"Murph!"

"The one and only!" the other man acknowledged. His eyes widened when he noticed Joe's shaved head. "What the hell did you do to yourself?!"

Joe flushed. "Got a haircut is all." He looked around and, seeing no other free stools, took a reluctant seat beside his colleague.

"Hate to tell ya this kid, given the damage is done and all, but you need to get a new barber!" Murphy cackled.

"Shut up!"

"Ouch, I'm wounded!" Murphy continued to chuckle. "You sure are the Comeback Kid! I gotta give you that!"

Joe glared. Just my luck. Of all the people I could've run into it had to be the station clown! "What're you doin' here, Murph?"

The older man raised his glass and shot the boy a contemptuous stare. "What does it look like?!"

Joe fought the temptation to spit wipe the arrogant smirk off Murphy's face. "Was just asking a question. Can't help but wonder how, out of every bar in the city you could've gone to, that you just happened to pick this one?"

"Was visiting my old man. He lives just 'round the corner and I felt like a drink after. That a crime?"

"No."

"Could be asking you the same thing," Murphy mumbled. "You do realize you've gotta be at least eighteen to be in here, right?"

Joe gritted his teeth, hoping like hell the busy bartender would put a swift end to this ordeal. "You know damned well I'm nineteen!"

The other man snickered. "Well, you sure don't look it!"

"Which you, and everyone else down at the station, has told me, what, a hundred times now?" Joe gave Murphy one last glare. "Anyways, think you could just shut up for a bit and leave me in peace?"

"Suit yourself." Shoving his empty glass to one side, Murphy began rooting around his shirt pocket for a cigarette. He began to feel more at ease once the smoke hit his lungs. Nothing eases away tension like a good drink and smoke.

After what seemed like forever, the bartender at last spotted Joe. After a short argument and at last convinced the boy's ID was genuine, he asked what the order would be.

"I dunno," admitted Joe, pissed he'd let Murphy's buffoonery distract him. "What's the house special?"

"Look, kid," the bartender snarled, "it's a busy night and I don't have time to play games! Are you gonna order something or not?!"

"He'll have whatever's on tap, Jim!"

The bartender's eyes widened. "You know this punk, Owen?"

"Yeah and he's alright." He gave both men a condescending wink. "The kid just doesn't get out much!"

With a grunt, the bartender poured Joe a pint of dark ale and took his money without another word.

Joe studied his drink. "Just what did you order me?"

Murphy gave the drink a quick glance. "I dunno. Guinness probably. Usually the special they got going on here."

"So, why'd he give me such a hard time when I tried to order?"

Murphy snorted as he signaled for another drink. "Simple. You didn't do it right!"

Joe took a hesitant sip, pursing his lips together when the beer was far more bitter than he expected. "And just how should I do it next time so I don't make an ass of myself?"

"Well, for starters, when you come into a busy place like this, you should have some sorta idea of what you want to order!"

Joe shot his counterpart a sullen look. "Can I help it if I've never been in a bar before?" He instantly regretted that remark when the other man began snickering.

"You've never been in a bar before?!"

"Shut up!"

"Hell, when I turned eighteen, I couldn't wait to go out and get pissed!" Continuing to laugh, Murphy went to make quick work of his whiskey sour.

Prick. With a defiant glare, Joe took a swig and chugged down half his drink. "Well, I ain't you, Murph. Besides, I never had any reason to drink 'til tonight."

The older man stopped cold. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, kid?"

Fuck! Joe felt himself go pale. You idiot! He told you to shut up about that! "Nothing. Just been a rough week is all." Memories he wanted no part of surfacing, he drained the remainder of his beer.

Poor bastard. His has been a baptism by fire. He gave the kid a look of pity. "I hear ya there. A lot of shit's happened recently and it seems you lucked out to get it all your first week!"

"You can say that again!"

"Bit rough 'cause we're so short-staffed these days. My old man reckons it ain't been this bad since the war."

"The war?"

"Yeah. You know, World War II?"

"Oh. That war."

Murphy smirked. "About a decade before your time, huh?"

"I ain't that young!"

"Just a joke, kid." Murphy sighed and hoped his refill would come quick. "You need to learn how to take 'em."

"Just go back to whatever ever it was you were blabbing about," Joe mumbled, his body feeling hot as his heart began to vigorously pump the alcohol through his veins.

