Gerard needed to apologize to Chicago citizens everywhere. It had always seemed like a ridiculous nickname: "the windy city." It wasn't that breezy.

Now, Sam rescinded this sentiment.

A hurricane swished over Gerard's head, a flurry of voices and cold. The breezes tore at his hair and disturbed the cozy bubble he'd fallen into. His chest was bare, he felt. A blanket covered his pants. It was smaller hands, being shoved off Sam's shoulder only to reappear and be snapped at by the voices, which woke him fully.

His eyes bobbed open. An oxygen mask fogged over his nose and mouth.

The first sight to greet him was a helicopter flying low overhead, sweeping the golf course with a search light. Chernov leaned out the open hatch.

Perp still missing, then.

Hurricane identified, Sam glanced to his right and the distraught face of…

"C…Cosmo?"

The marshal's eyes snapped to Gerard. His badge swung from a chain around his range jacket. Poole talked on a cell behind him.

"Sammy!" Cosmo pulled his hands from the scowling, female EMT and looked for a minute like he wanted to curl over Sam's chest and cry. Instead, he let out a trembling laugh. "I'm the one who's supposed to get shot, not you!"

"We're both lucky. The bullet just swiped me."

"I know," said Cosmo. "Two of the docs just finished sewing you up."

The EMT huffed. "Couldn't believe it when I got here and you'd already been treated. They sterilized you with scotch and used a needle from a woman's mini sewing kit in her purse to stitch you closed.

"MacGyver as it was, it probably saved you from needing a blood transfusion. Your wound isn't as serious as it looks, though. Just a really big gash, essentially."

Gerard removed the mask to smile. "Like I told Richard, there's no safer place than a doctor party."

At the mention of Kimble's name, Poole and Cosmo went pale. Something constricted in Poole's jaw, her hand over the phone as if on hold. Her eyes were molten fire.

Sam's expression dropped. Dread coiled his around throat. "How did you guys get here so fast? I've only been out for two hours, tops."

Poole hesitated. "We have the Marshal's database set for hits anytime…anytime certain people are arrested."

Everyone hushed at the words, even emergency crews. They kept glancing at Poole's phone. Something had gone down. Something even bigger than a robbery.

No. Oh, God, no. It was a prayer and a plea all at the same time.

Gerard was up on his elbows so fast the EMT swore.

"Sammy?"

"Sam?"

Gerard ignored everyone's eyes. He was a man possessed.

He yanked out the IV in his wrist and the mask from around his head without flinching. Voices around him rose in volume. Hands shaking, Gerard tore the heart monitor nodes off his skin. A violent screech of Velcro ripping was the last hurdle. Sam threw the blood pressure cuff onto the grass.

Other EMTs hopped off the ambulance next to Gerard, to stop him. "Deputy, you've lost a lot of blood."

"We're taking you to the hospital for observation."

"Sir?"

Gerard's first attempt at standing would have been about as dignified as a folding chair if not for Cosmo and Poole's sudden grab for his elbows. They put his arms around their shoulders.

Sam shivered. "Someone get me a shirt!"

Cosmo disappeared and returned with an ocean blue V neck sweater. "A gift from one of the heart surgeons. He sends his thanks, by the way."

While Cosmo wrestled Sam into the sweater, both wincing, Poole kept the phone to her ear. "I'm waiting for the DA. He wasn't impressed about being woken up at three in the morning, but he's as outraged as you are."

Sam nodded once, overwhelmed by gratitude to his kids and drowning in such fury that he could strangle someone without breaking a sweat.

Cosmo nodded back, smiling a little because he spoke Gerard's nonverbal language.

"It's obscene for you to be walking around," said Poole. "But so is what just happened. Let's go."

Gerard slumped against his people, porcelain white, and was thankful they understood. This was infinitely more important than hospital trips.

"We'll take him to Chicago Memorial the moment this is resolved," Cosmo called back to the shouting EMTs.

Once lowered into the car's backseat, Gerard closed his eyes. He waved at Cosmo to step on it. With the world so breezy, cold, and spinning, he held onto the overhead handle for support.

"Yes," barked Poole into her phone. "I know. That's why we're on our way to the precinct! Well then tell him to drive fast, Secretary."

