I'd like to administer morphine but you look like you've been kicked in the head by a mule and a concussion's a big fat contraindication."
Carter just nodded weakly and wished the whole wretched ordeal would just come to an end. He turned his head to surreptitiously watch his partner. One minute Ciarin looked as pale as a ghost and had a far away stare that worried him,. Then, the second her bench mate broke into another chorus of the "I'm gonna sue you blues", she could barely hide her utter contempt for the man.
Interminable minutes later the ambulance finally pulled up to the hospital emergency room entrance and the paramedics jumped down from the rig. The two of them removed the gurney first and wheeled it through the sliding glass doors. Ciarin and the lawyer sat in what could only be construed as uncompanionable silence, the latter breathing noisily through his mouth like a mucous laden fish.
The attendant returned shortly to take his remaining passengers inside. As the two of them stood up, Ciarin, took her place behind the lawyer ostensibly to wait her turn and, when he reached out to grab for the rail, she put her foot on his ass and pushed as hard as she could. The prick sailed out of the back of the rig and, stretching out both arms to try and break his headlong fall to the concrete, broke both wrists.
"Gotta love LAPD," the paramedic said over his shoulder as he stooped to minister to the fallen man Having just listened to the pin-head rant and rave all the way from the warehouse to the hospital he found he couldn't really blame her and said to his transport, "Hey man, that first step's a bitch. You should have followed protocol and waited for me to help you out."
Ciarin got down from the rig, stepped over the lawyer and walked into the ER waiting room. Once inside she spotted Ty and Dean. Carter had just been taken into the back and they stood next to the door through which he'd disappeared. They wouldn't be allowed to see him until his wounds had been assessed and he'd been loaded up with painkillers. She kept her distance.
Captain Maynard, who had just come in from the parking lot, joined her as she stood off by herself waiting for the SART team to gather.
"You wanna tell me what happened?" he asked her, a frown creasing his brow.
Cairin took a deep breath and started, "Some dirt bag Carter arrested..."
Maynard held up a hand and she stopped.
"I mean what just happened. Outside in the parking lot."
Ciarin huffed a laugh of disgust, smiled sardonically and in her defense said, "Oops."
Maynard stared at her but Falconer remained silent. Ty walked up to him and offered to show him the gift shop - so he could buy Carter a balloon or something - and he let himself be led away.
"Let's give her some room," the black undercover cop suggested when they were out of earshot, "It'll be bad enough when SART gets here."
Maynard knew that SART stood for Sexual Assault Response Team and that, along with the hospital personnel assigned to her, there would be at least one detective, a prosecutor and possibly more departmental personnel as well, all of whom would listen intently as she told her story. Better to have to tell it only once than over and over again.
SART had come and gone and the staff had given Ciarin the okay to finally shower. She had scrubbed herself all over to within an inch of her life and, still amped up, she walked the halls in a set of hospital scrubs, the hooker dress headed downtown as evidence, never to be worn again.
Ciarin continued to wander until she found Carter. He was hooked up to a heart monitor and various IV bags and it looked as if he was sleeping but not peacefully. Even doped up on morphine he couldn't seem to get comfortable and each time he moved he let out a little moan. His broken cheekbones had been surgically mended and his face had been stitched up and dressed in a light bandage that was dotted with dark pink ooze. He would still be devastating handsome in her eyes because a hint of a scar would make him seem even more dangerous.
She crept into his room and sat down in the chair next to his bed to watch him sleep. Carter had only been dozing and, when he opened his eyes, he didn't seem all that surprised to see her. What he did seem was unsure of himself, as if he didn't quite know what to do with her or how to act around her...now. Ciarin just sat back and took it all in.
"Ciarin. I'm so..."
"Shut up, Carter," she warned him, "If you say you're sorry, I'll punch you in the throat," and she meant it. She didn't want his sorrow or his pity. She didn't know what she wanted, outside of a drink and a slow and painful death for both Maher and Sonny. For Carter to feel sorry for her or to think any less of her for what she'd done was so not what she wanted.
"Got any Connemara hidden away in those clown pants?" he asked her drowsily.
She snorted, shook her head and wished, "If only."
"How are you, partner?" Carter then asked her in all seriousness.
Ciarin snorted again and wondered why she didn't feel any worse than she did. She was on a fairly even keel, even after giving various bodily fluids and her statement to a room full of strangers. She hadn't even cried in the shower, which had always been a refuge for her.
"Well, besides the obvious," she started, "there's the threat of aids or some other gift that keeps on giving, a long protracted court case where, for understandable reasons, they won't let me carry a gun, a probable lawsuit or three and a psyche eval that I may not be able to pass - even after anger management classes. You?"
Carter grimaced. "Broken cheek, couple of smashed ribs, slight lung puncture and I'll be pissing blood for at least a month. Plus a long protracted case court where, for understandable reasons, they won't let me carry a gun...either," he said and added, "and I'll vouch for you on the psyche eval."
"Great," she laughed, "Glowing accolades from a guy who's just been kicked in the head."
Carter's hand went reflectively to the bandage on his face and to his eye. The surrounding skin had turned purple and his eye was almost swollen shut.
Ciarin reached over to softly caress his unmarked cheek.
"Do regret your decision?" he asked taking her hand in his and staring at her with his one good eye, "I was the one Maher was after. It was my fucking mess."
"Listen Carter, the only thing I regret is being put in such a fucked up position," she told him, "I know who's at fault. I don't blame you and I certainly don't blame myself - even if I was dressed like a hooker."
Carter closed his eye. Even with the pain meds his whole body hurt and now even his heart was filled with pain. She had taken much worse than a bullet for him and he didn't feel grateful for dodging that bullet or even lucky. He felt sick to his stomach and he felt like a coward. He knew he could easily take a bullet for her - but an ass fucking? In all honestly he knew there was no way and, whether it was right or wrong, he was disappointed in himself. He hated the feeling and when he saw Maher again he'd be hard pressed not to shoot the little fuck in the face.
"Anyway," Ciarin noted, "it doesn't seem quite as abhorrent when it's a woman who's raped. Pretty fucked up, huh?"
"Oh, yeah," he agreed then hesitated before he started to lie to her, "I'd have been okay if you had refused..."
She cut him off, "But I wouldn't have been. Maher gave me a choice and I took the one I thought, still think, was the lesser of two evils."
Carter looked absolutely green, like he was going to loose his lunch and she asked, "Do you want me to call a nurse? Or the Captain?"
"Are the others still in the waiting room?" he asked even though he didn't want to see anyone right now - other than her.
"I suppose so - but I can do without the awkward well wishes and the piteous looks."
"If anyone needs pity, it's Maher and Gutierrez. They'll be old and gray before they walk the streets again."
"And I'll be waiting to run them over."
"I call shotgun," he said and patted the bed next to him and suggested, "Stay here with me tonight. Please. I don't want you to be alone. I don't want to be alone." He moved over as far as his IV's and his pain would let him.
Ciarin crawled into the bed to lie next to him. He put his arm around her, pulled her close to him and she hid her face in the crook of his neck and sobbed.