"My dad was also a cop. He retired a couple years back after twenty-five years. Anyways, he ended up leaving the force in '43 when he got called up. By the time he left, they were already fucked. Like now."

"I see." Why the hell is he telling me all this crap?

"So," Murphy continued," there's been a big recruitment drive for guys like you."

"I know." Joe squirmed on his stool, trying to think of an excuse to leave. It's not that I hate Murph… In fact, quite the opposite was true; paired together to do their part in investigating Coop's shooting he'd learned a lot and found Murphy to be a diligent officer. But working together is different than hanging out. His dad had never been one to mix business with pleasure and it was a lifestyle he'd planned to emulate. It all works better if everything and everyone just stays in their own little compartments.

"But a lot of the ones who somehow make it through the academy ain't much good," said Murphy, oblivious to the other man's discomfort. "I mean, you heard about Bon Boivin, right?"

"Who?"

"Christ, kid! The moron who drove into a fountain while Jimmy was trying to train him! The guy who didn't even last one shift!"

"Oh. Right," Joe mumbled. He did remember now and the vague traces of a memory about a conversation he'd had with Jimmy teased him. But it all seems the same after a wall. Same shit, different shift. "Been a long few days. Didn't remember at first." God. The thoughts and impressions he wanted to lay fallow pushed to a head and it was all he could do to keep the levy from breaching.

A long few days is an understatement. If he hadn't had to check-in on his father, he would've been home ages ago and plying himself with booze until sleep found him. But that just couldn't happen tonight. Dad had to bring up all that shit about Cooper and doing stuff off the books… He shook his head to rouse himself, not yet drunk enough to head home and be alone with his thoughts. "Buy you another one, kid?"

"Excuse me?" I didn't just hear what I think I did.

"You heard me right. What would you like?"

"Another of what I had, I guess," Joe replied before he could stop himself. The bartender had refilled his drink and taken Murphy's change by the time he realized he'd just signed on for more forced comradery. "Didn't take you for the generous type, Murph. Thanks, though."

"You got lucky. A few drinks always loosens up my wallet."

Your lips too, huh? The younger man began sipping his drink. Before this chance encounter, all time spent with Murphy had occurred mostly in the comfort of silence. "If I don't talk much, it's nothing against you," the other officer had told him. "I'm used to working alone and just getting the job done." Between that and being swamped with interrogations and paperwork, their shift together had passed by in a structured blur.

"So…you live around here?"

Joe came out of his reflection with a jolt. "Few blocks away. You?" he managed to ask.

"Up the street, yeah. I wanna get a better place, but the old man refuses to sell. And he'll never admit it, but he couldn't keep the place up and running if it weren't for me being around, so I'm stuck in this hellhole for now."

"You still live with your dad?"

"What?! Don't be stupid!" Murphy snapped, snuffing out his cigarette and quickly lighting another. "I've got my own place!"

Joe flinched; Murphy's joking alternated with periods where he seemed to get pissed off for no discernible reason. He took a bolt of liquid courage. "I don't see what you're so sore about. I still live with my dad," he admitted. Dammit! Why'd I let that one slip?!

"That's different! You're still a kid! For a guy like me it's a whole other story!"

"I guess so." Awkwardness enveloping, Joe fell silent. He felt relieved when Murphy followed his lead to let the cheerful barroom banter get a word in edgewise.

Fuck. The older man scowled when he realized his empty wallet had cut him off prematurely. "Out of money! And I could really use another drink, too!"

Yeah, you're already three sheets to the wind. One more drink can't do any harm. "Want me to buy you another?"

"No."

Joe shrugged. "Just figured I'd try to return the favour."

"Don't worry. I'll hold you to it next time we do this!" Murphy declared.

Oh, shit! Sure hope he's the type of drunk that forgets everything. Thanking his lucky stars his cue to exit had arrived, Joe hurriedly finished his drink. "Been great chatting Murph, but I've gotta go. Stinson said I've got an early start tomorrow."

Dammit! Until the rookie had chanced upon him, Murphy had figured he was well on his way to literally pissing Sarge and McCree out of his mind. But now… "Wait!" he said, brushing past tipsy teamsters to grab Joe in the doorway. "We need to talk."