She hung up and even Gerard couldn't hold back a grin. He opened his eyes. "Good work, Poole."

"I'll shoot him myself if this escalates."

Everyone scowled. There was no need to wonder who "him" referred to.

"Where is my weapon?" Sam whispered.

"Chicago PD took it as evidence."

"Evidence? What—?"

"I don't know," Poole growled, but her anger wasn't directed at Gerard. "I've tried calling the precinct. They're stone walling us on purpose, Sam."

Gerard said nothing more for the drive over. He didn't close his eyes, didn't allow himself to drift. The pain kept him awake, an assistant to the controlled frenzy behind his eyes.

Berserker rage. He'd never understood it before now.

Now every thought of his friend was a poison dart in his brain.

When the car pulled into the lot, Gerard didn't even wait for it to stop. He was up and through the front doors before Cosmo put it in park.

Cops bustled around the lobby, even at this hour. Gerard didn't stop at the front desk. He tracked a woman's shrill voice down the hall.

"Sir? You can't go back there." The man on duty at the front desk stood. "Excuse me. Sir?"

Sam flashed his badge and kept on walking.

The right side of the wall at the far end was made of one way glass. Kathy stood by the door and a police guard, her pant suit grass stained. Her make up ran with tears. Despite the disheveled picture, her eyes were a lightning storm.

She poked the guard's chest. By his weary eyes, this wasn't the first time.

"Let me see my friend!" she screeched. "You have no right to hold him!"

Newman and Biggs were already there, trying and failing to calm Kathy. Newman had a hand on her bicep, more for comfort. He kept rubbing it as if that would lower her volume.

Fat chance.

"Doctor Wahlund," Biggs soothed, "you need to let us handle this!"

Noah caught sight of Gerard. He deflated with a huge sigh. "Oh, thank God."

Kathy turned. Her eyes immediately found Sam's right side. She walked over and lifted up his shirt like he was her patient. He supposed he was, now.

"The stitches are flawless. Those docs did a great job. Any dizziness?" She felt his forehead. "You're not fevered. Infection usually sets in within the first three hours…"

"Kathy."

And like Newman, Sam's one word deflated Kathy's taut body. She sighed. Her eyes filled with more tears. "He's got him alone in there. Alone."

Kathy's one word had the opposite effect.

As if Gerard was a lightning rod, he absorbed the energy from Kathy, from his kids, and swelled to his full height.

He glanced in the room. Sound had been muted to the hall so no one could tell what was being said. Detective Kelly towered over Kimble's seated, cuffed profile. Blood dribbled from Richard's lower lip.

His lip is bloody.

Gerard's eyes widened.

Nobody, not even Kathy, had an ounce on the irate fire that began quivering off Gerard. Hands balled into fists, brows drew low, and eyes burned. His very lips shook with disgust. The aura of protective wrath sucked the colour from the guard's face.

Despite this awe inspiring display, Gerard's voice was the quietest of the night. "Step aside. I'm a U.S. Marshal."

The guard's eyes shifted. "I…I have orders to keep all personnel, even our own, from this room."

"Do you really want to go up against a team of federal agents and one incensed pathologist?"

The five at his back glared, giving weight to Sam's words. The cop's hand slowly reached for his gun.

Gerard's nostrils puffed. "I said…step aside. Before I'm not so nice about it."

"Protocol states—Hey!"

Gerard reached around the young officer and banged twice on the door. Detective Kelly's head shot up from screaming at Richard. Even without sound Gerard could tell he was screaming.

Richard kept his head down. His shoulders were granite, hunched up. Blood splotched his white dress shirt, though Gerard couldn't tell if it was his own or further wounds.

Fear for Richard forced Sam to find his voice.

"You open this door," Gerard yelled, "or I'll shoot it down. Your choice."

Kelly glowered at the door but twisted the lock. He immediately backed away, as if he were a matador and Sam the bull.

Gerard had imagined this moment: Maybe shoot Kelly and worry about legalities later. Maybe he would charge through, throw Kelly against the wall. Maybe he'd handcuff him to the interrogation table.

What happened instead, watched by government officers for years afterward on camera footage when Gerard and Kimble achieved living legend status, was Sam walking sedately through the entrance, closing the door behind him, and ignoring Kelly to kneel beside Richard.

