THE RIN (2/2)

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THE RING (2/2)

The only thing Jim Reed was fully aware of was the relentless, choking pain radiating from his hand up his arm. Every jiggle and bump of the car sent new waves of discomfort crowding into his consciousness. He leaned his face against the cool glass of the car window and concentrated on not throwing up again. Pete won't like it if I barf in the car.

Reed's incoherent thoughts centered mostly on the frightening possibility of having his fingers amputated. He worried about losing his job and having to find something else to do to support his family. He worried about Jean and how she would react to this. He worried about how he would teach his son to play baseball if he didn't have any fingers on his left hand.

Jim heard Pete's voice filtering through the pain and preoccupation. He was asking him if he was all right. He answered his partner with what he hoped was something intelligible, but all that seemed to come out was a mumbling moan. Pete then said something reassuring, which Jim didn't quite catch. Reed was drifting between darkness and awareness with nothing but the pain and his dark thoughts connecting him to the real world.

The car gave a sudden lurch and he felt himself moving in response. Jim heard Pete curse and felt his partner's hand grab his shoulder to stop him from slamming into the dash. That bumped the intensity of the pain up a notch and Jim felt the darkness close around him. Pete's apologetic voice brought him back from the brink. He tried to respond but the only sound he could produce was a croak. Pete said something else to him, and again he couldn't quite process it.

After that, Jim closed his eyes and let the comforting darkness overtake him completely. The next thing he knew, the car was stopped and Pete was in his face, talking to him. Jim caught the words "gurney" and "be right back" and then his partner's worried face moved away. Jim tracked Pete with his eyes through the window, and he watched him head into the emergency entrance to Central Receiving. We're here. I don't know if I want to go in. I don't want to lose my fingers. He closed his eyes again.

"Jim?" Pete's voice caused him to open his eyes with a start.

How'd he get back so fast? Reed was aware that Malloy was unbuckling his seat belt.

"Jim, lean this way a little...the attendants have to open the door."

Reed complied, leaning into Pete's hands as his partner supported him. He heard the door open beside him. Other hands were touching him then, and strange voices were talking with him. Pete disappeared again and then his voice sounded from Jim's other side.

"Watch his left side. His hand is hurt bad." Pete's voice, cutting through the noise of the strange voices.

Good ol' Pete. Always lookin' out for me.

Jim cried out as they moved him from the car to the gurney. In spite of Pete's warning, the strangers' hands were not gentle. But a kind hand from his partner found its way to his shoulder, patting it gently as if in apology for the rough treatment. Reed looked up and found a blurry image of Pete looking down at him with furrowed brows and worried eyes, as he spoke reassuringly to him. Jim wanted to answer Malloy, but everytime he opened his mouth, all that seemed to come out were incoherent mutters or moans. So he kept his mouth shut.

Drops of water splashed on his face but he dared not move either hand to wipe them away. Still raining. Hope it's raining on my front yard. The grass is dry. How can I cut the grass if I don't have fingers?

The not so gentle hands forced him to lie down, which was uncomfortable. The position made his nausea worse, and Jim took in deep, gulping breaths to keep from being sick again. The gurney began to move, but Pete's hand stayed on his shoulder. Didn't realize this parking lot was so rough! Jim clenched his teeth to keep from yelling or swearing as the bumpy ride jarred his injured hand. Again, he felt the suffocating blanket of darkness descend on him and he went with the sensation to escape the discomfort.

Bright lights and loud noises assaulted Jim, causing his eyes to snap open. Startled, he flinched and immediately regretted the action. Pete was still beside him and reached over, speaking quietly. Malloy still had his hand on his shoulder and again he squeezed it gently. Why can't I understand what he's saying to me? What's wrong with my ears?

More strange voices sounded, and he heard snatches of sentences.

"Treatment 2."

"…his name?"

"...happened to the hand?"

"...get some information..."

"…sorry.....wait out here..."

The gurney moved into a small room and the faces that went with the voices started appearing above him. Jim tried to concentrate on what they were saying, but now more hands were touching and jostling him and it just made him hurt worse. The comforting touch of Pete's hand was gone, and Jim tried to move his neck so he could see if Malloy was still in the room. Strange hands bracketed his head and moved it back to the front. He felt something cold on his chest and heard a snipping noise. It took him a minute to realize they were cutting his uniform shirt off his chest. Someone touched his shattered hand to move it and Jim pushed the offender away.

"Don't fight me, Mr. Reed," a very authoritative female voice cut through the haze of pain. "I know you're hurting but we need to treat you."

"Hurts," Jim moaned. "Don't..."

"Try to relax, Mr. Reed." the voice again, kinder this time. "If you fight me it'll just hurt worse. Take a breath and let me move your hand off your chest so we can get your shirt off."

Jim took the breath and tried to relax. The owner of the voice moved his right hand down to his side, then gently picked up the broken hand off his chest. Jim gasped from the pain and the darkness claimed him.

*****

Malloy wasn't surprised that the nurse wouldn't let him into the treatment room. He'd dated a lot of medical professionals and knew what a territorial bunch they could be. Of course, they always claimed they denied him admission because he'd be in the way, but a good cop knew how to stay in the background.

Pete turned and went back to the waiting area, looking for Mac. The sergeant hadn't made it yet, he decided, when he didn't find Mac in the plastic seats. Malloy sat down in one, but after only a few minutes of that, decided he was too antsy and would feel better if he stood. He paced a few steps, passing by the pay phone, which turned his thoughts to Jean.

Pete felt a little guilty, not calling Jean right away, but he would respect Jim's wishes and wait until the situation was a little more clear. Pete understood all too well how cryptic telephone calls from a partner could frighten a spouse or other family members. For the cop's wife, there was nothing worse than not knowing just how badly her husband was hurt. Well, almost nothing.

"Excuse me, officer?" a squeaky feminine voice brought Pete back from his thoughts.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Is that your partner we have in Treatment 2 with the crushed hand? Officer Reed?"

Pete winced. She'd used the word crushed. It sounded so much worse when it was verbalized. "Yes, ma'am. How's he doing?"

"The doctor is examining him now. He wanted me to ask what exactly happened."

"All I know is he got hit in the hand with a big pipe."

"How big?"

"I think about 2 inches in diameter."

"Do you know what the pipe was made of?" the nurse asked.

"No, I don't. We took the pipe for evidence, so I could have it brought if the doctor wants to see it."

"I'll ask him. The admitting desk also needs some information on him."

"His identification and insurance card should be in his wallet...in the treatment room." Pete motioned toward the door of the room where Jim was.

The nurse nodded. "Who should we notify? Or have you taken care of that?"

Pete sighed. "I'll take care of that. He's asked us not to notify his wife until the doctor knows something concrete. He's very protective of her," he amended as the nurse frowned at that information. "Can he just tell me how he's doing after he's through examining him? Or he can tell our sergeant, who should be here any minute."

"I don't see why not. We're used to dealing with police and fire injuries. Your brotherhood runs deep." The nurse flashed a smile at him. "Just stay here and don't worry. I'll be back to talk with you in a few minutes."

"Thank you, uh, nurse, uh," Pete looked for a name tag.

"Just call me Sara." She smiled again as she turned to walk back to the treatment room.

"Thanks, Sara," Pete called after her. As he followed her path, motion from his left caught his attention. Sergeant MacDonald was heading into the waiting area.

"Pete," he called, catching sight of his senior patrol officer. "How's Jim?"

Malloy shrugged. "I don't know. They're still looking at him. But, Mac, his hand..."

Mac nodded once, tersely. "I talked with Wells. That's why I'm late. He showed me the pipe and said Jim was in a bad way. From the looks of that pipe, I can understand why."

"It's not just broken. It's crushed. His fingers are swollen triple, and the color..." Pete trailed off, shaking his head. "He's afraid that they'll amputate his fingers."

"Oh, my," Mac sighed, then continued kindly, "Did he tell you what happened, exactly?"

"He wasn't in any shape to talk much, but I think I can piece together what happened. We had these two guys in the warehouse; I'm pretty sure they were stoned."

"To the eyeballs," Mac interrupted. "I saw them briefly. Brinkman said he found a bag of speed in one of 'em's pocket."

"Figures. Anyway, we called them out and they freaked. One of them made for the door and the other one went back into the shelving where Jim was. I followed the guy outside and managed to bring him down. About that time 36 showed up. Wells and I were on our way in when we heard Jim..." Pete paused, remembering that horrifying scream, "yell out, like he was hurt. We went in and the guy was going after Jim with the pipe. When we called for him to freeze, he turned on us. Jim tangled him up with his legs, the guy went down and hit his head. Jim's gun was on the floor. Apparently he'd surprised Jim somehow and knocked it out of his hand. Jim probably went for it and when he did, the guy smashed his hand with the pipe."

"Sounds about right," Mac agreed. "We'll get the story soon enough." The sergeant paused a moment, then asked, "What about Jean? Wells says she's out of reach?"

"Out shopping with her sister. She left Jimmy with her folks, so she'll wind up back there eventually. Jim wants us to wait to call her until the doctor tells us something concrete. But I've been banned from the treatment room. Maybe you'll have better luck."

"Try to be patient," Mac counseled. "I'm sure they're doing everything they can."

"Yeah." Pete was noncomittal.

"How about some coffee, Pete?" Mac asked, in an abrupt change of subject. "You look like you could use some."

******
"Mr. Reed? Mr. Reed? I need you to wake up and talk to me, Mr. Reed."

An insistent voice, right in his face, pulled Jim back from the darkness. The young man balked at leaving that comforting place for the light where the pain was. But the voice kept urging him to wake up and talk. Reluctantly, he pulled himself out of the dimness and cracked his eyes open. Once awakened, he found that he was in a hospital gown and that he was cold. Really, really cold.

"Cold," he complained weakly. The pain was still there; the pain and the nausea. "Hurts."

"I know," the voice, still in his face, agreed. "I'm Dr. Martin. I'm going to take good care of you. But I need you to answer some questions for me, if you can."

"'Kay." Jim couldn't keep his teeth from chattering.

"Let's get a blanket over him," the voice ordered.

"Mr. Reed, did you hit your head at any point?"

"No."

"I'm going to shine a light in your eyes to check your pupils. Don't be alarmed."

The light came then and Jim blinked despite himself. That was over quickly and the promised blanket was spread over him, leaving only his left arm exposed. The doctor's voice came back.

"Mr. Reed, do you hurt anywhere besides your hand and arm?"

"No."

"Your partner said you were hit in the hand with a pipe. Is that right?"

"Yes." Reed was tired. Speaking was an effort.

"Do you know what the pipe was made of?"

"No. Dark...was heavy..."

"Okay, just relax."

Something cold was placed under the blanket and onto his chest and the doctor told him to breathe deeply. That wasn't a problem, since breathing deeply was the only thing keeping him from throwing up again. The cold stethoscope was moved to his right arm and he dimly realized the doctor was checking his blood pressure. After that was finished, the doctor started speaking in incomprehensible medical lingo to others in the room. Jim caught only a few words he recognized like "IV" and "x-ray." Reed wondered about his fingers, but the doctor hadn't said anything about them yet.

As if reading his mind, the doctor hovered over him again and spoke. "Mr. Reed, I'm going to examine your hand in a minute. We're going to start an IV and give you something for pain. You should start to feel better before too long."

An IV. That means a needle. Jim squeezed his eyes shut. I hate needles.

"This may hurt a little until the medication kicks in. The nurse is going to set up the IV while I take a look over here. I'll try to be gentle."

The nurse came over and started working with Jim's right arm while the doctor started his examination of Jim's left hand. Jim turned his head away from the needle-bearing nurse and opened his eyes enough to watch the doctor as he worked. As soon as he touched the hand, the pain exploded full-force. Jim grunted in response.

"I'm sorry," the doctor apologized, but he didn't stop his examination. "Try to relax."

Jim bit his lip and closed his eyes tightly again trying to deal with the pain. The doctor started using more medical lingo again as he palpated the tender hand. The nurse at his side was saying "yes, doctor," after every phrase. The nurse on Jim's right announced that the IV was in, and Jim was surprised. He supposed that was the good thing about all the pain from his hand; it took his mind off the needle so that he never felt it go in. The doctor ordered her to administer the pain medication and Jim sighed deeply. He was finally going to get some relief.

