Sedimentary, My Dear Watson

[John Jackson]

These events follow directly after Moonlighting Hero Work (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=18434).

Though the siren itself was silent, the continued flashing of the patrol car's lights sent odd red and blue shadows chasing along the walls of the alley. A plume of steam that leaked half-heartedly from a vent a few feet up was turned into a feeble, stuttering glow by the dim light cast from a flickering street lamp. Breath rose up to meet it, frozen into clouds by the chill in the autumn night air.

Fighting hard against the urge to shiver, Detective John Jackson dug a hand deep into the inside pocket of his overcoat, fishing around for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He held the box to his ear and shook it gently, only a dull rattle eminating from within. Flipping it open and digging out the last cigarette, he stuffed the container back into his coat. A metal click and a barely audible breath of flame later, Jackson sucked warmth deep into his lungs and held it there for a moment, a few whispers of smoke escaping from his nostrils before he blew the remainder out through his lips, sending it drifting upwards to join the tangle of clouds.

Everything about him seemed ruffled, from the tireness that tugged at his eyes, the hair he hadn't bothered to fix after being dragged out of bed, and the clothes from yesterday hurridly thrown on as he made for the door. A tired headache had already begun to congregate at his forehead, although the nicotine infusion helped to unravel that a little. It'd do for now, until he managed to get his hands on some coffee.

The uniforms had been busy: tape already advertised to passers by that the alley was now a crime scene, although truth be told no one had yet been able to identify what crime had been committed. A path of destruction carved its way along the walls, the outer layer of brickwork torn free, exposing the concrete blocks beneath. In some places, holes had been torn through into the rooms behind; from the look of the neighbourhood though, it was unlikely that anyone - or anything of value - was inside. The bricks liberated from the wall hadn't travelled far: they littered the alley for fifty yards or so, and from the sound of things another similar site of slightly lesser destruction had been found at the far end.

Shaking his head, Jackson took another long drag on his cigarette, and set his sights on a cluster of uniforms, his partner standing in their midst. He offered a silent nod of greeting as he approached. "Why you gotta wake me up so damn early, man?" came back as a reply.

Though understandable, and indeed echoed by himself, Jackson ignored his partner's negative sentiments at having been rudely awoken at three am, and plucked the cigarette from his mouth. "What have we got?" he asked instead.

[Dwayne Stiles]

Dwayne Stiles had not had a good night. Some of it was absolutely nothing to do with standing out in the cold amongst the rubble of the crime scene he had been asked to come out to at three in the morning; rather, it was the fact that he had attempted to cook a meal for himself and Crystal, complete with the most expensive wine he could find in the local store and a tall candle. He had even made the pepper sauce from scratch, and knew that calling the finished meal steak au poive would ultimately earn him maximum romance points.

Unfortunately, it turned out that Crystal was allergic to pepper, and so they had rushed to the hospital in order to dose her up with more powerful anti-hestimines than normal. Currently, she was asleep, warm and soft and without his arms snared around her slender waist. God, what he wouldn't give to be there right now.

To add insult to injury, of course, he had been called out at stupid O'clock to investigate the result of what appeared to be a bust-up. Although, it was a rather unusual bust-up, considering that the ground was littered with bricks of varying completeness, and that the building they had come from had a large gaping hole in it.

Oh, and his partner Jackson had shown up ten minutes after Stiles had been on the scene. "An alley full of bricks." At Jackson's unimpressed look, Dwayne dug his hands into his pockets and whistled out some air from between his teeth, said air blowing out as mist which faded quickly into the night. "All right. We got some guy stretchered off to hospital with head injuries, but nothing too serious - he'll be talkin' when he wakes up later on. There was at least one other guy - there're some signs of a struggle further down that alley. But, damn --" He gestured at the hole in the building they were facing, "I dunno what did this. Explosives, maybe?"

His nose wrinkled, and with a less controlled degree of disgust than he would normally administer he glanced at Jackson's cigarette, "And put that thing out, man. S'bad for you."

[John Jackson]

Jackson quirked his eyebrow, gaze flicking between his cigarette and his partner, as if sceptical about Dwayne's claims that his habit might be harmful. With a shrug of surrender, he drew once last drag and flicked the remnants of his cigarette away into the gutter, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets as an alternative way to keep warm.

Leading the way, Jackson casually paced towards the entrance to the alleyway, mind processing the information that Dwayne had provided. Despite having been there much sooner - by virtue of living closer, no doubt - his partner had discovered very little beyond the information provided to them over the phone. Probably spent the whole time complaining about having to work so early, he mused.

Kicking a fragment of shattered brick out of his path with his foot, Jackson allowed his eyes to scan across the carnage left by whatever 'altercation' had occurred. The mound of bricks was a tangled mess; no doubt the guys and gals from Crime Scene would be able to unearth the exact details of what had transpired, but right now things didn't sit right with him. Explosives would have scattered fragments everywhere, and would have caused damage into the buildings, instead of out. While there was evidence of bricks scattering in all directions up and down the alley, in other places it looked as if the walls had simply tumbled down where they stood. And behind where the bricks had presumably been initially, the concrete, insulation, and few glimpses of room that Jackson could make all seemed eerily undisturbed.

Jackson shook his head, crouching down beside one of the larger mounds of displaced bricks. "Not explosives," he said softly. "Something else."

Suddenly, a wave crashed into him: not physical, not sound, but something else. His body swayed at the force of it as images flooded his mind. He was drowning in information - memories, emotions - and the sheer shock of it stole the breath from his lungs. He felt his partner's hand snag his shoulder, the sudden physical sensation driving away whatever it was that had overcome him, but as the tide slowly ebbed one last image lingered in his mind a few instants longer than the others. He watched through his minds eye as a few feet in front of him, a dark-clothed figure haulled another from beneath the rubble, and carry him clear from the scene.