Detective Kelly gaped at them.

Even the growing hall crowd was stunned silent.

Sam placed a hand on Richard's tense shoulder. "Have they hurt you anywhere else?"

Richard's eyes roamed, still faintly on Kelly and his hands. It was a terrifying thing to behold, that such treatment had reduced an intelligent man to primal fear and wariness.

Sam squeezed the rebar muscle under his fingers.

Richard shook himself into something human. Every movement was stiff. "Thank you for coming. No, I'm…not injured."

Gerard didn't believe him but clearly the psychological hurts here were greater than the physical. He made sure to keep himself small, shorter crouched over his heels than Richard sitting in the steel chair. It allowed Sam to reach out—slowly—with his left hand and wipe blood off Kimble's chin without the man flinching.

Richard gazed at his cuffed hands. He relaxed a little.

"I'm not leaving here without you, Richard."

The doctor made eye contact with Gerard for the first time since he entered the room. Sam tried a smile. It was weak but Richard nodded.

"Now hold on, Deputy Gerard."

At the clop of Kelly's dress shoes approaching, Richard coiled into himself. The flashing whites of his eyes physically pained Gerard.

"I have him for aggravated assault and attempted murder," argued Kelly. "He's going into federal custody."

Sam's face lowered into a glare. He turned on his heel, pushed off the table with a sway, and only found his feet because Richard steadied his lower back. He made sure to flick on the sound to the hallway, in case this came to blows and he needed a record.

Placing himself between Richard and the detective, Gerard blew out a fiery breath. "Assault of whom?"

Kelly stared at him. "You, Gerard."

"Me?"

"Witnesses say he shoved you to the ground."

"He saved my life when one of the thieves tried to shoot me!"

Kelly set a hand on his hip. His knuckles were bruised. "You were shot by a Glock. His fingerprints were all over the Glock we found next to him."

Gerard kept his eyes on those knuckles for an uncomfortable stretch. "You never were bright at the academy, Kelly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That I gave Richard the gun!"

"He shot you!"

Sam almost threw up his hands and then thought better of it. Richard was already whiter than a china set. "Why would he shoot me and then try to staunch the bleeding?"

"He saw us arrive, Gerard. He shot you and then, running out of time, tried to cover it up as someone else's crime. Whether he was in on the robbery or not, he still had a weapon that wasn't licensed to him."

"Check the serial number on that Glock." Gerard dared another step closer, almost nose to nose with the scumbag. "Go ahead. Check—it'll show up in the database because it's registered to me. My service weapon."

Kelly's nose wrinkled in repugnance when his eyes landed on Richard. "Doesn't change the fact that he used it to shoot you. I don't care that the courts found him innocent. He's a wife killer."

This time Gerard risked it. He balled a hand in Kelly's tie and with a quick twist to the right, slammed the man once down on the table. It took less time than an eye's blink.

Sam sprang back up. Kelly followed seconds later. He clutched at his elbow. It trembled limply.

"The 'funny bone' is actual a nerve called the ulna." Gerard grinned. It had as much mirth in it as a shark's. "Now, a kid bangs their arm and gets a weird prickling sensation. Just a few centimeters to the left, however, and it sends electrocution signals to the spine even though there's no damage to it. Did you know that? I bet you do now."

Kelly breathed hard. He clutched at his arm and began to sweat.

"You were the only witness," the man ground out. "You could be covering for him."

It was Gerard's turn at being flabbergasted. "Why would I cover for a man who shot me? A man I didn't even meet until a year ago?"

"The detective."

Kelly and Gerard turned sharply at Richard's quiet but firm words. Locking eyes with Kelly, some of the fear leaked from Kimble's face.

"Detective Chernov," Richard insisted. "He saw the whole thing, a firsthand witness."

Gerard beamed at Richard. "Good thinking! I'd forgotten about Chernov."

"Besides," said Kimble with an irreverent flick of his head, "Deputy Gerard is federal custody."

There was a muted sound outside the door that Sam would have bet his life savings was Cosmo laughing, loud and long.

Sam glanced at his reflection in the "mirror." He pointed to it. "Get me Detective Howard Chernov!"

