A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long! Life got crazy, and I maybe forgot about a holiday fic exchange in another fandom I signed up for ages ago, so... Anyway, at long last, the next chapter! Hope you enjoy. Also, pardon any blaring medical mistakes - I do as much research as I can, but then I still have to BS it and hope it sounds somewhat reasonable. :)

Also, thank you for the reviews and the gentle nudges to keep writing! I appreciate them all.

xxxx

The family waiting room they'd put Trish and the girls in was quiet, its walls painted a drab, generic green, a few parenting magazines from the year before scattered around. Trish and Riana had commandeered the comfiest looking couch, and now Riana was sleeping fitfully, tucked into Trish's side, and Harper was sleeping on Trish's legs with her arms flung out above her head.

Every so often Bailey or Cruz would pop in to make sure they were doing okay; it had been Bailey who got them juice to help their blood sugar after the inevitable adrenaline crash, Cruz who had gently told them what he knew about Riggs' condition. And now it was Trish who waited for her husband, waited for word on the man who had saved her family, and tried to forget how hard it had been to scrub Riggs' blood from her hands. Trish sighed and blinked back tears for what felt like the hundredth time. Damn, she hadn't felt this emotional since it was Roger that she was waiting for.

That thought, of course, made her choke up even more, so she pressed her head to Riana's and tried to ride it out the best she could. Only a few moments had passed before she heard movement outside and then RJ was rushing in, hugging her tightly before sitting next to Ri. Harper woke with a startled cry and Trish stood, comforting her daughter automatically and staring at the door with tears in her eyes. She let out a sob when Roger walked in and before she was even aware of moving his arms were wrapped around her, Harper tucked between them, and Trish was crying - again - with her face pressed into his shoulder.

"Shh," he whispered. "I'm here." His hand pressed heavy and solid against the back of her head and she felt herself relax, at ease in a way that only Roger could make her.

"I love you," she mumbled into his shirt. "And I was so damn scared I would never see you again."

"Shh," he repeated and let out that low squeak he always made when he was trying to hold his emotions in. Harper squirmed between them and let out a whimper, the kind that foretold imminent screaming. "C'mere baby girl," Roger said, holding his arms out. Trish handed the baby over with no small measure of relief, as if the burden she had been holding all night, literally standing between her children and danger, was finally released.

Trish walked back to the couch and sat down next to RJ, unsurprised when Riana scrambled to her other side.

There was a knock on the doorframe and Avery walked in, face as drawn as Trish had ever seen it. She was suddenly cognizant of the fact that he had probably been right outside during their little reunion and heard the whole thing, but she was grateful that he had given them space.

"How are you guys holding up?" Avery asked, pulling a chair up so that it was facing the couch.

"Better now," Roger said. It was the truth, of course, but now that the immediate relief had passed, Trish realized that Riana and RJ were looking exhausted, and Harper was squirmy and starting to get fussy. They needed to sleep.

"I'm thinking you'll be wanting to settle down somewhere for the night, so you can get some sleep," Avery said. "We'll have officers there, of course, until we know for sure that the threat against you has been neutralized, so for now we'll set you up in a safehouse. I know it's not optimal, considering the night you've had, but even if your house was secure it's a crime scene, so that's the best we can do for now."

Trish sighed and nodded. "I understand, and I'm grateful for your help, Captain. I think sleep is exactly what these kiddos need right now."

Roger nodded next to her, but years of experience -not to mention having somewhat conflicted feelings of her own - meant that she could easily see that he had some concerns. She was pretty sure she knew what they were, too.

"You can stay here," she said quietly, squeezing his knee. "We'll be alright." He shook his head and his lips thinned in displeasure; he was gearing up for a rant, probably a slightly hysterical one.

"Roger, he's gonna need someone and we both know that should be you. I would tell you if we couldn't handle this. You know that, right? You know that I would tell you."

Roger exhaled loudly and nodded. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay. Okay. Captain, how's it looking at the safehouse right now?"

Avery gave him a tight nod. "We're looking good, Murtaugh. Bailey has volunteered to help your family get situated and take the first shift, and Cruz is going back to the station to help track down the people responsible for the attack on your house tonight. As soon as you're ready to go we can escort you over there."

Trish gently pulled Roger's head forward until their foreheads touched. "I'm okay," she whispered. "The girls are okay. We're all going to be fine. Now go make sure that partner of yours is okay too."

xxxx

Cahill came in maybe an hour into Roger's vigil, hair thrown up into a messy bun, wearing large glasses and sweatpants and looking generally about as disheveled as he had ever seen her. She also came bearing two cups of coffee, one of which she handed to him as she sat down in the chair next to him and sighed heavily.