He couldn't tell if his partner had given any words along with his offer of balance, but he decided to answer the obvious question whether it had been spoken aloud or not. "I'm fine," he assured, levering himself back to his feet.

He let his eyes close for an instant, trying to focus the fleeting memory that his secret mutant abilities had let him glimpse. "If the ambulance picked someone up already," he muttered, mostly to himself, "Then we're missing two of our suspects."

[Dwayne Stiles]

Like a mother having succeeded in scolding her child and regulating his behaviour, Stiles allowed himself a brief smirk before following Jackson into the semi-obliterated mouth of the alley. When his partner crouched down and started to examine the evidence further, his mutter that denied Dwayne's attempt to explain the situation made the Philadelphian roll his eyes. "Sure, not explosives. Whatever you say, John."

Without warning, Jackson seemed to lose his balance, and Stiles shot out a hand to grab his shoulder, "You okay, man?"

For a moment, Jackson didn't reply, seeming to be contemplating something, then voiced his ressurance as to his wellbeing. For fear of looking slightly odd to their colleagues, Stiles removed his hand and returned it to its place in his pocket, trying to keep out the cold. At Jackson's next statement, Stiles pivoted away with slumped shoulders.

"Two? What the heck? How d'you know this stuff?"

He didn't wait for a reply as he headed out of the alleyway, stifling an irritating yawn. Two suspects meant more work. Were they working together? Did they leave together, or go off in different directions? Moreover, why did they attack this one guy?

Briefly, thoughts of the mutant reports that had drawn him to work in this city played across his mind. Rubbing at the black hair on his chin, Stiles dispelled it. If that was the case, catching mutants was not only more difficult than tracking down the average human, but it was also more dangerous. Guns, knives, explosives - people could be disarmed of such weapons, but when the ability to harm was instilled naturally - how could you contain somebody like that?

He shuddered; Let's not think about that. What are the chances it was mutants, anyway? Why would they attack one guy?

The appearance of a two cars and a van caught his attention, and he called over his shoulder to Jackson, "Look alive, John. Forensics are here. You might wanna get outta there."

[John Jackson]

"Magic," Jackson grunted, with a slight quirk of an ironic smile. It was a better answer than the truth, anyhow. Though they'd only been partners for a month or two, he could already tell that Dwayne Stiles was a good detective; a good cop; a good guy. Unfortunately, his attitude towards mutants left something to be desired. He wasn't as aggressively judgemental of them as some of the other officers in the department, but Jackson was wary of how he might react if he found out that he'd been working in such close proximity with one. He'd have to try and open his mind a little before that particular secret tumbled out.

Rising casually to his feet as Dwayne's warning filled his ears, he shoved his hands back in his pockets, and turned towards the arriving representatives of the Crime Scene Unit. "Morning, Detective," he greeted as a woman approached, forcing a slight smile onto his face.

The female Detective didn't bother to reciprocate with one of her own. Not normally one to prejudge people, Jackson was disappointed to find that she very much fit the stereotype for Detectives from her branch, complete with the view that 'normal' Detectives were beneath her, and probably not intelligent enough to understand any of the work she was about to perform. "You'd better not be messing up my crime scene," was the only greeting she offered, her voice a mix of bitterness and frustration.

Jackson fought to keep the smile on her face. "Didn't touch a thing," he assured, producing his hands from his pockets and wiggling them vaguely to emphasise his point. All that managed to do was incur a wrathful stare that made even the iron-willed Jackson shudder. His smile slipped a few notches. "I guess we'd better get out of your way." The Detective's unpleasant smile confirmed that she thought doing so was a good idea.

Shuffling his way out of the alley, Jackson's hand subconsciously dug around in his pocket for another cigarette, hand bringing it half-way to his mouth before he caught the disapproving look from Dwayne. He gripped it between his lips anyway, and threw his parner a shrug. "What?"

[Dwayne Stiles]

"Man, is there some kind of stick up her --" Dwayne cut himself short as he spied the cigarette in Jackson's mouth. "You know what, man. Ya keep sucking on those death sticks, y'all end up with lung cancer. I ain't working wit you to see y'all end up like that."

With a sigh, he reached up to squeeze the back of his neck as the small army of forensics hurriedly passed between and around them and head into the alley. They had their job to start; Jackson and he had theirs to finish. And then, he could get back home to Crystal, convince her that work really was the reason he was traipsing back to bed so early in the morning, and beg her to make breakfast for him before he returned to work later that day.

"Hey," he caught Jackson's eye and jerked his head in the direction of the row of parked cars further down the street, "We oughtta head back to the station. Damn, how d'they expect us write reports this early?" He set off towards the cars at an amble, and stopped at the vehicle he was particularly proud to own. At Jackson's lack of reaction, he spread both hands in the direction of the black metal beast, "C'mon, man! This is a damn fine set of wheels!"

He scratched at an eyebrow, trying to make Jackson see sense, "This ...is a '72 Corvette. This is the new hotness." Pulling his keys from his jacket pocket, he flipped them around his fingers before opening up the door and lowering himself into the driver's seat. "C'mon, I'll give you a ride."

[John Jackson]

Jackson froze, expression half way between a disbelieving raised eyebrow and a disapproving frown. "New hotness?" he muttered under his breath, casting an appraising eye over the 35-year-old automobile. "More like 'old and busted'."

