First We Take Manhattan (4 page)

Williams and the chief show up during the third hour. Chief Burns looks pissed. Williams looks ashamed, which is an emotion Dave never thought he would see on the man's face.

"With all due respect, Detective," he says, "your intel was shit."

Williams raises his hands in surrender. "Cortez, I never would have sent you in there if I wasn't sure. Someone tipped them off. Someone—"

"—Shot Gabe up, is what someone did." Dave's hands are shaking. He balls them into fists against his thighs. He remains seated, not trusting himself if he stands up. "How did they know we were coming?"

Williams exchanges glances with Burns. "I don't know," he finally says. "We did manage to apprehend one gang member. The cloaked Enforcer you and Dumas managed to disable didn't get very far. The bad news is, he isn't talking."

"His mech is, though," Burns says. "Preliminary analysis is showing that the Enforcer you tangled with was built with pieces from several different classes of mechs. The cloaking device was originally for black ops military groups. We have no idea how the Diamondbacks got a hold of it." She exhales audibly through her nose. "Of course, Dumas made Swiss cheese out of it, so we won't learn much."

"The man we arrested might not even be a Diamondback," Williams says. "I'm thinking the smuggling went down in another warehouse on the docks, and the Diamondbacks sent hired guns in shiny new toys to take down some cops."

"If he wasn't a Diamondback," Dave points out, "he'd sing like a bird. If he's not talking, that means he knows he's better off in the brig than cutting a deal and going back on the streets."

Williams clears his throat. "Well, we can discuss this at length on Monday morning. I'll let you rest this weekend."

"I won't be resting," Dave says simply, staring at the floor.

Williams doesn't have an answer to that. He walks away a moment later, leaving Chief Burns and Dave alone together. Dave finds his gaze fixed on her black pumps.

"I'm sorry about Gabe," Burns says. "We have the best looking after him, I assure you. Did the doctors tell you anything?"

"Not much. They will, though. I'm his, uh, I'm his emergency contact."

Burns comes to sit next to him. The chair squeaks when she settles. "His parents have been contacted. They were vacationing in Germany. They're on the next plane out."

Dave nods. He hasn't seen Roland and Francine Dumas since last Thanksgiving. This isn't the most desirable of reunions.

Burns sits with him for another fifteen minutes. She's a busy woman, though. Soon enough, she's clapping him on the shoulder and telling him to keep her informed. Dave listens to the clack of her heels against the hospital floors. He leans back, resting his head against the wall.

When Dave lowers his head, Jed is standing there. "Hey, Dave."

It's not Jed's fault. Dave has to keep telling himself this. He pushes the anger away and forces his voice into a neutral tone. "Now can you tell me what happened out there?"

Jed sighs, sounding broken. "Gabe saved me," he says, flopping into the chair next to Dave. "That cloaking device? It only works if the mech using it is standing still. So when they moved in to ambush you, I could see them. One did get the drop on you, but I hit the other one. It was tougher than I thought, though. I wasn't, I wasn't ready—and Gabe paid the price." He drops his head into his hands. "How is he?"

"Don't know," Dave says with a tight voice. "They don't have any news yet." He stands up, tired of waiting, and marches to the vending machine.

He sticks his credit chit into the slot and punches the code for a Kit-Kat bar. The rings move, pushing it to the edge, where it gets stuck. Typical. Dave thumps his head against the glass. All the technology in the world, and they can't make decent vending machines.

He punches it. The noise startles everyone in the room, but the glass doesn't shatter. He's winding back to give it another one when Jed says, "
Dave.
"

His phone rings, and he realizes he's forgotten to call Tim. He turns away from the vending machine and fumbles into his pocket. "Hello?"

"What's wrong?"
Whatever problems they are having, Tim can still read him like a book.

He takes a deep, shaky breath. The walls are coming down. "Gabe," he chokes out.

He hears Tim's sharp intake of breath.
"Oh my God. David, what happened?"

"Sector Twelve hospital." There's a doctor heading for him, and his heart jumps in his chest. "He's at the Sector Twelve hospital. Meet me here? I gotta go." He drops the call, barely registering Tim's affirmative. "Doctor?"

The physician is a tall African-American man with graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard. "Good evening, gentlemen. I'm Dr. Richmond, Mr. Dumas's attending."

"Can I see him?" Dave asks eagerly.

