"Love is such a delicate thing that we do." -Simple Song, the Shins

A/N: These dorks belong to Fox, and I just can't seem to get them out of my head.

Riggs stood with his hands on his hips, curly hair askew and shirt predictably untucked as Murtaugh slapped handcuffs on their latest perp, shoving him toward the back of the squad with a little more force than was probably strictly necessary.

"Sit your ass down in there," Roger barked, putting on hand on the back of the man's head and helping him duck into the car. "And I don't want to hear one more smart-ass comment from you, you get me?"

The perp grumbled something in response and Murtaugh slammed the door shut, rolling his eyes in disgust and shaking his head as he approached Riggs.

"Glad it's a Friday?" Martin said. Roger let out a huff and shook his head.

"You have no idea," Murtaugh answered.

"Actually –"

"No, I know, you actually do have an idea," Murtaugh said. "It's just been a shit week and I am more than ready for a break."

"Oh yeah, family camping trip this weekend, right?"

"Well, not anymore," Roger said. They slid into his car and headed toward the station. "Riana wasn't really into the whole thing and Trish had something last minute come up at work, so it's just gonna be me and RJ."

"Ah, some nice father-son bonding time, huh?"

"Yeah, and I think the girls are going to get Riana some new basketball shoes and then get their nails done, so it was probably a win-win."

"Sounds great."

"Yeah." Roger shifted a little bit and threw Riggs one of those concerned looks he always seemed to throw Martin's way. "Are you doing anything – well, not fun, probably, but at least not self-destructive?"

Martin shrugged. "Not particularly. Probably the usual. Drinking, sleeping, drinking some more, you know, just living it up."

Murtaugh shifted some more and Riggs waited for the admonishment he knew was coming, but his partner remained quiet. Finally he spoke without turning to look at Martin.

"You could, uh, you could come along if you wanted to."

"Oh, no Rog, I couldn't do that."

"Well I thought I would just throw it out there."

"Yeah, that was very sweet of you."

"It was, wasn't it? Trish is going to be so proud. All kinds of brownie points right there."

Martin let out a half-hearted chuckle as they pulled up to the station. He climbed out of Roger's car and headed for his truck, feeling that slight sinking feeling he always got at the end of a shift with only his trailer to look forward to.

"Hey, Riggs."

He stopped and turned around; Murtaugh was standing with one leg inside the car, leaning on the door. "Don't do anything stupid this weekend, huh?"

Martin smiled in spite of himself. "Course not. See you Monday, huh Rog?"

"See you later Riggs."

Xxxx"

Riggs went straight to the beach, grabbed a beer, kicked off his boots, and sat on the sand. It was pleasantly warm and the waves, as always, were about as soothing as anything could be at this point. Miranda loved this damn beach; they came here every time they visited LA, Miranda in a sundress with her hair blowing in the wind, laughing as she splashed him and then ran. She had been determined that their baby would love the ocean as much as she did, already had a pack of Little Swimmers tucked under the crib –

Martin shook his head with a low growl and took a long gulp of his beer, ran a hand through his hair and tried to refocus as the pang of loss slammed into him once again. He swore under his breath and shook his head again. He didn't know why he did this to himself, got lost in this cycle of constantly reminding himself of Miranda and of the future they would never have together and then feeling shitty about it. If he could just –

His phone buzzed and he startled, fumbling in his pocket to find it and failing to answer before the call dropped. It buzzed again not three seconds later and this time he brought it to his ear and answered without even looking at who was calling.

"Riggs," he said. Cruz's voice erupted across the line.

"Riggs, thank God, we've got some serious trouble man, one of my CIs told me that his boss is pissed because Mrs. Murtaugh defended the man who killed his son and so he hired a hit man and they're supposed to go tonight -–"

"Whoa, back it up Cruz, take a breath and tell me from the beginning okay?" Even as he spoke

Riggs was getting up, grabbing his weapon and his backup weapon and already getting into his car.

Cruz took a deep breath and started from the beginning. Riggs swore and drove faster.

xxxx

Trish stood at the microwave as the last few kernels of popcorn exploded, then poured it into a bowl and took it over to the couch. Harper was finally asleep and Riana actually seemed to be excited to spend some time with her mother for once, so Trish was feeling pretty good –- not to mention grateful for the camping trip that allowed for a girl's night.

