I apologize for the delayed post, I have a few large projects that are consuming all my free time at the moment. Thank you for your patience.

Witness

Chapter Nine

The words fell over him like a soft blanket, a gentle prod urging him to stay, but with the lingering comfort of each letter the rough edges of longing grated against him. He pondered his actions or whether it was the lack of doing that was wrong. Was it even a decision at all? The room felt heavy, it tugged him downwards, each breath pulling him further away from the constant buzzing and beeping of machines too far away to reach.

Still, the ache behind the voice slid under his armor, penetrated the harsh barrier he had set in place. It was easy to lay still here, to deny the waking world. Here he could feel the edge of life fade further away. If he waited a little longer the world he had longed to leave would slip beyond his grasp. No more decisions, no more waiting, no more pain.

Just let go.

Just give in.

Vanish from this place; it would be as easy as laying still.

But it wasn't. There was more, always more. The irritating urge to scratch an itch without the knowledge of its origin tormented him. This itch took the form of clouded phrases just out of reach.

'I need you.'

Who could possibly need a man so broken and incomplete? The voice was familiar, a voice he often tuned out but was always listening for, a voice he trusted.

'I NEED YOU, RIGGS!'

The far off rhythmic beeps and hums found their way closer to his new reality with the grounding sensation of a hand upon his shoulder, the familiar voice growing sharper.

Then it was gone.

Trish studied her slumbering children, each so small and fragile. The cost of loving someone so inept at loving themselves showed itself in the tear tracks cutting red lines across their young faces and broken breaths littering the sounds of their sleep.

Her husband lay lopsided across the hospital chair in the corner of the room; his head propped awkwardly against the wall. She sighed at the discomfort he would wake to, her breath catching in her chest at how it would dull so completely in comparison to the possible pain to come. A pain she would not accept for any member of her family, not if she could help it.

She carefully shifted away from her eldest daughter, pulling the blanket the nurses had kindly provided for them further over Riana's shoulders before making her way to the door.

The hurried shuffle to her destination fueled by the necessity of the visit. A wife and mother with a purpose were not easily swayed.

Martin's room was silent, but for the incessant whine of the machines surrounding him, the constant voices of hospital coming, goings, and footfalls in the distance seemed to still as she stepped through the door.

Trish would never have described Martin as unbreakable, she knew better than to fall into the guise most others bought. Where many saw him as unorthodox and reckless, she saw the hurt that caused it. She saw the pain that permeated the man behind the mask, saw the hidden torment that accompanied every action and every smile.

As he lay there so still, so unable to hold his mask firm, incapable of projecting a sense of strength and balance, she wavered.

The dark bruises scattered across his upper torso contrasted with his pale skin. The cuts that marred his temple and cheek and been stitched, but remained as uncomfortable reminders of the dangers both he and Roger walked into each day.

His wounds, while wrapped neatly away under pristine gauze and bandages, forced her attention to the seriousness of his injuries as she realized just how close they had come to losing him.

She understood what she had to do.

The chair beside his bed lay empty, the room cold and unforgiving. Trish stole the space and commanded the unconscious man's attention.

"Martin, I know you can hear me. I know you are listening." She grasped his hand to make sure he could feel her too, that he knew she was there and had to respect her presence by heading her words.

"Not long after we met you made a promise. Do you remember what that promise was?" She paused not for an answer, but to give him the time to remember.

"Martin, you promised that you would always bring Roger back to me. You hear me? You promised. There are many things you are capable of, Martin, but not even you can keep Roger safe from beyond the grave." She studied the limp fingers sitting still within her hand and brought her own to dust the spindly mess of hair from his forehead.

With nothing left to say she rest his hand back against the crisp sheet. She had done all she could; the rest was up to him.

She needed to be there for her children and husband, with one last longing glance to the newest member of the Murtaugh family she left Martin to his silence, hoping with everything she had that this time, he would listen.

Riggs hadn't wandered far, still caught in the whirlwind of indecision. Grasping lightly to the edge of waking as his body seemed to become heavier and harder to hold above the surface.

He couldn't pin down the reason for his hesitancy in leaving. The source of his urge to linger a while longer was a blur, but something had pulled him back. He hovered just below consciousness, swimming blindly in confusion and darkness. There was pain there too, the physical pain was dull and weighty, but a deeper pain was ever-present and inescapable. Pain that couldn't be dampened with morphine, that couldn't be forgotten. A Pain he had shared with Amanda that had touched Hannah and Owsley and countless others he was incapable of saving. Why did he deserve a second chance if he couldn't do the same for them? Did he even want one?

The guilt and doubt spiraled throughout his murky prison until the sensation loosened its constrictive hold. Broken in part by the gentle caress of warm skin around his palm. The freeing touch rivaled only by the soft yet dangerously persuasive tone of Trish Murtaugh.

