This is the final chapter.

He doesn't see if Eckert is hit or not. All he sees now is a blur of figures and motion in front of him. He hears Doug's voice again…closer now than ever before…feels him take the gun away. He looks down and sees the red stain forming on his clothes…moving…no…not moving…spreading…getting larger. Doug's hands are on him now and he hears shouting, but he can't make out the words. It doesn't matter. He doesn't care anymore. He lets go. It's over now.

Someone scored. He knew because the crowd was cheering. Off and on for about an hour now he had been hearing the muffled sounds of an announcer and the occasional pitch for beer or trucks. But whenever the crowd cheered it raised his awareness a little more each time. And now they were really going at it. So Tom opened his eyes.

The room was dim…and blurry. Tom blinked his eyes a few times and things became clearer. The familiar sight of the monitors and IV lines joined the familiar sound of beeping and the smell of antiseptic. He looked around the room and found the source of what he had been hearing as he slowly awoke. There was a small television mounted to the wall on his left, a baseball game playing out on the screen. Below it, leaning back in a chair with his feet up on a small table, was Doug. Tom yawned. "Who's winning?"

Doug turned his head to look at Tom. "Hey, man!" He got up and switched off the TV, then went to Tom's bedside. "How you feelin'?"

"Mmmm…" Tom surveyed his surroundings again. "I don't know. Tired, I guess. How should I feel?"

"You should feel fine." Doug smiled. "You're gonna be okay. The bullet went in just under your collarbone. They dug it out, but you lost a lot of blood. Had a little infection too."

"Yeah?" Tom suddenly felt queasy. "How long have I been here?"

"Couple of days," answered Doug. He rolled his eyes. "Anything to get out of doing those audits, huh?

Tom laughed a little and then grimaced. "Hey…can I sit up a little?"

"Yeah..sure." Doug adjusted the bed so that Tom wasn't lying flat anymore.

"Thanks." Tom looked down at himself and saw the IV lines running into his left arm and the hospital ID bracelet on his right one. His skin looked pale, save for a few bruises here and there. And although he could not see beneath the blue and white checkered hospital gown he wore, he could feel the pull of adhesive tape and gauze on the upper left side of his chest. He tried to use his arms to adjust his position a little more, but the left one gave way and he stifled a small cry of pain.

"Hey! What did I tell you?"

The booming authoritative voice startled Tom, but he was relieved when he looked up and saw that it was not directed at him.

Helen stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, her pastel flowered scrubs failing to soften the look on her face. She marched into the room and straight over to Doug. "Didn't I tell you that you could stay in here if you let us know when he woke up?"

Doug gulped as he looked down at the older woman. "Yes, ma'am."

She leaned in closer, looking up at him with stern eyes. "Did I say to let him wake up and start moving around and hurting himself?"

Doug shook his head. "No ma'am."

"All right then!" Helen pushed past a shamefaced Doug and went to Tom's side. "Hi, sweetie. How you doin'?" she said with a smile.

"Hi, Helen." Tom smiled back. "I'm okay. It's not his fault. I was…"

"Oh yes it is his fault!" She turned to give Doug a look and he shrank away. "He's been hanging around here for days, sleepin' in that chair and snoring loud enough to keep the whole floor awake, trying to weasel free pudding off the day shift girls, and that's because he broke the vending machine when he tried to stuff it full of Canadian quarters!"

Doug was now sitting, deflated and humiliated, in a chair, and Tom couldn't help but snicker at his predicament.

Helen looked at Tom. "It ain't funny! He knocked the coffee pot over the other night too." She gave Tom a sweet smile and shook her head. "Hon', you need to stop comin' here, okay? Not just for your own good, but for his sake too." She glanced over her shoulder.

"Okay. I'll try."