"How are you holding up?"

Roger took a sip of the coffee before shrugging. "Oh, you know. Family got threatened, partner got shot, it's been a great day." He didn't need to look at her to know what face she was making, that expression somewhere between compassion and concern, with just a sprinkle of consternation. "It sucks, but I guess I'm holding up about as well as I could be," he said finally.

"Sounds about right," Cahill said. "Have you heard anything yet?"

"Not since he went into surgery."

"Damn."

"Yeah." Roger took another drink of the coffee, feeling slightly more awake. "What'd the captain tell you?"

"Someone attacked your house. Riggs stopped them but took a bullet."

"Yep, that about sums it up," Roger said.

"Pretty intense."

"Yeah, you're telling me. I've got like, ten pools of blood scattered around my house, and my family's in hiding." He hesitated a minute before adding, "Plus my partner's got a bullet in his chest and he's already half suicidal on a good day, so that's, you know, not very reassuring."

Maureen leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and interlocking her fingers beneath her chin. "You've been good for him," she said finally. "You and your family. I think - I hope - you've given him a reason to try."

"I hope so. I'll kick his damn ass if not." Roger shook his head and aimed a half-smile at Cahill. "He's annoying as hell, and crazy to boot, but he has a way of growing on you."

Maureen laughed aloud at that and nodded. "Yeah, you're telling me," she said. "I've dealt with a lot in my time with LAPD, but Riggs is certainly one of a kind."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Ronnie Delgado, of all people. Roger glanced up at him and did a double take, then frowned. It wasn't uncommon for members of the police force to hold a vigil for wounded officers and detectives, of course, and there were a few officers scattered throughout the waiting room for Riggs, but he couldn't remember a single time the district attorney had dropped by.

"Mr. Delgado, uh, hi," he said finally, blinking. He stood and went to hold his hand out, before realizing that he was still holding his coffee cup. Damn, but he needed a nap.

"Detective Murtaugh," Delgado said, shaking Murtaugh's newly freed hand. "How is he?" The older man didn't even attempt a smile, and his face looked pinched with what Roger realized was probably concern.

"Still in surgery," he said. "Do you - I mean, I just -" He was saved from further floundering by Maureen, who came up to stand beside him.

"Mr. Delgado, it's good to see you again. I only wish it could be under better circumstances."

Delgado shook her hand. "I feel the same way, Dr. Cahill."

Cahill, probably noticing Roger's growing confusion, sighed and offered him a sad smile. "I take it Riggs hasn't told you yet. Mr. Delgado is his father in law."

Roger blinked. "You mean - you're - you're Miranda's dad," he said. Delgado nodded once, lips drawn into a thin line, and Murtaugh winced internally. "I'm so sorry for your loss. She must have been an incredible woman."

"Thank you," Delgado said, a tiny smile gracing his features for the first time that night. "She was."

"Riggs sure loved her."

The smile quickly faded as Delgado shook his head. "She would be so sad to see Martin this way," he said, then more quietly, "It breaks my heart."

"He's made some progress already since he got here," Maureen said, resting a hand lightly on Delgado's shoulder. "We'll get him better. Now why don't you sit down right here next to Detective Murtaugh. I'll go see if I can't figure out anything else about his condition."

Roger sat, gesturing to the chair next to him, smiling at the older man as he sat down. "You know, your being Riggs' father in law explains a lot of things," he said.

"Like how he didn't get fired after his first day?" Delgado asked, shaking his head. "He always was a little reckless, but Miranda helped temper it. And he brought the best out in her, too. I've never seen her laugh so often." He paused and took his glasses off, then rubbed at his temples.

"I hoped that working on the force would help Martin cope," he said after a minute. "I knew he'd go crazy if he didn't have something to do, and he's always been in the military or part of the police, so when he brought up moving out here, I thought it might bring some normalcy to his life. Now I'm concerned he's using it as a way to get himself killed."

Roger exhaled loudly. "That thought's crossed my mind," he said finally. "But I think Maureen is right, about making progress. Don't get me wrong, Riggs is still batshit crazy, but I think we've made some kind of connection, you know? I don't know if that will be enough, but I hope so. I've gotten kind of used to having him around."

Delgado chuckled at that and nodded. "Can't say I blame you," he said.

"Hey," Maureen said, walking back over. "The nurse said they're just closing him up and the doctor will be out in a few minutes to talk to us. They'll take him to recovery initially, and then to the ICU."

