Hey Guys,

A HUGE thank you to everyone that has read and reviewed so far. Thank you all so much for your kind words, I really appreciate them.

Hope you enjoy chapter nine!

Chapter Nine

She walked carefully across his living room as he closed the door, wrinkling her nose at the strong smell of tobacco clinging to the air and furnishings in the small room, hanging like a haunting, familiar cloud.

It brought back so many memories.

"Are you smoking again?"

He shrugged, lifting the smeared glass from the table next to the door. "I had one or two today."

"I thought you quit."

"I did." He shrugged again. "I just felt like a smoke today. Is that alright, Doctor Callaghan?"

She bowed her head, a strand of her red hair falling across her pale skin like a tear in the flesh, blood seeping slowly through. "Don…"

"What are you doing here, Katherine?"

"I came to see how you were."

"You came to see how I was?"

"I came to see how you were."

"Isnt it a little late for that, Katherine?"

"Don…" She stepped closer to him, reaching out a tentative hand, clean slender fingers brushing against his light blue shirt, the untied tie still hanging around his neck like he couldn't forget what he was. "Don, don't be like this."

"Be like what, Katherine? Be bitter? Upset?" His smile was harsh, cruel, edged in regret and memories. "I've tried that. I cant do it."

"I never meant for this to happen."

"You never did, Katherine." He reached out a shaking hand, brushing the strand of her hair back off her cheek, close enough to smell her perfuming, haunting and familiar, still clinging to his sheets, his pillows, the pieces of his heart. "That was always the problem."

"Don…"

Their pagers cut through the sudden, brittle silence, screaming in frustration and anger.

He snatched his off his belt, adjusting his grip so he could see it clearly, reluctant to take his eyes off her, abruptly silenced by his impatience. "I have to go."

"Me too." She clipped her pager back on the waistband of her scrubs. "Emergency at the hospital."

"Officer down."

xxxXXXxxx

"Jesus…"

Danny walked in through the door of the room, swinging crazily on shattered hinges. The room still stank of smoke and gunpowder, of fear and blood. He could almost hear the screams, the shots.

"Danny."

"Hawkes." He walked over to him, his case cold even through the gloves covering his fingers. Unconsciously, he flexed his fingers, grimacing at the movement as the ghost of remembered pain rippled along the joints. "What have we got?"

"A mess." Hawkes sighed, standing up in the middle of the shattered living room. "Looks like we got two gunmen and itchy trigger fingers."

"They really made a mess of the place."

"Yeah."

"Where's Lindsay?"

"Bedroom." Hawkes nodded at an open door. Danny peered through, watching as a uniform cop shadowed Lindsay as she walked the grid. "We got a db out there."

"I'll go help her."

"Okay."

Danny lifted his case, walking carefully across the living room, dodging through the carefully circled spent shells, the chalked outlines.

How could anything recover from this?

Jim Steele ducked under the Police tape, his face pale and grim, eyes shadowed and haunted, darting around, seeking out the shadows. "What's going on here, Detective Messer?"

"I don't know." Danny shrugged, feeling the cold, still clinging to Steele's coat like a ghost. "I just got here."

"You just got here." Jim sighed heavily, frustrated, running his hand through his dark hair. "Where's Nick Potter?"

"I don't know."

The uniform cop standing at the door cleared his throat softly, gently, drawing their attention to him. "Bellevue. They took him to Bellevue."

xxxXXXxxx

"Come on, come on." She listened to the phone ring, drumming her fingers on the table. Moving the curtains with a shaking hand, peering out on the darkened streets, searching, seeking.

"Steele."

"Jim! Jim, its Jess. Where are you?"

"I don't have time for this, Jess." His voice sounded odd, strange. Cold and harsh, fighting against some unnamed emotion. "Somethings come up."

"When will you be home?"

"I don't know."

The phone went dead, suddenly, sharply, leaving her speaking to dead air. She stared at it for a second, then dialled again, listening to the ring tone, warm and harsh against her ear, cradled against her shoulder.

