Tim makes a sound in the back of this throat. Dave takes a deep breath, needing air. "Fuck."
Roland pinches the bridge of his nose. "I am going to bring our luggage home. Francine and I will take turns staying with him until he is released."
"I'll help you," Dave says. He needs to keep busy. "That's a lot of luggage."
*~*~*
On Monday morning, Dave finds himself in the chief's office again. Williams is nowhere to be found this time. Probably a good thing; Dave still hasn't decided if he wants to punch him.
"I want you to know that Williams's team is following every lead they've got," Burns tells him. "Dumas is one of ours, and an attack on one is an attack on us all."
Dave grumbles something unsavory. "Williams's team did such a great job last time."
"Cortez," Burns says, warningly. "We're all angry about what happened to Gabe. We all want to see the Diamondbacks strung and quartered for it. However, we're going to go about this the right way. Williams is triple-checking every piece of information he gets. We're building a case and following a trail." They're sitting, but she still manages to look down at him from her chair. "There will be no cowboy cop nonsense. No tearing through the streets, looking for Diamondbacks. No dissent in the ranks. I won't tolerate anything that will impede this investigation in any way—not with illegal mech smuggling underway in my sector.
"What I'm saying is, Cortez, if you feel like you need some leave, feel free to ask. I'd rather be down you and Dumas than have one of you running around like a loose cannon."
For a moment, Dave considers taking it. He could use the rest. However, he finds himself shaking his head. No way could he sit idly by, letting the Diamondbacks and petty thugs think they've got the run of the place. Dave has to put twice as many punks in jail now; he has to take on Gabe's share.
"No, ma'am," he says. "I'd rather be in the field. I
need
to be in the field."
Burns contemplates him for a long moment before nodding. "Fine. Truth be told, I was dreading going without two of my best for a month or two. It's bad enough we'll be down Dumas for at least a year."
The news brings Dave up short. He'd swung by to see how Gabe was doing Sunday night, but he'd been asleep. No one had told Dave this piece of information. Something in his gut curls into a painful knot. "A year?" he asks, his voice coming out very small.
"At least," Burns affirms. "His knee was almost shredded to bits, Cortez. You don't bounce back from that. Never mind the rest of the beating he took."
"I know that," Dave says, sinking further into his chair. "I just didn't think …" Five years. Dave and Gabe have been partners for five years, and best friends nearly as long. They have literally never been apart for so long.
"Between surgeries, recovery, and physical therapy, we are looking at a good twelve to fourteen months without Dumas." Burns's voice is gentler now, reading Dave's distress. "In the meantime, you'll have to get a new partner."
The idea makes Dave cringe. He tries to do it inwardly, but Burns's stifled sigh tells him he failed. "Sorry, ma'am. It's just that Gabe and I have been partners for five years. We know each other like no one else."
"I know," Burns says. "But we work in teams of two, so you don't have a choice. Again, if you don't think you're ready for this, the offer of leave is still open."
Dave steels himself. "No. No, I can—pair me up with Jed, then. I'll take Jed."
"Negative, Cortez; conflict of interest. I don't want any complicated feelings about what happened to get in the way of working the beat. Jed will complete his field training with another pair and then be assigned a new partner of his own." Burns checks her datapad. "I'm pairing you with one of the other rookies. His name's Alan Bennett."
It's not Alan's fault, Dave reminds himself. "Fine," he says.
"I'm also starting both of you on light duty. In a few weeks, you'll be working a different beat. I hope you'll see considerably less action for a while."
She's already decided. "Fine," Dave says again. "Fine."
*~*~*
Gabe is released from the hospital by the end of the week. He begins getting restless by Wednesday, insisting his head is fine and any brain damage was probably already there. Dr. Richmond finally discharges him with a long list of instructions that Francine downloads to a datapad. He'll have to return in a month for another round of corrective surgery.
Getting him home is an event in itself. Dave had been spending evenings with him, helping him hobble about on crutches. Turns out that wobbling around the hospital hallways are one thing and actual trips are another. Gabe is a painful sight to behold. His left knee is wrapped and braced, looking uncomfortable. The metal crutches, designed with the user's comfort in mind, are still awkward at best. Every step makes Gabe's face contort, and there's sweat beading at his temples by the time they get outside.
