Disclaimer: See first chapter

A/N: AU of an extreme nature.

Fingers Crossed

Dante didn't know what he'd been expecting when Mac told him Nurse Johnson had requested his presence at the hospital for a John Doe with multiple gunshot wounds, but it certainly wasn't being ushered into one of the uncomfortable chairs in a quiet corner of the lounge to wait while the nameless victim went through several hours of surgery. He could really use some sleep right about now.

After an hour of sitting in the chair he'd all but been dumped into by the harried nurse, he stood and stretched, fully intending to give her a piece of his mind before taking his leave and asking to be called if the wounded man made it out of surgery alive. From what he'd heard, and the looks that Epiphany had cast in his direction from time to time as she busied herself about the hospital, he doubted that the man would make it through the next hour let alone the night.

From the little that Epiphany had told him, he'd learned that the John Doe had been dropped off at the entryway of the emergency room by someone who hadn't even bothered to actually bring him into the ward itself. Apparently he'd been wounded hours earlier, "…if blood loss were anything to account for…" as Epiphany had said. He shook his head as he recalled the terse, almost accusatory way in which she'd answered his questions.

He'd been shot three times, once in the head, the shoulder and the gut. Damn, he should be dead. No, she didn't know who he was, had never seen him before in her life. No she hadn't gotten a license plate for the drop and run; she had a hospital to run, not a daycare center and couldn't bother herself to do work that he himself should be doing. She wasn't a cop. Dr. Drake was working on him at the moment and, though it didn't look promising, if anyone could help out the poor man, it would be him.

For every answer she'd given him, he had ten more questions and had finally given up on questioning her further when she walked away for the tenth time to deal with some incompetent intern who "…didn't know how to tell the difference between his ass and his head…"

The most probing question on his mind was why him? Why had she asked for him, rather than Mac or Lucky? He hadn't even been with the PCPD for a full year yet. What was it about this case that had Nurse Johnson requesting him specifically? It was a question that he had not gotten an answer for yet, though in all honesty, it was a question he had heretofore been negligent to ask, having had far more pressing questions to ask at the onset.

He arched his back, trying to work out a particularly bothersome kink when Nurse Johnson caught his eye and gestured at him impatiently to follow her. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he complied, hoping to get some answers. If he didn't, he'd show the nurse where she could shove her attitude.

He followed her down the all too familiar white corridor and into a darkened room. At the end of his rope, he rounded on her.

"Just what the hell is this all about? Why all the mystery?"

Epiphany pursed her lips angrily and put a hand on her hip as she flipped the light switch, flooding the room in a calm bright light.

"Officer Falconari," she wagged a finger in his face, "mind your tongue."

"Look," Dante began. He was tired, his body ached from being cramped in such a small space for three hours and he'd been off the clock before he'd been asked to go to the hospital. Nothing was making much sense to him and he was ready to hand the case off to one of the officers who was actually on duty, having had enough of being pushed around by the heavy-handed nurse. "I don't know what's going on or why you requested me, but unless I get some answers, I'm going home. Either call another officer in or call me when the victim makes it out of surgery so I can question him."

Epiphany simply glared at him and brushed past him angrily. Dante stared after her, wondering if she was going to answer him or not. Instead, she grabbed up a remote from the hospital bed stand and flicked it at the TV.

"That is what's going on," she pointed at the TV which she'd flipped to a local news station.

Further development on the shootout that occurred at three o'clock this afternoon, leaving one officer dead and the other missing, has lead the authorities to believe that Officer Gregory Vance's partner (a picture of a body wrapped neatly in a body bag, in an alley flashed across the screen), Johnny Zacchara, son of mobster Anthony Zacchara, shot and killed his partner in cold blood before fleeing the city. He is considered armed and dangerous (a headshot of a smiling Johnny Zacchara could be seen just over the anchor's shoulder); if you know anything about his whereabouts contact the police immediately, do not approach him, once again, he is armed and considered highly dangerous…

Epiphany turned the TV off as abruptly as she'd turned it on and swiveled to face Dante. "Want to know how I know Johnny Zacchara didn't do what the authorities are claiming he did?"

Dante nodded dumbly, knowing where this was going, yet needing to hear the words from the nurse who stood stiffly in front of him.

"'Cause that young man is currently taking up a room in my OR and two of my best doctors and one of my best nurses are doing their damndest to try and keep him alive. That man," she gesticulated vehemently, "was shot pointblank three times and it is a miracle that he's still alive. Now I don't know what happened to his partner, but I do know that the time of the shooting is all off for Johnny to have done it because, what with the blood loss and the amount of time it would've taken for our concerned citizen do-gooder to cart him all the way over here, it would be impossible. Someone else shot that other officer and Johnny is being framed for the murder." She let out a pent up burst of air at the end of her speech and looked at Dante, willing for him to believe her, hoping that she'd made the right decision in asking for him rather than Lucky.

"What time did you say he was brought in?"

"About three hours ago now," Epiphany crossed her fingers.

"Making it about five thirty when he was dropped off and it takes about two and a half hours to get to Port Charles," he mentally worked out the math and concluded that Epiphany was correct. "But why ask for me?"

"Because, when that boy wakes up, he's gonna need people on his side who he can trust and, if I judged you correctly, you will do right by him. The real question here, Officer Falconari," Epiphany eyed him coolly, "is whether or not I judged correctly. Will you keep Johnny Zacchara's identity a secret? I can tell you right now that if certain people find out he's returned to Port Charles, that boy's life won't be worth the bullets currently being dug out of him."