"Oh, thank God," Roger murmured, exhaling in relief. It felt as if a massive weight had been removed from his shoulders and the sudden release was liberating.

"I'll go tell the others," Cahill said, already heading towards the other officers gathered in the waiting room. Roger was a bit touched to see that a good seven or eight men had stayed the whole time; Martin hadn't been with the LAPD long, but he'd already made an impression.

The doctor came over only a few minutes later, an older man with silver hair and wrinkles around his eyes.

"You're here for Martin Riggs?" He also had a thick southern accent, not unlike Riggs' own, and Roger immediately felt more at ease.

"We are," Roger said.

"I'm Dr. Ashbaugh, one of the surgeons who worked on your friend," the doctor said. "He's doing about as well as could be expected right now; he made it through surgery, but he's sustained a pretty serious wound. We patched up his lung and a major blood vessel that got severed, and we'll be keeping an eye on the lung for a little while. The bullet also broke a few ribs here, and they went through to the back as well.." He gestured to the front of his own ribcage and then around to the back, and grimaced. "Breathing is going to be pretty unpleasant for a while, so initially we'll give him an epidural to help manage the pain."

"But overall, you expect him to make it?" Roger asked, trying not to sound as anxious as he felt. Ashbaugh smiled.

"Yes, we do. He's stable right now, and of course there is always the risk of complications, but right now things are looking promising. Detective Riggs is going to be in for a long recovery, though; the next few days will be painful, and he's going to be weak and sick from blood loss. He'll also have to do respiratory therapy, to try to get his lung function back up to normal."

"And what kinds of complications are we worried about?" Delgado asked.

"The biggest ones are pneumonia and infection at this point. We did our best to irrigate the wound, but there's always that chance, so we've got him on some strong antibiotics. As far as the pneumonia, we'll try to extubate him quickly, preferably within the next twelve hours, and then we'll get him up and moving as soon as we can." Dr. Ashbaugh stopped talking and looked around at the motley group of people Riggs had drawn to him. "Do you have any other questions for me?"

"I don't - I don't think so," Murtaugh said. "You guys?" Cahill and Delgado both shook their heads, so Murtaugh shrugged. "I guess we're good. Thank you doctor, for everything you did for Riggs tonight."

Ashbaugh smiled. "You know, that bullet missed his heart by only a couple of inches, and when he got in here the pneumothorax was already starting to impede his cardiac function. But, he remained remarkably stable through the whole surgery and came through as well as anyone could have. We were expecting a much worse outcome, to be frank."

"Yeah, well," Roger said, "he's a fighter." Only minutes ago, that thought would have been nothing more than an attempt at comfort, but now Roger said it without doubt.

"I believe it," Ashbaugh said. "As soon as he's settled in the ICU, one of you can sit with him for a few minutes. He won't be conscious, but it never hurts to have family around."

Roger looked to Delgado and nodded, but the older man shook his head and reached for Roger's hand, clasping it in his own. "He would want you there," he said. Roger swallowed thickly, feeling tears pricking at his eyes for the first time since his rush to to the hospital. It was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay.

"Alright," Murtaugh said. "I guess I'll go sit with him."

A nurse named David led him to Riggs' room, a small space with glass walls and a nurse's station just outside.

"He's still intubated and he's going to look a little swollen from all the fluids we've pumped into him," David said, "but he's doing really well."

"Thanks," Roger said, and swallowed. Everything was going to be okay.

"And here are his belongings," David said, holding out a plastic bag. "I know you guys probably need this for processing."

Roger took the bag numbly, having just caught sight of his partner for the first time.

Martin really did look like shit. He had stitches in a couple of spots on his face, and a tube protruded from his mouth. His chest was heavily bandaged and a tube ran out from between a few ribs on the left side; that part was enough to make Roger feel nauseated, so he quickly looked back to Martin's face. It was swollen and pale, but it was definitely still Riggs, stupid mustache and floppy hair and all.

Roger slipped into the chair next to the bed and tucked one of Martin's curls back so that it wasn't hanging in his face. "You get shot all to hell and somehow your mustache still survives," he said, settling back in his seat. "You got some damn luck."

Watching the heart monitor moving steadily, he said thoughtfully, "Or some kind of guardian angel." He carefully extracted Riggs' wallet from the bag David had handed him, pretending not to notice the blood-stained clothing. Flipping it open, Roger rifled quickly through the contents and found what exactly what he had expected to. Nearly everything in the wallet was crumpled and haphazard, but in the billfold was a pristine picture of a smiling woman with dark hair, waving playfully at the camera. Roger set it on Riggs' pillow next to his head, then leaned back in his chair, and waited.