Hi Everyone!

A/N - ffnet has been having more 503 issues so this is a little later than I had intended.
A/NII - In response to Mounty's review - don't look it up on the internet as you won't find the answer. The background science is accurate, but I've hybridised a few ideas for this specific story. I can put some notes up at the end if you are interested.

Thanks once again to everyone who has reviews or sent me PMs. I always enjoy chatting to people about Ironside!

Chapter 13

Graveyard Shift

Perhaps the Kingston Building wasn't the best place to go. It was another mistake, and with every step Ed took it felt like he was getting in deeper and deeper to something he didn't understand.

It had sounded like a good idea to get out of the office and into a public space. But it wasn't. It was a bad idea. He felt more vulnerable out on the streets. There were too many people, too many risks, too many strangers with dead-eye stares. And it would have been easy to follow him like this.

And worse, Bob might still figure it out, he was a very smart man. Certainly clever enough to think that Ed could have gone to find some answers. He didn't want to be found, not by Bob, not by Mark or Fran. Not by anyone. Ever. He had to keep away from the people following him.

Trying to keep calm, Ed wiped the blood from his face again and took a deep breath. But he knew he was in deep trouble. He needed a new plan. Unsure of what else to do, Ed kept walking, pulling his jacket tight around him, focusing on trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

At last, he came round a corner and the damaged remains of the Kingston Building were right in front of him. The wave of relief that washed through him was like being dropped in a river, it left him gasping for breath. He'd arrived safely, thank God for that!

But now he was here, the fear of being found grew stronger. The Kingston Building was an obvious place for Bob, or anyone, to look. Somehow, he had to outwit the people that were following him. He had to stay one step ahead of them all. How was he going to do that from here, in the middle of the city?

He had to find a way. He had to make a new plan. He had to make a better plan. He had to stop making mistakes.

Ed noticed the police cordon near the bottom of the street, and frowned in confusion. At the side of the barrier, next to a patrol car, was a blond and familiar-looking cop, who looked extremely bored. When they looked at each other, an expression of recognition passed over the other man's face. For a second Ed stared at the cop, and the cop stared back.

Then the other man scowled. Ed remembered why, and felt a sudden stab of guilt. Even so, he offered up a heartfelt prayer for unexpectedly finding Officer Guy Erikson, the traffic cop he'd tricked into taking him back to the office the day before.

As Ed stared, a new plan came into his mind, fully-formed. It could work. And it was perfect. No one else in the office knew he'd met Erikson. No one would check. Now if only he could persuade the other man to help, it might all work out.

Erikson could help him. People would stop following him, once he was with a cop. They wouldn't risk it getting out of hand. And as long as Erikson didn't tell Bob, Mark or Fran, then he could go somewhere and hide. That meant pulling the radio in the patrol car, but he could do that. He could do that on the way. It was late, and dark, but there would be a good opportunity, considering how bad Erikson was at keeping an eye on everything at once.

And Erikson wouldn't be suspicious. He wouldn't think it odd. No. Because it wasn't suspicious. None of this was in any way suspicious. He just needed a favour. Another favour. It would be cool. Yes.

But where could he go?

It had to be somewhere no one would think he would go. So not home. And not some random bar or nightclub either. Too many people, too difficult to keep an eye out for the men following him. He wanted to go somewhere quiet, somewhere without anyone else.

Ed shuddered. The ideal place had been haunting the edge his mind for days, maybe weeks. He would go back to the warehouse in the old marina.

No one would think of looking for him there. No one else knew what Richards and McArthur had done to him. Only Bob and a couple of others knew anything about it, and they wouldn't think he'd go back there. Because he'd have to be out of his mind to go back to the place he'd been tortured, the place he'd been carved up like a slab of beef in an abattoir.

His stomach clenched and Ed was almost sick at the memory as it flashed before his eyes, the details as sharp as the day it had happened. He didn't know if he'd be able to stand being back there again. He'd spent the worst night of his life there, in unending agony, and thinking Bob had left him to that well-deserved fate.