The woman grew serious then and said kindly, "Try harder, hon'." Tom nodded silently in response and she asked, "You havin' some pain on this side?" as she lifted his left arm slightly so that she could pull the sheet back. He nodded again with a slight grimace. "Okay," she said softly. "Lemme take a look. We'll take care of it." She untied the shoulder of his gown and brought it down, revealing a large gauze pad secured with medical tape. Blood had seeped through the pad. She gently laid his gown back over the wound site and patted his arm. "I'm gonna go get you something for the pain and also change that dressing for you, 'kay? I'll be right back." As she left the room she pointed at Doug and said, "You stay right there!"

Doug didn't dare disobey, so he stayed in the chair until Helen had come back and done her work, leaving Tom with a freshly cleaned wound and an IV full of pain medication. Once she was gone, however, Doug moved his chair closer to Tom's bedside.

"She said it's gonna make me sleepy," Tom said, his words already sounding slightly slurred, "so let's get on with it." He shuddered involuntarily at those last words, remembering Eckert saying them several times. He shook off the bad memories and asked with a heavy sigh, "What happened? Where is he?"

Up until now Doug could hardly wait to say the words he was about to say. But somehow…now that it was done…it didn't feel the same. He said them anyway. "He's dead."

Tom had been expecting those words…hoping for them. "Eckert?" He had to be sure.

"Yeah."

"You're sure?" It didn't seem to Tom like it could be real.

"I'm sure," Doug answered with a smile. "It was a great shot, partner. Especially…you know…considering he got you first. But he was dead before he hit the floor."

If he had ever wanted to kill anyone in his life, Tom would have wanted to kill Lee Eckert. Now that he was dead, and by Tom's own hand, he didn't know what to feel. There was relief, of course, although it was cautious relief, because Tom wasn't entirely sure he would ever feel that the man was really gone. And even though it needed to be done…even though he had no choice at the time, killing a man…even a man like Lee Eckert…wasn't something Tom had ever wanted to do. "What about the cop?"

Doug lowered his eyes and bit his lip. "Yeah…uh…he died too…the one Eckert shot. I'm sorry, man."

Tom nodded and looked away. Somehow, that was the one thing that he had been sure about. Of course, he hadn't called for the police himself. It wasn't really his fault that they were there, and he had no way of knowing that Eckert had gotten the other gun from the bedroom as well as Tom's gun from the drawer while he was in the bathroom. And yet he felt responsible. How could he not? "Well…yeah…I…" He fought to keep his composure. "I figured."

Doug nodded in response and said simply, "Yeah."

The two men were silent then, each lost in his own thoughts about what had happened. Finally Tom spoke. "So…hey…um…I think the pain meds are kicking in. I'm getting kind of sleepy."

"Oh yeah…sure…I guess I'll take off now that…you know…"

"Yeah," said Tom. He looked up at his friend appreciatively. "Thanks, Doug."

"I'm sorry…about everything. But I'm glad you're okay," Doug said quietly as he watched his friend drift off to sleep.

"You sure you don't want me to come up?"

Tom shook his head and got out of Doug's car. He leaned back in through the window and said, "Nah…I'm good."

Doug did not look convinced, but he and Tom had already had this discussion more than once. "Okay, but if you need anything…"

"I know."

"Just call me," Doug finished. "Anytime. And I'll come over…or you can come back to my place."

"I know," Tom repeated. "I'll call you if I need to. I promise."

Still unsure, Doug relented and drove away, leaving Tom standing on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building, as he knew Tom wanted him to do.

Tom watched his friend drive away into the darkness. How many times since this whole thing began had they done this, always with Doug waiting for Tom to go inside before he left? But it was time to change that. It was time to change a lot of things.

Tom had spent five days in the hospital after the shooting. His mother was a constant presence, of course. And his psychologist, Dr. Hirsch, had made several visits. But when it was time to leave, Tom had decided it would be better if he didn't stay with his mother this time. By the end of the trial, the continuous togetherness had begun to take its toll on both of them. And although she would always welcome the opportunity to mother him and take care of him, Margaret had agreed with his decision to stay somewhere else this time.