Somebody was way ahead of his request. Within thirty seconds, Chernov's wild head of hair and askew shirt bolted through the door.

"How dare you?" He stared at Kelly. "You sent me on a wild goose chase for the redhead when you already had him in custody—just to keep me away from this!"

Kelly had recovered enough from the pain to snarl and lean over the younger man. "You stay out of this, Howard. I promised if you played by my rules you'd get a promotion."

Chernov shook his head in disgust. "I reported you to the commissioner. You lied to personnel and used a petty vendetta against this man—" He pointed at Richard. "—To charge him for a crime he didn't commit. Any rookie could see he's innocent."

Kid catches on fast.

While the two detectives bickered, Sam withdrew a tiny key from his pocket.

"When you threw him on the table," Richard murmured in surprise, "you stole the key."

"Mm…" Sam worked the key into the handcuff's lock. "I didn't steal the key from anybody. I keep a spare cuff key in my breast pocket wherever I go. Just in case."

"Clever."

"Doesn't say federal agent on my badge for nothing."

Gerard threw the cuffs onto the table and frowned at Richard's suddenly distant eyes. He'd gone mute, not seeming to hear any of the drama going on behind them.

This is familiar.

For the very first time, Gerard wished he'd been there when Richard was first arrested, wished the man hadn't had to face this alone. If he could go back in time…

"Richard?"

The man flexed his wrists. He shook in full force now. Despite this, he stood under his own power and Sam followed his solemn march from the room. Gerard's team was nowhere to be found in the deserted hallway, including Kathy.

"Privacy. Man's gift to man"—another of his drama teacher's mantras.

The DA stomped in to lambaste Kelly. Their raised voices quieted when the two men walked down the hall, past Biggs signing release papers, and out into the chilly dawn.

Kimble let out an uneven, high pitched breath. Gerard surveyed the parking lot, like he was a body guard. Upon glancing at Richard, he noticed it first as an odd twist in his friend's knees.

"Richard? Hey, whoa! Easy now…"

Richard slid down the precinct's brick exterior until he was sitting on the ground. Sam resumed his kneel, hand on Richard's elbows until he felt sure this wasn't a fainting spell.

"Richard, I'm going to look you over, okay?"

"Not injured," Kimble panted out. "And I'm the doctor."

"Humour an old marshal."

Richard didn't reply so Sam took that as permission. Mainly, he patted the man down for broken bones. Police brutality wasn't unheard of in cases like this, no matter how wrong it was.

Richard's eyes were somewhere forward and slightly up, blinking slow.

This wasn't shock. Sam had only seen this several times in his career. Once, with a soldier.

Stuck in a memory loop.

Gerard was just breathing a sigh of relief at the fact only a punch had been thrown when a morning breeze pulled the collar of Richard's shirt down across his right shoulder.

At first the bulging streak looked to be a trick of the streetlights, a weird shadow caused by Richard's head and crisscrossing beams of light. Then Sam touched it and Richard winced.

Gerard's gut dropped like a millstone.

"I'm alright," Richard said immediately.

"Yeah…and I'm a Rockette." The words came strained out of Sam's mouth.

Great, now I'm shaking too.

It was the ugliest patch of bruise Gerard had seen since his academy days. A motley of violet, blue, and green, it stretched twice the length of Sam's hand from Richard's shoulder tip to the crook of his neck and up nearly to his ear. Raised in places, at least three goose eggs matched long branches…

Like fingers.

Detective Kelly's fingers.

Sam's vision went bright, crimson. "He dislocated your shoulder?"

"He tried to. I fought back, which is when he punched me."

Richard ducked his head after he said this and Sam got the feeling he hadn't meant to. The hair stayed bowed.

"I'm so sorry," Sam whispered. "So…so sorry."

"Wasn't your fault."

"I convinced you to come to the party. If I hadn't given you my gun—"

"Kelly still would have found a reason to arrest me. It…It was the same room, Sam. I went to a party and he…the same interrogation room! I was covered in blood."

Gerard didn't know if his friend was referring to tonight or the night his wife died. Probably both.

Richard's body hitched in a silent sob. It was unfathomable. Seeing the dignified man break was a violation of some cosmic law.