"Mr. Reed," the doctor turned back to him. "I don't think I have to tell you that your hand is in pretty bad shape. We're bringing in a portable x-ray to take some pictures, but frankly, I don't need pictures to tell you you have two compound fractures --that's where the bone is through the skin -- and several crushed metacarpals -- those are the bones in your hand. I'm not an orthopedic surgeon, but we're calling for one, and a vascular man...that's a bone specialist and a blood vessel specialist. They'll make the call about surgery, but you should prepare yourself for that possibility."

"My...my fingers..." Jim managed to get out. He was starting to feel a little giddy from the medicine. "Will I....lose...them?"

The doctor paused. "It's not my call, but I don't think so. We've got you in here and getting treatment. I'm sure we're going to be able to save them. Don't worry." He patted Jim reassuringly on the shoulder. "Unfortunately, I can't say the same thing about your wedding ring."

My wedding ring? "Huh?"

"I'm going to have to cut your wedding band off your finger. It's been bent into your finger and it's cutting through to the bone. I want to relieve that pressure."

"Cut...my ring?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, but we'll save the pieces for you. Maybe you can have it repaired."

"Cut...my...no, no, don't."

"Mr. Reed, I have to."

Jim shook his head vehemently. "My...wife worked so hard....to ...no, don't cut it off...means...too much." Jim tried to move his hand away from the doctor's grasp, but Dr. Martin kept it still. He then tried to sit up and look at the injured hand again, but a nurse's hands pushed him gently back down to the table.

"I know it has sentimental value for you, Mr. Reed," Dr. Martin apologized, "But it has to be done."

"Bad...omen," Jim felt himself sliding into darkness. "Please...no...Jean...."

"Just relax, Mr. Reed. It's going to be okay."

No, no...won't be...my ring...Jean forgive me... The doctor's face blurred as the medication kicked in full force and drew him down to the depths of oblivion.

****
Pete had taken to pacing again after he downed the cup of coffee that Mac brought him. He kept thinking if he stared at the treatment room door long enough, somebody would come out and give him some news. At one point some technicians rolled a large portable x-ray machine into the room and the doctor came out. But he immediately disappeared into another room and Pete was left waiting.

He glanced at his watch. 9:04. Surely Jean is back home by now. How long can you shop, anyway?

"Pete, will you sit down?" Mac finally spoke up after Pete's fourth or fifth trip around the waiting area.

"Mac, why don't you see if you can find out something? He's been in there nearly an hour. Maybe your stripes will carry some weight."

"Not around here. But I'll go ask at the desk, if you want."

"I want." Pete nodded.

Mac gave him an indulgent look, but he got up and went to the information desk. The sergeant held a brief conversation with a nurse, then returned.

"She said she'd check and see what was happening." Mac settled back into a seat.

"Thanks." Pete resumed his pacing.

It wasn't too many more minutes before the white-coated doctor that Pete had seen going in and out of the treatment room went back into the room where Jim was. Pete shifted his path closer to the door so that he could snag the man the next time he emerged. It was another seven minutes before his diligence was rewarded.

The doctor came out of the treatment room, and Pete planted himself in his path.

"Excuse me, doctor, but I'm trying to get some information on Jim Reed?"

The doctor looked startled to see a policeman in his path but he recovered quickly. "Actually, I was on my way to talk with his wife."

"She's not here. We're having trouble reaching her." Pete decided he wouldn't try to explain. "I'm his partner, Pete Malloy. Can you tell me how he is?"

The doctor looked hesitant, but responded, offering his hand to Pete. "I'm Dr. Martin, assistant chief of emergency medicine here. He's under mild sedation right now. He was in a great deal of pain so we gave him something for it. I'm afraid it's put him out for a while."

"What about his hand? He isn't going to lose any fingers, is he?" Pete looked over and motioned for Mac to join the conversation.

"I'll tell you like I told him. It's not my call to make. My best guess is, no, he won't lose any fingers. But I have a call in to a vascular surgeon and and orthopedic surgeon. They'll study the films and examine him and make the calls."

"Surgeons?" Mac joined the pair, then. "I'm Reed's watch commander, Sergeant MacDonald." He stuck out his hand and the doctor shook it.

"This is Dr. Martin," Pete supplied.

"Surgery is inevitable," Dr. Martin said flatly. "At the very least, he'll have to have pins in the hand because some of the bones are literally in pieces. As far as nerve and vessel damage goes, we'll have to wait and see. We really need to get in touch with his wife to discuss the options."

"You mean...surgery tonight?" Pete was surprised.

The doctor nodded. "That's my guess. Like I said, we'll know more after the two surgeons take a look. They're on their way in. Do you think you can try his wife again?"

"Of course. I'll track her down." Pete assured him. "Did Jim know about the surgery before you sedated him?"

"I told him to prepare for the possibility."

"How'd he take it?"

The doctor chuckled slightly. "Better than when I told him we'd have to cut off his wedding ring."

"Huh?"

"People in pain can do and say strange things. He asked about his fingers and I was reassuring him I thought it'd be okay. I was trying to make a joke about saving the fingers but not the ring. I don't think he thought it was very funny. He got . . . well . . . agitated. He begged me not to cut the ring off, but I had to do it. It was cutting into the finger and causing circulation problems. He mumbled something about it being a 'bad omen.' Like I said, he probably wasn't really in his right mind. It was before the meds kicked in."

Pete looked at Mac before responding. "On the contrary, doctor, if you knew Jim Reed like I do, that response wouldn't surprise you one bit."

The doctor shrugged. "We saved the pieces of the ring. I've put it in a bag with his other things. I managed to only make two cuts, so I think it can be repaired. Maybe he won't be as upset about it tomorrow as he was tonight."

I wouldn't count on it. "Maybe. Thank you for the information. Is there any way we can see him?"

The doctor shook his head. "Like I said, he's sedated. We could rouse him, but you saw the pain he was in. Do you really want to disturb him?" When Pete shook his head, Dr. Martin continued in an understanding tone, "When his wife arrives, we'll see what we can arrange."

"All right. I'll go give her another try."

"I'll keep you all informed. Please let the duty nurse know when Mrs. Reed gets here."

"We will," Mac nodded, as both Pete and the doctor moved off in opposite directions.

Malloy fished in his pocket for a dime and headed for the pay phone. He decided to try the Reed's home first, hoping Jean would've returned by 9:20. He dialed the number easily from memory and long practice. Pete tapped the phone impatiently as it rang, and rang, and rang. He finally hung up.

"Great. I gotta call the Smithson's," he muttered to himself. This number he didn't know from memory. He knew that the number was in Jim's wallet with other emergency numbers that they both carried, but the wallet was in the treatment room. So he hauled out the phone book and looked up the number instead. Once he found it, he reinserted the dime and made the call.

This time, the phone was answered on the third ring. It was Jean's father, Dan Smithson.
Thank goodness it wasn't her mother that answered.

"Mr. Smithson? This is Pete Malloy. Is Jean there, by any chance?"

"Pete?" There was a brief pause until Smithson recognized the name and began to talk rapid-fire. "Pete? Oh, no...what's happened to Jim? Is he okay? Jean's not here, do I need to go look for her? What's the problem?"

"Mr. Smithson, Mr. Smithson," Pete tried to interrupt the questions. "Calm down, okay? Jim's okay...he has a broken hand."

"A broken hand," Mr. Smithson's sigh was loud and relieved. "Oh, thank God that's all it is. Are you at Central Receiving?"

"Yes, sir. Now, I don't want to scare you, but I don't want to mislead you, either. The break is pretty bad and the doctor says he's probably going to have to have surgery. They need Jean here to talk about the options."

"Surgery! My goodness...what happened?"

"It's a long story, Mr. Smithson. And truthfully, I wasn't actually there when it happened. When do you expect Jean?"

"Any time now. They called about twenty minutes ago to check on Jimmy and they said they had one more stop to make. As soon as she gets here, I'll bring her right over."

"I can pick her up, if you prefer."

"Oh, no, I'll bring Jeannie myself. She might stay calmer if I'm with her. Annie can stay here with Marge and Jimmy."

"All right. Come in to the emergency entrance. I'll be in the waiting area. I don't think they're going to move him anywhere until Jean gets here."

"I'll get her there just as soon as I can," Mr. Smithson promised.

"Just drive carefully," Pete advised. "And tell Jean not to worry. Jim's in good hands."

"I will. Thank you for calling."

"I'm just sorry I had to. Tell Mrs. Smithson to give Jimmy a hug and kiss from his godfather."

Mr. Smithson actually chuckled. "I will, before I tell her about Jim. You know how women are...they worry a lot."

You sounded pretty worried a minute ago, yourself! "I understand," Pete said aloud. "I'll see you shortly." Pete replaced the receiver, then turned and walked back to where Mac was standing.

"Did you find her?" Mac asked.

"Had to call her folks. She and her sister are still out, but her father will bring her right down as soon as they get back. He said they'd called and were on their way there."

"At least Jimmy will be with his grandparents. This could turn into a long night for Jean. It'll be easier knowing he's well taken care of."

"You're right."

"Since I can't see Jim, I'm going to head back to the station and check on things. Tell Jean I'll be back to check on Jim at end-of-watch. If for any reason you need me, or if anything changes, just give me a call."

"I will," Pete promised.

"And if they take him to surgery before I make it back, give me a call. The guys will want to know."

"Yeah, they will."

******
About twenty-five minutes after Mac left, Dr. Martin came into the waiting area where Pete was trying to read a six-month old magazine.

"Officer Malloy?"

"Oh, Dr. Martin," Pete stood. "Anything wrong?"

"No, not really. I was wondering if Mrs. Reed was here yet."

"I reached her father. He's supposed to be bringing her in. They live quite a ways from here, though, so I can't say when they'll get here. Are the surgeons here yet?"

"No, but I'm expecting them any minute." Dr. Martin paused.

"Are you sure Jim's okay?" Pete, used to reading between the lines with suspects, suspected that the doctor had more to say.

"Well, yes, he's all right, considering. He's been in-and-out of it for the past ten minutes or so, and he's very agitated. He's been asking for his wife. It's the darndest thing; I think he's still fretting over the ring. I was hoping she was here and she could calm him down."

Pete sighed. "I wish she was here, but I can't say when she'll make it. Look, doc, we're partners -- and friends. Maybe if I talked with him a few minutes, he'd calm down."

"If you think it'll help, I'll take you right to him. The more agitated he is, the less effective the pain medication will be."

"Let's go."

Pete followed Dr. Martin into the treatment room. His partner was lying on the exam table, covered with a blanket. A nurse hovered nearby. His left arm was propped on a nearby tray. The injured hand, lying atop an icebag, had been cleaned and a light wrap was lying on top of it. Jim's eyes were closed, but he wasn't resting peacefully. He was moaning softly, occasionally mumbling, and his body moved restlessly.

"See what I mean?" Dr. Martin whispered.

"I'll see what I can do." Pete walked over to Jim and touched his right shoulder lightly. "Jim? It's me, Pete."

Jim didn't immediately acknowledge his partner, so Pete tried again.

"Jim? Talk to me, partner. It's Pete."

Jim's eyes slid open a fraction. "Pete?" he croaked.

"Yeah. How you doin'?" Pete leaned a little closer so he could hear Jim's quiet voice.

Jim took a deep breath. "Been better. Where's Jean?"

"She's on her way," Pete assured him. "I talked to your father-in-law. He's bringing her over. They ought to be here any minute now. Just relax." Pete patted him on the shoulder.

"Pete...my wedding ring.....he cut it..."

"I know, partner. It had to be done. I know you're not happy about it, but the doctor said they saved the pieces. Maybe you can have it repaired."

"I want...to see it... where's it?"

"Jim, just relax, okay?"

"I want...to see... it. Please."

"Jim, you're like a bulldog with a bone when you get fixated on something," Pete groused, but his tone was teasing. He looked over at the doctor.

"Nurse, get the ring out of the bag," he ordered.