Dr. Richmond nods, motioning for Dave to follow him. "One visitor at a time, I'm afraid."

"Go," Jed says. "I'll wait for Tim."

Dave follows Dr. Richmond through the ICU doors and down the hall. Richmond gives Dave a detailed report on Gabe's condition, but Dave's too wound up to retain anything other than the critical details. Gabe had regained consciousness in the ambulance but fell back to sleep. Gabe has no sign of serious head trauma. Gabe's covered in lacerations and his left knee is torn to shreds. They did emergency surgery on the knee, but time will tell if he needs more.

"Will he walk?" Dave finds himself asking. He feels like he's in a daze—like this is all a dream and he'll wake up and Gabe will be fine.

"One thing at a time, officer," Richmond says. "First, let's get him through the next couple of days."

Dave wants to ask what the hell that means. He doesn't, because next thing he knows, they're in Gabe's room, and he can't find his voice.

The first thing Dave notices is the whiteness. Everything in Gabe's room is clinical, sterile white:  the furniture, the sheets, the pillows, and the trays. The bandages, Dave realizes, and something seizes in his throat. Gabe's leg is in a sling, knee wrapped tight with crisp white gauze. Gabe's covered in sheets, but his bandaged arms are lying on the mattress. His head is bandaged, too, with a thick band around his skull like in the movies. Dave steps closer to the bed, one hand twisting a knot into his t-shirt. Gabe looks so small and fragile, trussed up like this with all kinds of monitors and IV drips sticking into him.

"He looks …" Dave trails off.

"He's better than he looks," Richmond assures him. "He's not out of the woods yet, but many of his wounds are superficial. They'll heal just fine. We're keeping an eye on him for signs of head trauma. Besides that, he has his work cut out for him with that knee."

"He's a cop," Dave says lamely.

"A very lucky one." Richmond grabs a chart from the table. "I'll be back in a few minutes. You may stay with him, if you like."

"Yeah," Dave says, and Richmond ducks out of the room. Dave pulls up a chair and parks himself next to Gabe's bed. This close, Gabe looks pale and sickly. Dave reaches for his hand; it's clammy. "Gabe," he whispers, not trusting his voice. "You—it was
so close
, man. So close." He drops his forehead to Gabe's mattress. "You were hanging there, and I thought—I thought—" He sucks in a deep breath, composing himself. He tightens his grip on Gabe's hand and continues in a stronger voice. "Never do that again."

"I'll try."

It's a raspy, weak reply. It takes a moment for Dave to realize that Gabe even said it. He lifts his head and finds himself looking right into Gabe's glassy green eyes.

"Shit," Dave gasps, sitting up straight. "Gabe, how do you feel? Fuck," he berates himself, "what a stupid question. I should get your doctor. Do you want some ice or water? Are you in pain?"

Gabe looks like he's barely keeping up. "Um, do I have a morphine drip?" He shifts a little, wincing. "I'm not paid enough to deal with this kind of agony."

"Morphine, gotcha." Dave stands up so fast that his chair scrapes across the floor.

He finds a nurse roaming the halls and relays the request. It takes her a moment to clear it with Dr. Richmond, who checks Gabe's vitals before giving permission. Soon Dave is holding Gabe's hand while the nurse sticks yet another needle into his arm.

"Did we get them?" Gabe asks while they wait for the medication to kick in.

"Long story," Dave says.

"Cliff's Notes, then."

"No. But we will." Dave's mouth works. "Your parents are on their way home."

"Oh, God," Gabe groans, head lolling on his pillow. "They must be wrecked."

"I'll meet them at the airport." He makes a mental note to find out what flight they're on. "Working yet?"

"A little," Gabe says. He stumbles on the L, and Dave takes that as a good sign. "Tell Jed," Gabe reaches out, aiming for Dave's arm and missing. Dave folds their hands together and lowers them to the bed again. "Tell Jed it's not his fault."

"I will. Look, just listen to your doctor and you'll be out of here in no time."

Gabe laughs, sounding giddy. "Where am I gonna go? Got a bum leg. What's," he tries to sit up, "what's wrong with it?"

"No, lie back." Even as he says it, Dave is leaning forward to keep Gabe from straining himself. "Don't worry about it now. The doctors are going to fix you up."

"Who's gonna feed my fish?" Gabe mumbles, eyelids flickering.