But that's what made it perfect. No one would ever find him if he hid there, and not being found was Ed's top priority. The people following him would never find him. Bob would never find him either.

So that was settled. He'd go to the old marina. All he had to do was hold his nerve and it would all work out.

Pushing the images of blood and pain to the back of his mind, Ed forced himself as upright as he could get and waved to the other cop.

Yes. Just keep cool. Erikson wouldn't suspect a thing.

It would be perfect. It was all going to work out just perfectly.

Bored, bored, bored, was what Guy Erikson had been thinking. I am so fucking bored!

What a terrible week he was having. That asshole Lieutenant Donally had ground him into the carpet for the best part of an hour over the fuck-up with Brown. He was lucky to still have a job after that fiasco.

Now he was stuck out here all alone on the least fun job of the night, in the least fun place in the world, landed with keeping an eye on the meaningless cordon until someone came to rescue him at seven in the morning. And this was the second night in a row.

Nothing happened. No one cared. No one was here, not even the students were bothered anymore. It was cold, compared to the usual So-Cal heat, and he was more bored than when he had been doing something really boring. Or thinking about something really boring. Like watching paint dry. Or repainting the Golden Gate. Or anything to do with paint. He hated paint. He'd tried being a painter after dropping out of med school, helping out his brother-in-law. Now that had been boring. He thought he'd never be that bored again. How wrong could one man get?

At the start of his shift, he'd spent a while sitting in the car, like he was supposed to, listening to the chatter on the radio from the other police officers who had actual work to do. That helped, but then the chatter petered out, and Guy turned the radio down. After an hour or so he'd got out of the car to stretch his legs. He never strayed far and stood around, looking at the destroyed building, then looking up at the blank, misty sky, and looking at the car lights as they moved around. Was police work always going to be so, so, so boring? Fuck, he was bored. Bored, bored, bo-

Guy looked up, and in front of him, looking right at him from across the other side of the street, was Sergeant Ed Brown. The man gave a nervous wave.

Erikson felt a stab of anger. That fucking sergeant was the last person in the world he wanted to speak to, the source of all his current problems. But as the other man staggered over, Guy's anger transformed into annoyance, then curiosity, then confusion.

He might not be much of a cop, but Guy could recognise a man in trouble when he saw one, especially someone with such a straight-laced and universally wholesome reputation as Ed Brown, who was the only man in the whole police department that Chief Robert Ironside thought was good enough to be on his staff. Sergeant Brown was having an even worse day than Guy. His eyes were still red, much more so than yesterday morning. He looked like he'd done three all-night shifts in a row, with no sleep in between. There was blood on his top lip that had streaked down his shirt, and he had the kind of dishevelled, jittery manner of a man trying not to look like he'd just been beaten up.

But none of those worried Guy the most. Pre-med had sucked. Or he had sucked at pre-med. Maybe both, Guy was willing to admit that. One of the afternoons, he'd been with some classmates in ER when a big drugs bust had come in. They hadn't stayed, the senior registrar had shooed them out so as not to get in the way, but not before Guy has seen some of the junkies on a bad trip.

On the outside, Brown might not have been physically writhing and screaming at the demons in the shadows, but that was exactly what it looked like he was doing on the inside. The effect was both frightening and heart-wrenching at the same time.

Guy stared as Brown walked over. The sergeant stopped near the front of Guy's car, head slightly to one side, looking at Guy in a vaguely threatening way. More than the concern for a man who was in trouble, Guy sensed Brown was close to a tipping point. One misstep and he'd freak out.

Act natural, Guy thought. Don't panic. Just be yourself. So he scowled, and pointed a finger at Brown.

'I'm on the shit list thanks to you, Sergeant,' he said.

Brown looked thoroughly embarrassed, so much so that Guy wondered if he'd overdone it.