Pete reached for the small, transparent plastic bag the nurse pulled out of the larger bag that apparently held Jim's personal effects. Inside was what was left of Jim's wedding band. The silver ring was in two pieces, one of them flattened from the blow. It was also scratched, but all the blood had been cleaned off. Oh, no. This looks awful. I'm not sure it can be fixed.

Malloy moved the bag close to Jim's face. He wondered if Reed would be able to focus on it. "Here it is, Jim."

Jim slowly moved his right hand up to grasp the bag. He raised his head up, opened his eyes more fully and blinked to clear his vision.

"Careful of your IV," the nurse warned.

"Oh, God," Jim said. "It's ruined." His head fell back weakly and he closed his eyes again, clutching the bag to his chest.

"It'll be okay, Jim. I'll take it to a jeweler for you as soon as they open tomorrow." Pete tried to find something to comfort his distraught friend.

"Jean worked...so hard...for this...it means...everything to me."

Pete patted Jim's shoulder again. "Jean will understand. You need to stop worrying about it and calm down. I swear to you, I'll take care of it tomorrow."

Jim's head shook back and forth. "I told you, Pete."

"Told me what, Jim?"

"That something....bad...was going to happen. Things were just...too good." Jim caught his breath and winced as an apparent pain struck him.

"Just stay calm, Jim. It's gonna be okay. You need to relax and let the medicine work for you."

"I need...Jean. Where is she?"

"On her way, Jim. On her way. I want you to just relax, close your eyes and rest."
Pete continued to pat Jim's shoulder reassuringly. "Just relax."

The door to the treatment room opened then and the nurse, Sara, stuck in her head. "Mrs. Reed is here," she announced.

"Jean," Jim mumbled sleepily. "Go get her...Pete."

Pete looked up at the doctor, who nodded. "Sure thing, Jim. I'll be right back."

Pete paused briefly at the door before opening it. He took a moment to compose his face to neutrality before he faced Jean.

Malloy caught sight of her, standing nervously with her father at the Information Desk. She was clutching her purse in both hands and looking around the waiting area. Probably looking for me. Her father had both hands on her shoulders and he was talking quietly in her ear. She looked nervous, but composed. As Pete walked toward them, her eyes finally settled on him.

"Pete!" she exclaimed, breaking away from her father and hurrying toward Pete. "How's Jim?"

"Hello, Jean," Pete forced a small smile to his face. He slid an arm around her when they met and gave her a hug.

"How's Jim?" she repeated. "Daddy says he has a broken hand, but what's all this talk about surgery if that's all that's wrong?"

"Well," Pete hedged, "I can't explain it to you clinically, but before you see Jim I should probably tell you a little more information."

Jean's face betrayed her alarm. "What didn't you tell us?"

"Why don't we sit down a minute? Jim's anxious to see you, so let me fill you in."

"Pete, just tell me!"

"Honey," Mr. Smithson spoke up, "just settle down and let Pete talk."

Pete steered Jean to a nearby chair and settled her in it. Mr. Smithson sat to her left, and Pete to her right. Malloy took one of Jean's small hands and sandwiched it between his own. She looked scared, but she was together.

"Jim was hit in the hand -- the left one -- with a very large, heavy pipe," Pete explained quietly. He paused as Jean gasped, and he tightened his grip on her hand. "He was hit by a warehouse burglary suspect who was high on something. I didn't actually see it happen, because I was chasing down a second suspect. Jim will have to give us the details later. But, Jean, his hand is pretty much," he paused, hating to use the word he had to, "crushed. It's not just one bone, it's almost all of them. The doctor will have to explain it all to you."

Jean closed her eyes. "Oh, no. Oh, no."

Mr. Smithson put a comforting hand on his daughter's back. "Honey, don't get upset. I'm sure it'll be okay," he offered.

Pete continued, "The doctor seems to think everything will be okay, Jean, but he's called in a couple of specialists to look at the hand. They're on the way in. But he's sure Jim'll have to have surgery, tonight."

"Tonight!" Jean's eyes opened and she looked surprised.

"Yeah. Apparently they don't want to fool around with it...I'm sure they'll tell you why."

"Take me to him, Pete," Jean pleaded.

"I will. But just a couple of other things, first. He's been in a lot of pain, so he's had some medication and he's a little out of it. Don't let that frighten you."

"All right."

"And he's a little upset right now, because the doctor had to cut off his wedding band."

"Cut it off?" Jean blinked.

"His hand is really swollen...and the ring took a lot of the blow. It was smashed and cutting through the finger all the way to the bone." Pete had to stop as Jean gasped again. Her eyes filled with tears, but they didn't spill over. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but I wanted you to know before you went in."

"So they had to cut the ring off," Jean blinked away the tears and took a deep breath.

"Yes. And Jim is upset about it." Pete smiled. "I think he thinks you'll be mad at him."

"He's so silly sometimes," Jean managed to return the smile. "Can I see him now?"

"I'll take you," Pete helped her stand.

"Here, Daddy," she handed her purse off to her father. "I'll be right back."

******

Jean allowed Pete to escort her to the Treatment Room. He kept a hand on her back for support, which she appreciated. That's the thing about cops. When one goes down, the others are always there. She'd been lucky in the almost-two years Jim had been on the force; he'd had his share of injuries, but they had almost all been minor. She paused at the door and composed herself completely, taking a deep breath.

"You okay?" Pete asked.

"Yes. Yes, I'm okay." Jean smiled up at Pete. "Thanks." Thanks for being here for Jim and for me. Jim will feel better knowing someone's watching out for me.

"I'll wait out here for you." Pete dropped his hand and pushed open the door to the room.

"No," Jean reached down and took his hand. "Come in with me, please."

"All right," Pete nodded. He let Jean precede him into the Treatment Room, then dropped her hand and stood back as she went straight to her husband's side.

Fear clutched at Jean's heart as she caught her first look at her injured husband. His ashen hue alarmed her -- Jim was always tanned and healthy-looking. She could see the injured hand was elevated and on ice, but it was covered with a cloth that hid the extent of the injury from her. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was rapid and labored. She noted that he was shivering slightly under the blanket. His uninjured hand was lying atop his chest, and an IV was taped to it.

Pushing the fear aside, Jean gently picked up the right hand and held it between hers. She then saw the plastic bag with the shattered ring that had been lying underneath. "Jim, honey, it's me." she spoke quietly, not wanting to startle him. She lifted his hand and kissed it tenderly.

Jim's eyelids fluttered and finally opened. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Jean, honey," he sighed.

"Hey, baby," Jean gave him her bravest smile. Now that he was awake, she moved so that she could lean over and brush his lips with a kiss. She then kissed his cheek and brushed stray strands of his dark hair back off his forehead. He felt warm to her, as if he were feverish. "This is a really sneaky way to get out of painting the bathroom this weekend."

"Sorry," Jim got out between chattering teeth.

Jean instinctively fussed with the blanket, pulling it up over him a little higher, hoping to stem the chill. "Are you in much pain?"

"Not..too..bad," Jim held her hand, but his grip was understandably weak. "Jimmy?"

"Still at Momma and Daddy's. He's just fine. Daddy brought me here."

"Good." Jim closed his eyes again and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Honey?" She tightened her grip on his hand.

"'M okay." Jim disengaged his hand from her grip and groped for the plastic bag still lying on his chest. He managed to grasp it and hold it up to Jean. "My ring," he choked out. "I'm so sorry."

Jean took the bag from him without looking at the shattered ring and gripped his hand again. "It's all right, honey. We'll get it fixed. I don't want you to worry about it."

"I don't....think it can be fixed," Jim's voice was plaintive. "I'm so sorry."

"You aren't the one who should be apologizing, sweetie. It's that jerk that hit you that I'm angry with!"

"My fault," Jim insisted, shaking his head. "Stupid...rookie...mistake."

"I doubt that." Jean rebuked gently.

"Sorry," Jim repeated. His eyes closed again. A small tear leaked out of the corner of his eye and ran down the side of his head.

"Oh, honey," Jean leaned down and kissed the tear away, while fighting back tears of her own. "It's all right, really it is." She stroked his head gently, to calm and comfort him, just as she would stroke her baby son's.

Behind her, the door to the treatment room opened and a doctor entered. Dr. Martin moved from his spot near the door and greeted him. They conferred a moment, then Dr. Martin moved to Jean's side.

"Mrs. Reed, this is Dr. Fields, an orthopedic surgeon. He's going to examine your husband's hand and make an evaluation on a course of treatment. I need you to step outside for a while. We'll come and talk with you when he's done."

"Of course." Jean turned back to Jim and kissed him again. "I love you, honey. I'll be right outside."

"'Kay, hon. Love you, too. Don' worry."

"All right." She squeezed his hand again, but let go when Pete took her arm.

"You take it easy, partner," Pete said. "Don't worry about anything. I've got you covered."

"Thanks....partner."

"What's taking so long?" Jean fretted, looking over her shoulder at the treatment room door. Dr. Fields had been in with Jim for nearly 30 minutes. Another doctor had gone in as well, and there had been a steady stream of nurses in and out of the room. But none of them had offered to come over and give Jean any news.

"Now, honey, don't you worry," Mr. Smithson reached over and patted his daughter on the knee. "You want them to do the best thing for Jim, don't you? It takes time."

Jean sighed. "I know. It just makes me wonder." She toyed with the bag she'd brought out of the treatment room and pushed the pieces of the wedding band around through the plastic.

"Don't borrow trouble," was Mr. Smithson's advice. "What is it with women?" This was directed over Jean's head to Pete.

Jean glanced up at her husband's partner and quirked her mouth at him. When Pete merely looked at her father and shrugged, she smiled quietly at him.

"Somebody has to do the worrying," she declared. "You men seem to do precious little of it, always taking risks and doing dangerous things. Even off -duty," she remarked pointedly to Pete.

Pete grinned at her sheepishly, but had no verbal defense.

"Well, honey, you said it," her father spoke instead. "Somebody's got to do it."

Jean looked over her shoulder again to check the door and this time she was rewarded as the trio of doctors who'd been attending Jim came out and walked their way. "Finally," she breathed, standing to greet the men.

Pete and Mr. Smithson stood, too as the three physicians reached them.

"Mrs. Reed," Dr. Fields, the orthopedic surgeon spoke first. "Your husband has a very serious hand injury. We want to do surgery right away...tonight."

Jean nodded. "What do you have to do?" she asked.

"If I may," Dr. Fields reached for her hand, "I'll explain it as simply as I can."

"All right," Jean allowed him to take her hand. The doctor turned it so that her palm was facing down.

"Your husband has compound fractures of the second and third fingers. That means that the bones are protruding through the skin. Each of those fingers has two breaks in it, here, and here," Dr. Fields pointed to the locations on Jean's hand. He then traced a line along her knuckles. "These bones that we commonly call the knuckles are the heads of the metacarpals -- the hand bones. Your husband's are crushed...literally The x-rays revealed that instead of one bone, each one of them is in about 3 pieces. We're going to reduce the fractures -- that means set the bones -- of the ones we can, and we're going to have to insert pins in the hand to hold things together until he can heal."

"Will there be any...permanent damage?" Jean's voice held a note of trepidation.

"Mrs. Reed, I'm Dr. Lee," the second doctor spoke then. "I'm a vascular surgeon. I've examined your husband's hand. He has a lot of internal hemorraging and fluid build up in the phalanges -- fingers -- but I'm not anticipating any permanent damage. I'll be in the operating room also to make any repairs necessary once the hand is opened up."

"And as far as the bones go, he's young and healthy, and there shouldn't be any reason why they shouldn't heal."

"How long will that take?"

"Normally 6-8 weeks if all goes well. Then there'll be some physical therapy to help him regain the use and strength in that hand. I won't lie to you...it's liable to be a long road to a full recovery, meaning the return of strength and flexibility in the hand." Dr. Fields let go of her hand.

"How long will the surgery take?" Jean asked.

"Several hours, I'm afraid. This type of reconstruction can be tricky. I'd count on 3-4 hours. We're prepping him now, and we hope to be in the operating room by 11:15."

"The anesthesiologist will be by to talk with you in just a few minutes. He'll ask you some questions about his general health and when his last meal was and that kind of thing. We'll opt for the lightest anesthesia possible." This was from Dr. Martin. "The surgical floor is floor 3," he continued. "There's a waiting room there where you can make yourself comfortable."

