ALL ORIGINAL CONTENT OF THIS STORY, INCLUDING MY OWN CREATED FANON, CHARACTERS OR OTHER SPECIFIC DETAILS UNIQUE TO MY WORK IS THE SOLE PROPERTY OF BAMBOOZLEPIG AND MAY NOT BE USED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.

IN THE AFTERMATH OF HELL

CHAPTER FIVE

"Oh my God, Jim, I'm so sorry," I say, gently putting a hand on Reed's shoulder. He flinches at my touch, shying away from me, and I drop my hand. "Is there anything I can do?" I ask.

"No," he says in an utterly dead tone of voice. "There's nothing you can do, Pete." He rubs his hands together, staring unseeing at the row of green-painted lockers in front of us. "Jean's been in contact with a lawyer. She's gotten the preliminary divorce papers drawn up already. All she has to do is file them, and then the legal proceedings dissolving our marriage will be under way." He laughs humorlessly. "Dissolving our marriage, ha! It's all a buncha legal mumbo-jumbo…big fancy words for the simple act of heartbreak, of telling some poor slob like me that his wife no longer wants him and wishes to sever the bonds of holy matrimony." He winces, closing his eyes. "Christ, if I'd known back then what I know now…"

"Life's not a crystal ball, Jim, and you can't play that card. You couldn't have foreseen this happening to you and Jean," I tell him. "And even if you did have the slightest inkling that your life would have ended up this way, I can pretty well bet that you and Jean would have still gotten married, simply because the two of you loved each other."

"At least we did back then," he says, adding the words that I left unspoken. He falls silent for a moment, biting his lip, then he speaks. "I don't understand how this how this even happened, Pete. I mean, how do you suddenly fall out of love with someone that you've been in love with since high school? How could Jean's feelings for me change, just like that?" He falls quiet for a moment again. "She says she doesn't think she loves me anymore, and to be honest, I'm not really sure I love her anymore, either, you know?" He runs a hand through his hair, rumpling it. "But how did that all change? When did that all change, Pete? At what exact moment in time did Jean's feelings for me start to turn to such dislike, that she no longer wishes to be my wife? And when did mine start to change towards her?"

"I don't know," I tell him. "I don't know exactly when everything started to nosedive for the two of you. And I don't think you want to hear the same line of crap from me that I'm sure you've heard from your marriage counselor…that people grow and change over time, and a lot of times, their feelings change, too…sometimes for good, other times for bad."

"Yeah, it's all a buncha bullshit, Pete," he tells me sourly. "It's soothing words designed to comfort you and make you feel like less of a loser when your wife finally decides that she's had it, that she wants out of the marriage." He looks at me, clear pain in his eyes, pain that I wish I could take away from him, or at least ease in some way. "And I can tell you firsthand, Pete, that it doesn't work…I don't feel any less like a loser than I did before…in fact, I feel like that even more so now." He rubs his palms across his jeans, picking at the threads with a fingernail. "I…I…I just don't know what to do, Pete, and that's what really scares me. I feel…I feel helpless, you know? Not to mention angry as hell and completely stunned. My whole world has been swept out from under me, and I don't know how to get it back, Pete. I just don't know how to get it back." He pauses. "And you know, I'm not sure that I really want it back, either, at least not the way it is now."

"Maybe you're not supposed to want it back, Jim," I tell him gently. "Maybe now is the time to step away from it all and reevaluate your life, take stock of things, you know?"

"So you're saying maybe this is a good thing, right?" he asks a bit sharply. "You're telling me that Jean wanting a divorce is a chance for me to rethink everything that I've ever known, right?"

"No, I'm not saying divorce for you is a good thing, I'm just saying maybe it's time for you to reconsider your life so far," I tell him matter-of-factly. "Maybe where this one chapter is ending, a new one is beginning, and maybe even for the better, who knows?" I shrug. "You know the old saying…when God closes a door, he opens a window. Maybe the door on your marriage has gone shut, but maybe the window on a new and better life for you has been opened in its place. You've got to at least consider that possibility, Jim."

He stares at me grimly. "That is the biggest fucking line of bullshit that I've heard…and especially coming from you, Pete. Do you expect me to believe that crap? That God has shut the door on one part of my life, yet opened a window to another?"

I hold my hand up. "I don't expect you to believe anything, Jim. I'm just saying…"

He sighs heavily. "Pete, please. If the advice from the marriage counselor hasn't worked, I'm sure that advice from you won't help either," he tells me. "And besides, how would you know what I'm going through right now anyway?"