He'd shot down the offer of a wheelchair, of course. "Gabe," Dave sighs, "it's okay if you need it. You haven't even been down a
week
."
"No," Gabe grits out. "I want to do it myself."
The stone stairs are a nightmare. Dave knows they're stifling him, but they can't help it. Francine and Roland hover on either side, and Tim is guarding the rear. Dave walks backwards in front of him, ready to catch him if necessary. By the time he hits the bottom, Gabe's face is red, his hair is matted with perspiration, and he's wobbling.
Dave calls it. "Okay, that's enough crutching for today." He takes one away, looping his arm around Gabe's damp back. "Come on, I got you."
"Dave," he tries, but his heart's not in it. He leans more heavily into Dave, and Dave takes his weight.
Roland grabs the crutches and Tim steps up to support Gabe's other side. Francine goes to get Tim's cruiser and bring it around. Bundling Gabe into the backseat takes a long time, stretching him out and taking care not to jostle his knee. Tim and Francine go on ahead while Roland and Dave take a cab to Gabe's apartment.
Gabe's building has an elevator, but the long and winding halls make the trip to his door difficult nonetheless. By the time Francine jiggles the key into the lock, Gabe is a lifeless weight hanging between Dave and Tim. Their arms are interlocked across Gabe's back; they can feel the strain in his muscles.
"Almost there," Tim says with a grunt.
"I need a week in the hospital after this," Francine admits, an attempt at levity. "You're doing so well, Gabriel."
Gabe's parents have clearly dusted the place, but the apartment is mostly untouched. Gabe's fish don't seem to care that their feeder is home. They float around their tank while Tim and Dave deposit Gabe onto the couch as gently as they can. Roland sets the crutches on the floor, and Francine starts bustling around the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later, Dave and Tim have double-checked the preparations they'd made for Gabe's homecoming. His bathroom looks drastically different. Handrails, non-skid mats, a raised seat for the toilet, and a shower bench make the small room look even tinier. At least he won't fall.
At least he's alive.
Dave shakes the thought away.
When they head back to the living room, Gabe is asleep. There's a bottle of water and a bucket next to him. His painkillers are on the end table just behind him, within groping distance. There's a cold compress across his forehead.
"Do you want something to eat?" Francine asks. She's always had a youthful glow, but now there's more gray than blonde in her hair and crow's feet pulling at her eyes.
"No, thanks." Dave bends over and flips the washcloth, smoothing the wet brown hairs from Gabe's brow. "We'll let him get settled. I'll be by tomorrow." When he stands up, he can feel Tim staring at him.
"Yeah," Tim says. "Tomorrow."
*~*~*
The first month is the hardest. Gabe spends most of his time lying on the couch, too weak to do much besides sleep and throw up. Dr. Richmond determines that this is largely psychological trauma, not physical, and allows Gabe to remain at home so long as someone stays with him at all times. Dave, Roland, and Francine end up taking shifts, making sure he stays hydrated and rested.
"It's normal," Dave says, soothing. He's rubbing the back of Gabe's neck after a bout of nasty retching.
"How is this
normal
?" Gabe rasps, spitting into the bucket.
Dave keeps rubbing, scratching the soft hairs at the nape of Gabe's neck. "No matter how hard you train, you can't predict how you'll react to a life-or-death situation like that. You almost died. You're just … reacting to that."
"What the hell do you know about it?" Gabe demands, but Dave can tell from the way his anger fizzles out by the end that he doesn't mean it.
He strokes Gabe's hair while he throws up again, this time nothing but bile. When it's over, Dave wipes his mouth and helps him lie back against the pillows. He disappears for a second to change the bag in the bucket, turning his head away from the putrid smell.
When he returns, Gabe is staring at the ceiling. "I hate this," he says. His eyes are wet with frustrated tears.
"I know," Dave says quietly. He kneels down next to the couch and puts a hand on Gabe's good knee. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."
Gabe stares at him for a moment, eyes shimmering in the low lamplight. "I smell," he finally says.
Dave doesn't know what to do with this information. He settles for a joke. "You always smell. There are worse things."
"Like needing a pit crew to take a shower?" Gabe asks pointedly. "Or asking your parents to bathe you, for old times's sake?"
Dave cocks his head. "You haven't bathed since you came home?" Gabe's right, he does smell kind of rank, but mostly of sickness.