Joe twisted out of the other officer's grip, shoving his way out onto the sidewalk. He groaned when Murphy straggled behind. "Murph, I gotta go! I'll see you tomorrow. We can discuss things then!"

Is he fucking crazy?! The whole thing would be a cinch to handle on his own if the kid wasn't bonded into it by circumstance. "It can't wait."

What the hell is he going on about? What?" Joe asked irritably, loud enough that a few passersby looked at the two men curiously before returning to their own affairs.

Fuck. Feeling like an invisible enemy was making its way toward him, Murphy grabbed the younger man by the elbow, steering him into the alley behind the bar.

Joe's eyes bulged and his pulse bounded. Hell. This was too familiar: the dingy bricks and the putrid smell of rotting garbage was too close a carbon copy of the alleyway across from the station where…

"Okay!" Murphy whispered, his words snapping the kid back into focus. "We're alone."

"No shit, Sherlock!" Joe replied in a low voice. "What the hell's going on here, Murph?! You're acting like a nut!"

Fuck. Lucidity momentarily cleared Murphy's raging mind. "I'm sorry," he began. "It's just this can't wait."

Joe kicked aside a broken bottle and shoved his hands into his pockets. "What then? What's so important you practically jumped me?"

Murphy shivered, the head of day no longer intense enough to protect him from the dank. "It's just I can't get what happened out of my mind-"

"I got no clue what you're talking about!" Joe quickly interjected.

"Yes you do."

Joe shook his head, but it was clear neither man could continue to deny the giant mammoth at the forefront of their subconscious. "You told me to just forget about that and that I heard nothing!"

"Well, I was a lying bastard when I told ya that!" Murphy paused, suddenly cognizant they were still somewhere they could be overheard. "But we can't talk about it here!" he said quickly.

"W-where then?" Joe managed to get out.

"My place."

"Okay," said the younger man, yielding to the command of the senior officer.

"Alright," Murphy said, cursing inwardly that his voice was tremoring like a goddamned woman's. "It ain't far. Just up the road there."

"I'm heading off shift now, Mr. Cooper, but my colleague, Dr. Tomlinson will be here shortly. Do you remember her from the second time we chatted?"

"The blonde lady?" Sarge inquired, recalling only one broad amongst the several doctors he'd seen since the whole nightmare had begun.

Dr. Buchanan nodded. "Yes, that's her. She's very ex…" he trailed off when he saw anxiety cross the other man's face. "You've nothing to worry about. She's very experienced. One of the best doctors I've ever worked with and I'm not just saying that to put you at ease."

"Good to know."

"Trust me. Your son will be in good hands." The two men left the doctor's office, stopping at the counter of the nurse's station. "I've got to go now, but you can let your wife know Dr. Tomlinson should be checking in on things in the next little while."

"Alright, Doc. Have a good night."

"You too." The doctor paused before heading for the elevator. "Based on what I've observed so far, I'm sure you and your wife won't do so, but I do suggest you folks head home tonight for a break, Mr. Cooper."

"We can't."

"I understand. Try to at least get some sleep, though." He sighed as he pulled on his suit jacket. "I know the chairs in the room don't make that easy, but I'm afraid they're the best beds we can offer."

"It's fine. We'll manage."

"If you need anything…pillows, blankets, or what not, just ask one of the nurses."

"I will," Sarge mumbled. He hated to see the other man go. He couldn't remember the last time he'd managed to connect with anyone like they had. "Again," he said gruffly, "thanks for everything."

"Don't mention it. I'll see you, tomorrow. Alright?"

"Yeah."

"Okay then. Good night."

"Night, Doc."

As the doctor disappeared into the elevator, Sarge remained where he stood. The last two days had nearly decimated him and it was a mystery how he'd even managed to get to this point. He looked at the entrance to his son's hospital room and felt dread. He was done. He no longer had the resources to weather another fight with his wife or anything else going sideways. Coop has to come back from this 100%. I can't accept nothing less…

"Brogan?"

"What?" Confused at being abruptly pulled from his turmoil, he looked up to see Father Mack.

The priest put a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Came to see if you'd finished talking with the doctor."

"Yeah. We talked."

The priest took in Sarge's vast chance in appearance. "Did you go home for a bit then?"

"No."

"Looks like you've cleaned up a bit."