'Martin, I know you can hear me. I know you are listening… you promised that you would always bring Roger back to me. You hear me? You promised.'

Trish's words cut through the fog holding him captive. A promise was not something broken lightly, and he would never forgive himself if he could have made the difference between life and death for his partner and wasn't there to do so.

The thought of letting go almost forced bile to his throat. Leaving now would surely make him a liar.

A part of him wanted out, and he was sure he would never shake that. He would never stop longing for what he had lost; Miranda and their child. But a part of him belonged to his partner and his family and in the duty to keep them safe, he had promised, and for that, he could hold on a little while longer.

Roger and Trish entered the room together. Roger held her hand in his as they broke the threshold. He almost didn't believe the words as the doctor had relayed them.

'Detective Riggs has regained consciousness.'

The words that had followed paled in comparison to those that preceded them; he couldn't recall exactly what had been said. Something about a long road of recovery ahead, rest, desk duty, he didn't care. He latched onto the first words the doctor had spoken and let everything else tumble from his shoulders as if a giant stone had been lifted from them.

Riggs' sat uncomfortably upright propped up by pillows, his arm pinned close to his chest with the aid of a sling. The mottled bruising making itself known along his jaw and temple.

"You look like shit." Roger offered in response to the large smile framing his partners face.

Trish rewarded him with an elbow to the ribs for the statement to which he whined excessively.

"I was shot and stuff, what's your excuse?" Riggs shot back, the smile still firmly in place.

"Trish was worried about you, I've been up all night consoling her."

Another elbow followed by the Trish stare forced an amendment to his previous statement.

"…We were worried about you." he corrected, rubbing his ribs.

"aww, Rog. That's so sweet. But you don't gotta worry about me; I'm fine."

"Uh huh" came Roger's unconvinced response.

"Well, I will leave you boys to do…whatever this is. I will be back shortly with the kids. You up for that Martin?"

His smile was her answer.

"Can I get either of you anything?" Trish asked as she hovered at the doorway.

"I'll take a beer." Riggs hollered averting his gaze at the look he received from Trish in response.

Roger laughed at the exchange as he took the seat next to Riggs' hospital bed.

A short burst of silence filled the space between them as both men stared quietly at anything but each other. Riggs mussed the hair grazing the back of his neck as his smile faded.

"So…what made you decide to stay?" Roger worried the question held too much weight as it hit the air. He had just gotten his partner back and already he was pressuring him with psychological questions. He cursed himself for the blunder.

The silence built again until Riggs smile returned.

"I'm too afraid of your wife to do anything that will upset her." Riggs smile hid what Roger knew was still lingering below the surface, but for now, he was content in the fact that Riggs was still on the side of the living.

Their laughter filled the room, and for a moment everything was as normal as it needed to be.

Three Months Later

"You do know you have to actually speak for me to clear you for fieldwork, right?" Cahill prodded nonchalantly.

Riggs lay back across the all-consuming coach pillows; one hand draped over his lap, the other cradled behind his head. The slight twinge in the muscles of his injured shoulder made itself known. The doctors said the pain would recede in time, and for the most part, they had been right.

He left his arm in the uncomfortable position ignoring the painful tug that reminded him of his time with Amanda Parez in the compound that was almost his undoing, of what she had done for him, of the one decision she had chosen to make in the last hours of her life. A decision that, in his eyes, severely clouded the line between right and wrong.

His mind wandered further into the tunnel Amanda had burrowed forgetting to hold the mask firm, his face belayed the pain his body projected.

Cahill was on top of the subtle reaction instantly.

"Your shoulder still bothering you?"

"Hmmm, no." He feigned ignorance. "This couch is just really lumpy."

"I don't remember ever getting that complaint the numerous times you've fallen asleep on it." She chided, unconvinced.

"Huh, I guess I was just being polite. It's awful." He deflected pointing awkwardly at the couch in question. He knew she could see through him, but sometimes it was in her acceptance of his inability to talk that helped him. He had no idea why maybe he was just happy to have someone that knew what he felt and didn't push him to feel otherwise. He wondered if someone like Cahill could have changed how things turned out for Amanda.

"Riggs, do you feel guilty for what happened to Amanda? Because if you are holding onto the physical pain in some misguided effort to honor her…"

"Are you saying my pain is psychosomatic, doc?!" He felt the pang of anger rising and pushed himself away from the soft back of the couch and into a more upright position. There were times when Cahill pushed too far; this was rapidly becoming one of them.

"I am saying that you cannot blame yourself for what happened to her. You are not responsible…"

"Then who is, Doc? Can you tell me that little piece of wisdom? Huh?! Cuz from where I'm standing there's only one person that coulda done anything about it." His voice escaped him; he didn't mean to yell. He hated it when she did this to him. She was getting exactly what she wanted; it was time for him to end the session.