"I've gone through it before, remember?" I ask him. "Back in the day? And I can assure you that I went through the same goddamned shit, and felt the exact same way you do now, and then some. So I know whereof you speak, my friend, because I've been down that same goddamned road. And it's not easy, either. And it's gonna get much worse before it gets better, too, trust me, so you'd better start galvanizing yourself now."

He stands up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he begins to pace restlessly back and forth in front of the lockers. "I don't need platitudes and reassurances from you, Pete," he tells me angrily. He meets my gaze defiantly, blue eyes flashing angrily. "And I don't need your sympathy or your pity, either. So you can just save it, okay? I don't need to hear any of it at this point in time."

While I know that his anger isn't truly directed at me, but at his wife, it still doesn't stop his words from stinging just a little. "I'm just trying to help," I say quietly. "If you'd tell me what you need or want me to do, I can assure you, I'll move Heaven and earth trying to get it for you, whatever it is."

"Damn it, Pete, I don't know what in the hell I DO need right now," he snaps bitterly at me. "Except for Jean to tell me that this is all just a joke, that she's kidding me, that she really doesn't want a divorce after all."

I hesitate, clearing my throat before I speak. "But it sounds like she IS serious, Jim, especially if she's gone ahead and drawn up the preliminary paperwork," I tell him cautiously.

"Don't you think I know that?" he snarls, still pacing nervously like a caged jungle cat. "Jesus Christ, Pete, I've been torturing myself all day with Jean's request for a divorce, and I don't need YOU torturing me either, with comments like that!"

"I'm sorry," I tell. Chastised and stung, I fall silent, studying the polished cement floor of the locker room. I notice a small crack in the cement, and I run the toe of my shoe over it, tracing the small crack intently, wisely keeping my mouth shut in the face of Reed's anger.

"Look, Pete, I'm sorry, too," Reed sighs with dismay. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I know you're trying to be helpful to me and offer me a bit of solace, and I appreciate it, really I do." He leans against the row of lockers, arms folded across his chest as he looks down at me with regret and a bit of anger still in his eyes. "I'm just…I just don't know what to do, you know? I'm just beginning to process this whole mess and I need time to sort things out."

"I know it," I tell him. "You don't have to explain, Jim. I've been there, too, so I know…" I let my voice trail off, realizing that Reed doesn't need to hear me tell him that I know what he's going through, for each man only owns his own pain and suffering, not that of another. "It's rough for you, I get it. And you don't need to apologize, because I probably woulda snapped at me too, were the roles reversed."

"I hope to God, for your sake, that they never are," he observes. "Should you and Judy ever decide to get married."

"Yeah, well, that day is a long time off yet, if it ever DOES happen," I tell him cryptically. I offer no more by way of explanation, and Reed wisely does not ask. I glance up at him. "You got a place to stay for the time being?" I ask. "Because you know you can crash on my couch until you can get a place of your own lined up."

"We haven't worked out the housing situation yet," he says wearily, sitting back down on the wooden bench with a hard plunk of his ass. "For now, Jean's going to take Jimmy and go stay with her sister until we decide what to do with the house and the furniture."

"Speaking of my godson, how's he handling all of this?" I ask him quietly. "After all, he's old enough to know that something isn't right between his mom and his dad."

"I know it," he says in a miserable whisper. "Trust me, Pete, he knows things haven't been great between Jean and I for a while now." He stops, falling silent and staring at his hands as he bites his lip once more. "Pete, what am I gonna do?" he asks, his voice hoarse with unshed emotion. "Soon, I'm not gonna be able to see him every day like I used to…what am I gonna do, Pete?"

"Have you two discussed temporary custody arrangements?" I ask him. "So that you might see him at least every other day or so?"

Mutely, he shakes his head, and tears begin to fill his eyes, spilling and rolling down his cheeks silently. "Pete, I love my son with all of my heart. I would do anything for him, even if it cost me my life. He's my whole reason for living, you know? And not…and to know that I'm not going to be able to see him every day…it kills me inside, Pete. It just rips me apart."

"I know it does," I tell him gently, unsure of how to comfort him. But I know that if Jean Reed were standing in front of me right now, I would quite willingly slap her silly…and I certainly do not believe in ever striking a woman, period…but if anyone needed it, she certainly does, for all of the heart wrenching anguish and emotional turmoil she is currently putting my best friend through. To see his sorrow and pain written so plainly on his face makes my heart ache for him, and I feel a stab of vicious hatred towards Jean.