"I tried." Gabe shifts, looking uncomfortable. "It's too hard. I can't stand long enough to get into the tub yet. And have you ever tried asking your elderly parents to give you a sponge bath?"
So. Knee torn to shit, a blow to the head, numerous lacerations, nausea and vomiting, and lying around in his own filth. Well, Dave can help with one of those things. "I'll do it. If you want," he adds when Gabe's eyes fly wide open.
"You—?" He averts his eyes. "I can't ask—"
"You didn't; I'm offering. Is that a yes or a no?" He frowns. "If you're embarrassed, we could probably have a nurse come by and do it."
"No," Gabe says, quickly. "I don't, I don't want anyone to see me like this."
Dave shrugs. "Okay, so it's settled."
Gabe is the only bachelor Dave knows who owns more than one bucket, so they don't have to use the one he's been throwing up in. He grabs the second bucket and fills it with warm water, grabbing a washcloth, some towels, and bottle of shower gel from the bathroom. After a moment, he procures some saran wrap from the kitchen. It's not ideal, but he'll make it work.
To his credit, Gabe is actively making an effort to get undressed. It takes him four times as long as it normally would, but he's wiggled out of his shirt by the time Dave deposits the gear on the floor next to the couch, pushing the bucket aside. He spreads the towels out like blankets.
"Let's do this slowly," he says, reaching for Gabe. "Easy does it."
Slowly, so slowly, Dave slides Gabe off the couch and onto the towels. Next, he takes off the brace and sets it aside. Now clad only in a pair of green boxers, Gabe stares warily at his leg. Dave dips the cloth into the water.
"We can leave your shorts on, if you want," he offers.
Gabe considers it, but he shakes his head. "Otherwise, what's the point? I just don't know—"
"Here," Dave says, dropping the rag. He has Gabe lie down. Dave shimmies the boxers down Gabe's thighs like he's performing surgery, easing them gently over the dressings. The saran wrap goes on next. Gabe's face pinches tight with pain when Dave lifts his leg a smidgen, but he doesn't say a word. Once his knee is wrapped, Gabe takes long, deep breaths through his nose.
Dave lets him be, retrieving the washcloth from the bucket and wringing it out. He starts with the good leg first, wiping it down from toes to thighs. Gabe makes a small noise when the wetness cools in the air but otherwise doesn't protest. The lacerations marring Gabe's skin are healing over nicely, but Dave is gentle when he swipes the cloth over them.
Gabe is still cut and fit, but a month of sickness and physical trauma has left its mark. He's lost some of his edge. Dave catches him wincing when he pokes a little too hard. The shower gel is slimy and runny without a sponge to lather it up, but Dave makes do. Gabe clearly appreciates it; eventually he relaxes under the washing and the living room starts to smell like the pleasant amalgamation of scent someone decided to call "Sport."
Dave's seen Gabe naked before. Sort of. If changing and showering in the gym locker room counts. He won't say he doesn't find Gabe attractive, because he'd lying to himself more than anyone else. On the other hand, Dave is an adult, so he forces himself not to stare and washes Gabe with business-like professionalism. He does Gabe's bad leg last, carefully avoiding the knee. He gets to Gabe's back by rolling him half onto his side, then performing a balancing act between Gabe, himself, and the washcloth.
"I can't do your hair," Dave says when he's finished. "Might be kind of awkward."
Gabe sighs happily, lying flat on the damp towels. "Maybe next week. Just this was amazing, Dave—I feel so much better."
"You're welcome." He retreats to the bedroom to hide his ridiculous grin and the way his heart swells. He uses the excuse to grab a pair of clean boxers and a new t-shirt.
He dresses Gabe with the same care, and then they get him back together and onto the couch. Gabe drifts off before Dave finds something good on TV, relaxed and feeling fresh. It makes Dave smile.
He's dozing when Roland arrives for the overnight shift. Gabe's still fast asleep, so Dave runs a hand through his greasy hair before he leaves.
*~*~*
Dave's first impression of Alan isn't a good one. Admittedly, Alan shows up at a bad time. Dave hadn't been down to the garage since the Diamondback affair; Burns had placed him on paperwork and report details for a few weeks. He hadn't griped too much at the time, because caring for Gabe was an around-the-clock operation.