Johnny pays a visit to the station. One that's long overdue. Pre-SR2.

The alarm goes off at the same time. Early, far too early for anyone sane to be awake, but he drags himself up and out of bed regardless. It's what he does, what he's supposed to do, but gravity always did its best to persuade him to stay.

Troy wiped his eyes as he sat on the edge, a headache already trying to kick in, and took in a slow breath. Light was just starting to peek through the blinds, and he watched it scatter across the wall.

"I don't see how you can do it. Getting up before the damn sun."

He held his head in his hands and saw that smile she'd give. The soft one that popped up in quieter moments when she'd relax next to him, and shook it away fast.

"Don't know, V. Wish I did," he muttered, getting to his feet.

Coffee came first. That was where he started, and by the time he was done he felt like he was standing more on solid ground. The shower helped kick him the rest of the way away as he ran a hand through his hair, and he took a moment to rest his forehead against the tile.

The headache lingered, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the water ran over him. It was the kind that crept up on you and sunk in deep, and the heat did little to help him unwind. He rubbed the back of his neck and imagined another set of hands helping, one applying just the right amount of pressure as another ran down his back.

It wasn't as clear a memory as it used to be, but he could still remember the feel of her nails along his skin. The slow trail they made as he leaned into her, and he shut the shower off before the pang could hit.

He dried off fast, pulling on his clothes and uniform as he went through the rest of his routine. Shirt, pants, belt, badge, the whole nine yards. The shave left him with a nick under his chin as he cleaned up, and he eyed the spot as a dot of red welled up. The sting left him pressing a finger to it as he checked for any other scrapes, and he rinsed the rest of his face off once he'd finished, taking a long look at the mirror.

Troy felt worn, the circles under his eyes reminding him that sleep was the cure for most ills when caffeine wasn't, and felt the corner of his mouth tug down. When he grabbed his tie, he let it sit around his neck for a few minutes, the shirt still half open, and he didn't know what to do with the cop staring back at him.

"Chief," he corrected. It didn't sound right and he doubted it ever would.

Even with the badge and the uniform. He went through the motions as he knotted the tie, and by the time his hat was on he was exactly what he was supposed to be.

He left the room and didn't bother to check another mirror.

"I thought we went over this already. There's no trace of the old power structure anymore. We can't keep on searching for ghosts around every corner."

"They've been here for years," Troy insisted. "If the Carnales were gone we wouldn't keep on getting scattered reports of dealers trying to run in their old territory. We need people on this. Leaving it alone is only going to make it worse."

Commissioner Verne sighed and picked up the folder in front of him again. Most of the information in it was old, but the pictures that he glanced over when he opened it were new. "And you believe they're going to rebuild?"

"I wouldn't put it past them. All it takes is one, and why should we give them that chance?"

Verne let the folder drop and pushed it back towards Troy. "It's one problem on a mountain of others."

"I'm aware of that-"

"And aren't there more pressing matters to take care of? You need to expand your scope, because gangs aren't your only concern anymore. I thought that was clear."

Troy shut his mouth, but couldn't bite his tongue. "It is, but I know why I'm here."

"You do?"

Verne's eyebrows went up and Troy cursed himself for the slip, but pushed on. "Stilwater's safer without the gangs, but not if we ignore them again. I've got insights, but I can't use them like this."

The older man chuckled, and folded his arms on his desk. "Give it time. You're still adjusting, remember?"

Adjusting. Right. Troy frowned and reached for the folder as calmly as possible.

"All things will be dealt with once we're able." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and pulled over another set of papers. "Now, what we should be focusing on right now is the shortage of officers. Focusing on this problem could lead to headway in the other."

"Yes, sir," Troy said, with a short nod.

"It's coming together right now, but I would like your input before we move forward."

There was a sharp knock and the two turned to the door as it cracked open to reveal Verne's secretary. "Sir, there's an important call on hold for you."

"And?"