"I'll swing by on my way home," Dave promises, sitting back.

Gabe doesn't answer. After a moment, Dave judges by his breathing that he's fallen back asleep. He takes that as his cue to go. He has a lot on his plate, between the debriefings and reports he'll be expected to make, and now Gabe's parents and his fish. His head is swimming with all of these things when he goes back to the waiting room and runs into Tim.

"David," Tim says, concerned. He opens his arms and Dave goes willingly. He buries his face in Tim's neck, inhales the scent of the blond hair brushing his shoulders. "David, are you okay?"

"No," he replies honestly. "I want this night to be over."

"We'll go home," Tim says, running a hand up the back of his neck. "I'll make some tea and we'll get you to bed. We can sleep in tomorrow."

Dave rubs nose against Tim's broad shoulder. "We can't. I have to meet Gabe's parents at the airport. And feed his fish." He pulls away reluctantly.

Tim looks confused. "All right."

Dave glances over at Jed, who is hovering nearby. "Are you staying for a while? He just got a shot of morphine, so he might be out for the night."

"Probably a good thing," Jed says. "He needs all the rest he can get." He averts his eyes, staring at the far wall. "I'll stay for a bit. I need to … say some things, you know? I'll come back to visit tomorrow, though."

"He'd like that," Dave says, guiding Tim out of the waiting room with a hand on his back.

"I named my Enforcer after Gabe," Jed calls as they leave. "Guardian."

*~*~*

The rest of the night is a blur. Somehow, they get to Gabe's apartment to feed the fish. Actually, Dave is pretty sure Tim did it, because all he remembers is wondering how the hell Gabe is going to get around his building with a bad knee. Once the bettas are no longer in danger, Tim herds Dave back into the night and takes him home.

Dave tries to sleep. He ends up staring at his phone with one eye, waiting for Gabe's parents to text him their flight information. By the time Tim rolls out of bed, Dave's already showered and shaved.

"They would have called," Tim says to the look on his face. "If something went wrong during the night, they would have called."

Tim's practicality was part of what Dave originally found attractive in him. Tim has a cruiser of his own, but on the weekends they try not to use it. The cab system is just as quick, so they hail one right outside their townhouse and head to the airport.

Francine and Roland insist on going to the hospital immediately, even though Dave informs them Gabe is probably asleep. He understands, and so they hop another cab back. Dave and Tim wait outside this time, though, giving the family privacy.

"David," Tim ventures, eyeing him with concern.

Tim can see he's falling apart. Tim could always tell, so Dave stops pretending. He drops onto the stone steps outside the hospital and buries his face in his hands. "It was a mess," he confesses, voice muffled. "We got blindsided by our own mechs. All that training, all those years in the division, and we couldn't even improvise against a little military tech."

Tim comes to sit next to him, resting a hand on Dave's knee. "Your job," he says, hesitantly. "Your job has kept me awake for years, David. Every time you leave for work, there's a small part of me that think it will be for the last time. What's kept me going for so long is the knowledge that Gabe is watching out for you. This time, he was watching out for Jed. It's what he does." He takes a deep breath. "Throwing blame around isn't going to accomplish anything. If it's anyone's fault, it's the Diamondbacks, for selling illegal tech and using it to attack MEDs."

These are all things that, academically at least, Dave already knows. Still, it's nice to hear the affirmation from someone else. He lifts his head and rubs his eyes. "Thank you."

"Anytime," Tim says, and the fondness in his voice makes Dave feel a little melancholy. Their world has been turned upside-down with chaos, and amidst the flames, Dave and Tim are the closest to normal that they've been in a long time. Tragedy really does bring people closer together.

"David." Roland pronounces it like in French. His Parisian accent is stronger than Gabe's.

Dave stands up, nearly knocking the stacked luggage over. "Roland," he says. "How is he?"

Roland looks like an older, ripened Gabe. The lines on his face are more pronounced now, though. It's like he's aged ten years in ten minutes. "He is awake, speaking with his mother. There are some tests the doctors want to run. If he is stable, they are going to schedule another surgery in a month or so."

"More surgery?" Dave asks, feeling faint.

Roland nods, looking tired. "His knee is … the doctor is cautiously optimistic, but we watched them change the dressing. I watched," he clarifies. "Francine could not. I can only imagine what it looked like before the first surgery."