Adam-12 One-Shots

IV - Boom

Language, violence, graphic injury depiction, suicide. Rated T.

Summary: Jim Reed comes into work with a pounding migraine. The amount of times he's being shot at today isn't helping.

Start notes: This is based on my personal experiences with chronic migraines. I am not a police officer, but I can imagine that a good percentage of them probably get some gnarly headaches.

Also, this chapter features a suicide jumper, which may be triggering for some readers.

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Pete knows something's up as soon as he sees Jim in the locker room. The younger officer isn't talking to anybody, he looks a little paler than normal, and his hands are so shaky that he can hardly button up his shirt.

Pete's known Jim for long enough that he's learned about his predisposition to pretty bad headaches, and his refusal to take a day off even if he can barely function through one. If his memory serves him right (and usually it does), there was once a time when Jean had to call the station and say that Jim couldn't make it in because of a migraine.

After watching Jim struggling for a few more seconds, Pete just can't take it anymore. "Here, let me do it," he sighs, approaching Jim and pulling the younger officer's hands away from the shirt. Jim looks away, embarrassed, but says nothing and allows Pete to do up his shirt.

"Thanks," he says, and his voice is hoarse and quiet. Pete cocks an eyebrow but doesn't comment on it.

"We'd better get to roll call or we'll be late," he remarks. Jim nods, and they set off.

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"One-Adam-12, P.M. watch clear," Jim says into the receiver. As he goes to put it back, his hand knocks the volume dial, causing the level of sound to raise several decibels.

"One-Adam-12, clear." Jim winces very noticeably at the volume of the responder's voice, and Pete quickly reaches over to adjust the dial.

"How you doing?" Pete asks as he reverses carefully out of the parking lot.

Jim glances at him confusedly. "Fine, why?" he replies unconvincingly. Pete just gives him a look right before merging onto the road.

"I can read you like an open book, James," he answers. "When we go 7, I'll take you through a convenience store. Pick you up a bottle of aspirin."

"It's not that bad," Jim mutters, but his entire body language says otherwise.

Pete's about to retort when there's a sudden loud bang! and a bullet hits the windshield. He hears Jim swear loudly - something that Jim rarely does - as he slams on the breaks and swerves over to the curb. He's grabbing the receiver and speaking into it without a second thought: "One-Adam-12, request backup at the corner of Lakewood and Westview. Shots fired. Officers need help."

Reed's got the shotgun in his slightly trembling hands, and Malloy can see how clenched his jaw is. Someone is running toward the car.

"Freeze!" Malloy shouts, the sound ringing in Reed's ears and making his head pound even harder. He winces. "Put your hands on top of your head!"

The person immediately complies. Reed can't quite see the person - his eyes are obstructed by the sun, and his vision is a little blurry from his ever-worsening migraine. Malloy approaches them, pats them down, and says, "Let me see some identification."

"I'm so sorry, officers," the person says, and it's a woman's voice. "My husband - he was coming up to me with a knife, said he was going to kill me, he tried to take a stab at it, so I tried to - to shoot him, I m-must've hit you instead." The poor woman rambles on while she fumbles with her wallet and pulls out her driver's license. Pete motions for Jim to join him and the woman.