For an instant, he considered making some kind of excuse to avoid being trapped in a car with his Philadelphian partner, but right now one didn't spring to mind. He needed to end up at the station eventually, and with the mechanics busily trying to bang the dents out of the side of his own car, he'd either have to hitch a ride, and walk.

As he lowered himself into the car, he glanced at his watch. They'd not spent long at the crime scene, but there was little they could do, aside from holding down the fort until CSU arrived. He let out a sigh. "How about we swing by the hospital first?" he proposed, pulling the door closed with a decisive thud. "See if that victim of ours is awake?"

[Dwayne Stiles]

Stiles couldn't let that one slide: "'Old and busted'? Y'all ain't got nothin' on this baby." Leaning closer to the dashboard, he rubbed his hands over its smoothness, muttering softly, "He didn't mean it, honey. He don't know what he's sayin'."

At Jackson's suggestion, Stiles slid the keys into the ignition and twisted them. The engine rumbled smoothly into life, bringing a satisfied smile to Stiles' face as he cast a smug glance at his partner. Checking for other cars - it was late, but there was always somebody about in the city - he swung out onto the road, speeding through the matrix of streets with ease. He had lived in New York only a short while, but his memory appeared to have served him well as the hospital came into view a few minutes later. They rolled into the car park and Stiles picked a space well away from other cars - nobody was laying even a finger upon his prized motor.

The Corvette glided into the bay, and Stiles switched off the engine, stifling a yawn as he climbed out of the car. The journey had passed with silence between the two; Jackson appeared to be contemplating something, and Stiles didn't like to pry - he was many things, but nosy wasn't one of them. His short time working with the older man had shown that Jackson was a of a reserved, yet kind character, with a knack for understanding how others felt and thought. He was definitely the right kind of guy to be a detective. A good guy.

The pair headed up towards the entrance of the hospital, Stiles pulling his jacket more closely around himself in an attempt to stay warm. He nudged Jackson's arm as they entered: "Y'all know you ain't lighting up in here, right?"

Jackson gave him an affirmative nod, which Stiles replied to with a mischeivous smile, "I'm just playin', man." He crossed the lobby to the receptionist's desk with a confident stride, flashing her his most charming smile. She didn't react, and mentally Stiles faltered.

Maybe she's just too tired to notice.

"Hey, sweetie," He flashed his badge for added impact, "We've got a guy in here who we need to question. That all right wit you?"

[John Jackson]

Jackson rolled his eyes. He didn't know too much about Dwayne on a personal level - the two hadn't really reached the stage of hanging out outside of work. Most of what he did know came from Dwayne's side of the frequent and nagging phone calls he recieved from his girlfriend; Crystal, Jackson's memory seemed to suggest. Since most of the conversations he heard seemed to take place after-hours, and were along the subject of "When are you coming home?", Jackson had assumed that their relationship was relatively serious.

Unfortunately for all involved, Dwayne was a chronic flirt.

"Excuse my partner," he interjected, slipping himself in front of Dwayne, and casually flashing his own badge. "He's new, and kinda stupid." He shot a glare across at Dwayne, ensuring that his silence would be maintained. Turning back to the receptionist, he allowed her a brief, warm smile. "I'm Detective Jackson; this is Detective Stiles. We're here to see -" he hesitated, pulling out a notepad from his pocket and flipping through for the name, "- a Mr William Johnson."

The receptionist, seemingly unimpressed by either of the Detective's displays, turned her attention to the computer in front of her and rattled away on the keyboard. "Third floor," she revealed, sounding extremely bored. Not surprising, Jackson supposed, given the unearthly hour. "One of the nurses up there should be able to point you in the right direction."

Jackson flashed the smile again. "Thank you," he said simply, stepping back from the desk and setting his sights on the nearest lift. "Come on, Casanova," Jackson muttered under his breath. "Third floor. Would have thought that was Crystal clear, even to an idiot like you."

[Dwayne Stiles]

Something bugged Stiles about that statement, but he didn't say anything until the two of them were safely within the confines of the elevator. Folding his arms, he gave Jackson a sideways stare: "So, stupid, am I?" A grin crossed his face and he raised his hands passively, "Hey, I get it. 'Professionalism' or somethin', yeah? I'm down wit that."

It was too much effort to hide his boyish grin, so he didn't bother, but at th back of his mind, he wondered about what exactly their victim had to do with a huge hole in a brick wall that wasn't caused by explosives, and just why he had been attacked by not one, but two people. It hardly seemed fair on the guy. If it was mutants that had attacked him, then it wasn't going to be any good for the reputation of mutants everywhere.

The elevator announced in a pallid voice that they had reached their floor, and Stiles stepped out perhaps a little too eagerly, suddenly reminded by the clock on the wall of the stupid hour that it was and hoping that Crystal wouldn't freak out because she'd forgotten that he'd been called out to work. Jackson followed quietly behind, and Stiles wasted no time in approaching the nearest nurse - who was probably twenty years his senior, so being charming would probably not get him anywhere - and getting her attention. "Uh, excuse me, ma'am --"

"Sonny, what are you doing here so late?"

With an apologetic grin, Stiles flashed his badge, "NYPD, ma'am. We've got to question one of your patients. A Mr. William Johnson."

She thought for a second, then pointed to a set of double doors to their left, "In there. He's not well, though."

"Yeah, I know. But we figured we'd talk to him early while his memory's still fresh." Stiles bowed his head, "Thank you for your time, ma'am."