"Oh. The doc…he let me go somewhere for a quick shower and a shave. "Lent me this shirt, too."

"Oh, I see."

Sarge nodded. "He's a good man."

"I agree. How'd the conversation go?"

"Alright. I guess."

"A lot to take in I'm sure. You must keep in perspective that Sean is doing well, especially considering the magnitude of what happened to him."

All thanks to me. I promise you son, McCree will pay for what he did. "I know. I just wish the doc could've given me a definite answer."

"As to what?"

"That Coop will be okay."

As do I. The priest grabbed Sarge and guided him to two empty chairs. His joints creaked with relief when he sat down. "I understand this is a tremendous burden for you and Elizabeth to bear, Brogan. And I know how desperate you are to get some resolution as to how this will all play out, but the doctor can't possibly tell you what he doesn't know yet himself. It wouldn't be ethical to him."

Sarge sighed. "I know."

"You must find solace in what is unfolding at this very moment."

Sarge hung his head. "But just how do I do that, Father? Please, tell me how."

Father Mack raised his eyebrows. Brogan Cooper was not the type of parishioner to consult him for guidance, no matter how dire his circumstances. "The way any of us handles these type of things: taking it one day at a time and not giving into vices or temptation. No matter how strong those desires might be right now."

So easy for you to say! You have no clue what really happened or what I'm going through! But he hid his reaction well. "Thanks, Father."

The priest sighed. "I know my words are of little comfort to you, but you must…"

Sarge quickly tuned out as the other man continued to drone on. He glanced around. It seemed to be a quiet night, especially when he took into consideration this was the largest hospital in the city. The nurses were taking advantage of their idle time to chat, catch up, and do all the other things that they never seemed to be able to do during the day. If this place wasn't what it was, you'd think there was nothing wrong, no families like ours trying like hell just to hang on while life continues to on for everyone else.

He sighed and ground those thoughts to a halt. Contemplating did no good; it only compounded what he couldn't change. God, I wish I could be so I didn't have to feel like this. His face curled into a hard frown. He'd done the unforgivable by betraying not only another cop, but his own son. Eternal damnation was little punishment if Coop came through this okay. Please, God. He has to.

"…so remember, it is vital to use this time to reflect and take things moment by moment," the priest finished as he cleaned his glasses.

Sarge nodded, though he had no idea as to what he was agreeing with. "I know, Father. It's just I wish…"

"Yes?"

"It's just I'd hoped that doc could've given us more concrete news by now." He shoved his chair back against the wall. "I mean, it's been two days since Coop got shot and they still can't give us any sort of prognosis!"

I know how you feel. "Brogan, I know it's frustrating when we all want resolution to this matter. But you must keep things in perspective. Not even two days ago we faced the prospect of a very different end when the doctor first met with us and didn't give us the news we'd been praying so hard for."

Bloody hell. Sarge hung his head even lower. That moment would never be forgotten, being told his son, for all intents and purposes, was gone. How all hope had vanished and been replaced with a ranting, raving lunatic who could only run as fast and hard as he could from it all.

"You see, God works on his own time," the priest continued, putting an arm around the other man's shoulder in an attempt to offer some sort of tangible comfort. "It was hard, but we persevered and hope was our result; we got good news about Sean and our burdens were lightened."

And I wasn't around to help Lizzie, Jimmy, or you. "And I wasn't around for any of it," he mumbled. "Left you and Jimmy alone to take care of Lizzie alone in a place like this…" His wife's cold hard look came to mind and decked him. No wonder she's hated me all these years! I was never around for her or Coop when they needed me…arresting that perp or solving that case was always more important than clocking out on time and running for home, to them…

The priest sighed. "Grief and fear combined is a tricky beast, Brogan. It lowers your threshold and ability to resist Satan. But the important thing is you've found your way back to where you need to be." He glanced at watch and was surprised to see it read almost eight. "Perhaps we should be heading back inside," he suggested.

Sarge shook his head. "I'll wait out here. Lizzie doesn't want me in there, Father. Can't say I blame her either," he admitted drily.

"She's tired. She doesn't mean to say those things."

"Yes she does. And to be honest, if the shoe were on the other foot, that's just what I'd say to me too," said Sarge, surprised at what this new mood of comprehension was revealing to him.