"I mean, I love my son with all my heart," he continues sadly. "He's my whole world. My family has always been my life, you know? And I would die for my son, Pete, I truly would. Without hesitation or question. I would give him whatever he needed or wanted in a heartbeat."

"I know it," I tell him again. "You don't have to explain it to me, I can see it in your face every day, just how happy Jimmy makes you, and I can see it in your eyes just how much you love him, Jim."

"It seems…" He hesitates as his voice then breaks with sorrow, choking him. He coughs, clearing his throat. "It's always seemed that no matter what kind of bad shit we experienced out here in the field, whatever kind of horrific scene we had to deal with, I could handle it, as long as I knew that at the end of the shift, I was going home to my wife and son. Nothing bad or evil in the world could ever upset me or bother me, as long as I had the love of my wife and son to help me through the worst of it. And now it looks like I'm not going to have that source of comfort anymore, and I don't know what to do, Pete." He looks at me, eyes mutely pleading with me to give him a lie that he can believe in. "How am I going to get through this, Pete?" he asks.

"You'll find the strength to get through it somehow," I tell him, hoping that it's just true enough for him to find faith in. "I did when I got divorced from Evie. And you know you've got friends to lean on, Jim, whenever you need help. All you have to do is ask." I shrug. "Other than that, you just take it one day at a time, my friend. That's really about all you can do."

"I don't want anyone else knowing about this, Pete," he cautions me. "Not just yet, anyway."

"I wouldn't dream of telling anyone, and you know that," I assure him. "It's up to you to decide when the time is right to tell other people, not me."

"I know it," he sighs. "It's just…it's just so hard for me to accept. It felt like I'd been sucker-punched when Jean told me this morning that she'd already gone ahead and started the divorce paperwork a week ago. She didn't even ask me, she just told me she wanted a divorce, just like she was telling me she was going to go get groceries at the store or something."

The door to the locker room opens and Mac sticks his head in, interrupting us. "Good," he says, eyeing the two of us with a sharp frown. "You two are still here. I want to see you in my office, right now."

I glance at Jim, who is rubbing the tear stains off of his cheeks with the palms of his hands. "Can't it wait, Mac?" I ask hesitantly. "We were kind of in the middle of a discussion…"

"Now!" Mac bellows, his tone allowing for absolutely no argument. He stands in the doorway of the locker room, arms folded across his chest, glaring at us until the two of us get up from the bench, exchanging wary looks. Jim and I grab our gear bags, then we leave the locker room and slowly follow Mac down the still-bustling and noisy hallway to the Watch Commander's office. "Close the door," he orders me brusquely as we enter the Watch Commander's office. He goes around behind the desk but he doesn't sit down, instead, he puts his palms flat on the desk, leaning forward and watching us both with a narrow-eyed gaze of pure malcontentedness in his eyes.

Exchanging another uneasy look with Reed, I gently shut the door behind me, drowning out the noise in the hallway, or at least dampening it down to a dull roar. I know that whatever happens next, it is not going to be good at all, for I can sense that a major ass-chewing is forthcoming. Jim and I each carefully take a seat in the chairs across from the Watch Commander's desk, setting our gear bags on the floor next to us.

"Did I tell you two to sit down?" Mac snaps at us in a sharp tone, and the two of us immediately leap to our feet, quickly standing at fidgety attention before him.

I clear my throat, deciding to leap in first in order to hopefully smooth things over with him. "Look, Mac, if this is about this afternoon, I can ex…"

Mac interrupts me. "Can it, Malloy!" he barks at me. "I don't want to hear a single goddamned word out of EITHER of you unless I ask for it, got it?"

"Yes, sir," Reed mumbles, dropping his gaze guiltily to the floor as he shifts uneasily on his feet.

Mac turns his gaze on me and I meet his eyes with a small glimmer of defiance, as I straighten my posture to a rigid stance, drawing myself up to my full height. Assuredly, whatever ass-chewing we're about to get is likely deserved, but there is nothing that says I have to face my commanding officer with the attitude of a whipped puppy. "Yes, sir!" I snip out crisply, tucking my hands behind me at the small of my back, just like I used to when I was in the Army. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Reed take on the same stance, straightening up to his full height and tucking his hands behind him. We're the perfect picture of obedient police officers…except that we're really not, and therein lies the problem. Appearances can be deceiving, after all.