The two of them took a door each, and their quarry was easily identifiable by the numerous bandages and crimson-stained dressings that swathed his body. Stiles winced, "Damn - he ain't going anywhere fast." Digging his hands into his pockets, he nodded his consent for Jackson to go forward, "After you, man. You're better at this than me."

[John Jackson]

Jackson barely managed a grimace, echoing Dwayne's sentiments. This guy had certainly taken quite a beating. Though he was no forensic expert, Jackson could see that some of the blood patterns on the bandages were too narrow and elongated to have been caused by blunt force - unless there were some pretty sharp shards of masonry flying around the place, that suggested that more than just bricks had been getting hurled about in that alley.

Johnson was breathing on his own; that was a small mercy. From the depth of his breaths as well, he seemed to be conscious, although his lucidity could be a little suspect, based on the IV bag draining itself into his veins. An eye flicked open, focussing on Jackson as he approached. Another good sign. Jackson offered a smile.

"Mr Johnson?" Jackson asked. The victim nodded. Casually, Jackson flicked back the side of his jacket, revealing the badge fastened there. "I'm Detective John Jackson; this is my partner, Detective Stiles." Beneath his bandages, Johnson visibly tensed: Jackson held up a pair of calming hands. "It's okay," he reassured, trying to keep his voice as soothing as possible. "We'd just like to ask you a few questions about the men that attacked you in the alley."

[Boulder]

(Graphical note: Boulder, as of this time period, still looks normal, and does not have rock protruding from his skin.)

Boulder relaxed a little bit. His emotions were a little bit of a mess all things considered. He'd been beaten up, which had not happened since he bulked up, and after that, two people had shown up to see him. His first thought was bad news about his grandmother, since he had nobody else that would care one way or another that he was in the hospital, for whatever reason. Apprehension had turned to near panic when they revealed themselves to be detectives, but through the drug induced haze, Boulder could tell that they were here for answers, not to make accusations.

He gingerly moved his hand without the IV drip down towards his thigh, where the cut was. It was out of reach, but he stroked at it anyway.

"Whaaaahch..." Boulder blinked a few times cleared his throat, licked his lips, and tried again. It came out a bit rahspy. He'd been out for a while with nothing to drink. "What'cha wanna know about 'em? Other than they were freaks?"

[Dwayne Stiles]

Freaks. That was a strong word.

Stiles glanced at his partner, wondering if he should take the next move. He hadn't been working with Jackson long enough to know his rhythm, how he worked, when Stiles himself ought to assist or to stay back and let Jackson handle things. Jackson, however, didn't say anything, so Stiles stepped forward, trying to be professional.

"Sir," his years working as a waiter in his parent's restaurant helped massively with being well-mannered, "I understand that you're not feeling great right now. Could you explain what happened?"

[Boulder]

Boulder sat up a little and immediately wished he hadn't. His head swam as a headache sprang up to the front of his mind. He sank back into his pillow with a groan. He blinked a few times, and after a few seconds, the pain eased, but did not dissapear.

He sat silent, in thought, gathering to him the events of the night through the drug induced haze. He licked his lips and looked back to the two officers. "Well, there were two guys in costumes that jumped me in an alleyway. Like I said, freaks. I mean...who wears costumes? I mean...except for on Halloween of course...."

He trailed off as his headache returned. He pulled his hand up to rub his eyes, but it stopped as the IV tugged back, so he used his other hand instead and tried to get his bearings back.

[John Jackson]

"Take it easy, Mr Johnson," Jackson suggested gently, offering Boulder the most reassuring smile that he could.

Something seemed a little off about this guy, though he couldn't place his finger on it. Perhaps it was his fixation on his attackers' choice of attire, but the venom with which he delivered the words belied such an assumption. The only time he'd heard witnesses display similar latent aggression and prejudice was with mutants. Jackson's brow twiched almost imperceptably into a frown. Was this a mutant attack of some kind, or perhaps the actions of one of the numerous costumed "superhero" vigilantes that seemed commonplace in New York these days? If so, what had flagged this guy as a target? Aside from the fact that he was hard to miss, of course.


Encouraging the line of questioning towards a more useful direction, he pitched in with a question of his own. "Can you give us a visual description of these costumes? And can you think of a reason why you in particular might have been the target of this attack?" He flashed his reassuring smile again. "Take your time - it's more important that we get this information correct than quick."

[Boulder]

William nodded, but instead of taking his time at first, he blurted out, "Ninja. One was dressed like a freakin' ninja." He leaned back and gathered his thoughts now that he had gotten that piece of information off his chest.

He looked at the officers and was not please to be getting a sort of "he's crazy" look from them. "What? One of 'em was a damn ninja. Jumpin' all over the place, running around on the rooftops and stuff. Sounds like a freak to me." He shook his head.

"The other....hrmm...." William thought for a bit. "He's a bit hazy. Wore some kind of...skin-tight...gay ballerina kind of suit. A...Leo...nard...o...?" He screwed up his face as he tried to sort out the word he was looking for.

[Dwayne Stiles]

Despite the interesting choice of words that their interviewee was using, Dwayne listened with the air of a tortoise; gentle, considerate, and not quick to jump to conclusions. He thought he saw Jackson's expression change for a moment, and his eyes moved - towards Dwayne? - but couldn't fathom what exactly his partner might be thinking. Sure, Johnson's words were embroidered with an assortment of negative intonations, but did that necessarily mean anything important?

I'd be pretty angry if I was ganged up on.

Still, the costumes seemed relevant; it was obviously the detail that Johnson was most concerned about. Completely regardless of the fact that he was working, his stomach suddenly craved for something. Damn, he could kill for a cheese steak right about now.