"Do you have any other questions?" Dr. Fields asked.

"There's so much information..I can hardly digest it all. How long will he have to stay in the hospital?"

"That all depends on your husband. Two to three days, probably, barring complications."

Jean nodded. "Okay."

"Unfortunately, there's a lot of paperwork to be signed," Dr. Martin said. "I've got a nurse preparing it. If you can stay here until she brings them for you to sign, it'll be faster. There's a consent form, and a room contract and so forth. The anesthesiologist will have his own set of papers for you."

Jean nodded again. She felt like she was on automatic pilot. "All right."

"If you'll excuse us, we're going to scrub in," Dr. Fields said. "Don't worry, Mrs. Reed, everything will be all right. We'll try and keep you posted during the surgery."

"Thank you."

"A nurse will bring you his things," Dr. Martin said. "I'm not sure what to do about that gun belt."

"I'll take care of that," Pete spoke up.

"May I see him before you take him up?" Jean asked.

"When we're ready to move him, we'll let you walk with us. Until then, just please have a seat and wait on the paperwork."

"All right," Jean agreed. She seemed to be nodding and saying that a lot.

"You okay, honey?" Mr. Smithson slipped his arm around Jean's shoulders as the doctors went their separate ways.

"Yes, Daddy," Jean sighed. "It looks like I'm going to be here all night, so I need you to do something for me."

"Whatever you need, sweetheart."

Jean turned to Pete. "Cops always have paper and a pen. Can I borrow yours?"

"Of course," Pete handed over his pen and fished his notebook out of his pocket. He thumbed it to a clean sheet of paper and gave it to Jean.

Jean sat down and started writing. "I didn't take enough bottles or diapers for Jimmy to last all night and into tomorrow. I need you to go by the house and pick up some things for him and take them to Momma."

"All right."

Jean pushed the worry to the back of her mind and tried to concentrate on the practical matters of taking care of her baby. It took her longer than usual to think of everything the baby would need, but she finally finished the list, tore off the paper and handed it to her father. She gave the pen and notebook back to Pete.

"I'm gonna call your mother and tell her what's happening, and that I'm going by your house for these things."

"Do think you can find all that stuff?" Jean asked.

"Sure, I can. Don't worry about it." Mr. Smithson leaned over and kissed his daughter on the cheek. "And don't worry about Jim. He's gonna be fine. Give him our love when you see him."

"I will. And Daddy, don't worry about coming back here tonight. By the time you get all this done it'll be well after midnight. I'd feel better if you'd just stay home with Momma and take care of Jimmy."

"Are you sure? You don't need to be here all alone."

"Oh, she won't be alone," Pete promised. "I'll stay with her. It's the least I can do," he rushed on as both Jean and Mr. Smithson started to protest. "It's something I want to do."

"I don't need a baby-sitter, Pete," Jean objected with a smile.

"I know that. Like I said, it's something I want to do. And besides, I know it's something Jim would want me to do."

"Thanks, Pete." Jean gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "You know I'll appreciate your company." She then leaned over and kissed her father in the same way. "You'd better scoot, Daddy. You don't want your grandson to go hungry, do you?"

"Okay. I'll call your mother and go. Call us when you know anything."

"I will, Daddy. 'Bye." she waved him off. "Uh oh," she said.

"What?" Pete asked.

Jean nodded her head toward the information desk. "Here comes the paper brigade," she moaned, as she caught sight of a nurse bearing papers and coming her way. "I think I'm gonna need your pen again."

*****

Malloy watched Jean out of the corner of his eye as they sat in the surgical waiting area on the third floor. She'd held up remarkably well so far, handling all the little details she needed to with an apparent clear head and staying relatively calm. She had talked with the anesthesiologists and asked intelligent questions. Pete had been able to help in that regard, informing the doctor of when Jim had last eaten and of his subsequent vomiting after the injury. Jean had signed all the papers patiently and waited equally as patiently for medical personnel to allow her to see Jim before the surgery.

At 11:05 they had wheeled Jim out of the treatment room and called for Jean to accompany them up the elevator to the surgical floor. Jean had dragged Pete along, of course, and she had taken a position at her husband's right side, near his head. Unfortunately, Jim had been so doped up by that time, that he was mostly unresponsive, making only small little grunts and groans in response to Jean's soothing talk. That had apparently upset her somewhat.

The worst thing, though, was that in prepping Jim for surgery, they had removed the light cover from his hand and it was lying exposed for Jean to see. It looked every bit as bad now as it had earlier, still swollen and purple, with obvious lacerations and even visible bone. Pete knew she'd seen it, and purposefully turned her attention away from it to Jim's face. But Pete had seen the tears well up in her eyes, and he knew seeing that horrible sight had shaken her deeply.

Jean had clung to Jim's good hand as they rolled him away from her through the swinging doors that led to the surgical suites, and Pete had gently pulled her back and led her to a chair in the waiting area. A nurse came and deposited Jim's things next to her, and Pete had taken the gun and badge.

Pete had gone to call Mac to tell him what was happening. Mac promised to drop by as soon as he cleared out at the end of the PM watch. The sergeant told Pete that he would tell everyone about Jim and that some of them might come by. Pete thanked him and asked him to bring his civilian clothes when he came; if he was going to be up all night he wanted to be comfortable.

Now, at 11:33 p.m., Jean sat, head down, staring at the destroyed ring. She was toying with it, still pushing the pieces around through the plastic bag. Pete was keeping an eye on her because she suddenly seemed emotionally fragile. Malloy could tell that she was working very hard not to break down. Tears were pooled in her eyes and she was biting her lip.

I wish she hadn't seen the hand. I know it terrified her. Hell, it terrified me. I've never seen anything like it.

Pete wanted to say something reassuring to her, but he was fearful of saying something hollow and trite, which would be worse than just staying quiet. Besides, he was afraid if he spoke to her kindly or even touched her, she would shatter emotionally. He wanted to avoid that, if possible.

Jean continued to stare at the ring and push the broken pieces around. She finally opened up the bag and took out the pieces, appearing to study them carefully. She picked up the one that was bent and scratched the worst, held it close to her face, and rubbed her finger along the surface.

"I didn't realize how bad it was until I saw it," she whispered, so quietly that Pete could barely hear her. She was, of course, referring to Jim's hand.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Pete comiserated.

"I can only imagine how much pain he was in."

Thank God she didn't hear him scream. Pete shivered, remembering the sound. Jim was such a stoic when it came to pain or disability that any admission of either was extremely unusual. In fact, Jim had been known to hide pain and injury for hours until the end of a shift, so to hear him cry out as he had earlier tonight was completely unnerving.

"It must have hurt so bad." Jean sniffed, her voice still almost inaudible. Her hands, still holding the shattered ring, trembled and she no longer held back her tears. "To think...this was on his finger..." Her resolve completely crumbled and a sob escaped.

"That's over now," Pete soothed, his voice kind but firm. He slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Jim's getting the help he needs. He's not in pain now. Try not to think about how it happened."

"I'm sorry," Jean covered her mouth with a hand and took a deep breath, trying to bring her tears under control. "I promised myself I wouldn't cry over a broken hand; it seems so silly. But I just didn't know how bad it was."

"I didn't mean to mislead you, but I didn't want you to worry."

"Oh, Pete, it isn't your fault. I know you're just looking out for me." Jean wiped her eyes and fished in her purse for a tissue. She found one and discreetly blew her nose. "You're sweet to put up with my silliness."

"It's not silly. When someone you love is hurt, caring about them is never silly. No matter what your husband might tell you." Pete couldn't resist a jibe at his absent partner.

The jibe got the desired response. Jean smiled and actually laughed. "He talks a big game," she agreed. "But that big phony is every bit as sentimental as I am on the inside. When Jimmy has a sniffle or a fever, he's the one who stands over the crib all night watching him."

"Doesn't surprise me a bit."

"I have some wonderful stories I could tell, but I'm using them to blackmail him when he balks at doing work around the house."

Pete laughed out loud. "Thanks for the warning. Remind me to stay on your good side."

"You're safe so far," Jean assured him. She, too, laughed, but sobered quickly. "Thank you, Pete. Thanks for being there for Jim tonight and for me, too."

"Stop thanking me. What are partners -- and friends -- for? Jim would do the same for me, in fact he has done the same for me. I seem to remember getting shot in the shoulder a year or so ago, and then there was the little car accident I had a few months back. I seem to remember both you and Jim waiting on me hand and foot for a week or so, both of those times."

Jean held up a hand. "Those are two times I'd rather not think about right now. But you made your point."

"Sorry. We'll change the subject." Malloy nodded at the pieces of the ring in her hand. "I promised Jim I'd do something about that."

Jean held the pieces of the ring out for Pete's inspection. "What do you think, Pete? Can it be fixed?"

Pete took the parts from her and looked them over. Damn. Up close it's even worse. "I don't know, Jean. It's pretty bad. But I promised Jim that I'd take it somewhere to get it repaired tomorrow. I know this guy that's a jeweler. I'll take it by there tomorrow and get his opinion." Pete turned the pieces over. "I hate to be pessimistic, but it looks pretty hopeless."

"I hate to agree, but I do. We can give it a try, but I don't think it'll be the same." Jean sighed. "I can't believe he was so upset about the ring. I can't believe he thought I'd be more upset about the ring than about his hand!"

"Well, he wasn't thinking very clearly," Pete allowed. He paused a beat, then continued, "But even at that, he seemed to be really attached to it. I sense a story there, beyond the usual Jim sentimentality. Don't tell him I said that," he grinned.

"It's not much of a story, and its pretty corny -- especially when told to a 'happy bachelor'."

"It can't be any worse than some of the stories Jim and I hear every day. Lay it on me."

"Well, it condenses down to..."

"Hey, don't leave out anything good!" Pete objected. "You never know when this information might come in handy for me. Start at the beginning."

"You asked for it. Okay, you know Jim and I met when we were in high school."

"At a basketball game. I know that much."

"Right. He was a senior, and I was a junior...at a rival school. But that's too long a story and all beside the point. I just wanted to remind you how long we've been dating. Jim graduated and went to college on a football scholarship -- you know that, too. Even though he was in a local school, it was so hard. We managed to hang on that first year even though I hardly ever got to see Jim at all. If he wasn't at practice, he was in class, or studying films or studying for tests or playing in a game. You know he played all three sports his first couple of years. Then when I graduated, Momma and Daddy insisted I go on to college myself -- but they wouldn't let me go where Jim was. I wound up all the way across town!"

"Were they trying to keep you apart?" Pete asked.

"No, not really. They said they just wanted me to concentrate on my studies instead of my sweetheart."

"Did it work?"

Jean giggled. "Are you kidding? No. Oh, I made decent grades, and Jim was doing well, but we were miserable. It was the same old story; Jim was busy, I was busy. If we saw each other once a week we were lucky. Jim started making noises about getting married. It was ridiculous, of course...both of us students, neither of us working. We had no money, and we were so young, so we just kinda kicked the idea around without being too serious.

"Then came Jim's junior year and everything went wrong for him. He got injured the first game of the football season, and he had to sit out a few games, his dad got sick and had to sell the gas station, he had a hard class load...you know, it was just one of those times where all the little things add up."

Pete nodded. "What kind of injury?"

"Pulled hamstring. It took him weeks to get over it. And there was this hot-shot freshman that Jim was worried about losing his spot to. Just another layer of pressure he was under. Anyway, about Thanksgiving, Jim seriously asked me to marry him. I told him 'yes' of course, and we started to make plans. We were going to wait until the end of the summer, so we could save up some money, but Jim's dad got sicker and in January we decided if he was going to stand up for Jim, we'd have to move the date up. And it's a good thing we did, too, because Mr. Reed didn't live six weeks after we got married."

"I didn't know that."

Jean nodded. "That's another long, sad story," she sighed. "But the long and short of it is that we moved the wedding to the end of March, during spring break. Jim left the basketball team and took a job. Well, two jobs, actually. He was saving every penny trying to get us a 'nest egg'. I tell you, Pete, I don't know how he survived that semester with all he was going through and planning a wedding. We started looking at rings, and we really liked this set," Jean held her left hand up and wiggled her fingers for Pete. "It was these two and Jim's, but the price for all three was way above what we'd budgeted. Jim said that we'd go ahead and buy mine and we could get his later, in the summer, when we'd both be working full-time."