"It's the mayor."

Troy cleared his throat and stood up. "Looks like it's my cue to exit. I've got a few things to check on downstairs as well. We'll be in touch, sir?"

Verne gave him the go ahead, and Troy didn't wait for another reply before slipping out.

He didn't make any stops until he was within sight of his office, pausing only a moment to give Linda a greeting before slamming the door shut behind him.

Pressing a hand to his temples he wandered over to his desk and tossed the folder onto it. He was reaching for the cigarettes in his pocket when another set of knocks made him hesitate.

"It's open," he said, letting his hands fall to his sides.

"Chief Bradshaw?" It was Linda, and she appeared concerned. "I have a message from the catering company in charge of the fundraiser for next week."

He tried not to scowl and crossed his arms. "What did they have to say?"

"It wasn't so much as a what, as a question of which. Tuna salad or turkey?"

"Which?" The pressure of the headache ticked back up again as he groaned. "They lost it. Of course they did. At this point I really don't give a-"

Something went off, the sound muffled, but distant. Then another, and by the time the third echoed from outside the alarms kicked on, and he dragged Linda into his office.

"Hey, stay here and don't move, got it?" he said, pulling his gun out. Linda gave him a series of nods, and in return he handed her his keys. "Lock the door and don't let anyone in until you recognize their voice."

He cracked the door open and darted outside, waiting for it to close before moving on. A few office workers lingered, hiding underneath their desks as Troy kept on going, and he motioned for them to stay put as he went ahead. The sounds increased in frequency as he reached the exit, and when he cracked the door there was no mistaking that sound.

Officers ran down the stairs to the lower level, their guns out, and another shot went off. Troy felt his fingers begin to ache as he kept his handgun close, and when he crept towards the stairs he picked up on the first set of yells.

A cold sweat settled over him as he listened closely and waited.

That when he heard him. Loud, furious, and insistent. Troy froze as Johnny's voice rang out again, this time in a direct challenge.

"Where is he? Where the fuck is he?" Another shot went off, and Troy felt his stomach drop out. "You know why I'm here! Get out of my fucking way!"

He'd seen this play out so many times and in so many different ways in his dreams. The end never changed – Johnny found his mark and sometimes Troy let him – but he'd almost let it go. Believed maybe it didn't have to end this way after all.

"So that's what you're doing? Hiding behind them?"

The yelling increased in volume as he heard a struggle break out, and Troy snapped himself out of it as he made his way down the stairs.

The officers posted at the bottom held up a hand when they saw him, but Troy wasn't watching them. He was glancing ahead at the bodies left scattered in the hall, and the cracked glass. He reached the group struggling to wrestle Gat to the ground, and held his breath as he waited for one side to overtake the other. It took four to get him to stay in place, and another to finally get him to hit the floor.

Troy had to wrench his eyes away from the sight as he continued down, and when the others tried to hold him back he shoved against them. That's when Johnny stopped struggling, and when Troy took his first step towards him he felt pinned to the spot. The cracked glasses on Gat's face couldn't hide a thing if they tried.

One of the officers caught up to Troy, nudging him when it became clear that none of it was registering. "Repeat that."

"You shouldn't be down here, sir. He's secure, but he's..."

"I know," Troy replied, unable to look away.

Johnny snarled as they dragged him up and forced him to stand. "What don't you fucking know?"

Troy searched for something to say as the cop beside him – Anderson, he recalled now that their face was registering – drew her weapon. "Stand down."

"Get fucked," Johnny said, pulling them forward with him.

"Stand down!"

The gun went up and Troy grabbed for it, angling it away from the group in front of them as it went off. He twisted back, the handgun still in Anderson's grip, and had a moment to remember that giving your back to someone was a gesture of trust.

Leaving it open to someone who used to trust you was another thing entirely.

The shot went off, and he knew he'd earned it.

