Hi. Yeah. It's been a long time. I know. You're all feeling dejected.
Here we go.
"Find out his name, his age, his weight, his social security number, relatives, pets, everything."- Sam/Noah= father/son
Noah looked at the ceiling panels. Forty panels. Always forty.
"It's never thirty nine! It's never forty one! Why does it always have to be forty?!" He continued shouting to no one in particular for several seconds more. He sighed. He squirmed as pain shot through his torso. Stupid morphine counter. And why morphine? Why not something that wasn't addictive? Not that there were many options; the injuries were too severe to manage with non-opiates.
He sighed again. There were still huge bandages on his chest. There was still an IV line stuck in his arm, not to mention seven monitors. Honestly, why did they need so many of those little sticky things anyhow? They ought to find a way to do it just with two or three. There was still a little clear line poking through the bandages to take drainage away. Same old. Same old. Nothing new ever.
Noah blinked to clear his head. He put his hand up to his forehead. Strike that- there was something new. A fever. He had somehow ended up with an infection in the wound- massive as it was, he really couldn't see any way of avoiding it. Dr. McClaine had him on antibiotics, among other things, and Noah wasn't exceedingly worried. He'd survived the initial shooting, after all.
Speaking of which... What had happened to Royce? Presumably he had been caught. Still, with Sam you never knew. Both of them had a nasty habit of shooting people. In the fish tank or six feet under; either way, Noah reasoned, Royce was out of their way.
He looked around. He hated when he stopped thinking. When he stopped thinking, he didn't have anything else to think about. And that meant boredom. Lots and lots of boredom. He had been used to boredom in the Marshal's office. After all, it isn't every day that a federal prisoner escapes. But not being able to move your legs at all- and not because of a restraint- really got old. He supposed it was a different kind of boredom altogether.
A thought popped into his mind. Trisha. What was he going to do about that situation? She was his girlfriend for... Over five years now. Ever since the Kimble case. Actually, she was a Kimble, but nonetheless.
He'd known at the time that it wasn't good to be dating a suspect, but in Trisha's case, there really wasn't any avoiding it. The girl had spunk. She wasn't afraid to fight him if she thought he was wrong. And if she realized he was right, then she would be equally as eager to accept it. He liked that about her. He loved that about her. Far too much for her inner and outer beauty to be spoiled by the likes of Randall or Ralph or whatever his name was- he didn't bother to remember that joker's name.
He supposed that most people would call it chivalrous, or even old fashioned, but if it was, then chivalry was good. Chivalry was a nice way to let someone know that you were not only a gentleman, but also that you bothered to care.
Noah did care. He cared a lot. If he could spare someone from an unknown fate, then he'd do it.
He sighed. Maybe that was his flaw, too. He cared a bit too much. He always cared too much.
He stared up at the ceiling. With the forty panels. He sighed again. Brother, did this get old fast.
Noah glanced at his belongings. What was left of them, anyhow. Cooper had dropped them off earlier, rather unceremoniously, might he add, in a cardboard box. Just his badge, his notebook, his pants, and his belt. No shirt, and they took his handcuffs, too. What could he say? He really liked that shirt he had been wearing at Lorali. And it had ended up as sliced-up shreds in the biohazard dump, soaked in blood. It wasn't as if he would have traded his life for that thing, but still. It was a really nice shirt.
Noah looked up at the ceiling. He shifted his shoulders, and it reminded him exactly how much he hated the bandages. They were annoying. It wasn't just that it hurt, either. It itched really, really bad. Worse than insect bites- even worse than the cast he had worn as a fifth-grader when he broke his leg. There was also some sort of yellowish fluid that had coagulated at the edges, making it feel prickly when he moved.
He smiled at the nurses as they slowly filed into the room. He took a glance at the clock. He already knew that it was fifteen 'til three. They always changed his bandages at fifteen 'til three. And he hated it. Every time they had to strap him down and hold his arms so he wouldn't hurt himself. It wasn't as if he had a personal vendetta against the nurses- it just hurt. Five minutes of pure misery three times every single day.
Of course, he didn't know if it was as bad as the time he earned his stripes, or if it was worse. This was more painful, but it was over quickly. That lasted for hours on end. He still remembered the time he had earned his stripes. How could he forget- he still had the scars on his wrists. The very wrists that the nurses were now grasping and holding to the bedspread.
One of them closed the curtain to his room. He sighed, then nodded for the nurses to continue with their duties.
Meanwhile, in Chicago...