'Yeah, it was a low trick to pull,' Brown said quietly, running his hand through his hair and looking down at the ground. Man, this was bad, bad, bad. Brown's words were slurring together. Maybe he had the shakes as well, that would be even worse, but at the moment Guy couldn't tell. 'I just didn't wanna go home.'

'Well, yeah. I know that now!' Guy couldn't help sounding annoyed. 'Maybe you should have just said so!'

'I'm sorry Guy. I didn't mean to land you in the graveyard shift.'

Erikson gave a huff and glared at Brown for a few seconds, looking at his red eyes, the blood on his face and thinking that somehow he had to string this conversation out and find a way of helping. He gave another, louder huff, crossing his arms.

'Oh, forget it,' he said at last.

'Thanks.'

There was a strained pause. Guy felt obliged to say something.

'Look, it's not that I don't like it when my buddies come to keep me company on a dull shift,' he said, noting the smile Brown gave him, 'but what are you doing here?'

'I just wanted to get to the right place.'

Guy raised his eyebrows. That made no sense. He began to edge towards the door of his car but Brown started forward. He was a tall man, he had at least three inches on Guy and was physically much stronger. There was nothing outwardly threatening about the movement, but Erikson still felt uncomfortable.

'I need your help, Guy,' Brown said in a hushed tone.

'That's the understatement of the fucking decade,' was what Guy almost said, but the words were caught just in time. There was a time for being flippant, and a time for being serious. One teeny tiny push the wrong way and Brown might have flipped out there and then. He looked like he was on the very edge of something terrible. In spite of the trouble Brown had caused him yesterday, Guy wanted to help, if he could.

'What do you want me to do?'

'How'd you like to be owed two favours?' Brown asked, his expression on the desperate side of polite. Well, Guy thought, they were going to be two fucking huge favours.

'What sort of favour?' he asked, genuinely suspicious.

'I need another lift.'

Guy gave Brown a sarcastic look, unable to help himself.

'Because the last time I gave you a lift worked out so well.' Brown smiled that regretful, guilty smile again, but Guy continued. 'Look man, it's not that I don't wanna help, but if I leave this cordon I think Donally might sell my soul to the Syndicate as punishment.'

Unexpectedly, Brown gave a warm laugh.

'Donally's such an asshole,' he said with a snort. 'Bob thinks he's an asshole. Dennis thinks he's an asshole too.'

Guy kept a straight face. "Bob" must have been Chief Robert T. Ironside, special consultant with the SFPD. "Dennis" would be Commissioner Dennis Randall, head of the police force. Was it normal for detective sergeants in San Francisco to refer to some of the top city officials by their first names to the new-kid-on-the-beat? And was it normal to relate the private opinions of those senior officers to said new-kid-on-the-beat? This was insane. Whatever Brown was on, it was really… really… bad.

'Well, when did you last have a run in with Donally?' Guy asked, curious in spite of the situation.

Brown was still smiling, now in a suspiciously happy way.

'I've written off a few police cars,' he said with a grin.

'A few?'

'Three. Last time I counted.'

'No shit!' Guy had no chance to stop his exclamation. 'No wonder Donally doesn't like you.'

'The feeling is very mutual,' Brown replied.

'And does that score count the Ford round the corner?' Guy asked. 'You know, the one at the Kingston Building.' There was a flicker of bewilderment on the other man's face and Guy felt the need to clarify further. 'The one you left outside the Kingston Building a couple of mornings ago? The one with the concrete block embedded in the hood, and the large dent in the roof?'

The frown stayed on Brown's face for a moment, then it slowly changed to a wide grin.

'Bet Donally was pissed off about that!' he said.

That was another candidate for understatement of the fucking decade. It was a good job that Brown had friends in high places or he'd have been suspended. But at least now Guy understood why Donally had been so infuriated. Four cars was a lot for just one policeman.

Brown was still smiling, lost in a memory.

'I hope that's all,' Guy said.

'I blew up Bob's paddy wagon too. But that one wasn't all my fault.'