"Sensible Jim," Pete commented.

"Yeah. Sweet, sensible Jim. Well, I felt bad. I really wanted him to have a ring, too. I didn't want to ask Momma and Daddy for the money, because they were already paying for the wedding, and I was already enrolled for spring semester and I couldn't just quit and throw all that money away, so I just started doing little odd jobs, working part-time, typing papers, anything to earn a little money so I could get that ring. I didn't want Jim to know, because he would have had a fit. I must have baby-sat a hundred kids, typed a hundred papers and walked a hundred dogs in that three-month period. But I got the money. One week before the wedding. Just enough time to have it engraved and give it to him right before the wedding rehearsal. I could hardly surprise everybody with it at the wedding, now, could I?"

"Was he surprised?"

"You bet. It was one of the few times I ever saw him speechless. But only for a few minutes. First he chewed me out, then he cried, and then he kissed me and told me he'd cherish it -- and me --forever. That's what's on the inside...or, was, rather....Forever, Jean."

"Awwww," Pete said, smiling.

"I told you it was corny."

"It's not corny at all," Pete contradicted. "In fact, it's just typical you and Jim, if you ask me. And of course, the end of the story is you got married and lived happily ever after."

"So far, so good," Jean agreed. "Although, if you'd seen that first apartment we lived in, you would have wondered! My mother must have cried for a week when she saw that place."

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. It was a little efficiency apartment right off the campus. Jim could walk to class and practice -- he was on the baseball team by this time, and working a part-time job. I had to have the car to drive to my classes, and I took a part-time job there, too. The place was awful, Pete! There were roaches there the size of lizards. The plumbing was bad, the paint was peeling, and when you flushed the toilet the whole apartment shook." She smiled, remembering. "But it was heaven to us. We were together, and that was all that mattered." Jean paused again. "And it's all that matters now."

"You've got one of the strongest marriages I've ever seen," Pete affirmed. "No matter what happens, your love is strong, and it'll pull you through."

"That's what I keep telling myself." Jean sighed, glanced at her watch and settled back in the uncomfortable chair. "I know it's what's going to get me through this long night."

*****

The night was, indeed, long. A little after midnight Mac appeared with Pete's change of clothing and some information on the warehouse burglary suspects. The sergeant told both Jean and Pete that while Will was a first-time offender, Eddie had an extensive rap sheet. Both men had been high on amphetamines as Pete and Jim had suspected. Mac told them that the pipe turned out to be a two-inch diameter solid iron rod used as a support joist for scaffolding. Will, it seemed, worked for an iron-works factory and had picked up the pipe out of a scrap pile just that day. Both suspects had been booked on possession charges, burglary, and Eddie had been booked for ADW on a police officer.

Ed Wells and Bob Brinkman dropped by for a little while, as well as several other officers from the PM watch. Jean convinced them to go on home to their own wives, who were probably getting worried about them. They did go, eventually, after promising to return the next day, and making Pete promise to call if they were needed. By 1:30 a.m., only Mac and Pete remained.

At 2:00 a.m. a nurse came with news from the operating room. Jim was doing fine and the procedures were going well, but the surgery was going to take longer than they first thought. The visit from the nurse was a courtesy, so that Jean wouldn't worry.

Pete found himself drifting off to sleep occasionally, but he startled awake every time Jean or Mac made a sound or move, or if the elevator doors opened. Jean was calm and composed, just a bit impatient.

Finally, at 3:40 a.m., Dr. Fields, dressed in his surgical scrubs, emerged from the double doors that led to the surgical suite. Jean was on her feet immediately, but relaxed when the orthopedic surgeon greeted her with a smile. Mac and Pete flanked her.

"Mrs. Reed, your husband is doing great," he assured her. "The surgery was a little more involved than we thought at first, but everything went extremely well. We reduced the fractures and set the pins. Dr. Lee repaired some torn vessels but the vascular damage was minimal. His fingers are receiving full circulation and there's no danger at this point of him losing any of them. He's in recovery now, and he'll be there about an hour or so, then we'll move him to his room. I have every reason to believe that he'll make a full recovery. Right now, I feel confident in saying there's nothing to worry about."

"Thank you so much, Dr. Fields," Jean offered her hand for the surgeon to shake. "I appreciate everything you've done."

"Think nothing of it. I'll be by tomorrow to talk with the both of you about what you can expect in the next few weeks. Your husband will still be in a lot of discomfort, but we'll manage the pain for him. Meanwhile, I suggest you get some rest yourself."

"Oh, I'm fine. I have a ten-month old son. I'm used to being up at night."

Dr. Fields chuckled. "Feel free to call if you need anything."

"Thank you."

"Now, that feels better, doesn't it?" Mac asked with a grin.

"You'd better believe it!" Jean sat down and let out a long breath. "Now why don't the two of you go home? Jim's fine and so am I."

"I'll stay until he's in his room," Pete said. "I'd like to eyeball him once more."

Jean shook her head. "You're hopeless," she accused.

"Well, I believe I'll head home, since Pete's going to stick around a bit," Mac said. "Jean, you call the house tomorrow and let me know how he's doing. And you should take the doctor's advice and get some rest yourself."

"I'll nap by his bedside," Jean promised.

"Take it easy, Jean...Pete." Mac waved good-bye and went to hail the elevator down.

"You really don't have to stay, Pete," Jean repeated, when Mac was swallowed up from view.

"I'll stay until you get Jim settled in his room, and you have a place to light, yourself. That won't be too much longer. I tell you what, why don't I run get us both a cup of coffee and a bite to eat? You haven't had anything since you've been here."

"That'd be great, Pete," Jean said gratefully. "Suddenly I do feel a little hungry."

"Good. I figure once you get Jim back in your clutches, you won't leave to eat."

"You're probably right."

"I'm afraid the cafeteria is closed at this hour. It'll have to be something out of the machine. How do you want your coffee?"

"Cream and sugar…extra if there's a button for it."

"Oh, so you like a little coffee with your sweet milk, eh?" Pete teased.

"Jim says the same thing. I didn't even drink coffee until I married Jim. Is it a requirement that cops be coffee-holics?"

"Pretty much," Pete grinned as he stood. "We gotta have something to get us through all that report-writing. What's your poison in the food department? Cookies or pastry?"

"Twinkies if they have them. Otherwise, a danish is good. You have change?"

"Plenty. Be right back."

By the time Pete got back with the coffee and food and they'd eaten it, the better part of an hour had passed. Jean made a call to her parents to update them and check on Jimmy, then went to the ladies room to wash her face and freshen up a bit. She and Pete were sitting quietly talking when a nurse came to tell them Jim had been moved to his room and that he was groggy, but doing fine.

Pete gathered up the bag with Jim's effects in it and escorted Jean to the room. When they got there, a nurse was just finishing up adjusting the bed for Jim and arranging the now-bandaged hand in an elevated position.

"How's he doing?" Jean whispered to her.

"Very well," the nurse responded. "He's groggy and a little nauseated from the drugs, but all his vital signs are good. He's still got an IV in, and that'll stay in for a while. If he asks, or says he's thirsty, he can have ice chips...I put some by the bed…or maybe just a little water. The hand needs to stay propped and elevated. Otherwise, sleep is the best thing for him now. Use the call button if you need me."

"I will, thanks." Jean moved into the room and stood by Jim's side. He's so pale. And he's still shivering. She moved the covers up a little higher and stroked his hair lightly. "Honey, it's me. Can you hear me?" she leaned over and touched his lips with hers. "Jim, sweetheart?"

"Hmmmm?" Jim moaned quietly. His eyes blinked once, twice, then opened.

"Hey, handsome," Jean smiled, leaned over and kissed her husband again.

"Jeeeaaann?" Jim slurred the word so that it was barely recognizable.

"Yes, babe, it's me. You're out of surgery and doing fine. You're in a room. Pete's here, too."

"Hey, partner," Pete moved up into Jim's line of vision.

"Peeeete."

"Sounds like the way Jimmy butchers my name," Pete cracked.

"Time 'zit?" Jim mumbled.

"Just about 5 a.m."

Jim shifted in the bed slightly and his left arm jerked. He winced in response and both Jean and Pete put out a hand to calm him.

"Don't move around sweetheart," Jean soothed. "Are you uncomfortable?"

"My...hand...wanna see it."

"It's all wrapped up, baby. It's fine."

"F-f-fiiingersss? Stilll got 'em?"

"Yes, sweetheart. You've still got them and you'll get to keep them." Jean assured him, kissing him once again.

Jim seemed to relax. His eyes closed once, but he forced them back open. "Good. Good." he whispered. "Can still....teach Jimmy....play ball.."

"You bet you can," Pete affirmed. He patted Jean on the back as she wiped tears away.

"So tired," Jim mumbled.

"Just go back to sleep, darling. There's nothing to worry about." Jean stroked Jim's head again until his eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep.

Pete pulled the lone chair in the room up to the side of the bed for Jean to sit in. "You sure you're okay if I go?"

Jean nodded. "I'm fine. Now that I can see and touch him, I feel much better."

"You think you can get some rest?"

"I think so. I'll just sit down here and put my head on the bed next to him. I think that'll put me right to sleep."

Pete patted her back once again. "Okay, but I'm only a phone call away if you need me."

"I know that. Thanks, Pete."

"I'm gonna go home and catch a few hours sleep, then I'm off to the jewelers to see about the ring." Pete touched his pocket where he'd put the bag with the ring pieces. "I'll be back this afternoon before I go on duty."

"You just be sure you get enough rest before you go to work."

"I will. Take care, now. Call if you need me."

"Sure thing. Bye, Pete."

"Bye." Pete slipped out the door.

True to her word, Jean settled herself into the chair and kicked off her shoes. She took her husband's right hand, in her own, then leaned her head onto the bed, just inches away from Jim's shoulder.

"I love you, Jim," she whispered, then closed her own eyes to sleep.
Pete got home at 5:30 in the morning, shedding clothing on his way through his apartment to the bedroom. He'd paused only long enough to set the alarm for 12:30 before he'd fallen, exhausted, into bed. He'd managed to mumble a quick prayer for Jim's recovery before falling asleep. When the alarm jangled him awake seven hours later, it was all he could do to drag himself from bedinto the shower. Once he'd had a shower and eaten a sandwich, he felt better and was ready to undertake the mission he'd promised Jim.

Malloy pulled his Mustang up to the curb and killed the engine. Before getting out of the car, he rubbed his hand across his face and blew out a breath. Seven hours of sleep just wasn't enough to erase last night.

Pete walked the half-block from his car to the tiny jewelry shop stuck in between a Jewish delicatessen and a dry-cleaners. The shop was in the Adam-12 patrol territory, and Pete had been acquainted with the owner for many years. In fact, the store had been robbed twice in the past 7 years and Pete had been on the scene both times; once with Reed and once with a previous partner. As a result, the owner, an elderly man named Jacob Goldstein, had come to treat Pete as a favored nephew; and in the past two years he'd become especially fond of Jim, even going so far as to ask Reed if he was sure "he wasn't Jewish."

Malloy stopped when he reached the door, patting his pocket to make sure he still had the ring. Stenciled on the glass door in neat, gold lettering were the words "Goldstein's Jewelry." When Malloy pushed the door open, bells tinkled above his head.

Behind the counter, a small, gray-haired man was bent over a tray of rings, polishing one with deliberate strokes. When the bells tinkled, he lifted his head. When he caught sight of Malloy, he broke into a toothy grin.

"Ah, Pete Malloy!"

"Mr. Goldstein," Pete acknowledged the greeting.

"What brings you to my humble place of business?" Mr. Goldstein extended his hand and Pete shook it. "And in your civvies, no less! Who's protecting my business if you're not on the job?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Goldstein, LAPD is still on the job. I work the PM watch today."

"That explains why I haven't seen you or young Reed recently, eh?"

"Yessir. We'll be back on days in a couple of weeks though." Pete paused as it occurred to him that Jim wouldn't be working a beat for quite a while yet.