Mac studies us, anger clearly storming and tossing about in his tight-lipped glare, his expression as stern as a father whose teenaged daughter has come traipsing home at 2 o'clock in the morning, three hours past her curfew. "Do the two of you know what I've been doing since I've gotten back here to the station?" he asks in a low, deadly snarl, a tone of voice that I've only heard a few times in the years I've known Bill MacDonald. It's a clearly menacing tone that is designed to strike sheer terror into the heart of whomever it is being directed at, and truly, it should strike fear into my own heart, but it doesn't. Instead, I feel a flash of irritation with him, for using such a base tactic to try to make us cower in defeat.

"Playing tiddlywinks?" I ask evenly, keeping my own tone neutral. "Or perhaps Monopoly? Or maybe a rousing game of Red Rover?" Jim casts me a warning glance, but I choose to ignore it.

Mac recoils in anger from my snarky comment, drawing in on himself to focus his building rage. "Don't you try to be glib or funny with ME, Malloy," Mac snaps at me, his face reddening slightly with anger. "You're not going to jolly your way out of this one!" He folds his arms across his chest as he regards us, his blue eyes blazing in pure fury. "For your information, since I've returned to the station, I've had my ass handed to me on a platter from the District Commander."

"Funny, but it looks to me like your ass is still there," I tell him.

"SILENCE!" Mac roars, making both Reed and I flinch a bit. "I've gotten my goddamned ass royally chewed out for the way this whole incident was handled this afternoon! Hell, I've been reamed out so much, it's a wonder I can even walk! And I have the two of YOU to thank for it!"

"So now you're going to chew on us for a bit," I say, starting to do a slow burn. Surely not all of the chewing-out Mac received was because of us…but I have the abject feeling that we are about to be completely blamed for it anyway.

"You're goddamned right I am, Malloy," he tells me sharply. "And do you know WHY?"

"Because it's…" I start to say.

Mac pounds the top of his desk with a tight fist. "Malloy, just shut the fuck up!" he thunders at me, making me wince slightly in the face of his untold rage. "I don't want to hear another goddamned word from outta your mouth!" He regards us through narrowed blue eyes that are snapping fire as he begins to speak again, using that same low, deadly tone as before. "It seems that the Area Inspector had a few problems with the way I handled the case this afternoon. First, he wanted to know why the request for the Armadillo wasn't made by me, as acting Sergeant for this watch, but by my senior lead officer instead, who…astonishingly enough…does NOT have those official powers within his job description, yet apparently took it upon himself to overrule my authority and demand that the rig be brought out to the scene. THEN I was asked why I allowed an unauthorized person aboard the SWAT rig to assist in rescue operations once they were underway. Now it may sound STRANGE to the two of you, but the departmental hierarchy tends to FROWN upon having an unauthorized person aboard an official police department vehicle while in the midst of what is considered an emergency situation. AND, it was brought to my attention that DURING the rescue operations, that same unauthorized person acted in a manner that not only jeopardized his life, but also those of him around him. He even ADMITS to that in the statement he made to our department." Mac takes a moment, drawing in a deep breath as he launches into the final assault. "But the KICKER of the whole situation is not the above-mentioned problems the Area Inspector had with my performance this afternoon, it is the fact that two of my TOP men disobeyed DIRECT orders from me NOT to enter that Granite Court Building; instead, taking it upon themselves to flagrantly disregard my command and go after Charlie Burnside anyway. And those actions not only put their own lives in grave danger, but also those of the people around them, simply because it was unknown at that time if Burnside had other buildings rigged to explode." Mac regards us silently. "Now then, what do the two of you have to say in your defense?"

By now, my slow burn has turned into a raging forest fire at the implicit knowledge that I was right about my hunch just a moment ago, that Reed and I are going to be fully blamed for all of the Area Inspector's complaints against Mac. "Sergeant, as far as me overriding your authority and ordering that the Armadillo be brought to our location, I was only doing what I thought best for the situation out there," I tell him icily, trying hard to reign in my emotions. "I felt that the rig was needed there immediately, given the severity of the situation we were facing. People were trapped in that park, pinned down by sniper fire, and I knew that there was no way in hell that those people could be safely rescued without the assistance of the armored rig." I struggle to keep my tone even, but it's hard, for I feel the anger roiling inside of me like a storm-tossed ocean.