Did that mean the other ones were? Guy pursed his lips to stop himself speaking despite being intrigued about the details. Now wasn't the time to ask, and maybe some questions were just not worth the answers.

'C'mon Guy, haven't you crashed a patrol car?' Brown asked casually, as if crashing patrol cars was something that happened all the time.

Guy shrugged, shaking his head.

'I have had a couple of bumps in my own one, does that count?'

'Nope!'

Guy had a sudden flash of inspiration. On impulse, he grabbed Brown's hand and shook it briskly.

'Then let me shake you by the hand, as winner of the San Francisco Police Department car destroying competition.'

Brown laughed that same warm laugh again and Guy smiled back. But inside, he was feeling anything but happy. Brown's hand was icy cold, and Guy could feel a slight but unmistakable shake.

Do something to help! he told himself. Anything, just do it. And do it fast!

'Oh, get in,' he said with a fake huff. 'I never wanted to work during the day anyway. You'll just have to be my new best buddy as down-payment on all those favours.'

Brown looked so relieved at the offer it was scary. Had a ride really been so important?

'Daytime work, who needs it,' Guy continued, just talking while he tried to think of how to help, and what was wrong. 'I mean, who needs daylight? Who needs sleep when you can drive around at night and be awake.'

Brown slumped down in the passenger side at an awkward angle, his knee thumping against the side of the radio. Guy turned the engine over and slowly rolled the car forward. Brown was shifting around in the seat, trying to get himself comfortable, not watching where they were going. With no instructions for a destination, Guy picked the Department as his first choice, that was where Brown had been so desperate to go last time. Maybe if he got him into the building he could get him up to Chief Ironside's office and get him some help.

There wasn't much traffic, for which Guy was very grateful, and even though he wanted to put his foot down and put on the sirens, he decided that taking their time and keeping everything smooth and calm was a better idea. Brown said nothing, and kept on shifting around restlessly in his seat.

They paused at a red light and Guy risked a longer, more critical look, still trying to figure out what had gone wrong with his passenger. It made no sense. What had happened to him?

Obviously, it was to do with the explosion. It had to be. It would be a safe bet that Ed Brown did not behave like this on a usual night on the town. Brown's rep with the other cops in all the other divisions, at least the cops who weren't "assholes", was up there with Bob's, and Dennis'. Guy had never met him before yesterday, and had thought the stories about Brown were pretty unlikely. But now, having talked to the man, and considering who he worked for, Guy reckoned they were right on the money.

So, remembering what Brown was like yesterday, the same nose bleeds, the same red eyes and slightly confused manner, the explosion was the only candidate.

It could have been a concussion. That made people do weird things. The nosebleeds could be a sign that the hospital had missed something, but taken with Brown's other symptoms, Guy thought that straightforward concussion was unlikely. Concussions didn't usually make you trip out, at least not that far. But if it wasn't that, then what were the other options?

He frowned. Med-school had been hard, as well as being a couple of years in the past, and he was struggling to remember what he'd learnt. Because if you discounted concussion you were pretty much left with drugs as sole cause. It did look like Brown was tripping out on something that took you up dangerously high then smashed out all your common sense with a large brick. And that must have been accidental, because a man hand-picked to be on Chief Ironside's personal staff would not end up like this deliberately.

So where did that leave Brown? How could there be a link? Drugs and something to do with the explosion? How?

Although Guy had been doing his lowly traffic duty in the proper and dutiful way, he had been listening to the gossip around the coffee machine in the office, on the few occasions he made it to the coffee machine and wasn't stuck out at the cordon kicking his heals. Wild theories were raging through the department like H through the ghetto.

Everyone had heard that Frank was unhappy about the explosion. And most people had also heard that Frank and his team had been testing samples from the nearby streets for signs of any contaminants that would help identify which explosive was used, because so far no one had any idea.

It was a reasonable guess that somehow Brown had been exposed to whatever strung him out while inside the Kingston Building. What if the two were linked? What if either the explosive itself or something that formed in the explosion was toxic? What was the term for that? Toxicant? Contaminant? Intoxicant? Or was that a psychotic?

