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OFFICER DOWN*

It was 4am; the bars had closed, and the majority of their patrons had tottered, crawled, or weaved their way home. Officers Pete Malloy and Jim Reed cruised past block after block of dark storefronts and empty parking lots, enjoying a rather quiet shift. While patrolling a side street they received a call, along with L-7, to investigate a suspicious occupied vehicle.

"1-Adam-12, roger." Jim put the mike in place and settled back into the seat. "This is probably Brinkman's call of the night."

"I hope he doesn't break any speed limits trying to beat us to it."

"Mac never should have put him in an L-car."

"Can you think how much worse it would have been if he was on the desk?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Jim smiled at the thought of Brinkman going crazy at the station.

They were soon rolling down the street on which the vehicle had been reported seen. The lighting wasn't very good, but they could make out another black and white parked at one end; no other cars were visible. Pete stopped at the address of the reportee.

"Looks like they moved on. I'll go talk to the lady, you see if Brinkman's got anything." Jim started off and Pete went up to the house. Its owner, who had probably been watching from a window, opened the door to talk to him.

As Jim neared the other patrol car he could see it was empty, but Brinkman didn't seem to be nearby. That was suspicious, considering there had been no report of a foot pursuit; the young man drew his gun and approached with caution. He was a few feet away when he heard moaning coming from across the street. He quickly jogged over and peered through some bushes towards the source. Instead of a suspect, he saw Brinkman lurching towards him clutching his head and face. Jim frowned in concern and hurried towards his friend.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"Reed," Brinkman gasped in pain, "the guy ran off, he's a nut. I think the car's hot."

"Hold on, I'll get back up and an ambulance." Jim turned and ran for L-7. As he was opening the door he suddenly heard a car coming at full speed; glancing to the side he was blinded by a pair of oncoming headlights. He heard Pete yell his name as the driver stepped on the gas; he managed to yank his gun up and fire into the windshield before he was rammed.

Pete had heard the car start up, but hadn't given it much thought until it screamed out of the driveway where it had been parked. Realizing the suspect was trying to get away, he started for Adam-12 - but when he glanced down the street he froze in his tracks. Jim was standing dead center in the car's path, and it wasn't attempting to avoid him; Pete screamed at his partner to get out of the way, though he knew it was too late. He saw Jim fire two shots and go down.

As his partner disappeared under the wheels, Pete's training and experience took over from his conscious mind, which had gone into a state of shock. Without realizing what he was doing he was in the patrol car and starting after the suspect. Despite the suspension of his emotions, it made him sick to have to swerve around the form of his partner, who had been dragged almost twenty feet. The delay, combined with the other vehicle's speed, meant that the suspect was out of sight by the time Pete rounded the corner. He spent the requisite minute looking down the nearest side streets, but the car was gone; then he spun the black and white around and headed back to his friend as quickly as the laws of physics would allow.

When he arrived he saw Brinkman staggering across the street - and another dark form lying in L-7's open door. The spot where Jim had been was empty. Pete brought the patrol car to a screeching halt and shot from it like a rocket. He found his partner unconscious, broken and bloodied, clutching the mike in one hand, having spent what may have been the last of his strength to send out the call of officers down.

***


He didn't know where the chair had come from, but it was there outside the operating room when Jim was rushed in from the ambulance. Some other poor soul had brought it there to await news of a family member or friend whose life was in the hands of the white coated figures inside. Pete didn't give it much thought; he simply sat, vaguely thankful.

He had already called Jean. She seemed fairly calm about the whole thing, even though the news on her husband's condition was scanty- the ambulance attendants had been too busy to tell Pete much on the ride to Central Receiving. She said she'd find somewhere for Jimmy and come down as quickly as she could. Now Pete was simply sitting in that chair, waiting, feeling numb, trying to stop reliving the nightmare that had occurred such a short time before.

"Pete?" He lifted his eyes to meet Sergeant MacDonald's worried gaze. "Any news on Jim?"

"No."

"I talked to Brinkman. He's going home in a few hours. The doc said his eye will be fine and the cuts on his face won't scar." Pete nodded absently, then caught sight of the jacket Mac was carrying. The sergeant held it out to him.

"You forgot this." Pete took it, remembering, as if in a dream, how he'd tucked it over his partner while waiting for the ambulance. The attendants must have taken it off and left it. He stared for a moment at the blood which spattered its fabric, then placed it on the floor and resumed his blank stare at the wall. He was already holding Jim's jacket, torn, also bloody, badge and nameplate hanging by threads.

