This show is spectacular! I love the love/hate relationship between our two protagonists and I can't wait to see and read more of them. I'm really trying hard to do justice towards the characters and I debated putting this up, but the measly number of stories in this archive convinced me to.

This is a Russ whumper, because that's just how I like it.

Please feel free to give feedback at the end.

Thanks!

Disclaimer: I do not own Battle Creek.

It all started so quickly and, in the blink of an eye, it was over. They had "cleared" the house, been told that there was no one in the back room and then BAM. A shotgun blast proved that detail to be wrong.

Milt later learned that it was the fact that one of the cops clearing the house was related to the one in the back room, but that didn't matter to him. Both of them went to jail for what had happened and they wouldn't be out for a few DOZEN years, just the way that Milt saw it happen. Was it unfair? Perhaps, but he didn't really care. What they had done had caused Russ to . . . to . . .

He leaned against the white sink again, heaving in deep breaths as blood stained hands gripped the smooth surface like a lifeline. Images flashed through his mind and he knew that it would be many months before he got them out his mind.

Turning the water on, he scrubbed desperately at his hands and took five minutes to simply feel his emotions. Tears came to his eyes and he allowed himself to let the fear reign for only five minutes. He had come to this new place because of something he had done, but then, he had found a partner, someone that he could speak to and have fun with. Now, there was the possibility that he could lose that person and it scared him to death.

After those five minutes were up, he took several deep breaths and left the bathroom, walking back down the hallway. He once more took up residence in the hard plastic chair beside the bed and folded himself into it, ignoring the bag of clothes that had been brought up for him by Holly. She stayed for a few hours on the first day, but her schedule had become increasingly busy and she had had to leave, parting with a single chaste kiss to the unconscious man's temple. In order to give them some privacy, but not wanting to leave his injured partners bedside, Milt had looked down and found the floor very interesting for a minute or so.

Looking up at his sleeping partner, he said the same words that he had said 3 days ago. "I've got you, buddy."

"I've got you, buddy. You're gonna be ok. I'm gonna get you out of here. Where's that ambulance?!" He looked back down at his partner, Russ, his hands trying to hold in the precious blood that his partner's body needed.

The shotgun blast had ripped through his partners shoulder, tearing apart the muscle and causing a very bloody and painful wound. But that wasn't the problem, only part of it. The peripheral of the blast had hit Russ's neck and he was having trouble breathing past the trauma. "Come on, Russell. Come on, breath. Just keep breathing. That ambulance is on the way. It'll be here soon. Just stay with me." His hands slipped against his partners neck and he couldn't stop the bleeding from his shoulder either. Russ was looking up at him with pleading eyes and Milt's eyes were just as desperate.

Russ opened his mouth to say something, but all that came up was blood, dribbling down the corner of his mouth and causing him to cough, which only made more blood appear. Soon, he wasn't breathing, simply gasping and choking and gasping and choking. Milt watched in horror and then he was yelling. Yelling for the ambulance, yelling for help, yelling for his friend to stay with him.

Milt surprised himself with his thoughts. "Friend?" He asked aloud. Looking over at Russ in the bed, buried in a blanket with a ventilator down his throat, forcing oxygen into his system since his body wasn't currently able to do it itself. "Have we become friends, Russell?" Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer.

He woke up for the fifth morning in a row in that damned chair, cursing its structure and the unforgiving nature of the situation. He had finally changed into the clothes that had been in the duffel and now he was curled in his chair, legs pulled up to his chest and chin resting on his knees. He didn't care if he looked like a child. It had been five days since his partner had spoken, moved, or even breathed of his own volition. He didn't really care about anything except his partner waking up.

The nurse walked in several minutes later, causing Milt to look up, put his feet on the floor, and give the same sad smile that he had for the past five days. She smiled back, although hers was a bit more flirtatious, before moving over and checking Russ's vitals. Milt waited patiently for her to finish and only looked up when she started to speak.