Erikson frowned. Those weren't the right words. And besides, that theory made no sense. No usable explosive would do anything like that. You couldn't have explosives that made people go tripping out. It was too dangerous.

The lights changed, and Guy pulled off, the car jerked as he almost stalled it, and Brown banged carelessly against the radio. He looked apologetically at Guy.

'Um, sorry,' he said. 'It's just, um… just that…'

It was obvious what Brown was thinking, and equally obvious that he didn't have a good way of saying it. With a rueful grin, Guy decided to help the man out. Again.

'It's okay, you don't have to be polite,' said Guy. Brown was awful at this, he tried to look innocently confused, but ended up looking strung out. 'My driving sucks. I know it does. No point in trying to lie.'

Brown pursed his lips, looking at Guy, then gave a small nod.

'You are a terrible driver,' he said. The tone made Guy laugh, in spite of everything. It was the nicest way anyone had agreed with him.

'And can you believe I ended up in traffic?' Guy continued. 'I was the only kid on the block who couldn't wire a car. Not even those lame ass old Fords that my grandmother could wire with a hat pin.' Brown was listening with his head tilted slightly to the side, giving him a gazed stare. 'I mean, don't get me wrong, I love cars. Especially those beautiful new rollers you see from time to time. The purr of a well-tuned vee-eight. Man, that's my kind of music. But it's all the rest of it, y'know.'

Brown nodded.

'I did my turn in traffic,' he said. 'If you keep being bad at it they'll have to reassign you eventually.'

'That can't happen fast enough for me,' Guy replied. 'Maybe I should crash more patrol cars.' He grinned, reminded of a question from earlier in the conversation. Curiosity got the better of him.

'Tell me how you totalled that wagon,' he said.

Brown gave a fond smile at the memory.

'I got myself into something because I was careless,' he said. 'Only the Chief can attract trouble while stopping off for some food. It was stupid, and I almost got myself killed.'

History repeating itself then? thought Guy.

'You?' he said. 'Do something stupid?'

Brown's smile turned into a grin.

'Yeah, who'd have thought! We were heading to a conference out of town, and the Chief wanted to stop and eat. There was a local man-hunt, it looked odd at the time, but we only got involved because DW had seen my gun.'

Guy nodded, only part-listening as Brown told the rest of the story. Mostly, he was back to thinking about the Kingston Building and what might have happened to Brown.

Everyone working near to the bomb site been complaining about the dust. It would have caused those eerie red eyes Brown had. And he would have inhaled a lot of it in the explosion. That would cause the nose bleeds if it was an irritant. It could also explain the rest of the symptoms if something in the dust had been absorbed and messed with his mind. That could happen. There was a special term for that too, he couldn't remember exactly what it was. All those stupid medical words were just too confusing, no wonder med school had been such a disaster.

Breathing in something made the most sense. It looks like you've got a bit of a drugs habit. That was what he'd said to Brown on their journey back from the hospital. Now he looked even more like he was on a trip to nowhere.

So, Brown had breathed something in. The dust was the only thing he could think of.

Guy shook his head. But that couldn't be right: if the dust did do something when inhaled, then wouldn't the whole lot of them be like this? They'd all been breathing it in while working at the scene.

The dust made the most sense as the cause, except it couldn't right. If there was a connection between Brown's symptoms and the explosion, and Guy was convinced there was, then he was missing something.

He frowned. Maybe he was wrong. What else was there? What about before the explosion? Something already in the Kingston Building? Did Brown find something that wasn't supposed to be there? But that couldn't be right either. The department grapevine had said that Brown responded to a emergency call. No cop on duty, responding to a volatile situation in a public place, would knowingly go poking around in anything dangerous.

With a huff of frustration, Guy shook his head. This was ridiculous. It made no sense, and he was back to square one. What the hell had happened to Brown?