Not good thoughts for a police officer, Stiles. Oops. Hey, maybe Crystal'll make me something nice if I ask her real sweetly ...

And he was back in the room. Being distracted by cheese steaks and a girlfriend with legs up to here was not good practice. No wonder he had failed his detective's exam twice. Back then, he hadn't been dating Crystal, instead this wonderful girl from the same area as he, and together they had spent many hours just --

Concentrate, Stiles. "Thanks, Mr. Johnson. So, you said one was dressed like a ninja, the other ...a little strangely." Personally, Stiles was of the opinion that ninjas were pretty cool, but his views weren't really required, nor would they be especially valued in this situation. "Could y' clarify that for us a little more? And, what exactly happened?"

[Boulder]

Boulder snapped back to the conversation and blurted, "Leotard! That's the word. Huh...? Oh...yea......" He mumbled to himself, "Clarify..."

He thought a little more, remembering. "The leotard guy also had a mask, so I couldn't see a face, but the whole thing was red and...black I think. It WAS dark out...and it could have been another dark color, but I think it was black."

William started re-hashing the events of that night in his head, and his face reddened from embarrassment, frustration, and anger all at once. He let out an exasperated sigh, "Pheeewwww......" He looked back up at the officers, Stiles in particular since he asked. "What happened...?"

He took a few minutes to gather his thoughts. "What happened?" he repeated, "Was that I was attacked in that alleyway. I'm not sure what they wanted really. I know I'm a big guy, and I'm poor, so my cloths" he pointed to a pile in the corner that were his torn and dirty cloths, "are something that often convince people on sight that I'm a thug, or a criminal or something. So, if that was the case..." He thought about it for a few seconds. "If that was the case, I guess they thought I had stolen the purse I had, which is my grandma's....and I guess a guy with a purse is pretty unusual to boot...." Boulder shook his head. "Back to last night Bill..." He returned his focus to the officers. "Anyway, she....my gramma is sick and sent me with her purse to get her welfare check and cash it. She needs medication, and so I didn't want to spend her money on a cab or anything, so I walked. I'm used to walking, and usually, nobody bothers me due to my size. Anyway, everything is on the wrong side of the city, so I have to walk from one end to the other to get to the welfare office, then trek to another side to get to her bank. I was on the way home when these guys ambushed me. Maybe they were playing 'hero', or maybe they were thieves. I dunno. But..." He looked around and let out a sigh. "I guess they got the money...and her purse too..."

Boulder looked up at the officers with a forlorn look in his eyes. "I don't know what I'm going to tell her..."

[John Jackson]

Jackson threw a glance across at his partner; their eyebrows rose in sync. TIt was my grandma's purse" sounded like a painfully cliché, textbook excuse, but right now they didn't really have any evidence to contradict such a claim. While they were stuck on the subject of clichés, the burley Mr Johnson hardly looked like the type to be running errands for old women, regardless of the relationship, but this was America - land of diversity, and all that.

The pen gripped in Jackson's fingers scratched against the paper as he noted down what Boulder had said. He finished his last string of words with a period stabbed into the page, and let his mind scan back over what had been said. Something didn't add up - why would guys in costumes waste their time trying to steal a purse from a guy who was clearly going to put up quite a fight? - but the case would no doubt be riddled with such questions until he had the opportunity to sit down with the crime scene report and see what the Forensics experts had come up with.

Clicking the end of his pen thoughtfully, and then again to coax the business end back into writing postion, he let his eyes flick up at their hospitalised victim. "We found a lot of -" his voice hesitated for a moment, mind searching for a slightly more technical term than 'bricks'. Unfortunately, his mind failed to come up with an alternative. "- bricks, lying around at the crime scene; seems like someone -" his voice hesitated again, "- or something ripped them off the walls." His eyes narrowed, watching for their victim's reaction. "Any thoughts on how that might have happened?"

[Boulder]

Boulder grinned and looked proud of himself. "Yea! That was me!" He paused for a moment and visibly deflated. His voice came out somber. "I guess....I guess I made kind of a mess of things over there, didn't I? Was anyone else hurt? I was kind of frightened and not thinking too clearly about anything other than running from those two guys..."

[Boulder]

Boulder snapped out of his somber mood. "Oh yea! Something else just came to me that might be helpful! I just remembered that before I was attacked, I was walking past a store. A grocery store I think it was...with a bunch of cops milling around it. They were yelling over bullhorns, telling everyone to be on the lookout for a mutant that shot lazers from his hands. To be careful, because he had apparently just robbed the store, and might be in the area."

Boulder's countenance darkened a little. "If I was attacked because someone thought I was that guy.... I swear if I find that lazer shooting guy....I'll....I'll.............He's responsible for this...." He looked up from his brooding, towards the officers. "Isn't he...?"

[Dwayne Stiles]

Something, just for a moment, got Stiles scared. He took a step back, holding up his hands defensively, "W-wait a second. Y'all did that? Y'all ripped them bricks from the walls?" He shook his head disbelievingly , "Ya know, I know y'all strong like, but I ain't seen nuthin' like this before."

Despite Jackson's warning look, silently telling him to calm down, Stiles continued to let his feelings grow wildly. He was not about to calm down soon, and Boulder's next stream of words only served to heighten his suspicions. "Laser mutant? C'mon, man, don't be --"

Damn. He's one of 'em.

"No way! Y'all gotta be kiddin' me! Y'all one o' them, ain't ya?" Suddenly, he wanted to get as much space between him and Johnson as possible. Stiles stumbled back a few steps, shaking his head rapidly, "This is crazy. I can't deal with this stuff, man."