Without conscious thought, Sam reached out and cupped the back of Kimble's head. This only increased the chest caving sobs, but Gerard kept his hand there.

He shuffled around to sit beside Richard, between him and the precinct. He was careful not to lean too much on the injured shoulder. A gentle arm was quickly wrapped around Richard's back.

Richard was a creaky ragdoll, eyes wadded up like a towel, the back of one hand to his nose while stuttered breaths dry sobbed from his lungs.

The precinct door open and closed. "Deputy Gerard, I—"

"Get me an ice pack," Sam snapped. He didn't even glance away to see the subject of his bossing. "And some painkillers."

Richard didn't move but his breathing slowed. Wisps of sandy hair eddied in the wind.

It only felt like a few seconds before Detective Chernov crouched in front of the two men holding a water bottle, bag of ice, medical tape, and a bottle of Acetaminophen. His smile matched his eyes.

"I want you to know," he said softly to Richard, "that the DA just fired Kelly. He was the only agent on the force with a real vendetta against you, Doctor. We've been having problems with his leadership for some time. This was long overdue. I extend profuse apologies on behalf of CPD, if you'll accept them."

Richard's lips wrung together for a minute before he lifted his head. His hand stretched for the water.

Chernov nodded. He spoke nonverbal too.

"You could even press charges," said Chernov. "I, for one, would understand."

Richard exhaled with his teeth together. "I just want to…never step foot in this place again."

Chernov nodded, warm and sombre somehow all at once. "We all want that."

Gerard shook the bag of ice and placed it on top of Richard's shirt. Richard stiffened but didn't make a sound. Chernov grimaced like it pained him instead.

"If you ever need help or some protection, maybe you're receiving hate mail, or even just to talk…" Chernov slipped his business card into Richard's slack free hand. "You call us."

Then, for some reason, Richard's eyes went to the medical tape and started to water.

"I can secure your shoulder if you walk me through it," Sam assured him, alarmed. He popped open the painkillers, wondering if the pain was worse than Richard let on.

Kimble sniffed. "You read the book."

"What?"

Richard dutifully swigged back water and Acetaminophen but the tears threatened to spill over. "You read that cardiovascular book. There was a section on nerves and electrical wiring in the body. You actually…read it. "

"What? No I didn't. Haven't had time, what with all this getting shot business."

"You knew about the ulna. I never told you that."

"Well…" Gerard patted Richard's good shoulder. "I might have skimmed the first few pages."

"Chapters."

"Fine. I read it all in one weekend. Happy?"

Richard sighed. "Not really."

Sam waited until he had Richard's full attention. He dug something out of his pocket and handed it to Richard. "Then we'll figure it out until you are."

Richard mushed the navy and red scarf between his hands and sagged back against Sam's arm, eyes closed. Chernov stood to give them space.

"It's different, this time."

"Is it?" Gerard asked. "History repeated itself almost down to the letter tonight."

Richard shook his head, the warmth of it spilling through Gerard's sleeve. "Tonight I'm not leaving alone. Or in handcuffs."

Gerard's grim gaze took in the commencing sunrise, then settled on the crags of Kimble's face. "We're not getting rid of each other now, are we?"

Richard didn't grin or smile. But that spark appeared in his eyes, the one that was a bonfire without his face changing a lick.

Gerard groaned. "Don't go there."

"You could almost say we're…"

"Don't."

"…Knitted together."

Gerard had illustrious designs to slap Richard's knee with his free hand. It ended up on Richard's limp arm instead. He rubbed it once. A tear slipped from Richard's eye and landed in his hair.

Sam played with the roll of medical tape. "I still have no idea how to bandage your ligaments."

Kathy took Chernov's place, cleaned up and grinning. "Then it's a good thing I do."

Gerard handed her the tape. She began the process of unbuttoning Richard's bloody dress shirt.

Cosmo knelt beside Kathy, looking like he was going to cry again. He mentioned something about court appeals and cars being pulled around. All that really made sense was Richard's warmth against his side and the scarf draped across their laps.

Gerard lifted his left hand, the one on Richard's opposite shoulder, like a kid answering the teacher at school. "I'll take that ambulance now."