In all his life he'd never actually taken a bullet. He'd been grazed by some, and dodged more than enough to fill his clothes full of holes, but hadn't been unlucky enough to get tagged.

Waking up in the hospital later he made a mental note to scratch that off of his non-existent bucket list, and tensed as he felt the first wave of pain come on. It hadn't nicked anything vital when the bullet had hit his left arm, but the higher shot had tried to go for it, coming all too close to hitting the bone.

And his heart, he mused, but that was already obvious.

It didn't take long for them to get him patched up and out of there, but his arm wasn't going to be much help in the following weeks until it mended. Movement was supposed to be kept to a minimum, and when he shifted it experimentally a day after leaving the hospital he'd instantly regretted it.

He was also regretting it now, but the cold room wasn't meant to be comfortable, and with Johnny on the other end of the table Troy knew he wasn't supposed to be either. It'd been over a week since Troy had seen him, but the bruises covering him were fresh. Some were likely earned on the way to the cramped interrogation room, and Troy felt his arm ache in response.

"You want to start this or should I?" Troy asked, his tone tentative.

Johnny tilted his head away, and his eyes traveled over him briefly before settling on the wall. His wrists and ankles were chained together, his hands linked behind him to the chair in turn, and Troy wondered how well any of it would hold.

"Guess that's a no. I'm not surprised."

Gat's cheek twitched as he remained silent, and Troy waited a beat for carrying on.

"Do you know where they want to send you?" Johnny kept on staring at the wall opposite him and Troy continued. "Death Row. They want to give you a one-way ticket there. Not surprising considering what happened."

He shrugged, the chain between his hands clanking against the back of his chair.

"Not even going to argue with that?"

"I'm in the middle of a blueberry delight. You can say whatever the fuck you want, Chief."

Troy had been tapping his fingers against the metal, but laid his hand flat after that. "That's not how it works."

"It isn't?" Johnny turned and leveled his gaze at him. "Thought that was the only way it worked with you."

"No. Never was."

"So, you weren't playing both sides. Not at all." Johnny tilted his head a fraction. "Not with those calls, or moments where you had to be somewhere else, don't even try to fucking deny it."

Troy didn't try. "I had my reasons."

"Right," Gat said with a sneer. "You did."

"But that doesn't change why I did what I did."

"Ah. Which was?"

"The Row couldn't go on like that. Not with any of the others running it, and not with us."

"Why the fuck not? We had a grip on it! Julius knew exactly what he was doing-"

"No, he didn't," Troy cut in, tensing. "He knew what he wanted, but he didn't give a damn thought to any of you. Not a single one. Not Lin, not you or Dex, and sure as hell not V."

The chains holding him to the chair went taut as Johnny pulled forward, and Troy gripped the table. "You don't get to talk about her."

Lin flashed through his mind, a cigarette between her fingers as she lit it, and Troy tried not to recall the shape of her car when they had found it. "That's not for me, is it?"

"Not when you twist the knife and expect me to like it."

Troy flexed his fingers and held them above the table, eventually resuming more tapping.

"And you worked your way through every last one of us. New blood, old, it was all the fucking same to you. What you wanted was someone to talk, and yeah, you've got an eye. You went for the best fucking one."

The tapping stopped.

"I get it." Johnny tilted his head and closed his eyes. "V's not hard to figure out. She wanted your eye. Worked for it. Decent pair of tits, nice legs. Probably not bad at sucking cock either once you could get her to shut up." He paused and shrugged. "Probably. She talked all day and talked all night. Who wouldn't try?"

Troy didn't move or blink. Just slowly felt his hand clench into a fist.

"You had her going too." Gat opened his eyes and clucked his tongue. "Easy. Not as fun when it's not a challenge, but sometimes you can't be picky."

"Stop." Troy's voice was quiet as he leaned forward on the desk. "I wanted to help you."

"Well, look where we are now, eh? Julius is who knows fucking where, V's six feet under, and you're here, trying to play at something that died a long time ago. You want to help me?" Johnny asked, leaning forward as well. "Cut me loose."