"Hey, you've reached Nick Potter…."

xxxXXXxxx

"One DOA." She sighed, her hands and clothes still stained with blood, her hair fallen loose, almost conceding defeat to her exhaustion and sorrow. "Four seriously wounded…" She buried her hands in her pockets, shaking as the cold raced across her body, harsh and uncaring.

"Here." He pulled off his jacket, hanging it off her slender shoulders.

"Thanks." She nodded at the cigarette clutched in his other hand, slowly burning down in the cold, unforgiving night. "Can I have a drag of that?"

"These things will kill you, Katherine." He handed over the cigarette and she took a practised drag, grateful for the warmth, feeling it burning against her fingertips.

"I know." She took another drag, back in control, her professional mask falling into place. "Four seriously wounded. The female's in the OR at the minute. She's touch and go. Jenkins took a couple of hits to the chest. Think she's going to be okay, though.. Hazley has just regained conscious. He got a couple of shots off, hit one of the suspects."

"The child?"

"Okay." She crossed herself, still clutching the cigarette, a dim light in the cold night. "By the Grace of God."

"What about Potter?"

She looked up at him, peering through the haze of cigarette smoke, shaking her head slowly.

"I want you to stay at my place tonight. Just til we sort this mess out."

"I'll be okay, Don. Like you said, I can look after myself."

"Please Katherine."

She looked at him for a second, his blue eyes pleading. "Okay." He started to hunt through his pants pockets, his hands slapping against the fabric. "It's okay, Don. I still…I still have my key."

"Okay." His hand brushed against his badge, pinned on his belt, thinking, lingering. "Where's the suspect?"

"Exam Three."

xxxXXXxxx

"Poor bastard."

"Yeah." Danny lifted another shell from the stained and ruined carpet, dropping it carefully into the evidence bag. "Someone really wanted to make they got him."

"Why?"

"Witness in a trial. Mac was working on the case."

"He had a family."

"I know." He looked up at her from where he kneeled on the floor, her large dark eyes haunted, almost overwhelmed with memories. "And its up to us to make sure that we get enough to get the bastards that did this."

"Danny!"

Hawkes' voice carried clearly through the hushed, subdued remains of the shattered house and home.

"Yeah?"

"I got some shells out here. Police issue."

"be right there."

xxxXXXxxx

"He's in Exam Three."

Steele nodded, his expression distant, cold, haunted.

Flack sighed, looking away, sympathetic. "How's your boy doing?"

"They wont tell me anything. They say they're waiting for the family to get here." Jim's fingers itched, craving a cigarette. First Mike, now Nick. Maybe he was cursed, maybe it was his fault. "They're on their way down."

"You want me to talk to the suspect on my own?"

"No." Steele's eyes locked onto Flack's, dark and cold, angry. "I'm coming with you."

xxxXXXxxx

"Is it done?"

"It's done."

"Wonderful. Thank you, Michael" The Auld Man's face creased in a relieved, grateful smile. "Declan will be home soon."

xxxXXXxxx

It was hard for him to stay focused, stay conscious, his head rebounding against the cold pavement with a sickening thud.

"Fuck you, you Cassidy bastard."

Another blow, and his attacker stepped back, looming over him, his breath pluming out in the frigid air, vaguely aware of them surrounding him.

He spat down on him, spittle mingling with blood as it trickled down his shattered and battered face. Jimmy curled into a ball, trying to shield his bruised and battered form from any further attacks.

"Fuck you, you Cassidy bastard. Tell that to the fucking Auld Man."

xxxXXXxxx

"I want a lawyer!"

"You lost any right to a lawyer when you shot two cops and a DA. When you went into that house with guns drawn."

"Fuck you!" From somewhere he drew the energy to spit, the blood flecked spittle landing like a stain on Jim Steele's rumpled white shirt.

"We want to know where Michael Caffee is. Give up Caffee, and we can work something out. We can protect you from the Auld Man."

"Fuck you!"

Flack glanced at Jim, his mouth drawn in a grim line, his eyes dark and hard. "Close the door."

End of Chapter Nine.