"Did you decide on a movie yet?"

Riana held up two movies, Alien and Jane Eyre. "Are we feeling action or romance?"

"Mmm," Trish hummed, raising an eyebrow. "I'm always in the mood to watch Ripley kick some ass."

Riana grinned and popped the movie into the player, then settled next to Trish with the bowl in between them. Thirty seconds later, there was a pounding at the door and the unmistakable voice of Martin Riggs.

"Want me to pause?" Riana asked.

"Don't worry about it baby, I'll just go see what he wants." Trish headed to the door, growing more than a little concerned as Riggs' knocking continued and grew even more frantic. She opened the door, ready to lay into him for frightening her, but drew up short as soon as she saw Martin's face.

"Riggs, what the hell –"

"Trish, listen to me, you're in danger. I don't have time to explain, but you and your girls need to get upstairs right now."

"Mom?" Riana's voice was tight, high and terrified in a way that Trish had never heard before.

"Martin?"

He stared at her, disconcertingly earnest. "Trish, please –"

"Right. Upstairs right now, Riana. Get Harper from her crib and get in the closet in our room. We'll be right behind you."

Riana scrambled up the stairs, breathing already starting to hitch with sobs, and Riggs shouldered into the room, shutting the door behind him and locking it, then starting to shove the couch toward it. Trish got behind the other side of the couch and helped push it against the door, fear and adrenaline already quickening her heart rate even as she tried to quell the panic she felt rising.

"Martin?"

"There's a hit out on you," he said, breathless and with an air of focused frenzy to him. She'd never seen him like this before. "I'm here to stop it. Backup's on the way, but you need to go upstairs. Now."

He glanced out the window and swore under his breath. "Now Trish, they're here."

Trish took a deep breath and clenched her fists to hide their shaking. "Martin -"

He took a step forward and clasped her hands between his. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you or your girls, okay?" Something cold and metal was slipped into her hands and she gasped, looking down at the gun he was pressing her fingers around. "Take this. Anybody gets past me, you shoot 'em. Don't let anyone into that closet. Now go!"

Trish wrapped her fingers around the gun and nodded, running up the stairs and clambering into the closet, slamming the door after her. Riana had Harper clutched in her arms and was crying softly, shaking with fear. Trish wanted nothing more than to hug both of her daughters and to tell them everything would be okay, but now was the time for strength. The comfort would come later. She stood in front of them with the gun in her hand, legs shoulder-width apart like Roger taught her.

Oh, God, Roger. He would be in an absolute panic, driving back at a frantic pace, and what if he got into an accident on the way -

Gunshots interrupted her spiral into panic and she jolted at the noise. Behind her, Harper started crying and Riana's sobs increased in volume.

"Mom, I'm scared," Riana gasped, voice wobbling and slipping.

"I know baby, me too," Trish said. "But I am not going to let anything happen to you, okay? And neither is Martin."

A few more gunshots and then crashes, glass breaking and wood splintering. She pictured what was happening, vases and dishes being used as weapons, tables cracking under the weight of men being thrown. What the hell was happening down there?

A few moments later - that seemed to stretch into eternities - she could hear footsteps, slow and deliberate, coming into the room. Trish's bedroom door creaked as someone opened it, and it thumped gently as the door hit the wall. Riana stifled a sob and tried to shush Harper through her own tears, and Trish brought the gun up in front of her, pulled the hammer back and held it firmly with both hands.

"Trish? 'S me."

Trish exhaled suddenly, tears pricking at her eyes and hands suddenly losing feeling. She managed to put the safety on the gun and put it on the floor with trembling hands.

"Martin? Oh, thank God I was so worried -"

She wrenched the door open, suddenly desperate for fresh air, and stopped dead at the sight in front of her. Martin was standing, but barely, leaning to one side so sharply that she was surprised he hadn't keeled over already. Blood flowed down from a few cuts on his face, and he had a hand clasped over the left side of his ribcage, blood already squeezing between his fingers.

"Trish, you - you're okay?"