"Did you?" Mac growls at me. "Did you REALLY know that for certain, Malloy? Had you gotten an aerial view of the site before I arrived on the scene to see if there was any other way to get those people out without calling in the armored rig? Had you gotten a layout of the park or the surrounding area to see what possibilities existed and what other means might have been utilized for rescue operations? Did you know, for a fact, that there were enough people in that park that needed saving, so that we would have been suitably justified in the first place for bringing out a vehicle that had yet to be proven in the field?"

"That's a goddamned stupid question and you know it!" I snap at him, my anger bubbling over. "No matter whether there was one or a HUNDRED people in that park, we knew we had no other way of getting them out without calling in the Armadillo! And as far as the layout of the area, we were apprised of that shortly after our arrival on scene by the fire crew from Station 51, Sergeant. And from what we could see with our own eyes, and from what was being relayed to us via the paramedics pinned in next to their rescue squad by Burnside's gunfire, we knew right away that no other means of rescue existed." I angrily jab a finger at him. "Time was critical, Sergeant, and lives were on the line out there. Every minute we spent dicking around, trying to decide what to do, those lives were being placed further and further into jeopardy, standing a lesser and lesser chance of being saved with each passing moment we wasted on debating whether or not to run an untested rig in the field."

"But did you really fully assess the situation beyond what you'd been told and what you could see, Malloy?" Mac asks me sharply. "Did you really stop and think about what needed to be done?"

"Yeah, you're damned right I did!" I tell him heatedly, anger flushing red in my face. "I DID stop and think about what needed to be done, Mac! How the hell do you think I got the goddamned roadblocks set up and began getting the area evacuated so damned fast? I reacted to what I saw was going on, to what I was told was going on, and what I KNEW was going on, using my training and years of experience as a guide as to how best to handle the horrific situation that was suddenly presented to me!"

"But while it was all well and good for you to begin taking charge of the situation, setting up the roadblocks and starting evacuation proceedings, it was NOT within your power to ask that the Armadillo be brought out there. You deliberately overrode my command and took it upon yourself to order Sergeant Baron to bring that rig out. I'm your superior officer, and you take your orders from me, NOT the other way around. I'm the one wearing the sergeant's stripes, not you, Malloy." Mac snipes back, shaking his finger at me.

"Then why the hell weren't you ACTING like a superior officer?" I growl at him, thoroughly pissed. "Why in the hell weren't you EARNING those sergeant's stripes, instead of standing there like a goddamned idiot, pissing around trying to decide what to do, while all hell was breaking loose around you?!"

"Are you questioning my authority?" he snarls gruffly.

"I'm questioning your ability to be an effective commanding officer in a critical situation such as this!" I snarl back. "While you were dithering and indecisive out there at the scene, mewling about whether or not the Armadillo was capable of running smoothly in the rescue operations, innocent people were trapped in that park, waiting and praying for help to arrive. And only God knows how many of those people died during those moments of your indecisiveness!"

"But the order to bring the Armadillo out there was not within your realm of power, and you had no right to overstep the bounds and ask for it!" Mac's face flushes a deep crimson with unbridled anger. "That kind of order is supposed to come from me, not you, Malloy!"

"Then why in the fuck didn't you go ahead and order it without question?" I ask angrily. "You knew within a few seconds of assessing the scene YOURSELF what we had on our hands, so why in the hell didn't you act on your supposed authority and get on the goddamned radio and get the rig en route immediately, without whining and pissing around, worrying whether or not it would run well in the field? You knew the Armadillo had performed just fine under test runs, so there was no reason to even DOUBT it would fail us in the field. But no, I felt it was up to ME to make the decision about whether or not to call the rig in because YOU felt the need for an impromptu discussion, Sergeant, and those people out there didn't have the TIME for an impromptu discussion…they needed rescuing right then!"

"But it wasn't your right to go over my head and ask for the rig!" he yelps, pounding his fist atop the desk again, hard enough to make the metal in and out baskets jump and the pen holder rattle. "I was the ranking officer out there, not you!"

"Then you damned well shoulda acted like one!" I snap. "I'm not making any apologies for my actions out there, Sergeant," I tell him hotly. "I refuse to be condemned for your OWN lapse in judgement out there. It's not my fault you couldn't make up your goddamned mind, that you wanted to weigh the pros and the cons of bringing the rig out. We didn't have time for a leisurely debate, Mac, and the blame for your indecision and failure to act lies squarely with you, not me! If you're the commanding officer, then you shoulda acted like one! Instead, you acted like a damned fool out there, while lives were on the line!"

"Your attitude right now is very out of line, Malloy!" Mac barks.

