A/N: Sorry to be so late - what a week. Short chapter, too, but we're heading for resolution. Obviously I was well into writing this one before I decided to try to let Steve get off without a head injury, but I'm working on that for the next one.

12. It Isn't Over

Training kicked in long before Steve really made sense of what was happening and he thrust the garbage bag in the path of the swinging object. The force of the blow slammed him into the dumpster wall and he felt the metal rim rattle off the back of his ribcage as the garbage bag split, spewing old coffee grounds and rib bones and lettuce and baked beans everywhere. He tossed it aside and grabbed another, using it as a shield as he tried to get a glimpse of the piece of darkness that seemed to have detached itself and become animated.

He was close enough that he could make out the floating white spots that must be eyeholes in a ski mask. The figure was indistinct, but he sensed the motion that brought it in for another blow. He let it get close this time, angling the bag as protection, and while it was paying attention to the bag, reached forward with one foot and hooked a calf. The figure went down, grabbed the garbage bag for balance and brought Steve down with it.

The second bag burst as they hit the gravel. They rolled through the detritus, each struggling for the upper hand. Steve found he had automatically cataloged his attacker's size and weight without being conscious of it, and he figured that if he could get the advantage, his own superior size should help him keep it.

The something swung at his head again - some kind of makeshift weapon like a board or a pipe, he figured - but he ducked it deftly and felt it thunk into his side instead. Painful, but just enough to keep him awake and mad. He took advantage of the weapon's proximity to his wrist to grab it and twist it, awkwardly pulling it away and throwing it as far as he could manage. The sudden disarmament startled the figure enough that it paused, confused and regrouping, and Steve took the opportunity to grab the now-empty hand this time and pin it to the pavement.

"I'm warning you," he ground out, "I have had a really bad day and I am in a really bad mood, so if you're smart, you'll give yourself up right now."

The figure lay still for just a second, then its free hand whipped up towardSteve's head, clutching something. Steve felt it coming and countered by grabbing the turtleneck near his free hand and swinging the torso into the side of the dumpster. The head hit with a resounding clang, and the flailing arms and legs went limp.

Steve flipped the figure over on its stomach and straddled its back, groping until his hand found one of the adjustable plastic rings that secured the garbage bags. He gathered the flaccid wrists together and slid the ring around them, tightening it.

Great. Just like flex cuffs, he thought with satisfaction. Now let's see what we've got here - a robber, or - he tugged at the ski mask. The street light that partly lit the alley showed a familiar face, slack and senseless in the shadows. Steve grunted, yanking him to his feet and hissing a little as the motion pulled at his side where the weapon had hit. "Yeah, I thought I recognized the moves. I never forget an idiot. Get in there - "

He threw him unceremoniously at the kitchen door, wading through the garbage to catch him as he hit the door and started a boneless slide to the ground. Steve got him around the waist and slung him over one arm as he maneuvered the door open. In the brighter light of the kitchen, he could see that his perp's nose was bleeding, and that he looked barely conscious. Still, not taking any chances, he dropped him on the floor.

"Stay down," he warned. "Cristina?" Cristina peeked through the pass-through. "Did you lock the front door? And I need you to dial 911."

"What?" Cristina appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Of course I locked the front door. What - ? Oh!" She stared at the crumpled figure at his feet, then at him, her mouth hanging ajar.

"Darla's ex. Seems he just can't get enough of our company. Dial 911, will you? Tell them to send a car. Then secure the cash bag."

Cristina was still staring at him. She swallowed slowly. "Do - do you want an ambulance…?"

Steve nudged the figure with his foot. "Yeah, you'd better. I'm pretty sure he's high."

She swallowed again. "I meant for you." She pointed. "You're bleeding…"

Steve followed the direction of her finger to the aching spot on his side, noted with surprise that the cotton of the t-shirt was torn and slick with blood.

"It - must be from his nose - " He touched it and pain arrowed through him, so quick and intense that his knees turned to jelly and he had to shoot a hand out to latch onto the sink. It kept him upright, but sitting down suddenly seemed like a good idea. He slid to the floor with the counter at his back. "Call - ?"

"Yeah." Cristina's voice was faint.

Steve looked up in time to see the color wash from her face. "Cristina!" he said sharply. "Head between your knees! Head - " He caught her hand, about all he could reach from his position on the floor, and pulled her down beside him, pressing firmly on the back of her head until she leaned forward. "That's it. Deep breaths…" With his other hand he struggled to pull his cell phone from his belt, thumbing the three numbers from memory.

He glanced from Cristina to the perp as a voice came on the line. "Yeah, this is Lieutenant Sloan of the 1-5, badge 362. I've got a 664, 211 at Barbecue Bob's on Melrose. I need a car. Perp is subdued at the scene. Probable UI - send a bus."

The room was suddenly close and hot and he had to close his eyes to clear a trembling shimmer from the air. He felt dampness seeping down the waistband of his jeans, an odd buzzing building in his ears. He sat very still, then reluctantly lifted the phone back to his mouth. He sighed resignedly. "Better make it two."

TBC

NOW, Ninjahurt, CG - cross my heart.