So Tom had accepted Doug's offer to stay at his place for as long as he wanted to stay. His injury was healing well, although he was still having trouble moving his left arm without causing pain. He had been given some more time off from work, but he wanted to get back as soon as possible. So after spending two weeks at Doug's, Tom was back at his own apartment for the weekend, determined to start work again on Monday.

Tom ascended the stairs easily but paused when he reached the door to his apartment. The hallway was dark and quiet, something for which he was grateful. He knew that by now all of the neighbors would have found out what had happened…both inside the apartment that night and before. The last thing he needed right now was a bunch of stares and questions. He looked at the door again and sighed, then put the key in the lock and turned.

Doug had told Tom that he and some of the others from work had come by and cleaned the apartment. At first glance, it seemed so. Everything looked neat and in place. Tom walked in and closed the door behind him. The place even smelled fresh. He walked into the living room and stopped between the couch and chair, looking down at the place where Eckert had sat, bloodied and grinning, taunting Tom to the very end when he…and the officer…had died. He looked down at the chair where he himself had finally sat down, relieved, until Eckert forced his hand with one final coup de grace.

There was no evidence left, although Tom did not look very closely as he passed through and made his way to the kitchen. Nothing to see there really. He opened the refrigerator and looked in, but he honestly couldn't remember what should have been in there. He closed the door and started to leave the area, but stopped as he glanced at the counter next to the stove. Tom wasn't a chef by any means. Frozen dinners and takeout pizza were about the extent of his culinary skills. But he did have a set of nice knives in a wooden block. A girlfriend had given them to him years ago in a half-hearted attempt to get him to eat better. They had, for the most part, sat unused and collecting dust. And now one of them was missing. It was still in evidence, and even though he would eventually be allowed to have it back, he wouldn't want it. He moved on through the house.

The bedroom door creaked slightly as Tom pushed it open. True to Doug's word, the room was just as neat and clean as the rest of the place. The bed was made with fresh linens, and the floor was spotless…no signs anywhere of the struggles or the blood Tom had shed here. As he stood in the doorway, Tom put his hand on the empty dresser top where various weapons had been placed at times. He ran his hand across it, feeling the smooth surface, and then walked into the room.

Tom approached the bed and stood where his assailant had once stood looking down on him. In his mind he could see himself staring back up with fearful eyes. He shook the memory off and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked around the room again, and his eyes settled on the nightstand where a new…cordless…alarm clock sat. Doug…or someone…must have bought it. The kindness of that gesture in the wake of the violence that broke the old one touched Tom, and his eyes welled up in gratitude. He took a deep breath to collect himself, but there was now a crack in his wall of resilience. The crack widened and he bent over, head in his hands, and cried as his emotions poured out.

Tom guessed that he had wept for a good ten minutes, judging by the new clock. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then stood up and looked back at the bed. He reached out and ran his hand down the length of one of the slats in the headboard. He drew in a sudden sharp breath and quickly withdrew his hand as he felt a sting. A quick close examination showed a splinter embedded in his middle finger, deep enough to draw blood. He sucked on the finger for a moment and then used a fingernail to scrape out the wood fragment. He sucked on the wound again, wincing as he examined the headboard. It wasn't noticeable from the front, and even if they had known it was cracked they couldn't have done anything about it. He took one last look at the bed and left the room.

Tom sat in a chair at the kitchen table, taking long, slow drinks from a cold bottle of beer as he stared into the living room. He was determined that he would stay the weekend here…alone…however he had to manage it, even if he had to sit, eat, and sleep on the floor. But he also knew that come Monday he would find himself another place to live…someplace where he could get a fresh start. He had feared that leaving this place would be hard on him, but he knew now that it would not. He looked around the room again. It was no longer his apartment to him. It was just a crime scene.