"Well, then, are you here to buy a ring for that special lady?" Mr. Goldstein's eyes twinkled as he grinned broadly. "Have you finally decided to forsake the sinful life of a bachelor?"

"Sinful life?" Pete laughed. "You been talking to my partner behind my back?"

"Oy, Pete! You need a woman to take care of you! My Edna has been the greatest blessing of my life."

"You have been talking to Jim." Pete shook his head. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Goldstein, but there's no prospect for a future Mrs. Malloy at this time."

"One day, God willing, I'll live long enough to see the day," Mr. Goldstein raised a hand toward the ceiling and looked upward.

Pete sighed. "I promise you, Mr. Goldstein, when and if that day comes, her ring will come from this shop."

"From your lips to God's ears," Mr. Goldstein said happily. "So, if you don't need a ring, Pete, what brings you here?"

"I need your help. I have quite a challenge for you, I'm afraid."

"A challenge? I don't understand."

Pete retrieved the bag with Jim's ring from his pocket. He placed it on the counter and took the pieces of the ring out.

"What's this?" Mr. Goldstein asked.

"That used to be Jim Reed's wedding ring." Pete handed the pieces over to the jeweler.

"Merciful God! Please tell me, Pete, that young Jim wasn't wearing it when this happened?"

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Goldstein."

Mr. Goldstein rolled his eyes toward the ceiling again and began talking rapidly in Yiddish.

"Mr. Goldstein?" Pete interrupted.

"Oh, never mind an old man's ramblings," Mr. Goldstein brought his attention back to Pete. "It was just a prayer for your partner. Such a nice boy, always so polite and such a smile...and so proud of his family. Will he be okay?"

"Yes, sir, he'll be fine. He did have to have surgery, but they say he'll heal just fine."

"That's good, that's good."

"He's upset about his ring," Pete explained. "It has a lot of sentimental value to him. I promised him that I'd take it to someone who could repair it. What do you think, Mr. Goldstein? Can it be done?"

Mr. Goldstein reached under the counter and retrieved his eyepiece. He picked up each piece and examined it. "This engraving, is it supposed to read 'Forever, Jean'?"

"That's right. What do you think? Can you fix it?"

Mr. Goldstein took off the eyepiece. "I can put the ring back together, Pete. But it won't look the same. It'll have to be welded and smoothed. Some of the detail work on the outside will be lost and I'm not sure if the engraving will hold up. But I could smooth it out and have it re-engraved. You ask him before I do that, all right?"

"I will. If you can pull this off, I'll be eternally grateful. Jim was as upset about having the ring destroyed as he was about his broken hand. Like I said, it's really special to him. His wife worked really hard to earn the money to buy it for him and it's quite a symbol of her love to him."

"Ah, Pete, such a story, such a story." Mr. Goldstein put his hand over his chest. "Like I said, such a nice boy, your partner. Are you sure he isn't Jewish?"

"I'm pretty sure, Mr. Goldstein," Pete grinned at the old joke.

"Then I will make him an honorary Jew," Mr. Goldstein declared. "I will do my very best work on this, I promise you."

"Thank you, Mr. Goldstein. Money is no object...whatever it costs, it'll be covered."

"Money! You wound my soul, Pete Malloy! Don't besmirch the beauty of the story by bringing money into this! I, Jacob Goldstein, would do this for nothing...for my friends, Pete Malloy and Jim Reed, and because I, too, believe like young Jim in the symbol of marriage." Mr. Goldstein held up his left hand to flash his own band. "A good woman is a gift from God, and the ring is the symbol of that union. When you are apart, it is the comfort and reassurance you have that someone loves you. I understand his distress."

"I'll be sure to tell Jim you said that. He'll be pleased that someone who cares as much as you do is working on it." Pete smiled. "We'll discuss finances later, but for now, I thank you for your help. Just call me when it's ready." Pete handed Mr. Goldstein a card. "I put my home phone on the back of that."

"Okay, Pete. I will call when it's ready. Tell young Jim Godspeed and get well. Tell him Jacob Goldstein will do everything he can to put his ring back to rights."

"I will, Mr. Goldstein. Thanks again."

*****

After Pete left Mr. Goldstein's store, he made his way back to Central Receiving to check on Jim before he went to the station. He knew that his brother officers would want an update on Jim's condition, and besides, he wanted to be able to tell Jim about the ring. Or Jean, if Jim wasn't up to conversation.

He parked in the back where police cars always parked, then made his way through the emergency entrance to the main bank of elevators that would take him to the third floor. Before he could punch the button, however, someone called his name from the waiting area just adjacent to the elevators.

"Pete! Pete Malloy!"

Malloy turned and saw Jean's sister, Annie, waving at him from across the room. He returned the wave, and as he moved toward her, he caught sight of his godson playing with a toy on a blanket at her feet. Annie, though older than Jean by 4 years, had only been married for a year and a few odd months, and had no children yet. Jim joked that Annie was practicing on Jimmy before having one of her own. She always looked after Jimmy when needed, though, and Pete knew how grateful Jim and Jean were for that.

"There's my godson," Pete grinned at the sight of the baby sitting on the blanket and playing with a brightly-colored teething ring that squeaked when he bit down on it. At the sound of Pete's voice, Jimmy turned around and smiled.

"Peeete," the baby lisped, reaching chubby arms up to him.

"Come here, you little rascal," Pete reached down, picked up Jimmy and gave him a hug and a kiss. The boy squealed in delight. "Hello, Annie," he greeted her.

"Good to see you, Pete," Annie returned the greeting.

"What's going on? Why is Jimmy here? Nothing's happened, has it?"

"Oh, no. Mother and Daddy wanted to come see Jim and check on Jean, and Jimmy was fretting after his mommy and daddy. So they brought him, and I came along to look after him. Jean came downstairs a while ago and fed him and played with him a little while. It did her as much good as it did Jimmy, I think, but she's still worn out."

"I can understand why. How's Jim doing?" Jimmy reached for a button on Pete's shirt, and he intercepted the tiny hand before he got a hold on it. "No, no, buddy, no buttons for you."

Annie hedged. "Not so well. He's having a rough afternoon. He's in some pain, restless, kinda sick at his stomach, and he's running a fever."

"Good grief," Pete shifted Jimmy to his hip to keep the boy from getting a fistful of strawberry-blond hair.

"It's all routine stuff after surgery. The doctor came by a few minutes ago and said there wasn't anything to worry about."

"That's good. I just wanted to run by before I went to the station. The guys'll want to know how he's doing."

"I don't know how sociable he'll be," Annie warned.

"Oh, I'm used to his anti-social behavior," Pete joked. He lifted Jimmy up over his head and playfully jostled him until the boy laughed.

"You two," Annie chuckled, shaking her head. "I guess you have to have a sense of humor to put up with the crap you policemen deal with everyday."

"It certainly helps." Pete tickled Jimmy on the tummy making him squeal some more. "So does hearing this boy laugh." Pete continued his tickling until Jimmy was almost breathless from laughing. "I swear, he looks more like big Jim every day."

"He can never deny this one," Annie agreed.

Pete handed Jimmy over to her reluctantly. "I'd better scoot if I want to see Jim, or I'll be late for work." Jimmy's face puckered up and he started to whimper, reaching for Pete. When Pete didn't reach back, the whimper turned into a wail. "Aww, Jimmy, don't cry, sport. Uncle Pete's gotta go see..."

"Don't say the 'D' word," Annie interrupted quickly. "Jean made that mistake a while ago and it took us twenty minutes to get him to stop crying for him."

"Oh, that's awful," Pete sighed. "Poor baby, he doesn't understand."

"No, of course not," Annie agreed, rubbing Jimmy's back to try and comfort him. "And don't tell you-know-who, either, or he might just cry himself."

"Don't worry. I know better than that." Pete patted his godson's back. "Bye-bye, little buddy. Uncle Pete's gotta go now. But I'll see you real soon, I promise." Jimmy continued to cry, lower lip trembling, face red with the sobs. "You're not making this easy, kiddo!"

"You just better go, Pete. Once you're out of sight I can probably distract him with his teether. The poor baby's just about had it. I don't think we realize sometimes that babies can pick up on emotions. He knows something isn't right. He just doesn't know what."

"Okay," Pete gave Jimmy a final pat. "See you later."

Turning away from the sobbing child was one of the hardest things Pete had ever done, especially when Jimmy called his name a couple of times as Malloy made his way back to the elevators. Oh, man, I feel bad. Now I know how Jim feels when he has to leave Jimmy crying some afternoons. I don't think I'll ever make fun of him for that again. Poor little boy, everybody's deserting him. Pete didn't dare look back, and was grateful when the elevator came, so that he could escape the pitiful sound of Jimmy's crying.

The elevator delivered Pete to the third floor, and as he got off, he ran straight into Jim's sister, Jane, and her husband, Phil. This is my day for seeing the siblings.

"Hello, Pete," Jane extended her hand and Pete shook it. "It's good to see you."

"I'm sorry it has to be under these circumstances," Pete responded as Phil offered him a hand, as well.

"Me, too." Jane sighed.

Like Jean's sister, Jane was a few years older than Jim. She was tall like Jim and had coloring. Unlike Jim, however, she was in poor health; she had been an insulin-dependent diabetic since she was 19 and had a lot of trouble staying stable. Jim had expressed worry over her condition to Pete many times during the years they'd ridden together. Jim was strangely silent about his brother-in-law. The most he'd ever said was that Phil took good care of Jane, and that the marriage seemed solid. Pete got the distinct impression that Jim didn't care much for Phil Barstow, but Jim would never say that out loud.

She really looks bad. She's even thinner than the last time I saw her.

"I want to thank you, Pete, for what you did for Jim and Jean last night," Jane was saying, bringing Pete back from his thoughts.

"I was glad to do it."

"You should have called us, Pete," Phil spoke up. "Any time we can help out, we're available. Jane worries herself sick over that brother of hers."

"Jim's always fussing over me, trying to keep me from worrying. I think he's afraid if I worry I'll have to take more insulin." Jane chuckled. "I don't know where he gets that idea."

"Probably the same place he got the idea of being a cop," Phil interjected. When Pete gave him an odd look, he went on, "Nothing personal, Pete. It's just a dangerous job. That's all I meant."

"Of course," Pete agreed. Maybe I'm starting to see why Jim doesn't seem to like this guy.

"Jim's not feeling too well right now," Jane changed the subject. "We didn't stay too long. I just wanted him to know I was here."

"I'm sure by tomorrow he'll be his old self."

"Jane can't go too long without eating, anyway. You know, because of her diabetes. I've got to get her some lunch."

"But not before I go play with my nephew," Jane's eyes lit up when she mentioned the baby. A complication of her diabetes was that the risks involved with pregnancy were so great that her doctors had told her she would never survive. The couple hadn't adopted, so they, too were childless. Their chances of adopting with Jane's medical history weren't hopeful, either.

"He's downstairs with Annie, crying, right now. He'll be glad to see you."

"Oh, poor baby. Let's go, Phil." She tugged at her husband's sleeve and pushed the elevator call button. "Bye, Pete."

"See you both later," Pete said good-bye and made his way to Jim's room.

He didn't run into any more relatives in the short distance he had to walk, though with the luck he'd had so far, he wouldn't have been surprised if he'd run into the Smithsons. The door to Jim's room was cracked, but to be polite, Pete tapped on the door before he pushed it open.

"Come in," Jean called quietly.

Pete eased into the room and pushed the door back to its former position. He found Jean standing over her husband, wiping his face with a wet cloth. Jim was squirming uncomfortably in the bed, eyes only half-open. "Bad time?" he asked, whispering.

"Never for you, Pete." Jean leaned over and spoke to Jim. "Honey, Pete's here."

Jim opened his eyes a fraction more and lifted his right hand off the bed slightly to greet his partner. He made a little grunting groan that Pete took as a "hello."

"Hi, Jim. They not treating you right around here?" Pete noted with a little concern that Jim was still very pale, but his cheeks were flushed red. He really does look feverish.

"The doctor came in and took a look at him," Jean dipped the cloth in a basin of icy water on the nightstand, wrung it dry and started wiping Jim's face again. "He said everything was okay, but he had a nurse change the dressing. That caused him to start hurting again, but they won't bring more pain medication for another 45 minutes." Jean's voice held quiet fire. "And I guess you can tell he's running a fever."