"Johnny-"

"Don't you fucking dare!" he yelled. "You are not one of us! You don't get to look at us or talk to us like a few fucking words can fix everything. Like any of that shit would actually mean something coming from you."

"I did." It did.

"You didn't do a motherfucking thing."

Gat spat at him, and Troy felt his teeth strain under the pressure of his jaw.

"You want to know what she said?"

No. Troy canted his head and wiped his face.

"He'll be there. He'll fucking be there, because that's what he does."

He could imagine the fight they had. How V had to have pushed while Johnny pushed back. "And you believed her?"

Johnny's mouth became a thin line.

"I wanted you to walk. Both of you. Talked to Julius about it and had every avenue covered."

"After what? Losing everything? Go fuck yourself."

"You were both free to go. No one would've laid a hand on you."

"And like any motherfucking pig would've let us go. Did you really think any of that would change with you up front? Feeding us your fancy lines about how it doesn't have to end this way?"

"Because this was the better option?" Troy asked, gritting his teeth. "Coming here and pissing it all away?"

Gat's mouth twitched as he sat back. "It'd take care of you."

Troy felt his lungs burn as he held onto the breath there, and let it out in a short laugh. "Sure. It'd do that. And after?"

"Didn't matter."

"It didn't...matter." Troy's knuckles had gone white as he clenched them, and when Johnny's stare didn't waver he felt his grip tighten. "Say that again."

Johnny raised his chin, and the only thing Troy could hear when he stood was the sound of his chair screeching against the floor.

"Knowing what you have, you'd throw that all away for this. One clear shot." Gat watched him move, his steps slow and steady as he came within range, but not close enough. "One chance to set things right?"

"Yeah. Something like that," he said.

Troy's upper arm throbbed, the sensation picking up, and he resisted the urge to put his hand over it. "Well, you're a piss-poor shot when it counts."

"Won't miss again," Gat replied, his voice dropping low.

The ache running through his arm hit hard, but Troy didn't flinch. "I know."

Still, he'd walked in with a gun on his person. The weight of it on him grew heavier with each movement, and when Johnny's eyes had skimmed it earlier Troy had felt his fingers twitch.

"So why haven't you left yet?"

"Hell if I know," Troy admitted, wetting his lips. "They told me not to come in here."

"Can't imagine why."

"Thought I owed you more than that." Troy felt his fingers twitch again, but let his cigarettes stay in his pocket. "Something closer to the-"

"What's another fucking drop? We're done."

Truth. Troy let the word die, and it was bitter all the way through. "...We are, aren't we?"

He took a step back, then two. When he turned, he heard Johnny shift. The metal of the chair strained, and a laugh followed it, hollow and nothing like the person doing it.

"You weren't going to tell her, were you?"

Troy stopped dead in his tracks.

"About any of it? You were going to lie to her up until the last fucking minute."

He felt his mouth open, but couldn't get the words out. "I was."

"When?"

"I was going to tell both of you."

"Right. When it wasn't your neck on the line anymore. I get it."

He pivoted, and Johnny laughed again. "You do."

"Yeah, I do." Johnny smiled, every inch of it unsettling."And you're lucky she'll never get a chance to find out."

Troy took that last step, and Johnny collided with him. His head flew into his face, sending him into the table and by the time he reached the floor he couldn't see past the pain running through him.

He heard clanking in the background, yelling, and when he blinked, he saw only the dull white ceiling above. A few people surrounded him soon after, their mouths moving fast, but he didn't pay any mind to them. Only pushed himself up with his good arm as blood ran down his face, just as an officer cracked Johnny across his with their nightstick.

Something came out of his mouth. Troy tried to say it again, but felt himself pitch to the side when someone grabbed his arm. He couldn't push them off. Everything hurt as his head swam.

He waited for the shot again. Waited for it.

It didn't come.