"Agent, this might not be a real great time, but I get off work at 7, so I was just wondering you'd be interested in-." While she had spoken, she had headed in Milt's directions, swaying her hips temptingly, but Milt didn't look anywhere but at her face.

He interrupted her, trying to be polite as always and giving a sympathetic smile. "You're right, this isn't a real great time. I'm sorry, but I'm not real interested right now. Maybe I could give you a rain check and we could go some other time?"

The nurse didn't know how to respond. He had turned her down, but it had been so polite she didn't know how to react. "Uh . . . Sure. Some other time then."

She began to walk out but Milt stopped her. "Ma'am . . . how's my partner?"

"He's starting to react to the ventilator. I'm going to get the doctor." The tone that she spoke with suggested that she had finally realized what had just transpired, really didn't care, and was miffed about being turned down, but Milt was too worried to do anything about it right now. Reacting to the ventilator? Is he fighting it? Can he breathe by himself? Is he going to live?

Milt stood and paced until the doctor came in and assessed Russ's condition.

"Sir?" Milt looked up and saw that the doctor was speaking to him.

"What? Yes. I'm sorry." Milt blurted out, scrubbing a hand through his normally pristine hair. It was no longer pristine.

"I'm gonna have to ask you to leave the room. I need to remove this ventilator. He's beginning to fight it." The doctor said, moving quickly to usher him out of the room and bring several nurses in.

"Is he gonna be ok? Doc, is he gonna-" he was cut off by a door in his face. Once again, there was nothing left to do but pace and worry and lean against the wall and pace some more. What felt like hours but could have only been 10 minutes went by and Milt spent the entire time alternating between those actions. When the door opened and the doctor stepped out, Milt had to remind himself that he shouldn't pounce on the poor man.

"Doc, how is he?" Milt asked, trying to remain calm but actually panicking slightly on the inside. He needed to speak to his partner.

"He'll be ok, now. He's breathing on his own and he woke up momentarily after the ventilator was removed.

"Did he say anything?" Milt asked, searching the doctors face and trying to look over his shoulder at the same time.

"He asked for you, but we sedated him. He'll be sleeping for the next few hours." The doctor said, dismissing himself and walking away from the thinking agent.

Milt didn't ask if he was allowed to go back in, simply opening the door and closing it softly so if he wasn't supposed to be in there, no one would know.

The respirator was gone, replaced instead by a nasal cannula tucked under the detectives nose, providing him with much needed oxygen. Russ was pale and small looking, but he looked considerably more comfortable than he had a few moments before. His breathing was shallow and he looked peaceful for the first time in his and Milt's partnership. Milt was reminded that his partner was actually as old as he pretended.

Milt took up residence in the chair beside the bed again and, slouching down in order to get comfortable while he waited for his partner to wake up. He really didn't mean to fall asleep.

Excited beeping and frightened cries drew him from a restless sleep and Milt bolted awake, practically falling to the side of the bed as he launched out of his chair. "Russell? Russ! Wake up, come on. Wake up."

Russ bolted out of the nightmare, his breathing labored and his eyes dancing around the room. "Wha . . . Huh . . ." He coughed, the scratchy nature of his throat making it practically impossible to speak.

"Hold on a second, buddy," Milt said, retrieving a cup from the bedside table and filling it with water. "Here." He helped Russ sit up enough to drink from the small cup and then gently laid him back down. "How're you feeling?"

"Tired. Little groggy. You alright, man? You don't look too good." Russ tilted his head up at his partner, not really sure what was wrong with the man, but determined to get to the bottom of it. He hated mysteries. I am a detective, after all.

Mitl stuttered for a moment, which freaked Russ out even more. Milt never stuttered. "Milt? What the hell is wrong with you man?"

"The fact that you nearly died because of me! That's what's wrong with me!" They both existed in stunned silence for a few seconds, replaying the events that transpired in their heads.

[Milt's POV]

His gun was holstered at his side as he looked through the various belongings of the residents on the desks. "Hey, Russell! Come here for a moment."