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen. This," Sam Greard produced a picture from a file "Is our fugitive. His name is Daniel Walker, loose somewhere in Illinois, wanted for a list of offenses as long as the elevator cables... including first degree murder, murder of federal agents, assault, extortion, and a whole list of other things I haven't the patience to name. We are working with the Overlanders to catch this man. They have been tracking him for nearly five months now, which gives them seniority on the case. They will be an authority in all of these matters- if you're talking to them, you're talking to me- Got it?"
The entire room gave a collective nod.
Biggs raised his hand to speak.
Sam pointed to him. "Yeah?"
"Exactly who, in the way of federal agents, did he kill?"
"Christopher Rettaman, as well as the rest of the Suburbanites, in a bomb explosion. They were chasing an arsonist, but they had actually stumbled upon a rather large part of Walker's network. They didn't expect anything."
Ezra looked down, regretful, and Sam patted him on the head.
"The Overlanders took up both cases, since they were both dealing with Walker. They've been chasing him ever since."
Sam paused to see if any one else had questions. When there were none, he continued.
"Alright, let's go get 'im!"
No sooner had he finished speaking than the whole room was abuzz. They soon vacated.
Ezra was still sitting in his chair, staring ruefully at the floor.
Sam put his hand on Ezra's shoulder. Ezra shuddered violently at his touch. Sam looked on in pity. "You OK, kid?"
Ezra gave a short sniff, then looked up at Sam. Red tear stains trailed down his cheeks. He looked down again. He gave a nearly inaudible mumble/whisper that Sam didn't quite catch.
"Say what?"
"I said, 'I should be with them'." He said, still barely audible. "I should be a name on that file." He looked up at Sam. Tears now flowed freely down his cheeks. "You have no idea how close I came to being just a name on his criminal record." He looked down again.
Sam gripped his shoulders and forced him to make eye contact. "Listen, kid. We need you here. Right here, right now. We're a team. You can't check out on us." Sam paused. "Were you in the military, kid?"
Ezra steeled his jaw. "Yes, sir. United States Army."
"Then you know that you can't let you buddies hang in the air. You have their backs. And they have your back, too. Don't you remember that, kid?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good boy. Now," Sam sat on the table. "What happened back there? When Chris died?"
Ezra's icy blue eyes lowered in shame. "I didn't have their backs."
"I don't believe that."
"I was stuck in Command when everyone else went into that cursed warehouse!" His breath caught. "Chris was worried about me. I had shown a lot of promise in initials, and he didn't want to endanger me if things went south. He stuck me in Command instead of on the field making an arrest... I was so upset... I wanted to be with my team." He slammed his fist down on the table. "I should have been with them! I should have seen the bomb! I should never have let them go into that warehouse in the first place!" He put his head in his hands.
"You can't blame yourself for every 'should have, could have, didn't'. It was just how things went."
Ezra's lithe frame trembled.
"Listen, just take it easy for a few minutes. You can stay in here and sort yourself out, and come out afterwards. It'll be fine."
"I want to catch him, Sam. I want to catch him so bad. I want to make him pay for what he did to my team." Ezra cursed under his breath as he shook.
Sam patted him on the shoulder and stood up."We all do, son." He strode to the double doors. "We all do."
Cosmo was waiting outside.
"What was that all about, Sammy? The whole office thinks Ezra is nuts!"
Sam looked over his shoulder. "Ezra's just suffering from a nice little case of survivor's guilt. He'll pull through, I'm pretty sure."
"Well, I've got two pieces of news you don't wanna hear."
"Alright, spit it out."
"Savannah called. Noah doesn't want Trisha to know he's alive."
"What?! Why not?"
"I don't know, and neither does Savannah. Speculation?"
"Sure."
"Noah's depressed. He faces never walking again, and he doesn't think he's worthy of her anymore."
Sam gave an offhand profanity. "Hm. Well, what's the other piece of bad tidings?"
"Trisha is coming here... with Dana. Trisha sounded pretty worried, too. Said that Noah hadn't called her. Remember, she barely even knows about the Sheridan case. She only knows what he told her; And that's precious little because he never wanted to worry her, if you remember."
Sam let out a string of curses, rather loudly as well. A visit from Trisha was truly and undeniably the worst thing that could happen in the current situation.
And we have a cliffhanger for the next chapter!
!ADVERTISING PLOY AHEAD!
So, yes, guilty as charged. BlueEyedAuthor and I have been plotting to bring our two AUs together for quite some time now. You can continue reading just my story, or you could go check out The Other Kimble too (HINT HINT!).
And this story might take the back burner for a little while, because all of my Treklockians from the Shire are feeling rather dejected.
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