"And I find your actions out there at the scene completely inexcusable!" I bark back. "You're trying to lay the blame on me for something you damned well know is your own goddamned fault. And as far as us letting John Gage aboard that rig to assist with rescues, again, that is NOT our fault! You and Captain Stanley BOTH gave him the okay to be aboard that rig after we completed the second round of rescues. If you remember, I was the one who didn't want him aboard in the FIRST place, especially after he'd acted stupid and hijacked his way onto the rig after you and Stanley had originally vetoed his request to ride along with us. But because he DID prove to be of valuable assistance to us out there, the decision was made, by you and his captain, to allow him to remain aboard, as long as he followed our express orders out there."

"But he DIDN'T follow your express orders out there," Mac says. "Gage copped to that in his interview with the homicide dicks. He admitted he leaped out of the back of the rig without thinking, in order to try and save a victim that was already dead, despite the fact that the two of you ordered him to stay inside the Armadillo. But instead of booting him off after he pulled that little stunt, the two of you conspired to keep it quiet in order to keep him on the rig."

"We didn't conspire to keep Gage's actions quiet, Mac," Reed says with sharp irritation, finally stepping into the fray. "Despite that one foolish action, Gage was a true help to us out in the field. Without his assistance, the field ops wouldn't have gone as smoothly as they did. You can't deny that, Mac."

"But once he committed that foolish act of leaping out of the rig to save an already deceased victim, one of you should have reported what he did, to either Captain Stanley or I," Mac tells him heatedly. "Had we known any of that transpired out there, we would have taken the necessary steps to keep him off of the rig, including arresting him, if we had to. He put not only his own life in danger, but also yours."

"Okay, so who would've gone in and assisted us with rescues if he hadn't of done it?" Reed asks sharply. "You? Because gee, I sure as hell didn't see YOU strapping on a bulletproof vest and climbing aboard the Armadillo with us, Sergeant. And you gotta give John Gage credit, he was at least courageous enough to be willing to risk his own life to save those of others, and that's a damned sight better than YOU were willing to do."

"I had to man the command post and you damned well know it!" Mac defends himself with righteous anger. "And you have no goddamned right to call into question my courage, Reed! If I'd had to, I would have gone into battle right alongside the two of you, with no questions or hesitation on my part at all!"

"The fact of the matter is, Sergeant," I say sharply. "You and Captain Stanley had every opportunity to pull Gage's ass off that rig each and every time we returned from triage, and neither of you did. So that little matter is entirely in your hands, not ours."

"But Captain Stanley and I were not made aware of Gage's misconduct aboard the Armadillo until well after the fact," Mac seethes. "Had either of you two taken the opportunity to tell us some of the numbskull things he did, we woulda yanked him off so fast his head woulda spun."

"We didn't tell you about the numbskull things he did because we pretty much did some numbskull things ourselves," I inform him. "Out there in the field, it was a helluva lot different from standing back by your station wagon and giving orders. We were running on adrenaline and tunnel vision, and in retrospect, all three of us made some boneheaded moves, Mac. We were forced into reacting within a situation none of us had ever faced before, and…"

"Had he been killed out there, his family could have filed a fat little lawsuit against the city and likely won," Mac interrupts me.

"Mac, any of us coulda been killed out there!" I cry. "Just because Gage was wearing a badge different from ours, it didn't make him any bigger of a target to Burnside than we did!"

"That's not the point!" Mac says angrily. "When Gage disobeyed your orders in the field, one of you should have reported it to us…"

"Okay, we get it!" Reed snaps, interrupting Mac. "Gage shouldn't have been allowed to stay on the rig, but I'm mighty damned glad he did, because without him, I have no doubt in my mind the death toll woulda been a helluva lot higher than it is right now!"

"Do you?" Mac growls, his voice rising with ire. "Do you really get it, Reed? Do either of you really GET the enormity and the impact of your combined actions this afternoon?"

"Hey!" I snap. "You can't fault us for what we did out there in the long run, Sergeant! Our combined actions saved lives out there, plus we brought Burnside down in the end."

"Not before you both damn near got killed doing it!" Mac yells, slapping the top of his desk with his palm. "Which brings me to the final point…were the two of you even THINKING when you stupidly went after Burnside in the way that you did?"