Father Mack hesitated as he tried to come up with a soothing reply. "Your family has had more than its fair share of troubles and grief to bear over the years and I know this seems to be yet another blow, Brogan. And I would never tell you two to ever stop mourning for Michael. Losing a child, especially one so young, is one of the most difficult things to ever recover from. But you both need to focus on what is important: Sean. He's still alive and fighting and needs you to do the same for him.

"I know," Sarge whispered, feel like he had just been punched in the solar plexus.

The priest rose to his feet, his knees cracking painfully. "I'm going to say something along similar lines to Elizabeth. I know there will be much to discuss later, but this is neither the time or place."

Pulling himself upright, Sarge offered no protest. He was too whipped to come up with any counterattack.

Father Mack pulled the other man with him into the room. Leaving Sarge at the door, he went over to Elizabeth, interrupting her hunched vigil.

"Anything happen while we were gone?"

She shook her head. "No; he's still sleeping like the doctor said he would." She began to wring her hands and joined Father Mack upright "It's been a while since the doctor was in last…I hope that doesn't mean anything's wrong..."

"The doc's gone for the night, but said the other one, the lady, should be in soon," Sarge offered before realizing that he'd even opened his mouth.

She crossed her arms. "So, you actually stuck around long enough this time to inquire about our son's welfare. Must say I'm impressed you've managed to actually to do that for a change," she said coolly.

Sarge winced as if his wife had struck him. He shuffled over and grabbed a seat by the foot of the bed, the tension only punctuated by the hissing of the oxygen tank. "Yeah," he muttered.

"Elizabeth,now is not the best time for that," Father Mack began.

"It never is!"

"You're both tired and worn out. Now is not the time to argue."

"I'm only speaking the truth!"

"Now, now…"

"She's right, ya know," Sarge mumbled, loud and sudden enough for the others to cease their discussion. "So I don't get why you keeping shutting her down when I should've been here all along. So what else can you expect her to say?"

Neither Elizabeth nor the priest knew how to reply to that and the room fell silent.

"I still think there will be time enough to discuss this later," the priest said finally, plopping into the seat beside Sarge. "We're all exhausted and our nerves our frayed. We mustn't tear each other apart."

Ha! She could think of a few choice things to say to that, but decided to hold back. Returning to her seat, she began clasping her son's limp hand once more.

An eruption averted, Sarge leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He willed sleep to come quickly and speed things up a few hours.

Relieved that husband and wife had somehow reached a momentary ceasefire, Father Mack joined Elizabeth in his own silent way.

Jimmy felt like he'd just completed a death march and his body screamed for rest. But his brain would have no part of it and refused to stop buzzing.

Beside him, Coop lay, for once, sound asleep and completely oblivious to everything. He hadn't stirred since the end of their intense conversation and his body felt limp and loose as if finally unchained from some boulder that had tried to drown him.

Just let him rest. Poor bastard needs it. God only knows how long it's been since he's really slept. Jimmy knew he couldn't do the same. Coop had given him a lot to digest and it made his head hurt.

He sat up and gently disentangled himself from his partner, glad to see Robin would hold down the fort for a bit. He tried to remember where he'd left his clothes as he resolved to make a short trip to the kitchen to make a good, stiff drink that would shut his mind up for a while..

"Well, this is it," Murphy grumbled, pushing open the door of his cramped, hot apartment without ceremony.

As if in a trance, Joe followed the other officer, slamming the door shut behind him. He stopped when they reached the living room. Murphy collapsed immediately onto a chair and pulled out a cigarette.

Joe looked around; the place was an obvious bachelor pad with dishes and dirty laundry strewn about, but seemed comfortable enough. "Nice place," he mumbled, scuffing a shoe along the floor."

"Shut up!"

"Just making conversation."

"Well give it up, kid. We both know damned well I didn't bring you here 'cause I wanted to give you a tour of this dump!" The older an snuffed out his smoke and tossed it into an overflowing ashtray. "We both know what it is we've gotta talk about."

"I don't think I can, Murph. I should've been home hours ago. My dad's probably wondering where I am and worried sick besides," said Joe. Course, home is the last place I can go now.

"Then call him!" Murphy snapped, pointing to a phone in the kitchen. "You be a good kid and do what you gotta do. But after that we get down to business, no more excuses!"