She hurried forward, tried to steer him toward the bed. "We're okay, we're fine, we're all okay," she said, and then Riggs seemed to just fold in on himself, strength leaving him from the feet up.

"Martin!" she gasped, not quick enough to slow his descent. He landed in a crumpled heap, limbs askew, and she rolled him onto his back with a grunt.

"Mom?" Riana asked, finally emerging from the closet, Harper clasped to her chest. "Oh no, Mom, he's -"

"You need to call 911, Ri, right now. Do it!. And when you're done with that grab a towel from the linen closet." Riana scrambled to do as she ordered, and Trish turned her attention back to the man bleeding on the floor.

"Hey Martin, you did so good baby," she said, pressing on the wound still pulsing blood and trying very hard not to panic. "But you need to stay here, okay? Stay here Riggs." He was nearly still under her hands, face colorless and chest rising in shallow heaves. His eyes were already losing focus.

"Mom, here," Riana said, and Trish suddenly became aware of a towel right in front of her face.

Trish took it wordlessly and pressed it to Martin's chest, praying under her breath. Harper was no longer crying, and Riana set her down in the playpen that occupied one corner of the room, then grabbed pillows off of the bed.

"I think he's going into shock," she said, her voice remarkably steady as she tucked the pillows beneath Martin's legs. "My first-aid class said this would help."

"Good thinking," Trish murmured, pressing harder as Martin choked a little, then gasped. His breathing suddenly became much worse than before and his lips started to change from pale to blue. "Riggs, you stay with me, you hear? I am not telling Roger that you got yourself killed! Please," she added, almost as a whisper. Roger had told her what had happened that first night with the sniper, what Riggs had said.

"I miss my girl."

She hadn't even been there, but those words had haunted her ever since. Now, feeling Martin begin to go boneless beneath her hands, they echoed over and over, mocking her. I miss my girl.

"Mom, they're here," Riana said. "I'm gonna go tell them where we are."

Trish nodded numbly, staring at Martin's lax face. He was barely breathing now, and though his eyes were open it was clear he wasn't seeing her. "Martin," she said, loosening the pressure on his wound to cup his cheeks, blood smearing across his face. "Martin, look at me!" He did, finally, eyes sliding to make contact with hers, glazed and full of pain, but more aware than they had been.

"Martin Riggs, stay with me," she said. "She doesn't get you, not yet. We still need you here. Do you hear me? We still need you."

He didn't answer and his eyes slid closed as paramedics and police officers rushed into the room, Riana hot on their heels.

"Mrs. Murtaugh, we're here now, you're okay," someone said, and she blinked, surprised to look up and see the familiar face of Bailey.

"Bailey?" she whispered, sniffling. Cruz was right behind her, kneeling at Martin's head, awkwardly running a hand through the other man's curls. One paramedic was hooking Riggs up to an EKG machine and slipping a blood pressure cuff around his arm as the other radioed in to the hospital, relaying vitals and nodding at the orders they received.

They secured a piece of plastic over the wound, which Trish had up until that point avoided looking at; it was surprisingly small, really, but still cruel and scary as hell, raw and red.

"What's happening?" she asked, only half aware that she was speaking. "What's happening?"

"Ma'am, he's been shot through the lung. He has a sucking chest wound, so we've covered it with a plastic dressing and we're inserting a needle to release some of the air built up in his chest cavity. As soon as that's done we're taking him directly to the nearest trauma center."

The medic who wasn't speaking to her tilted Martin's chin back and pressed a mask over his face, squeezing a bag rhythmically to help him breathe. Everything seemed to move in slow motion: Martin was shifted onto a stretcher, bloodied gloves leaving smears on his chest and face, and there was a pool of blood on the carpet. One of Martin's hands dangled limply from the stretcher before it was tucked neatly up next to his body, and then he was gone.

Trish didn't even have time to grab a trash can before she was vomiting.

"It's okay, Mrs. M," someone - Cruz - said, patting her back. She puked until there was nothing left, then looked up at her daughters, Harper in Bailey's arms, cooing and babbling like nothing had happened, Riana tucked into Bailey's side, eyes red and swollen with crying.

"C'mere baby," Trish whispered. Riana launched herself off the bed and into Trish's arms, and they stayed like that, curled together and crying, for a long time.