"Of course we were thinking!" Reed snarls. "I was thinking how much I wanted to kill the sonofabitch…"

"But you didn't WAIT to see if we could have come up with another plan after he detonated the parking ramp!" Mac hisses. "The two of you rushed right into that building after Burnside, after he hurt your little feelings with his chatter on the CC unit, neither of you using your goddamned heads!" I start to speak, but Mac cuts me off with a sharp wave of his hand. "And don't tell me we didn't have the time to wait around for another plan to pop into our heads, Malloy. We had all the goddamned time in the world to wait Burnside out once we got the victims out of the park."

"I did use my head," I tell him in a low growl. "Why the fuck do you think I clicked the mike on the CC unit open and left it that way, so that those of you on the ground would know what was happening up on the roof?"

"And as it was, I ended up sending Air Ten into rescue your asses in a last-ditch move when Burnside got the upper hand over the two of you," Mac growls back. "Sure, it was smart of you to leave the mike open, Malloy, but it woulda been smarter of the two of you to have never of gone on that goddamned roof in the first fucking place! You two didn't know what kind of weaponry Burnside had up there! Hell, for all you knew, he coulda had a fucking rocket launcher and woulda used it on the two of you when you came dancing through that fire escape door!"

"Air Ten didn't report that kind of weaponry," Reed says heatedly.

"But you didn't know WHAT kinds of weapons he had, Reed, and that's the problem!" Mac tells him. "You rushed up there in a blind haste to get him, just because he'd said some vile things to you on the radio, and you didn't stop to think what you were walking into! That's why he got the drop on you!"

"He got the drop on me because my fucking rifle jammed on me," Reed snaps. "And I didn't have time to go for my revolver."

"See? You didn't have a clue as to how you were gonna handle things up on that roof once you got up there, you were just running on blind rage and sheer guts," Mac says. "Neither of you even stopped to THINK out any kind of a plan for neutralizing Burnside, even as you were running up that street towards the building…one of you just went after him, while the other one stupidly followed."

"Hey, I wasn't about to let him get killed up there on that rooftop if I could help it," I say defensively. "And yeah, we didn't formulate a plan, but we still brought him down in the end, and that's what counts when all is said and done!"

"When all is said and done, huh?" Mac gripes. "Izzat what the two of you think? That despite the fact that Burnside came within a hairbreadth of killing you two, the fact that you outsmarted him in the end is what counts?" He snorts, shaking his head. "Oh hell no, it doesn't work that way, boys. You only scraped outta THAT little situation by sheer dumb luck, and nothing else. God must have a soft spot in his heart for you two fools, because I sure as hell don't right now. You'd better thank Him profusely for saving your sorry asses…AFTER you thank Jerry Walters for using Air Ten as a diversionary tactic just long enough for one of you idiots to act, shoving Burnside over the edge of the roof." He eyes us severely, leaning against his desk and folding his arms across his chest. "And what REALLY galls me…what REALLY REALLY galls me, is the fact that the two of you disobeyed my direct orders NOT to go up on that roof, just so you could play hero."

"God! I am getting so goddamned fucking sick and tired of that word!" Reed snaps. "Neither of us were heroes, Mac, we were just doing our goddamned jobs out there! Doesn't anyone understand that?"

"And do you understand that you nearly got yourself and your partner killed up on that roof, Reed, just because you leaped before you looked?" Mac asks sharply.

I've finally had it with Mac's outrage, my own anger and rage hitting the point of no return as I speak. "You know," I say, my voice a tiger's menacing growl. "It's easy for you to sit here and pass judgement on us for what we did out there today, because you weren't in the heart of the action, Sergeant. You can say that our actions were stupid and foolhardy and could have cost us our lives, and we fully KNOW that, believe me, we do. But we did what had to be done. No one else was gonna step into that wild-assed fray and rescue those people, and no one else was gonna face down Burnside up on the roof. We were the only ones willing to enter that mess and by God, we got the goddamned job done, didn't we? Yeah, admittedly, we threw the little blue rule book out the window and the two of us KNOW we're gonna be facing a disciplinary hearing on our actions, and we're both willing to take whatever punishment the board deems necessary, even if it means getting fired. But how DARE you stand here and condemn us for what we did out there, Sergeant. It wasn't YOU that rode into Hell on that Armadillo, it was us." My voice begins to rise as the dam holding back my seething rage finally ruptures, spewing forth in righteous indignation. "YOU weren't the one loading up terrified and horrifically injured preschool kids with that thousand-yard stare on their little faces, whimpering like little puppies in fear. YOU didn't see all the gravely injured and frightened victims that we pulled out of that park, some of them with such awful injuries, it'll be a miracle if they even survive. YOU didn't see the all the dead lying scattered around that park like matchsticks, YOU didn't have to try to justify leaving a woman's dead children in the park after you loaded her up, and YOU didn't end up chasing after her when she leapt off of the rig and tried to return to her kids. And SHE didn't take a bullet for YOU, she took the bullet meant for ME, and it killed HER instead. YOU didn't have blood all over your hands from loading up the injured, WE did. It wasn't YOUR uniform that had the brains and blood of a little girl strewn across it, her head having exploded from one of Burnside's bullets just as you were placing her into the back of the rig, it was Jim. And it wasn't YOU who kept making that trip in the rig, over and over and over again, smelling the stench of puke and shit and piss and blood and gunpowder, it was US." I pause for a moment, staring angrily at Mac.

