Title: Shall We Play A Game?

Author: FraidyCat

Disclaimer: remains in effect

My Name is FraidyCat, and I'm a whump-a-holic.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight: Here a Cop, There a Cop, Everywhere a Cop-Cop

Ian was airlifted to UCLA Medical Center. David was forced to stay at the scene for a while. Having used lethal force, he had to wait while the first responding LAPD officers contacted both their superiors and the F.B.I.; Lieutenant Gary Walker and Assistant Director Wright showed up at almost the same time.

Wright exited a patrol car just as Wright had his driver stop in the street and drop him off in front of the roped-off alley. Walker spoke briefly with an officer standing guard at the rope, and then turned to face Wright. The A.D. raised one eyebrow. "Lieutenant. I'm surprised to see you here. I hadn't heard that this was gang-related."

Walker grinned. "Oh, I don't know," he ventured laconically. "Seems to me Planet Green qualifies as the worst kind of gang." Wright tilted his head in acceptance of that observation, and Walker continued. "LAPD is spread a little thin today. Your man Eppes has most of the shift with him, I think."

Again, Wright nodded briefly, his eyes straying to search for Agent Sinclair. He expected to find him seated somewhere, waiting for his arrival, but spied him pacing the alley, under the fire escape of the Red Light Hotel. Wright lifted the crime scene tape and waited for Walker to precede him into the alley. "Let's debrief him before he wears out the asphalt," he suggested.

Walker snorted. "Might be too late for that, according to Officer Michaels, here. Took three of my guys to hold him back when the EMTs took your sniper out."

Wright glanced up at the fire escape, and then over at the dumpster, and the body over which the deputy cororner knelt. "Could have another sniper on my hands," he remarked, and led the way to Sinclair.

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Patrolman Richie Santos had only been out of the academy three months. Reese, his T.O., hadn't even let him drive yet. Six months from retirement, he was a reluctant training officer at best, convinced that the green rookie was going to do something stupid and get him killed before he passed 'Go' and collected his gold watch. Santos had learned early not to let his enthusiasm for the job persuade him to offer an actual opinion. He was probably more anxious for Reese to retire than Reese was; he hoped his next T.O. was a little more ready to take on the world, and less…scared.

The guys at the station said Reese was once one of the best. Then he had taken a round in the shoulder that had almost ended his career. He had spent months rehabbing and riding a desk, more months requalifying at the range and passing all the same physical tests Santos himself had endured to be admitted to the academy. A lesser man might have taken early retirement and given up, but after almost two years Reese was back in a patrol car, training the next generation of cops. As one of that generation, however, Santos almost wished that Reese had given up. He never took a chance if playing it safe was an option.

Santos fidgeted in the passenger seat like a three-year-old who had to pee, and Reese sighed. "What the hell is up with you?" he demanded, his tone put-upon and impatient.

Santos glanced almost guiltily at his T.O. and then back to the rear-view mirror between them. "Sorry," he murmured. "Been watching that van."

Reese let his eyes roam for a moment and took in the vehicle in question. "It's perfectly fine," he muttered. "Driver ain't breaking no laws. Not driving suspiciously slow or trying to evade us – been behind us for a couple of blocks now, right?"

Santos swallowed down his answer and just nodded his head. He even forced himself to look away from the mirror momentarily. At the next red light, Reese glanced over at his rookie and saw that the kid looked about as miserable as he had ever seen him. He rolled his eyes up to the rear-view again and sighed once more as the light turned and the cruiser rolled through the intersection. "Get it off your chest, then," he invited.

Santos looked over at him quickly, surprised, but nonetheless pleased. He didn't have to be asked twice. "It's not right," he said, checking the mirror again. "That's a '71 Ford Econoline. You can tell because the grille was redesigned in '71, heralding the second generation of the Ford E-series of vans."

Reese snorted. "Do tell," he interjected with more than a trace of sarcasm.

Santos felt himself flushing, but would not be deterred. "The plate was issued sometime between 87 and 91," he noted. "It's similar to the 82 plate: White background, blue letters; the word 'California' in red block letters – but there used to be a sun graphic as well, and that was dropped in 87. By 91, only reflectorized plates were issued."

Reese felt something in his chest that he hadn't felt in years; two things, actually. One, he harbored an impressed pride of Santos' knowledge and instincts. Two, his heart-rate had sped up in anticipation of a good bust. He gripped the wheel a little more tightly. "Tell you what," he shrugged. "Just for the hell of it, run the plates." He allowed himself a small grin. "But first, tell me how the sam-hill you know all that."