Pete nodded. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Shoot me," Jim mumbled painfully. His legs were moving restlessly under the covers.

"No, shoot the duty nurse," Jean huffed. She folded the cloth and lay it on Jim's forehead, then leaned over and kissed him a couple of times on the cheek.

"I don't think Mac would approve. Besides being against the law, he'd be out two officers instead of one. You know how grouchy that makes him." Pete laid a hand on the blanket over Jim's foot and gave it a pat.

"Sorry...to desert you," Jim was talking through clenched teeth.

"Don't worry about it." Pete gave the foot another pat, his heart aching for his partner.

"Hope...you don't...draw Wells." Jim closed his eyes wearily.

"Mac knows better than that." Pete paused. "I saw both your sisters on my way in."

"Annie's been a trooper," Jean said gratefully. "I think Jane and Phil are going to try to steal Jimmy away from her, though."

"That wouldn't surprise me."

"You...see..Jimmy?" Jim asked.

"I sure did. He was playing on a blanket." Pete remembered his promise not to tell Jim about him crying. "I got a lot of nice baby hugs."

"Miss him," Jim sighed.

"You'll see him soon, sweetie." Jean again wet the cloth and gave his face a wipe.

"Oh, I took your ring to Mr. Goldstein. He told me to tell you he'll do everything he can to fix it."

"Thanks, Pete," Jean said.

"Hopeless," Jim commented.

"Maybe not. Don't give up yet. You know Mr. Goldstein. He's quite a guy."

"Yeah," Jim agreed breathlessly, "but not...a magician."

"It doesn't matter about the ring," Jean insisted. "If it can't be fixed, I'll get you another one."

Jim frowned. "Don't want another one. Want that one." His voice was petulant.

Jean rolled her eyes and looked at Pete. "Impossible," she mouthed silently to him.

"Well, partner, I've gotta run or I'll be late for roll call," Pete decided Jim had had enough company. Rest was what he needed now; rest and a dose of pain medication.
"I just wanted to see you before I went in so I can give the guys a report."

"Say...hi...to everyone. I'll be back...soon."

"I'll do that. You take it easy." Pete gave the foot a final pat. "Jean, try and get some rest. I'll check in with you later. Call if you need anything."

"Thanks for coming by, Pete."

"Thanks," Jim echoed.

"I'll see if I can roust that nurse for you on my way out." Pete grinned. "Maybe I can charm her into bringing your medicine early."

"Sorry, Pete...she's about 50 years old, gray, and mean," Jean laughed. "I don't think anybody can charm her."

"I bet Jimmy could," Pete contradicted as he slid out the door. He heard Jean laughing as he closed it behind him.

*****

Jim was'nt released from the hospital for another three days. During those three days his physical condition improved. His fever broke sometime during that first night and as his system adjusted to the drugs he was being given, he felt well enough to eat some light food. His pain lessened and the hand began the long healing process. Dr. Fields declared that Jim was making excellent progress and that rest and time were what he needed most.

Jim's mental condition didn't improve as fast as his physical one, however. It was obvious to his family and friends that he was very down; he ate very little, was quite restless, and was largely uncommunicative. Jim blamed it on being cooped up in bed in the hospital and, trying to placate his concerned wife, told her that the food was bad, the bed was uncomfortable, doctors and nurses were bugging him at all hours of the day and night, and he missed his son. He promised Jean that he'd be better once he got home and he was back in familiar surroundings, eating her good cooking and being able to hold and play with Jimmy.

On the day of his release, Jim's fragile mental state was further compromised when Dr. Fields told him that he couldn't go back to work, even for desk duty, for two weeks. Jim protested noisily, but the doctor held firm, refusing to clear Jim for return to duty for fourteen days. The surgeon insisted that Jim needed as much rest as possible, that he needed to keep the hand stabilized and still, and that he would probably need mild pain medication for most of that fourteen days. Work was simply out of the question.

Pete accompanied Jean to the hospital on the day Jim was released to help get his partner home and settled. He let Jean out to take care of the paperwork, knowing she'd have medical personnel to help her in the room with Jim. Malloy stayed with the car and met them at the door so that Jim would only have to walk a few steps after he finished the obligatory wheelchair ride to the entrance.

After what seemed an interminable amount of time, the wheelchair bearing Jim arrived at the entrance, accompanied by a nurse and by Jean, who was carrying Jim's suitcase. Jim had been outfitted with a large cloth sling over his forearm and injured hand, which were secured close to his chest.

Pete hurried forward and took the suitcase from Jean as the nurse maneuvered the rolling chair through the door. Both Jean and Jim had decidedly unhappy looks on their faces, which surprised Pete. He'd expected them both to be delighted to get Jim out of Central Receiving and home. Instead, they both looked as if they were headed to a funeral rather than a homecoming. I wonder if they got some bad news?

Pete tossed the suitcase into the trunk and returned to help support Jim as he got up from the wheelchair and made his way toward the car.

"I'm okay, Pete," Jim insisted, but allowed Pete to take his arm and steer him to the car.

"Stretch out or sit up?" Pete asked, as he opened the rear door. They had come in Jim's sedan so Jim wouldn't have to crawl in the Mustang's back seat.

"I can sit," Jim's voice was clipped, but sounded tired and resigned rather than impolite. The younger man slid into the back seat and slowly pulled his long legs into the car. Once he had settled in, Pete reached over and fastened his seat belt for him. "Thanks," Jim managed.

Pete started to make a crack about having to strap him in like they did Jimmy, but the look on his partner's face made him to reconsider. Instead, he nodded and smiled at Jim, then looked to Jean. She'd already strapped herself into the front passenger seat, so Pete made his way to the driver's side and cranked the car.

"Home, James?" Pete grinned, turning to look at Jim in the back seat. He was disappointed when Jim didn't complain about his attempt at humor.

"Please," was Jim's weary response.

"You okay back there, honey?" Jean asked. Her voice, too, had an edge of weariness.

"I'm fine." Jim's words were reassuring but his tone was not.

Pete cut his eyes to Jean and gave her a questioning look.

She looked back at Jim. "The surgeon told Jim he couldn't go in to work for two weeks."

Well THAT certainly explains the long faces. "Two weeks?" he questioned aloud. "That's rough."

"No kidding."

Jean shifted and turned in her seat so that she could hold Jim's good hand. She squeezed it gently. "Jim tried to talk him out of it, but he finally met someone he couldn't out-stubborn."

"I'm sure the doctor knows best," Pete said, not unsympathetically. He moved the car down the short driveway and out into traffic.

A derisive snort from the back seat told Pete all he needed to know about Jim's opinion on that subject.

"It'll be okay, honey," Jean soothed. She rubbed his hand lightly. "Please stop worrying about it."

"What's to worry about?" Pete asked. "You'll get to sleep late and spend lots of time with Jean and Jimmy. Sounds like a good deal to me." He tried to put a positive spin on the matter.

"It's not that simple. And I really don't feel up to talking about it."

"Okay," Pete agreed. He's probably worrying about finances.

Traffic was light for a mid-morning weekday and the trip went quickly even though Pete drove slower than usual to avoid jostling Jim. Jean stayed turned around holding her husband's hand as he sat silently, staring out of the window, lost in his own thoughts.

When Pete turned the car into the Reed's driveway, Jim finally spoke. "It's good to see home," he sighed.

"Jimmy will be so excited to see you," Jean squeezed Jim's hand once again, then released it to open her door.

"No more excited than I'll be to see him." Jim managed to unbuckle his seat belt with one hand and get his door open.

"Wait on Pete to help you, honey," Jean requested.

"Jean, I'm fine," Jim protested. He slowly swung his legs out of the car and eased himself out. By the time he did that, Pete was there to steady him.

"We don't want you to fall and break the other hand," Pete grinned at him.

"I'm not drunk, Pete, just medicated."

"Amounts to the same thing, sometimes."

Jean came around to Jim's other side and they flanked him as they walked slowly to the door. As they approached, the door opened and Jean's mother stood there, holding Jimmy in her arms. The baby was turned away, looking at something in the house.

"There's my boy," Jim said, breaking into the first real smile Pete had seen on his face in days.

When Jimmy heard his father's voice, he turned and a smile lit up the tiny cherubic face. "Da-da! Da-da!" he chanted happily. He reached for his Daddy, trying to squirm out of his grandmother's arms.

"Easy, Jimmy," Mrs. Smithson cooed.

Jim reached out for his son with his good arm, but Jean protested. "You can't carry him, honey! And if he kicks your hand, it's going to be bad."

"I can handle him."

"Go sit down in your recliner and I'll bring him to you. You know that's the best way."

"All right, all right." Jim leaned over and kissed Jimmy on top of the head and let Jean pick him up from her mother's arms. Jimmy screamed in protest when his daddy didn't pick him up, but Jean shushed him.

"Sweetie, daddy's got a big boo-boo and he can't carry you right now," she told the angry little boy. "Daddy's going to sit in his chair and then you can sit with him." It was all she could do to hold on to the squirming, squealing toddler as he tried to jump into Jim's arms.

"Daddy's hurrying, peanut," Jim sat down and Pete helped him adjust the footrest so that his legs were elevated. When he was settled, Jean brought Jimmy over and settled him on Jim's right side. "Come here, little buddy, and see Daddy."

As soon as he was in his father's arms, Jimmy stopped his screaming and cuddled up quietly into Jim's shoulder. Jim kissed his son several times and held him close. "I've missed you, little boy," he told him between kisses.

Jean hovered nervously over her two Jims. "Honey, if he gets too squirmy, let him down. You can't let him accidentally kick your hand."

"He's not being squirmy. He's being very still." Jim patted his son on the back. "Aren't you fella?"

"Da-da. Da-da." Jimmy clung to his daddy as though daring anybody to try and remove him from his spot. He stayed very still, seeming to understand that Jim couldn't play with him as he usually did.

"I'm telling you that boy is smart," Pete remarked to Mrs. Smithson.

"Tell me something I don't know," the proud grandmother grinned. "I have fresh coffee in the kitchen and some blueberry muffins -- hot out of the oven. Anybody want any? Jim? Pete?"

"No, thanks, I'm okay," Jim declined, too delighted to be holding his son to worry about eating.

"None for me, either, Mrs. Smithson. I'm gonna go get Jim's suitcase from the car and then I'm headed home."

"What's your rush, Pete?" Jean asked. "Stay for lunch."

"Thank you, but no," Pete shook his head. "I think those two," he indicated the two Jims, "need some quiet time to themselves. It's time you got things back to normal around here."

"Thanks for everything you've done, Pete," Jim said gratefully. "I know I haven't been fun to be around for the past few days. Thanks for taking care of my family."

"My pleasure," Pete assured him. "Now you just need to rest and recover. You need anything, you just call me. I'll be checking on you every day."

Jim nodded. "Thanks again. Say hi to the fellas for me."

"Will do. I'll be right back with the suitcase."

"I'll see you out," Jean said, following him.

Pete held the door and Jean preceded him out the door.

"I thought I'd explain about the two weeks," she began quietly, as Pete unlocked the trunk. "Besides the fact that he's afraid he'll go stir crazy, being out of work for two weeks, he doesn't think he has enough sick leave to cover it. He's worried about finances."

"I figured it was something like that." Pete retrieved the suitcase and slammed the trunk closed. "He shouldn't worry. I'll check on his leave status. Besides, he was hurt on the job. We have provisions for leave due to injury. It should be fine."

"I hope you're right. He's been so down these past few days, he really didn't need anything else to brood about."

"I think he's holding some pretty good medicine for the blues in his good arm right now," Pete smiled.

"He did seem happier," Jean agreed. "I just hope Jimmy doesn't accidentally hurt him. We'll have to be careful. Jimmy can get awfully squirmy and he's very strong."

"Jimmy seemed content to be still. Maybe it'll stay that way."

The two of them walked back into the house to find Jimmy still cuddled quietly in Jim's right shoulder. The boy was contentedly sucking his thumb, his head resting up against Jim's face. Jim was absently rubbing his son's back, looking relaxed but sleepy as the quiet moment allowed his fatigue to catch up with him.

