Angelina Acomb

When she got the phone call, it had played out exactly as she had always feared. Ally had called to give her the worst news.

Mark was taken to the ICU, having been shot. By Toni Rosello.

She couldn't think straight as she tried to choose a sweater to put on. She needed to get ready to leave. Ally and Eric were going to be there any minute. She shouldn't be struggling to choose something to wear. Just choose one!

She realized she was crying and wiped at her cheeks.

Somehow, she had gotten to the floor. There was a dust bunny under her bed. Her knees throbbed. Her ears were ringing.

And the tears just kept pouring.

Warm hands on her shoulders and arms engulfed her. She recognized the smell of fresh laundry and Peter's body wash. "Ange. It's going to be alright. Let me help you. Come on."

She didn't remember much beyond the apartment.

Darkness. Movement. Lights.

It was beginning to rain. The cold didn't bother her. But the splash of raindrops jolted her awake.

She was walking to the hospital, the white building and the familiar red cross a beacon that wrenched her back to reality.

The smell of rubbing alcohol was like a sharp sting in her brain.

Will was there, an oversized blazer around her shoulders. Her dress was red. The dark fabric looked off. Wet. But not with rain.

There was blood on her knees. Blood stained her dress. And the suit jacket, despite the stains, was familiar.

She had bought it for him last Christmas. Tears made her vision blurry, once again. She wondered if it was Mark's blood.

"Angie," Will turned and threw her arms around her neck, pulling her in a trembling hug. "He's in surgery right now." Will smelled of copper and gunpowder and the ivory soap her brother had used since they were kids. She pulled her close, shutting her eyes tight and holding on for dear life.

"Please tell me he'll live," she whispered, praying to God and anyone that would listen. "Please. No matter what, don't let Mark die."

No one responded.

David Tapp

David Tapp shook his head as Toni Rosello's face disappeared behind the zipper of the oversized black body bag. It was one of their largest ones, XXXL, and the fucker barely fit.

He watched the coroners try to hold the seams together as they pushed the bulk down to pull the zipper up. Tapp wished the warm and fuzzy feelings of finally catching the bad guy would sink in.

But it didn't.

It just didn't feel right, the way it all ended.

And he had a creeping feeling in his gut, like a rot with roots. It was spreading inside, an itching burn that promised that this wasn't the last of their problems.

This city seemed to love attracting criminals of a whole new magnitude of pain in the ass.

Sing appeared by his side. "Looks like there's already violence on 9th and Cicero. Rosello's main stomping grounds are going through territory grabs from his underlings. Sounds like Zietta Rosello is trying to keep things under control and failing."

Tapp nodded, not surprised. "How's Hoffman?"

Sing raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't look good. Matthews and Kerry are at ICU with Maddox. He's in surgery."

Tapp sighed. "And the wire?"

"It gave us enough. He gave a whole monolog to Hoffman right before Maddox showed up. Good ol' Toni didn't expect a thing. He just had to run his mouth, admitting to all sorts of convictable offenses. We got him and enough dirt to keep the Rosellos at bay."

Tapp nodded. "Good. Let's get this all wrapped up so we can tell Grissom to put out the news that this city is finally free of Toni Rosello."

"Detectives," Lindsey Perez greeted as she and Peter Strahm arrived on the scene. "Before we fly back to Washington, we wanted to thank you for your work."

"We'll be sure to send copies of all records and evidence to the Bureau."

"Good. We hope Hoffman pulls through," Strahm forced a grimace, clearly trying to show sympathy. "I admit, I was surprised he put himself out there. If it wasn't for him, we'd probably still be standing around with our thumbs up our asses."

"And Maddox dead," Sing muttered under his breath.

Tapp shook hands with the feds and watched them leave. He had a feeling it was going to be the last time he'd see those two kids. Which was a shame. They were damn good cops.

"Strahm," Sing had slunk to talk to him in a softer voice. He heard bits and pieces, Maddox' name being dropped. He wasn't sure what about, though he had an inkling that Strahm and Maddox had a thing at some point.

Sounded like Strahm intended to part without saying goodbye.

It was how life was, sometimes.

Tapp remembered when Tiffany would get mad when he had to drop whatever he was doing and report straight to work. It was part of why she had left him, the constant moving. For people like them, romance always took backseat.

Besides. Tapp, though he often tried to keep his nose out of everyone's business couldn't help but smile. If Hoffman pulled through, looked like Maddox would finally be off the market. This was good. It meant most of the thirsty clowns would stop getting so distracted whenever she walked by.

After she left Frank, productivity had noticeably slowed.

He sighed, the reality of the end of the task force sinking in. He'd have to go back on generic cases. The typical braindead assignments. He almost wished another thrilling case would show up sooner than later. Otherwise, it was going to get boring fast.

Daniel Rigg

Daniel Rigg had been amongst the many boys in blue who heard the news. A dark cloud had set over the station. All, even those who had dismissed Mark Hoffman as a no-good sellout, had become grim with guilt as one of their own was holding on by a thread.

He wanted to go straight to the hospital. But Grissom had ordered all hands to remain on station. He had to go patrol. There was a call of a robbery and it was his turf. So he went to investigate.

Despite all the chaos from the sting operation, it had been a slow couple of weeks. There hadn't been too much to do beyond patrolling and checking in with the news.

It was raining. Cold. He internally groaned, knowing the robbery had taken place at a park. When he arrived to back up the officer on the scene, he recognized one of the suspects currently handcuffed and sitting on a curb. A skinny man with a weasley face. Beside him was an emaciated young woman who looked more dead than alive, her eyes blackened sockets.

"Cecil Adams," Rigg shook his head in disapproval. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Fuck off, pig," Cecil snapped. "I ain't saying nothing."

"No need," the officer on the scene turned. "It seemed these two had a brilliant idea of distracting tourists and lifting their valuables off them. When one of them fought back, it got violent."

"Charges?"

"For this one," the officer nodded down to Cecil, "Assault, robbery, conspiracy to commit a robbery. And this one," the woman was gestured next, "aiding and abetting, robbery, and conspiracy."

Rigg nodded. "All right. I'll take them in. Hey," Rigg squatted down to the woman, her hair stringy. She shied from him. "What's your name?"

She was trembling. He assumed she was a junkie, desperately in need of a fix.

"Amanda."

"Okay, Amanda. A word of advice. Keep clear of this guy." He looked over at Cecil. "He's nothing but trouble."

She said nothing, only stared at him with an intensity that made his blood cold.

Shit. She's not gonna listen to me. He sighed and straightened up, preparing to take them back to the station.