It didn't matter, Guy reminded himself. The blood from his nose, the red eyes, the icy grip and the shakes were all like flashing red warning lights that something was very seriously wrong. And that was before you considered the memory problems, the confusion, and the fact that he sounded as high as a 7-4-7.

Brown needed help, and quickly. So Guy should be worrying about that, rather than the cause and any lingering confusion over fancy terminology. Brown needed to get back to the hospital, or the office at the very least. The trick was going to be getting him to agree. Guy had the definite impression that the sergeant was in no mood to go anywhere he didn't want to go.

What's the next move? thought Guy. I can't let him out of my sight.

While telling his tale of the exploding wagon, Brown had been shifting restlessly in the front of the car again. Guy hadn't paid much attention as he'd been too caught up in thinking, and trying not to let the car stall. But as he flicked the indicator and changed lanes, still intending to go to the department, Brown suddenly stopped halfway through a sentence.

'No, not this way,' said he.

So Brown was watching what was going on. Shit!

'You don't want to get back to your boss? I thought that's where you wanted to go?'

'No.'

'Not this time?'

'No.'

That didn't leave a lot of room for interpretation.

'Okay, so where do you wanna go?'

An unpleasant expression passed over Brown's face. It wasn't fear, it wasn't disgust, but Guy guessed Brown didn't like the place they were going to go. No, he didn't like it at all.

'I've gotta get somewhere quiet,' Brown said after a few moments. He turned to look intently at Guy, the redness of his eyes and the blood leaking slowly out of his nose making the statement feel more than a little threatening.

'Oh-kayee,' Guy said slowly.

'And you can't tell anyone about this,' Brown said. He leaned forward, knocking clumsily into the radio again. 'They're following me.'

Ah, and now paranoia to add to the list, Guy thought. High and paranoid, that was not a good combination.

'But where do you want to go?' he asked, running through some options in his mind. There were all sorts of strange places a man coul-

'The old marina.'

'Uh? There?'

Brown nodded, though he didn't look at all happy at the prospect of visiting. He offered no explanation, and looked out of the window for a few moments. Unable to think of a way of changing Brown's mind, Guy did as he was asked.

The atmosphere in the car had changed. Brown was a lot more tense now, sitting very still, his fists balled and pushed against his legs, his body hunched slightly forward. He was staring blankly out at the street ahead. He didn't speak, only occasionally turning to glance out of the rear window.

Lucky it's a quiet night, Guy thought. The radio was silent, and he was relieved no one had called him to check up on where he was because he would struggle to talk his way out of it in front of Brown.

Even with little traffic it still took them more than twenty minutes to get close to the old marina. As they drew near, Brown pointed the way and appeared to know the area well, giving instructions without any hesitation. At last they came to a neglected entrance and Brown told him to pull over. The car came to a stop, and Guy turned the engine off. There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

'Look, Guy,' Brown said. 'One last thing.'

Jesus, the man was stacking up the favours tonight. Guy could probably retire on the number of favours Brown owed him.

'What?'

Brown paused, looking uncomfortable about asking.

'You mustn't tell anyone where I am. I can't let them find me.'

The way it was said sent a shiver of fear across Erikson's back, a mix of threat and delusion that spoke volumes about Brown's current state of mind. From the outset, Guy had absolutely no intention of leaving Brown on his own, not for one single moment. It was clear that the trick now was going to be persuading Brown otherwise. Guy didn't think the sergeant would do anything violent against another officer, but he didn't want to test that theory, not with Brown so close to the edge. It was difficult to predict what he would do.

'Look, Sergeant…' he began. Brown leaned forward again, his expression both pleading and angry at the same time.

'You've got to promise me, Guy. It's important. It's very important. Please.'

For the first time Guy was properly frightened, not of Brown but for him.

'Look, Sergeant…'

'You can't tell anyone.' There was a quiet menace in the words this time. 'That's an order, Officer! And you've gotta swear it to me. Swear on your badge. Swear on your life.'

