He'd woken a few times since coming out of surgery, each time deciding he was better off asleep and letting the good drugs have their way with him. Now strong morning sun warmed his face and a familiar and comforting nearby voice provided a feeling of safety, so he elected to find out more about his surroundings. He peeked one eye open, then a second, squinting until he adjusted to the light.

Carmen stood in the far corner of the room, engaged in a hushed phone conversation. She looked up and saw him looking back, ended the call, and walked over to his bedside.

"Hey, partner," she said, smiling.

"Hey." His raw throat stopped him from saying more. Carmen poured him a glass of water from a nearby pitcher. He began to lean forward to drink but a sharp pain in his chest forced him to collapse back with a groan.

"Shhh," she reassured him. "Stay still." She moved his bed to a more upright position, added a straw to the cup and helped him take a few sips.

He took a minute to let the pain subside a bit, disappointed that maybe the good drugs weren't as good as he'd originally thought. He asked, "Is everyone OK? How did it go? Did we get them all?"

"So many questions," she said, looking at him fondly. She reached out and brushed a few wayward blond curls out of his eyes. He remained still, savoring the familiarity inherent in the action and hoping it would continue. She seemed to recognize the less than professional gesture and took a step back. Shifting to a more business-like rundown of the previous evening's events, she informed him that they had captured or killed everyone who entered the airport. Two SWAT team members were in the ICU and several more men had been less seriously injured, though they were expected to recover. The best news was that they'd captured the Russians and Mexicans with all the money, drugs and weapons they'd hoped to see, providing more than enough evidence to put them away for a long time.

"The DA is confident they'll be racing one another to turn on all the higher-ups in order to get reduced sentences," she said. "You're going to be able to go back to your life. It's all over. We got 'em all."

A look of well-deserved pride shone in her eyes. "No, you got 'em all. I was just along for the ride. I hope you get a medal or a commendation or a promotion or something."

She grinned at him with affection in her eyes, telling him, "It's all in a day's work, partner."

His flirtation with one of the kind and cute nurses produced an actual giggle in response to his charm just as Sergeant Bates knocked on his open door and walked in. The nurse finished up with her work, patting Marty's shoulder as she departed.

Bates rolled his eyes, saying, "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"What?" Marty asked innocently, smirking slightly.

"I guess there's just no accounting for taste. I don't know what they see in this scruffy surfer thing you got going on," he said, gesturing to Marty's face, "But they sure see something. I mean, your hair doesn't even look like you've bothered to comb it since regaining consciousness."

"This? Styled by pillow." A full on grin lit up his face.

"Dear lord, what the hell are you even talking about? I can't continue this conversation any further. Let me get to the reason for my visit. I wanted to give you an update on the case."

"Is everything still looking good? Carmen gave me the rundown earlier."

"Yeah, I just had a couple loose ends to review."

Bates updated him on a few random items related to the operation, and informed him that the DA thought he'd need to testify in one or more cases, assuming they went to trial and didn't plead out. Marty had expected that and tried not to let it worry him.

"There's one more thing, and it's hard for me to say."

"Come on Sergeant," Marty joked. "We've been through a lot together. You can tell me anything."

Bates again rolled his eyes and told him, "Sheesh you are not easy to talk to."

"That's not what the nurses say."

He shook his head and said, "I want to be serious for a minute. I know that's difficult for you." When Marty stayed silent, Bates continued. "I want to thank you for saving my life, and the life of the man who was working with me. We would never have seen that attack coming if you hadn't warned us. We might have been OK without the cover fire you laid down, but I was glad to have it. Despite the fact that you completely failed to follow a direct order."

"Um, I'm sorry?" he replied. Before Bates could complain about his sarcasm, Marty kept talking, telling him, "Seriously, Sergeant, I'm glad to have been able to help. Thanks for letting me be there, and thanks for everything you've done to help me over the past few months."

"Sure, kid… And now, I'm outta here. Feel better soon, OK? You know, I gotta hand it to you- you're tougher than you look."

For some reason, Bates' comment about his toughness caused Marty to choke up. He cleared his throat and told him, "See ya around, Sergeant."

Over the next month, Marty recovered from his injuries and began to at least partially relax in his own home. He wasn't certain if he'd ever feel fully safe, but at least he could take great satisfaction in knowing he'd done the right thing and had helped stop a lot of bad men from hurting a lot of innocent people. Relishing his accomplishments brought on a rush all its own, a sense of satisfaction and pride, separate from the actual adrenaline produced by having people actively trying to kill him.

A few weeks later, he sat staring into space on a bench outside a courtroom when someone plopped down in the spot next to him. He looked up into the big, brown eyes of his now ex-partner. "Hey," Carmen said.

"Hey." He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You OK? You do this kind of thing all the time, right?"