He stalked towards the door tugging his jacket firmly in place, shoving aside the pang of discomfort in his shoulder as he did so.

"Riggs! You need to face this. Amanda, Owsley, Hannah, all of them, made their own decisions, those decisions led them to where they ended up. You can't hold yourself responsible for the actions of others."

"Yeah, well…I can try!" He slammed the door on the way out. He wasn't sure what annoyed him more, the fact that Cahill had pushed him to face the problem behind his most recent bout of misery or that he had let her do so.

His silent rant was cut off by the blunt impact of a shoulder against his own.

"The hell, Riggs?" came Roger's frustrated greeting as he fussed at the newly formed coffee stain upon his shirt.

"Sorry, Rog." Riggs offered sullenly as Roger threw his now empty cup into the trash.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Why?"

"You're barreling down the hallway staring bullets through the floor and putting everyone's coffee in imminent danger. Not really the best way to show how peachy your feeling."

"Right, well I'm fine."

Roger paused, his eyes portraying the consideration he was relaying on Riggs behalf. Riggs knew that face; it was the face that came before the talk.

"I'm hungry, wanna grab a burger?" Roger brokered under his not so subtle pretense.

Riggs escape was discarded with another look, this one expressing that the suggestion wasn't optional.

He nodded his assent and followed Roger to the elevator. The moment of silence stretched out uncomfortably as the doors closed behind them.

Roger broke the stillness as he turned to face Riggs.

"Bad session?"

"nothing I can't handle" He deflected, knowing Roger wouldn't let this one go.

"something touch a nerve?"

"she thinks I'm blaming myself for Amanda's death." Riggs offered earnestly. Sometimes it was only truth that could save him from the well-intended, yet awkward conversations his partner pulled him into.

"are you?"

"yes."

"So, what's the problem?"

"I thought we were going for food." Riggs nudged begrudgingly.

"we are, normal people converse while socializing and enjoying a meal."

Riggs sighed heavily letting his weight fall to the ground. He splayed his legs outwards, the cold elevator floor cutting through the back of his jeans.

"The job gives me something to focus on, gives me purpose. If I can't even save the people that trust me to do so then what's the point?"

"Oh, we are gonna do this here? In the…okay."

The doors opened to the lobby revealing the confused faces of two uniforms awaiting the elevator.

Roger sighed. "Out of order," He hastily pressed the close door button with an apologetic glance.

Roger's discomfort was ever-present in the way his eyes kept darting to the door. Riggs knew his partner meant well, but if he were going to force him to talk, then he would make sure Roger felt just as uncomfortable as he did. He smiled inwardly at the thought.

"Riggs, you can't save everyone."

"Then why do we do it?"

"Because if we don't, then more than just the few that slip by us will die and the bad guys will have no one to stop them."

"That's it?"

The large metallic doors slid slowly open once more, the two men in uniform had multiplied into a few others awaiting the prospect of heading upstairs.

"sorry." Roger offered sheepishly as he raised his hand in apology to confused and frustrated faces and once again forced the door closed, this time holding his finger over the button.

"That's just the way it is, Riggs. You think you're any different? You think other cops don't lose people, people they are trying to help? We do what we can. Sometimes it isn't enough, but we are only human." Roger continued his finger not wavering from its new home against the elevator panel.

"Okay." Riggs pulled himself back to his feet with the railing running around the elevator and pushed his hair back into place feeling as if he had tortured his partner enough for today.

"Okay? That's it?"

"Just the way it is." Riggs shrugged and took advantage of Rogers inability to continue the conversation, stepping out of the elevator and into the crowd of disgruntled officers and other employees.

"Someone needs to get this guy some help; he keeps messing with the elevator buttons…he's crazy." He giggled as he made his way to the car leaving Roger to face the horde left in his wake, his apologetic mumbling falling upon mostly deaf ears.

"so, what's for lunch?" Riggs asked between chuckles as the footsteps of his disgruntled partner fell in time with his own.

"I hate you."

"aww, Rog. Don't be like that…You need me." Riggs grin widened as he turned to face Roger. A sense of triumph in his eyes as he taunted his partner with the same words he had used to reach him months ago.

"You heard that, while you were unconscious, yet you completely ignore everything I say when you are fully conscious and aware? I can't believe you. What did I do to deserve a partner like you, huh?" Roger's arms flew across the space between them as they neared the car, his frustration in his friend and colleague evident.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon so you may as well get used to it." The offhanded response curtailed the growing frustration in his partner.

Roger slid into the passenger seat, his previously rapid gestures slowed as he took a calming breath.

"what you want for lunch? I'm buying." Roger offered.

Riggs smiled as he set his foot on the gas. "See, that I heard loud and clear."

"Baby steps, Riggs, baby steps."

Thanks to everyone for the support and kind words. All follows, faves, and reviews have been greatly appreciated.