Drawing his gun, he pointed with an arm he was desperately trying to steady, "Jackson - we have a problem."

[Boulder]

Boulder's face darkened. His right eye twitched. "I'm being threatened again? Within twenty-four hours of being mugged and possibly almost killed? By a man of the law none the less..." The hospital shook slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if a giant had stomped on the ground, miles away.

Boulder shook his head. The drugs were still making him woozy. He heavily lay back in his bed and closed his eyes. "What do I care now...without that money, gramma will probably die within the month anyway." He turned his head to the right, trying to hide the tear he felt trying to escape his right eye.

His eyes snapped open, wet with the promise of tears held back, and glared at Stiles. "I get mugged, try and defend myself, and now you want to KILL ME??" Boulder's breathing became labored. There was a loud crack, and a spray of dust as a cinder block below the window broke it's mortar. It was accompanied by the scraping of cement on cement as it slowly fell free of the wall and clattered to the ground.

William glanced over at the fallen brick and squeezed his eyes shut, but a few tears trickled out anyway. "See that? I can't even keep a job because of that... Because of people who are afraid of me, even tho I've done nothing to them... People like you... Have you ever had to live off of welfare? Go down to the office to collect a Social Security check?" Another crack near the door heralded another block breaking free to fall to the ground.

"I doubt it...."

[John Jackson]

"Detective," Jackson muttered, the warning tone in his voice compounded by the flash of a glare in his eyes. "Put the gun away."

His attention shifted towards their victim, all the while fighting to ignore the rather disconcerting rumbling of the building as it was slowly demolished - somehow - by Boulder's powers. "Mr Johnson," Jackson said with as calming a tone as he could muster, hands held out to try and soothe the situation. "I appreciate that you're aggitated, but I need you to calm down." The room continued to shake; the disturbances had caught the attention of the nurses and other patients, and muffled cries of "Earthquake!" were already flying around the room.

Jackson felt his jaw clench in frustation. His partner would be getting an earful about this later, provided their ears - and the rest of them - managed to survive without being crushed underneath a collapsing hospital. "William!" Jackson tried, a little more firmly, fighting the urge to let his hand stray towards his own gun. "I know things don't seem fair right now, but unless you stop right now, you're going to hurt a whole lot of people!"

The expression on the Boulder's face remained unchanged, anger driving him now and preventing Jackson's words of reason penetrating through. The Detective's hand clenched into a fist. Fine.

Holding his arms wide, Jackson gestured around himself. "You think this is unfair?" He shouted as still more bricks tumbled from around them, the light fixtures, wall pannels, tiles and everything else that had been attatched raining down around them. "Lets talk about fair," he growled. "Lets talk about the people who's homes you ripped apart last night, and who's belongings you destroyed. Lets talk about the thousands of dollars that are going to be spent clearing up after that mess you caused last night, and the innocent citizens of this city - people just like your grandmother - who are going to pay for that through taxes."

Jackson's eyes narrowed. "And what about the people you're going to hurt right now with this selfish outbust? Cut the B.S, Mr Johnson. This world of ours is only unfair because of people like you who think only of themselves."

[Boulder]

"It's not my fault!!" Boulder closed his eyes and drew in deeps breaths, trying to calm himself. After a few minutes of heavy breathing, silence finally followed. He opened his eys slowly and repeated, "It's not my fault....I..." He averted his eyes. "I can't always control it.... That's why I keep losing jobs. That's why that..." he nodded towards the fallen blocks in his room, "...keeps happening...I can't control it...not when my emotions get out of hand."

An awkward silence decended on the room. "I wasn't in a residential area by the way. There may have been some appartments, yea...but I was afraid for my life. I know that does not make it better, or less of an excuse, but...." he looked up at Jackson, "I don't want to hurt anyone. Not unless I have no other choice."

A grin slowly spred out on Boulder's face. "Ya know... Rather than spend those thousands of dollars to fix what I did with machines, I could probably do it myself. You are right, those people don't deserve what happened to thier buildings because of what I got caught up in. I could probably put them back together within a day. I'd say that's probably what you'd call 'fair', yes?"

[John Jackson]

Jackson's eyes narrowed. While he didn't doubt that some aspects of this guy's story were true, there were parts of it that left him uneasy. Such a violent and aggressive outburst didn't really tally with someone trying to run away: it seemed more like someone lashing out after being backed into a corner. Given the sheer size of Mr Johnson, and his particularly destructive powers, he was struggling to believe that the two figures he'd "remembered" climbing out from the rubble in the alley might have put him in danger as severe as their "victim" implied.

Jackson let out a sigh, the tone in his voice softening with relief, and a slight pang of sympathy. If anyone knew about having an ability they couldn't easily control, it was him. "I'm sorry, Mr Johnson," he said quietly, and calmly. "But I'm afraid your abilities - mixed with that temper of yours - make you a pretty dangerous individual." His shoulders slumped, as his mind searched for the words that could convey the severity of the situation without setting off another outburst. "Despite your intentions, and your -" he struggled to find the right term "- special circumstances, your actions have broken the law, and we will need to press charges."

He stepped a little closer to the bed, a grimace forming on his face. He reached out, trying to rest a reassuring arm on the victim's arm. Suddenly, images smashed into him: memories racing through his mind. He was running down an alley; his vision was strange, distorted, coming at him in pulses in rhythm with his footsteps. Two figures appeared; the alley was shadowed, but he recognised at least one of them from his earlier borrowed memories. Maybe Johnson was right - muggers, coming after him in an alley. An unseen force gripped hold of the bag in his arms - No! That money is for gramma! - and ripped it open, exposing the fistfuls of cash to the cold night air...