Monday morning, Tom sat anxiously in the chair across the desk from Captain Fuller. He watched as the man looked through some papers, wrote something, and looked through some more papers. Finally, the captain looked up at Tom and spoke.

"Okay. We're going to try it."

Tom sighed with relief, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off of him. "Thanks, Cap'n." He grinned. "You won't be sorry."

"I'm going to hold you to that, Hanson." Fuller leaned a little over the desk to look at Tom more closely. "You still look pretty rough to me. No sleep?"

"Uh…" Tom swallowed hard and decided to speak the truth. "No…Cap'n…I…I didn't get a lot of sleep this weekend. But…that's actually a good thing."

Intrigued, Fuller raised his eyebrows. "How so?"

"There was a lot of…it's just…it's a bad place now, you know? A lot of bad things happened there, but …I went back. I faced it. And yeah…I…I was scared" Tom looked down for a moment and then back up, looking Fuller in the eye. "But I did it. I had nightmares and everything, but…c'mon…that still happens when I take a nap in the break room here." He laughed a little. "The point is…this was bad, but…compared to before? Compared to that?" Tom sat back in his chair and shook his head. "This was nothing. This was…" He smiled now and nodded. "I won, Cap'n. I won. To the end…he tried to take me down with him, but I wouldn't go. I won't go. This is it for me." He leaned forward and said again, "I won."

Fuller sat back in his chair, considering all that Hanson had said. He was proud of how far the young officer had come, but he needed to remain professional about it. "Well, Dr. Hirsch recommends that you be allowed to continue working in the field at this point. But right where we left off," he cautioned.

"I know."

"Small steps…no solos. And don't think I've forgotten about that little stunt you pulled with Logan Ashter."

Tom nodded.

"And as you know," Fuller continued, "Internal Affairs has already cleared you in the shooting." He looked at Tom. "It was a good shooting, Tom. Clearly self-defense, and you probably saved the lives of the other officers there as well."

Tom nodded again and cleared his throat, knowing that he and the captain both knew he hadn't been able to save everyone. "Thanks, Cap'n."

Fuller studied him for a moment. "Found a new place yet?"

At the change of subject, Tom brightened. "I've got a few good leads on some places."

"Good." Fuller returned to shuffling the papers on his desk. "All right. Go on. Get out of here. See Penhall…if he's managed to wake up yet. You guys have an arson case at Baxter High over in Spencer. You're due in at nine."

Tom stood up, smiling broadly. "Yes, sir." He left the captain's office and went in search of Doug, finding his partner sitting with his head on his desk. Tom crept up and leaned over, putting both palms on the desk. He got as close as he dared to Doug and then shouted, "HEY!"

Doug's head jerked up from the desk. "What? What?" He twisted his head, looking back and forth. "I'm awake!"

Tom laughed. "Yeah, I can see that. Hey…you uh…got a little something…" He pointed to the side of his own mouth.

"Huh?" Doug asked with a blank stare, then rolled his eyes downward and touched his mouth. "Oh…yeah…" He grinned sheepishly as he wiped the drool off of his chin with his sleeve. "Just a little catnap." He cleared his throat, wiped his eyes, and yawned, then stood up. "You good to go?"

Tom smiled and nodded. "Yeah…yeah…I'm good to go."

Well, that's it! I can't believe I've been working on this for over a year. I honestly had no idea where it would all go when I started it, but somehow along the way I found out. I can't possibly express how much I appreciate each and every person who has taken the time to read and/or review this story! You have all inspired me and encouraged me to keep going, and without you I probably would have given up on it at some point.

It's so hard to end a story. I really hope that the ending was satisfying and that it befit the rest of the story. Please drop a review and let me know what you think about the ending, the whole thing, or whatever. It means a lot to me. :-) So, goodbye for now, and add me to your author alerts if you'd like to know when the next story goes up. It may be awhile, but I promise there will be one at some point.