The sound of feet behind him concealed the sound of squeaking door hinges. Only when Russ shouted his name did he know what something was wrong. Spinning around, he saw that the squeaking noise had come from the closet and that a man was stepping out of it, shotgun in hand. Russ had just entered the room and the events seemed to happen in slow motion as he watched. The suspect raised the gun in his direction, but Russ was faster, stepping in front of Milt and blocking the path of the shrapnel as it exited the barrel. Both officers knew that there would have been no time to draw a weapon or react any differently, if it meant keeping Milt with his head on. The stopped position that he had been in meant that the shotgun shell would have hit his face. In the time that it took for the suspect to realize what he had just done and for Russ to fall to the floor, Milt had drawn his weapon and put exactly one bullet into his kneecap. Several officers came running as Milt put his gun away and fell to the floor next to his partner.

"Russell? Russell! Can you hear me?" He shook his shoulders and smiled a terrified smile when Russ opened panicked eyes and grasped his jacket with flailing hands. "Russell. It's gonna be ok. I've got you, buddy. You're gonna be ok . . ."

[Russ's POV]

There simply wasn't anything like an easy takedown.

"Hey, Russell! Come here for a moment."

Russ rolled his eyes and walked towards the back room, seeing a shadow move from under the partly open door. Not thinking anything of it, he walked in and froze, seeing a man raising a shotgun at his partners back. "Milt!"

Running forward, because he knew that there was no time to draw his weapon, he put himself in between the gunman and his crouched partner. Crying out when the rounds hit him, he sank to the floor, watching as the man who shot him went down too. His eyes must've closed for a few seconds, because then, he was being shaken awake by a petrified looking Milt.

"Russell? Russell! Can you hear me?" On a normal day, thoughts about what a moron Milt was would've gone through his mind, but his own fear was rising at the fact that he was having more and more trouble drawing air in and it felt like he was trying to breath through a wet rag. With flailing hands, he grasped the front of Milt's jacket and held on for dear life, hoping that the desperation he feeling was being communicated through his eyes. Apparently, it was as the next words out of Milt's mouth were, "Russell. It's gonna be ok. I've got you, buddy. You're gonna be ok."

Everything after that was kind of lost as he searched for air. The room seemed to be void of it and then he tried to speak and something in his chest broke and suddenly, there was no air, whatsoever. He couldn't breath and panic started to take over as he gasped and coughed and gasped and coughed and then there was nothing and the world went black around him.

[Present time]

Russ stared at Milt as he slowly sank down in the chair beside the bed again. "Milt . . . I didn't even think about it."

Milt looked confused and Russ sighed, coughing as it aggravated his throat. He took a few minutes to regain his composure, breathing in the oxygen-sweet, sweet oxygen-that the nasal cannula was providing. "You . . . Ugh . . . You are so self-sacrificial that it's dangerous, man."

"What do you mean?" Milt asked, still confused.

"I mean that it's ok for you to throw yourself in front of a bullet for someone else, but it's not ok for anyone to do the same thing for you." Russ said. He paused for a moment and saw that something more still needed to be said. "Milt . . . We're partners . . . It's my job to protect your back. You said it yourself. I'm a really good partner, I'm just not interested in being a friend." He smiled up at Milt and the saw the man unburden himself with some of the guilt that he was feeling. A little still remained, but most was gone.

"So . . . Do I owe you something, now?" Milt said, smiling back.

Russ shrugged, relaxing back into his bed. "Don't mention it. If people actually learned that I put my life on the line for you, it would ruin my street cred. Kind of makes it impossible to collect, because then people would find out."

Milt nodded and leaned back in his hard, plastic chair, placing his feet up on Russ's bed. "So, this is another unhappy ending?"

Russ shrugged as he too relaxed and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "Well, I'm walking into the sunset with you, so . . . yeah."

How was it? I hope it was OK and that the characters were close to accurate. I just really love beating Russ up and driving Milt crazy with worry, because I feel like that's how he is. I don't know. Please give me feedback! Thanks for reading and have a great week!