Now Guy was in trouble, because Brown worked for Ironside, and could probably smell a lie at hundred feet, let alone from a rookie whose track record for lying was a complete joke. Sure, he could talk fast and make a good show, but a look-you-in-the-eye-straight-up-lie like that? He'd never be able to pull it off.

There was one chance. It wasn't great, but what else was there?

'Okay, I swear,' promised Guy. 'I swear on the life on my best buddy.'

Brown didn't reply. For a moment, Guy thought he'd been caught out with his word games, wondering if Brown had been paying attention earlier when he'd joked about it and the owing of favours. But at least in that statement Guy could be sincere. He was risking all this for the life of his new best buddy. And it was the only thing he could come up with in the circumstances.

They stared at each other, Guy's heart thumping so loudly that he thought the whole neighbourhood would hear. At last, after who knew how long, Brown gave a sluggish nod.

'I knew I could count on you.' He gripped Guy's shoulder, the shaking he'd felt from earlier was much more pronounced. One final time Brown looked at Guy, his eyes so bloodshot that there was almost no white left.

'Thanks, Guy,' he said. 'For everything.' The tension, terror and raw emotion in those few words were almost too much to stand. Unable to respond, Guy just stared.

Brown struggled out of the car and staggered off into the gloom of the marina. Guy waited, hardly daring to breathe, watching him. Then a teeny tiny fraction of a second after he was out of sight round a corner, Guy grabbed the car radio. He'll call in then follow Brown, it would be easy enough to keep out of sight, it was a big marina.

'Control! Control?'

Nothing. Nothing at all.

'What the fuck?' he said out loud. He flicked the switches on the radio, but there was nothing, not a word, or hiss of white noise. For over ten seconds he sat and frowned at the radio, unable to figure out what was wrong. Then slowly he reached out and turned the set around, looking at the back, and at the bare wires that stuck out. Guy stared at them in disbelief.

Brown must have pulled the wires on the drive over, while he was concentrating on the traffic and the stupid, fancy medical terms. He had no radio.

'Shit!' he snarled, thumping the wheel of his car. He should have seen it! Of course, he should have seen this coming! Brown had never intended to take his word. He was terrified out of his mind, of course he wouldn't have trusted him.

How could he have been so, so, so fucking stupid? Brown had faked him out. Again!

Guy felt the strong, choking grip of rising panic. What the hell was he going to do now? Not only had he disobeyed a direct order, twice in a row; not only had he left his post and driven a paranoid, tripped-out manic with a gun out to the cheap end of the marina, he got his radio trashed for his trouble.

Donally wouldn't sell his soul, he'd just kill him. He was in big trouble.

Guy looked in the direction that Brown had staggered off, thinking if anyone around here was in big trouble, it was Ed Brown. That was the only thing he should be worrying about at the moment. Maybe they weren't really best buddies, but Guy was all he had tonight.

Think, he told himself. Just calm down and think like a cop.

He needed to get in touch with HQ and someone who could help Brown. Now with no radio, there was one option. Call the department and get an urgent message to Chief Ironside or one of his team. He couldn't follow Brown, but at least he could get in touch with someone who might know what the fuck was going on.

Guy shot a last quick glance in the direction his new best buddy had gone, his heart heavy with worry. Or he could just run after him… and get his lights punched out. Because now he was sure that was exactly what Brown would do. He wanted to be left alone, he was paranoid about being followed and wouldn't listen, that much had been clear from the car ride and the fact that he'd trashed the radio. So Guy had done all he could. Now Brown needed a friend, an actual friend that knew him, someone he could talk to without being afraid.

With that thought, Guy turned the engine on and jammed the car into reverse, screeching backwards, narrowly avoiding another car that had just pulled over at the end of the street.

More carefully, wary of stalling and flooding the engine, Guy put the car into drive and started his search for a phone.

A/N - Accidental H2G2 reference #2 - "Don't panic!" - also good advice. Thank you Douglas Adams :)

Also, at one point the description of being high is quite like the effect of a Pan Galactic Gargleblaster. But with less lemon.