Jackson started, hand snapping away. Fistfuls of cash? Didn't this guy say that he'd gone or a welfare check? Even if the whole lot had been given to him in dollar bills, there's no way it would add up to that many notes. Just what was going on here? A few flashed memories showed notes fluttering free of the bag and onto the ground: he'd have to wait until forensics was done to see what light could be shed.

Jackson fought down the scowl that threatened to form on his face - why did everyone have to lie? - and briefly turned his attention back to Mr Johnson. "Some uniformed police officers will be along shortly to keep an eye on you," he explained, the caring note in his voice from earlier somewhat diminished. "They'll keep an eye on you until you're healthy enough to be taken into custody."

His eyes flicked to Dwayne, the intensity of his glare beaming out of his eyes like lasers. "Detective," he almost growled. "A word."

[Dwayne Stiles]

In all truth, Stiles had wanted to go and hide under something - anything - to protect himself from the walls that threatened to crumble down on them at any moment. At Jackson's order, he slowly lowered his weapon, keeping his eyes fixated on Johnson even as he replaced it in the holster at his ribs.

He almost lost his footing in the confusion that followed, his arms pinwheeling as he sought for balance, but as it stopped, he looked over with awe at his partner, and was immediately nervous again, for the Chicagoan seemed angerier than he had ever seem him before, despite the calming tone he was trying to maintain.

Rubbing his hands at the back of his neck, it was all Stiles could to to simply nod in agreement as Jackson explained Johnson's predicament. And when he asked for a word, Stiles suddenly felt an inch tall, or like a child about to be scolded for playing in the dirt in his Sunday best. Or, indeed, something like that.

Following Jackson out of the room, Stiles waited until the door to the ward was completely closed before he began: "I'm sorry, man. Damn, that just freaked me out. Y'all could see he was tryin' to kill us - I - I didn' know what else to do!"

[John Jackson]

Jackson held up a hand to silence his partner. "We'll worry about that later," he muttered under his breath, voice earnest but quiet so as not to be overheard. He winced momentarily, wondering how he could sell this without Dwayne catching wind of the reason behind his intuition. Given his display a few moments before, now definately wasn't the time to drop the "Oh, by the way: I have mutant powers" bomb.

Searching the floor for inspiration and finding none, Jackson forced his eyes back towards Dwayne's. "I have a -" Another grimace. "- a hunch. Our witness said something about a bank robbery, very few of the guys injuries look consistant with the kind of blunt force trauma you'd expect from his story..." His voice trailed off, an appologetic smile forming on his face. "Things just don't add up."

A nurse wandered past; Jackson zipped his lip until she was out of earshot. "I need you to head back to the precinct: see if the initial crime scene report has been sent over from forensics yet, and search the records for any bank hits in that area last night." He gave Dwayne's shoulder a slight pat and squeeze. "I'm gonna wait here for the uniforms to show up. Call me when you find something."

[Boulder]

"You guys are just as hypocritical as the rules at high school. I act in self defense and you wanna press charges against me, just like the school wanted to kick me out," Boulder muttered to himself. He pulled the IV from his arm. He was tired of being in that stupid hospital. He went overhimself mentally. His leg still hurt, but it was stitched up and no longer bleeding. He shook his head to try and clear the fog of the drugs in his mind, and swung his feet over the edge of the bed.

He slowly stood and tested his injured leg. Walking would be a problem right now. Boulder grabbed the roller that the IV drip was on and used that to help him over to his cloths. He tossed his worn out cloths onto his bed, then sat down beside them. Carefully, he put his jeans on so that his boxers wouldn't be exposed in the back of the hospital gown. He thought about putting his shirt, shoes and socks on, but just decided to do it later. He stuffed the rest of his cloths in the green plastic bag the hospital provided for him.

He then turned his attention to the fallen cinderblocks in his room and gave a heavy sigh. "Can't leave it like that..." Carefully using his power, which was sluggish to respond through the haze of drugs, he lifted the block back into it's place, and with a concerted effort, manipulated the moartar to hold the brick back in place. He repeated the process on the other three that had fallen, putting peices back together if blocks were chipped. It took a few minutes, and when he was done, he was sweating from the exersion of doing it through the drugs, but room looked whole again, like nothing had gone wrong in the first place. Also, the haze in his mind had lifted a little as the use of his power helped to remove the effect of the drug a little faster that it would otherwise.

He caught his breath and stood up, using the rolling IV drip to help him walk, and went to the door. Boulder turned the handle, pulled the door open, and walked out. Detective Jackson was looking right at him as he stepped through. Looking at the officer, Boulder calmy told him, "I'm leaving. I'm going home."

[John Jackson]

Jackson's eyes narrowed, his muscles tensing. His hand strayed towards his gun, but with an effort, he held it at bay. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Mr Johnson," he tried, but between what he'd seen with his own eyes, and the memories still unfurling in his mind, there was no way he'd be able to do anything about it.

A ping echoed down the corridor; Jackson barely contained his relief as a trio uniformed Police Officers stepped out. Back up. Finally - some good luck. Taking a cautious step forward, hand resting on the butt of his sidearm, he held up a hand to try and preempt any rash motions their "victim" might try to make.

"I need you to step back inside, Mr Johnson," he managed calmly, "Or these officers and I will be forced to remand you in custody."

[Boulder]

Boulder stood still and slowly blinked as he looked at Jackson. He put on a half ignorant, half tired / irritated face and said, "Take me into custody? On what charges and with what proof?"