"Bedroom or laundry room?" Pete asked, hefting the suitcase.

"Bedroom," Jean directed. "Just put it on the end of the bed, please."

When Pete came back from the bedroom, Jean was covering Jim with a throw from the couch. Jim had already fallen asleep and Jimmy's eyes were getting heavy as well. Pete felt a little of the weight of concern lift from his mind as he took in the quiet scene; maybe things were getting back to normal for the Reeds.

****
Pete's optimism about things getting back to normal was a bit premature. As the days passed, Jim continued in his funk, even though he was progressing physically. He showed little interest in food or his usual hobbies. Even televised Dodger baseball didn't hold his interest. He slept a lot and when awake, moped around restlessly, seemingly unable to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes. About the only thing that interested him was playing with Jimmy, although he wasn't able to do too much. Jim mostly read to his son and did things like build block towers and roll a ball back and forth with him.

At night, after Jimmy was down for the evening, Jim would fall asleep on the couch, or go to bed early. Jean would snuggle up to her husband on the couch and he would hold her wordlessly, the embrace more clinging than amorous. When she tried to talk with him, he'd smile and say he was fine, just tired, then give her a kiss on the head and lapse back into silence.

In bed, Jim was again restless. He would lay awake, staring at the walls for a long time after Jean pretended to be asleep. When he did sleep, it was fitful, with the tiniest sounds awakening him. He was troubled by disquieting dreams, the content of which he claimed not to remember. Jim also shifted from his back to his right side a lot, trying to find a comfortable position. Jean tried to soothe and settle him, but it was obvious that his problem was more emotional than physical.

Even after a full week, and an encouraging visit to the doctor, Jim's dark mood didn't lift.

Jean was beginning to worry. She expressed her concerns to Pete one afternoon when the older officer stopped by to check on the three of them before heading in to work. Jim was napping, so Pete was content to hold his godson, who was in a happy mood, and talk with Jean over chocolate cake and milk.

"Pete, I don't know what to do," Jean confessed unhappily. "You've seen how he's been this past week. Every day I think 'today, he'll snap out of it' but it doesn't happen. He's not any better today than he was the day he came home from the hospital."

"Maybe it's the medication," Pete suggested. "Sometimes they play havoc with you."

"I thought about that. But I'm not sure that's it." She shook her head. "He's cut way down on the pills, because the pain is so much better. Physically, he's doing great. Well, except for the weight loss."

"I thought he was looking a little thin, but I didn't want to say anything. Did the doctor mention it?"

"He sure did. Jim said he'd lost nine pounds from the last time he'd weighed. Dr. Fields told him he'd better start eating or he'd stick him back in the hospital and feed him intravenously."

"Was he serious?" Pete stopped a bite of cake halfway to his mouth, then had to move it before Jimmy got his hands on it. "Can he have a bite?"

"Sure." Jean smiled as Pete fed Jimmy the bite on the end of his fork and the baby smacked his lips.

"Mo, mo," Jimmy reached for Pete's plate.

"Ask mommy," Pete pushed the plate out of reach.

"Ma-ma. Mo, ma-ma," Jimmy wheedled, reaching for the cake.

"At least one of my Jims will eat," Jean sighed. "Okay, punkin, just a little bit."

Pete fed him another small bite. "Do you think the doctor was serious about that?" Pete repeated his question.

"Who knows? Of course, Jim wouldn't let me go back with him, so I have no idea what he told the doctor. You can be sure he didn't mention how he's been acting."

"Maybe you should call him and tell him." Pete took a bite of cake for himself, which earned him a little growl from Jimmy. "My goodness, what a sound! You get your bad manners from your daddy? Huh?" He placated the boy by giving him another bite.

"I've considered it. But there's a part of me that feels like that'd be going behind his back."

"You have to do what you can live with, Jean. But anything's better than worrying. You and I both know he's not himself. Maybe he'll work through it. Maybe he needs to change medications. Maybe he needs to go back to work. Or maybe he needs to talk to somebody."

"He certainly won't talk to me," Jean complained. "Everytime I try, he just smiles and says he's fine, just tired. And maybe he is. But I don't think that's the whole story."

"You want me to try to talk with him?" Pete gave Jimmy another bite of cake as the child tugged on his arm as a hint.

"Would you, Pete? I've imposed on you so much lately I hate to ask you to do anything else."

"You haven't imposed at all. And I'm glad to try." Pete chuckled around a bite of cake. "I spend half my life cooped up in a car talking to Jim. There won't be anything out of the ordinary in trying now. Besides, don't tell him I said this, but I've missed him this week. Mac's had me riding with this guy -- just transferred in from Foothill Division -- whose idea of conversation is a grunt and nod."

"I'm sorry," Jean sympathized.

"Oh, it gets even better. He's on some kind of special diet. Brings his lunch every day, and it's a can of tuna, six crackers and an egg. The car smells like a cannery. Every cat in LA is trailing us on patrol."

"Oh, Pete!" Jean was laughing now. "You poor thing."

Jimmy started to grunt and whine for more cake, but Jean intervened.

"No more cake for you, little boy! And don't you cry," she admonished, as the little face screwed up and the whimpering started. "Mommy will get you some juice."

"I'm off tomorrow. I'll come by and see if I can get Jim to go for a ride. Has he been out of the house at all except going to the doctor?"

"Not at all. And you know that's not like Jim. He'd live outdoors if he could."

"Yeah." Pete took a final swallow of milk and stood, handing Jimmy off to Jean. She offered the baby a sipper cup of apple juice, which he took and wrestled with until he made it to his mouth. "I've gotta run, or I'll never make roll call. And I sure don't want to tick Mac off. This temporary partner is bad enough."

"Thanks for coming by. Jim'll be sorry he missed you."

"Tell him I'll see him tomorrow. And thanks for the cake."

****
Malloy made it through another shift with his tuna-eating, noncommunicative temporary partner without major incident. The PM watch had been a busy one, thankfully, so there had been little time for conversation, anyway. Unfortunately, there had been time for seven, and the tuna and egg diet continued. Pete swore he wouldn't eat tuna salad for the rest of his life.

Pete wanted to catch Jim before lunch, if he could, so that he would be more rested and maybe more willing to talk. So he'd gotten up early and run the routine errands that he needed to run like taking clothes to the dry cleaners and making a run to the grocery store. He was coming into his apartment with an armload of grocery sacks when his phone rang.

Pete dumped the sacks onto the kitchen table and grabbed the phone on about the fifth ring.

"Malloy," he barked, slightly breathless.

"Pete? This is Jacob Goldstein."

"Oh, hi, Mr. Goldstein. How are you?"

"I am fine, Pete. I have finished young Jim's ring. It's ready to be picked up."

"Great! How did it turn out?"

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment and Pete's heart sank.

"Ah, Pete, the ring is intact once again," Mr. Goldstein finally reported, "but it is not the same. You can judge when you see it, how you think young Jim will react."

"I'm sure it's just fine, Mr. Goldstein. I'm sure Jim will be happy just to have it put back together again. May I come by in about an hour and pick it up?"

"Of course. It will be good to see you, Pete."

"You'll see a lot more of me in a couple of days," Pete smiled. "I'll back on days after my two days off."

"Wonderful! I will see you in about an hour, then."

"Right. Thanks, Mr. Goldstein."

"Save your thanks until you see the ring."

*****

Pete held out his hand and the elderly jeweler dropped Jim's ring into it. Just seeing it whole again lifted Pete's spirits. Maybe it'll do the same for Jim. Pete picked it up and examined it closely.

"So, what do you think, Pete?"

Mr. Goldstein was right; the ring wasn't the same. There were two obvious seams in the ring where it had been welded together. The seams were small and smooth, and, unless you were really looking, they were unnoticeable, but they were there, nonetheless. Mr. Goldstein had smoothed the inside of the band and re-engraved it with "Forever, Jean." The outside seam had been smoothed, too, and that made two obvious blank areas where the detailing on the ring had been lost. On the whole, however, Pete thought Mr. Goldstein had done a fine job.

"I'm impressed, Mr. Goldstein. I never thought you'd be able to get this back together."

"The seams...they are so obvious."

"Not really. They're obvious to you, because you know they're there. But when the ring is on..." Pete slipped it onto his right ring finger. It didn't fit, because Jim's fingers were slimmer than his, but he moved it as far as it would go and twisted it so that the seams fell between fingers. "You can't see them." He held it up for Mr. Goldstein's inspection.

"But Jim will know." Mr. Goldstein protested.

"That can't be helped," Pete took the ring off and reached for the bag to put it back in. "He'll be thrilled that you got it back together."

"I hope it will help speed his recovery. How is he doing, Pete?"

Pete shrugged. "Okay. The hand's healing well."

Mr. Goldstein narrowed his eyes at him. "But the spirit is lagging behind?" he questioned.

"Something like that," Pete admitted.

"I am not surprised. When this happened, more than the hand was broken. From what you said about his reaction to the broken ring, his soul was wounded as well. It takes a while to heal the soul." Mr. Goldstein smiled at the surprised look on Pete's face. "You must be patient. I will say prayers."

"Thank you," Pete said sincerely. "Now, how much do I owe you?"

"There you go with the money again! Oy! Put your money away, Pete Malloy. I want none of it."

"But Mr. Goldstein, this took you days of work," Pete protested. "It must have been tedious."

"It was a labor of love, Pete. The symbolic healing of the symbol of marriage. I will not take your money."

Pete sighed. "Mr. Goldstein, Jim won't hear of not paying you, and neither will I!"

"Young Jim and I will settle up later, if he feels the need," Mr. Goldstein crossed his arms in a semi-defiant pose. "But for now, I will take nothing."

Pete frowned at the wizened old man, who looked almost comical standing with his arms crossed over his chest. But he shook his head and held up his hands in surrender. "Have it your way, Mr. Goldstein. But I'm sure Jim will be around as soon as he's up to it to take care of this."

"I look forward to it," Mr. Goldstein grinned and relaxed his arms.

Pete hefted the tiny bag in Mr. Goldstein's direction. "Thanks again. I'll see you on Monday. I start days again on Sunday."

"Good, good. Who is your partner, while young Jim is recuperating?"

"Name's Hinton. He's about my age, maybe a little older. We'll swing by and I'll introduce you." Pete turned and headed for the door.

"You do that. Take care, Pete."

"You do the same, Mr. Goldstein."

Pete shoved the bag with the ring into his jacket pocket and gave it a pat. Maybe, just maybe, this'll shove Jim back from his depression.

******

It was Jim who let Pete in when he rang the Reeds' doorbell at a little after eleven that morning. Pete had to work not to let his face betray his surprise at his partner's appearance. Normally very meticulous in his appearance, the Jim Reed who stood in the door holding his son in his right arm bore little resemblance to anyone meticulous about anything.

Jim was dressed in a pair of old sweats and a t-shirt, which wasn't surprising, since he was just relaxing at home. But his usually neat hair was in disarray and it looked as if he hadn't shaved in a few days.

Maybe he just got up.

"Come in, Pete," Jim motioned for Malloy to come in. Jimmy squealed happily to see Pete, and the toddler reached for him, one hand opening and closing in greeting, the other clutching a colorful cloth ball with a bell inside. "Careful, boy," Jim shifted his grip as Jimmy leaned over.

Pete quickly reached up and took Jimmy from Jim's arm. "Hey, buddy. You and your daddy having a good time together?"

"Peeeet," Jimmy gurgled. "Baw. Baw." Jimmy rattled the ball and it jingled.

"You and daddy playing ball, huh?"

"If you want to call it that," Jim said. His voice was lifeless and flat. "Not much we can do in here, or Jean will have a fit."

"How are you feeling?" Pete asked.

Jim shrugged. "Not bad. The pain is mostly gone. Just twinges, occasionally. I'm still tired all the time, though."

"Probably your medication, and the fact you're not getting any exercise." Pete pointed to the couch. "Sit down."

Jim frowned. "I think that's my line. I'm not a very good host, am I?"

"Since when am I formal company?" Pete followed Jim to the couch and sat down on the opposite end from his partner. He just looks awful. No wonder Jean is gettin' worried.

"Sorry," Jim apologized again. He reached over and plucked the ball from Jimmy's hand, then gently tossed it to hi