He chuckled. "Not exactly. I've uh, pretty much always been on the other side, and I haven't exactly done a lot of testifying against hardened criminals."

"It's easy," she replied, gently squeezing his arm. "You just have to tell the truth."

"Martin. Martin?" The judge's deep voice had finally cut through his pounding heart as he'd stood on the witness stand in the vast courtroom.

"Yeah?... I mean, yes sir?" he replied.

"I asked you if you promised to tell the truth, the whole truth, so help you god?" The man looked scary in his dark robe, peering down at him from above. His round glasses and mostly bald head gave him a vaguely owl-like expression.

He nodded, then realized he was expected to speak so said, "Yeah. Yes sir."

"OK, have a seat, Martin. The lawyers are going to ask you some questions about what happened. You don't have to be scared. You just have to be honest and describe what you remember, OK?"

"OK."

The first attorney who got up was on his side: Mrs. Jackson. Miss Kristin, the social worker who'd been helping him, had explained that Mrs. Jackson worked for the government and it was her job to build a case to make sure his dad went to jail. Marty hadn't known how to feel about that. His dad would kill him for sure if he came home, but if he testified against him, it would only make the man madder. He was taking a terrible risk, but didn't have much choice. All the grown-ups, including his mom, had told him he had to testify. So here he was, with his father sitting behind a table scowling at him with barely suppressed rage. He must be the worst son ever.

"Hi Marty," Mrs. Jackson said with a friendly smile. He wasn't sure how genuine it was but he appreciated the effort.

"Hi."

"I want to talk about what happened on the night of March 21st, when the police and ambulances were called to your house. Do you remember that night?"

He nodded before he remembered to speak. "Yeah."

"OK, good. I know it's hard to talk about, but I'd like you to walk me through what happened. Take your time, and tell me everything you remember."

Marty felt his breaths coming in gasps. He needed to keep it together so he didn't embarrass himself and his mom. God, he wished she was there with him. They'd all explained that since she was also going to testify, she couldn't be in the courtroom during his testimony. He looked at Miss Kristin's kind face, and at his mom's friend Penny sitting in the seats, and he tried to draw comfort from them. This was so hard, maybe harder than pulling the actual trigger.

Mrs. Jackson prompted him, "Marty, did anything unusual happen before you went to sleep that night?"

"No."

"What time did you go to bed?"

"I think my usual time, around nine?"

"OK, good. Did you stay asleep?"

"No. Something woke me up."

"What was that?"

"I heard my parents fighting."

"Was that unusual?"

"Not really."

"OK. What happened next?"

Marty told Mrs. Jackson everything he remembered from that horrible night that had marked him forever. The details were so vivid in his mind, he didn't think he'd ever forget them. When he described his father's violence and use of the shotgun he'd always kept "for self-defense," Marty couldn't stop from looking over at his father. His face was flushed and Marty thought he looked ready to erupt. Would the bailiffs who stood guard be able to stop him if he decided to get up and stalk over to wring his neck? He wasn't sure.

When he finished his recounting, the judge asked him if he wanted to take a break, but he shook his head, just wanting to get it all over with. He felt so ashamed- for living in such a messed up family, for shooting his own father (what kind of son does that?), and for telling on his father and trying to get him sent to prison. And yet there were other emotions simmering in the background: hope that maybe his life could be better with his dad gone, and maybe a smidge of pride that he'd been able to save his mom.

His father's lawyer stood up and started speaking to him, asking him detailed questions about what his dad had said to his mom and to him that night. Marty thought he was trying to confuse him, so he just tried to stay calm and tell the truth. The truth and nothing but the truth, so help him god. When the attorney asked him about how he shot his own father, Marty's fear increased. He thought maybe they'd twist the truth and despite what he'd been promised, maybe he'd be the one they sent off to jail. At one point the two attorneys started talking about legal stuff and Marty just sat and waited for them all to work things out and continue. And then he was done. The judge told him he could go and he barely stopped himself from running out of the courtroom. By this point he couldn't bear to look at his dad, but as he passed by the table where the man sat, he heard him say in a low voice, "Marty, I hate you." He just kept walking, making a beeline past Miss Kristin and out into the hallway, where he fell into his mother's waiting arms and let the tears fall.

This time around, Marty found testifying far less traumatic. Knowing that he'd brought the Russians down, or at least contributed to their downfall, filled him with satisfaction and pride. He looked over at the defendant's table out of curiosity and maybe a small sense of vindication. Hatred oozed out of Miroslav Pasternak's pores in his direction and he couldn't help but be reminded of his only other experience on the witness stand. He thought the distraction might derail him on the spot, but he took a few deep breaths and forced his way fully back to the present, focusing on the district attorney's calmly worded questions. Just tell the truth. After that it was easy.

A/N: One final chapter coming your way next week!