Santos reached excitedly for the dash-mounted computer and smiled. "My Dad was really into cars," he answered. "Automotive trivia was a way of life for my brothers and me when we grew up."

Reese continued to pilot the cruiser as Santos used his index finger to poke in the plate number. The rookie then pressed 'enter', and held his breath. Luckily it was only a few seconds before the system spit out its information. Still, he exhaled his breath in a gigantic whoosh and looked triumphantly at his T.O. "That van," he shared, "should be a 1989 Dodge Colt."

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By the time David and Wright got to UCLA, Edgarton had been rushed to CT. The A.D. was able to finagle a modicum of information out of a resident, which he later shared with Sinclair. Ian had lost a significant amount of blood, both externally and by bleeding into his belly. Test results would determine whether he was in need of an emergency laparotomy, or if doctors could wait, and try a nonoperative approach. At David's suggestion, Wright returned to the resident and made a special request, then rejoined Sinclair in the trauma waiting area.

Wright eventually stepped outside long enough to call Don with an update. When he returned, it was after 10 a.m. – and David had taken all he could. The doctors wouldn't talk in his presence, anyway, so he excused himself and headed for Charlie's room. Almost 15 minutes later, having had to stop for directions no less than three times, he paused outside the room and smiled. He rubbed the back of his neck, remembering how just a few hours ago, Colby had called and told him what Amita had blurted out in the hospital the night before. His smile drooped into a frown, as he contemplated the juxtaposition of it all. He had started the morning thinking about a new life – and an hour later, he was ending one.

He carefully schooled his face and pushed the door open quietly. Half of the room was empty, and the privacy curtain around Charlie's bed had been pushed back. Charlie himself was sitting up in the large chair that had been pulled to the side of his bed.

He glanced up as he heard the door and his face, at first drawn and worried, flooded with relief. "David! It's good to see you!"

Sinclair moved to perch on the end of Charlie's bed. He smiled as he sat. "I'll bet – I understand Millie has been your only visitor."

Charlie smiled a little sadly and shrugged. "Ah, she's not so bad, I guess. What's happening?"

David tried to determine what Charlie knew by observing his face. "Look at you," he stalled. "Sitting up and everything."

"The nurse was supposed to be back by now to put me back in bed," Charlie answered, "but I think my roommate…died, or something. They took him out of here, anyway."

David let a small sigh escape. "That was probably my fault. Edgarton was injured in the field this morning, and he's downstairs. He's going to be admitted, and I thought since no-one can visit you, it might be nice to have a friendly roomie…"

Charlie frowned. "Injured? What happened? I tried to call Dad, but all he would say is that 'things were happening'. He wouldn't even let me talk to Amita!" He reached up to rub wearily at one eye. "Said she was losing her breakfast in the downstairs bathroom and he'd better go check on her. He hung up on me!"

David suppressed a grin at Charlie's distress. "Guess she's still under the weather, huh?"

Charlie shifted uncomfortably in the chair and rubbed at his eye again. "Donny's not answering his phone, and 'Mita is still sick, and I'm stuck here on this damn oxygen leash…David, tell me what's really going on, please! I've been imagining all sorts of terrible things."

David stared at the space over Charlie's head. "We got some intel on Planet Green," he finally answered. Charlie waited for more, but it seemed to be all the information with which Sinclair was ready to part.

A dark ball of worry started to churn in Charlie's stomach. "You're not telling me something. Is it Don? Is he hurt, too?"

David pulled his gaze back to Charlie and shook his head. "He's fine. In the field right now, but Colby and Liz and half of L.A.'s finest are with him. Don will be okay."

Charlie's eyes narrowed, and he studied Sinclair's face. He waited until he had a lungful of air to ask his next question. "Are you all-right, David?"

David actually started a little before he tried to smile. "I'm sitting right here, Charlie. You can see that I'm all right."

Charlie thought. "Were you and Ian in the field with the rest of them?"

David shrugged. "Different assignment," he hedged. "Charlie, let's not talk about that."

Charlie's eyes narrowed even further, so that they were nearly closed. His mind raced. David and Ian were in the field. Ian was somehow injured. David was no longer in the field, although he did not seem physically compromised himself. Why else would an agent be taken out of the field, especially during an important operation like the take-down of Planet Green? And that must be what was happening, for LAPD to be working with them, and for Liz to be borrowed from the ATF. He searched for the tell-tale bulge from a service weapon in a shoulder holster under David's jacket, and did not see one. Finally he opened his eyes fully and lifted them to David's face. He spoke gently, kind empathy replacing the lines of pain on his face. "I'm sure you did whatever you had to, David."