Drawing in a deep breath, I continue. "And it was ultimately US that made the decision to storm the roof and take Burnside down, NOT you! And you have NO GODDAMNED RIGHT to stand there and pass an across-the-board judgement against the two for our actions out there, because you weren't in the midst of it all! You didn't see any of it, you didn't experience any of it, so don't you DARE stand there and criticize us for our conduct in the field! You weren't the one riding aboard that rig, wondering each time going in if this is gonna be the trip that Burnside decides to blow your head off for you. You experienced none of the fear and outright horror in that Hell that we did, so you cannot stand there and tell us that what we did was wrong, because you weren't there!" My bitter vitriol and raging speech leaves me panting and shaking a bit, and I see that both Mac and Reed are staring at me, stunned. Slightly stunned myself at my outburst, I draw in a deep breath to restore some calm to myself and continue. "The fact of the matter is, we got the fucking job done, which is more than I can say for you," I tell Mac sharply. "If we'd waited around for you to get your goddamned head outta your ass and decide what to do, those people in the park would likely all be dead by now. Reed and I did what we had to do, and I'm sure as hell not sorry for the way we handled things out there, not by a long shot."

Mac quickly recovers from my heated outburst, stalking around the edge of the desk to stand right in front of me, folding his arms across his chest. "Are you done with your little speech, Malloy?" he asks in that low warning tone of voice.

I nod, regarding him through narrowed eyes. "I am."

"You are WAY outta line, Malloy," Mac says softly, leaning toward me with a deadly look in his eyes. "You don't EVER speak to your commanding officer the way you have just spoken to me. It's a fireable, cue-bow offense, and I oughta yank your badge for that little outburst. But, I'm not. I'm going to pretend that I never heard you say those words to me, I'm going to pretend that you didn't lose your temper at me like you just did, because I'm going to assume that this nasty little attitude of yours is caused by the stress and turmoil of today's events, and nothing else, because Pete Malloy in his RIGHT MIND would NEVER, EVER talk back to a superior officer like that just now." Then he nods at the door dismissively. "Now. We're done here. Get outta my sight before I change my goddamned mind and fire you anyway."

I stare at him, utterly furious. Then I bend down, picking up my gear bag and setting it on the chair. Unzipping it, I reach into the inner pocket and pull my badge out, the silver metal casting a ray of light across Mac's ceiling. I hold it in my palm for just a moment, rubbing my thumb across the numbers, then I toss it onto Mac's desk, the metal clinking sharply against the wood. "There," I tell him in my own deadly tone of voice. "You've got my fucking badge. And you can take it and stick it up your goddamned ass, Sergeant." I grab up the bag containing the rest of my stuff, zipping it shut, then I stalk angrily towards the door. I hesitate, my hand on the knob as I look back at Reed. "You coming?" I ask him sharply.

"Yeah," he says, staring at my badge lying on top of Mac's desk. Then he quickly unzips his own gear bag, pulling out his badge, and tossing it next to mine without a moment's hesitation. "There's mine, too," he tells Mac quietly, his voice grim. "You can take this fucking job and stick it, Sergeant, 'cuz we quit." Then he picks up the bag, and starts to follow me.

"Reed! Malloy! Get back here!" Mac roars as I open the door. "You two can't walk out on the job just like that!"

"I believe we just did, Sergeant," I tell coolly him over my shoulder. "And there's nothing you can do to stop us." I smirk slightly. "And now, as you said, we're done here," I tell him, loading my voice with as much sarcasm and venom as I can muster. And with those as the final parting words, Reed and I leave his office, our badges lying on top of his desk, both of us having just walked away from our long careers as police officers for the city of Los Angeles.

And neither one of us looks back, not even once.