Mac hesitated and glanced at the nearby door, wanting to stay as well. There was work to do, though - a car with two bullet holes and dark fabric on the bumper to find. He turned and left Pete to his silent vigil.

***


Dawn was threading the California sky with rivers of molten gold when one of the doctors finally came to offer something other than platitudes. He found Pete sitting on a couch in the waiting room holding one of Jean's hands, who was now seated beside him.. As the medical man approached they both glanced up, expecting another put off but always hoping for something more.

"Mrs. Reed? I'm Dr. Starr. I'm glad to say your husband is doing well. He's got quite a few broken ribs, a punctured lung, some bruising on the pelvis and other numerous cuts and bruises, but he isn't in any danger."

Jean dropped her head, suddenly feeling dizzy, then almost overwhelmed. Pete put a bracing arm across her back, though he felt more than a little unsteady himself.

"What room is he in?"

"112." The doctor turned as a nurse called his name. "I'm coming," he called back. "Excuse me, I'm needed elsewhere. Don't worry about Mr. Reed. He's going to be fine." The doctor walked away, and Pete got to his feet.

"Jean?" he asked softly. She took a deep breath and stood as well.

"Let's go." They made their way to the second floor as quickly as the elevator would allow. They checked their haste at the room's door, where they were met by a nurse.

"Are you Mrs. Reed?" she asked.

"Yes, yes, how is he?"

"He's still under sedation, ma'am, but you can see him if you like. Family members only," she added, guessing Pete's intentions.

"He *is* family," Jean replied shortly. She took Pete's arm and firmly guided him inside with her. The nurse decided to leave well enough alone, and went on her way.

She returned an hour later to check on the patient. Opening the door quietly, she was momentarily confounded to see two heads on the hospital bed. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, she saw that the wife had managed to make enough space on the bed to rest her head beside her husband's and now appeared fast asleep, one hand threaded through the IVs and bandages to rest lightly on the young man's chest. As the nurse came closer she could make out traces of tears, but now the woman's face appeared peaceful. At first the nurse didn't see the other policeman, but when she came closer she caught a glimpse of a blond head. The second officer was seated on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed, also apparently sound asleep, though more troubled looking than the wife. The patient was resting between the two, still under the effects of the drugs and pale from loss of blood, but as tranquil as his spouse. The nurse quickly finished her task and left; as she walked down the always busy hallway, she thought to herself that this Reed was a very lucky man.

***


"But the fire department put it out in time for us to be able to identify it."

Jim's room looked like a police convention. Ed Wells was standing by Mac near the foot of the bed; Jerry Woods and Brinkman faced each other across Jim's bandaged rib cage, while Pete was sitting by his white sheeted ankles. Jean and little Jimmy also kept a quiet (and in Jean's case slightly amused) vigil by Jim's side. Mac had been relating the latest development in their search for the hit and run driver; his car had been found burning in one of the outlying parts of L. A. An arrest was anticipated within the month.

"Hey, how much longer are they keeping you here?" Wells put in.

"Another week," Jim replied with a grimace. "I'm actually looking forward to desk duty."

"Don't say that," Brinkman warned. "I think the citizens have been passing word around that I'm inactive and making up things to complain about. You wouldn't believe the..."

"Hey, don't complain. At least *you* haven't been dealing with a rash of drunks who think they're Superman," Woods interrupted.

"Next time someone wants to jump the black and white in a single bound we'll direct him to you," Pete added.

"All right, all of you, don't you have work to do?" Mac inserted firmly. "Wells, take Brinkman back to the station and get back out on patrol, lunch is over. Woods, Malloy, you've got five minutes." Amid a chorus of goodnights and good wishes half of the officers disappeared into the hallway.

"Hey, I'm going to go get some coffee before time's up," Woods said. "You coming, Pete?"

"Yeah." The officer kissed his young godson, waved the baby's parents goodbye (until the next morning), and accompanied his temporary partner out the door.

"It's gonna' be tough missing real dinners for two weeks," Woods mused. "At least we can bring Jim some decent food."

"Well, *his* idea of decent food," Pete replied. "I wouldn't have one of those pastrami sandwiches for the world." Behind the levity, both knew they wouldn't really mind playing delivery boy for Jim and his family - still having Jim around was all that really mattered.