Sinclair stood, completely unprepared for Charlie's mind-reading, and rubbed his hand over his bald head. "Well, I guess you're feeling better," he responded at length, smiling and shaking his head a little. "The synapses all seem to be firing."

Charlie leaned his head back and regarded David tiredly. "This needs to be over," he said despondently. "Planet Green needs to be put out of its misery."

David regarded his friend sadly. "We're tryin' Charlie. We're tryin'."

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The woman clutched a baby carrier in one death grip, and her four-year-old son's hand in the other. She seemed reluctant to part with either, even though Don could see that the baby carrier held only a Cabbage Patch® doll. He reached out to take it anyway, lifting an eyebrow slightly.

The redhead looked at him with haunted green eyes. "I couldn't bring the baby," she whispered. "She's only two months old."

Don handed the carrier off to Liz and reached for the little boy's hand. "I understand," he said simply, dropping his gaze to smile widely at the child. "Mrs. Marilyn saw you coming through the window. She said your name is Jimmy. Would you like me to take you to her?" Jimmy looked up at his mother, having picked up on her fear, and opened his mouth to wail a protest. Don hurried on with a pre-emptive strike. "My name is Mr. Don; I'm a new teacher here. Just like Miss Liz, who just took your baby sister."

Jimmy stuck out his lower lip in a full pout, glaring at Don. "That wasn't my sister," he announced loudly.

Don decided not to argue with him and tried to persuade the suspicious pre-schooler to trust him. "I was in the back helping Mrs. Marilyn with snack," he confided, still smiling. "It's a big job, and I'm still learning. I could use a big, smart helper. Would you be my helper?"

Jimmy looked again at his mother, who squeezed his hand and nodded once, dropping into a crouch to envelop him in her arms. "Remember, there's a field trip this morning, sweetheart, and mommy will be waiting when you get there. It's all-right to help Mr. Don. Mrs. Marilyn wouldn't let him teach here if he wasn't a safe adult."

Jimmy still didn't like it. Mommy looked like she had been crying, and why would she throw away his baby sister and replace her with a dumb doll? "Don' wanna," he sulked.

Don crouched down to Jimmy's level himself, then. First he smiled reassuringly at the frightened mother, then spoke softly to the reluctant child. "Guess what? My little brother is going to be a Daddy, Jimmy. Do you know what that makes me?"

Jimmy turned his face on his mother's breast and regarded Don with solemn eyes. He shook his head silently, sticking a thumb in his mouth.

His mother answered for him. "An 'uncle', Jimmy. Just like Mommy's brother Jake is your Uncle Jake."

Don nodded, just as serious as Jimmy. "Your Mommy's right, Jimmy – but I'm a little scared. I've never been an uncle before. What do they do?"

Jimmy seemed to think about it for a moment. Suddenly he smiled, his thumb fell from his mouth and he drew away slightly from his mother. "Uncle Jake tooked me to the place with animals."

"The zoo," his mother prompted softly.

Jimmy nodded furiously, taking a small step in Don's direction. "Zoo," he repeated. "He let me eat hot dogs and cotton candy and popcorn and I didn't feel so good for a while, but the monkeys were funny." He giggled. "One of them threw poop at us."

His mother looked horrified. "Jimmy!"

Don laughed. "Now, you see, Jimmy – that's just the sort of information I need. I want to do a good job, and be a fun Uncle." He straightened, casually stretching out his hand to Jimmy again. "What else does Uncle Jake do?"

Jimmy paused long enough to wave at this mother before latching onto Don and stepping into the daycare center. "He brings me presents. That's real 'portant."

His mother smiled and shook her head, rising to her feet to lock eyes with Don. "He always keeps Jimmy safe," she said. "Always."

Don held the little boy's hand and nodded at his mother. "I can do that," he promised. Jimmy tugged on his hand and Don glanced down. "I'll bring lots of presents," he said, and Jimmy smiled up at him happily.

After Jimmy's mother turned and started back down the sidewalk toward her car, Don closed the door softly and stared to lead Jimmy to the rear exit. "I'm good at keeping people safe," he shared. "I take care of my little brother."

"I take care of my little sister," agreed Jimmy, "but sometimes she makes a lot of noise and smells funny."

Don chuckled. "I know just what you mean."

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A/N: Oh, no! Will the Rookie get his T.O. killed? Will Charlie help David face his demons? Will Amita's breakfast plug the toilet? Will Uncle Don live to take his niece/nephew to the zoo?