[John Jackson]

"You openly admitted to being responsible for ripping down those walls," Jackson said flatly, quickly running out of all patience with the man. "I'm not sure what planet you're from, but down here on Earth - and in the city of New York - that's called 'destruction of property'."

He shook his head, folding his arms across his chest. "The law doesn't care whether you meant to do it or not, Mr Johnson. We're just here to make sure that justice is served to all the people who have been harmed by your actions."

[Boulder]

Boulder tossed Jackson a half-cocked grin. "Well, as nice as that is, it does not mean anything. You see, you didn't read me my Miranda rights. Any testimony from an accused person is not admissible in court without all the proper procedure being followed. If you were to bring that against me, it would be tossed out of court as inadmissible evidence."

[John Jackson]

Jackson let out a growl. "How about we assume that I know a little bit more about police proceedure than what you've managed to pick up from TV, eh?"

The look in Boulder's eyes just illustrated his resolve that his understanding was correct. Jackson let out a sigh, and delved into his pocket, pulling out his notebook. "You see this?" he asked, waving it at Boulder. "This is my notebook, which I wrote down everything you stated, including your admission that you caused the extensive damage we found at the crime scene."

"Now, you're right," he admitted. "Admitting to causing that damage wasn't a sworn statement, and wouldn't hold up as evidence in course." The smile that flashed on Jackson's face was more of a grimace than anything else. "This notebook on the other hand will: it will corroborate my testimony, and that of Detective Stiles, that we witnessed your confession."

Slipping the notebook back in his pocket, Jackson took a step forward. "Because you're a patient in hospital, we can't take you down to the station until you're well enough to be discharged. However, from the look of things, you're healthy enough to go for a little walk."

Jackson's hand fished out the pair of handcuffs from his belt. "William Johnson: I'm placing you under arrest on charges of criminal damage. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you." Jackson held up the handcuffs, and gestured for Boulder to turn around. "Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?"

[Boulder]

Boulder didn't move. Didn't speak. He just stared at Jackson. Not with malice or anger, but more with a feeling of being let down. Almost depression.

Everyone sees me and assumes I'm stupid just because I'm a big guy. Nobody could ever look at me and tell that five years ago, I used to be an 'A' student on the honor roll before the school kicked me out for defending myself.

But...more to the point...what do I do now...?

Resisting arrest would surely get him in jail, even if the vandalism charges didn't stick, which he didn't think they would.

After a few tense seconds, he nodded at Jackson. "mhm."

He let go of the IV drip and turned around. But when he placed his weight on his injured leg, he felt a stitch break and searing pain shoot up his leg, as he fell to the ground with a stifled cry.

[John Jackson]

"Oh, for crying out loud," Jackson muttered, rolling his eyes. At this hour of the night - in fact, they were fast approaching breakfast time by now - he wasn't in the mood for theatrics.

Clipping the handcuffs back onto his belt, he took a few paces back to clear a path for the nurses that had run over, and then turned away. The two uniformed Police Officers moved towards him as he approached. "Keep an eye on him," he instructed, keeping his voice low. "He isn't to leave his hospital room until he is discharged; as soon as he is, you slap him in cuffs and bring him to the station. Understood?"

One of the Officers nodded. "Sure thing, Detective."

Jackson risked a brief glance over his shoulder. "Call me if anything happens."

Without another word he paced past them and into the lift, prodding the ground floor button with a finger. As the lift pinged and the doors rumbled closed, he casually spared a thought to how he might get home. His eyes closed in frustration, and he let another sigh escape him. "Shouldn't have sent my ride home," he muttered.

[Boulder]

I don't have much time... Jackson and Stiles were gone, but the two police "guards" were ever-present outside Boulder's room, even if they were relaxed and talking.

Boulder's thoughts swirled as he weighed his options. In order to help himself think, he had removed the morphine IV from his hand, but left it on top of his hand, to at least make it look like it was still in. If I stay here, they'll take me to holding to try and be processed. Despite what the detective says, and that he assumes I'm a dumb brute, I know they don't have anything that will stick....but Grandma will be worried about me if I'm not home in another day or two, and they could hold me for 3... And I can't let her find out I'm a mutant...

If I sneak out...they could arrest me for sure on charges of resisting arrest... William let out a deep sigh. But...even if that's the case, at least resisting arrest is a non-mutant related charge...and it WOULD be my first offense, so in all probability, I'd get off with minimal jail time at worst, and most likely a fine, which I'd have no money to pay, or community service...which wouldn't be so bad I guess...

DAMN these self-righteous asses of police officers. Regardless of what I said about how I did the damage to the walls, it is a clear cut case of self defense...and I even offered to fix the problem myself, which is probably what a judge would have made me do ANYWAY. Freakin' cops don't give a damn about people like me....

That settles it then....I have to get out.

He didn't have to wait long. His leg still had a busted stitch that needed to be replaced, and a doctor or nurse would be along soon enough to work on that. He'd have to start right away. He quickly grabbed his shirt from his bag and put it on, slipping it under his hospital gown.

About three more minutes passed before a nurse finally came to look at him. Three minutes wasn't much, but it had been almost twenty since he'd fallen when Jackson wanted to cuff him. So much for fast service.

The woman stopped to nod at the officers and entered. Now's the time. Boulder stiffened as she came in, widened his eyes, and stared at her, trying to look petrified.

She smiled easily, "There's nothing to be afraid of. Unless....is a big man like you afraid of needles? It's ok. Lots of people are. Let's get you patched up."

She stepped towards Boulder and he stiffened more. "No...stop...don't dome closer..." She took another step. "No...please don't!" Gotta be careful here.... Using his power, he shook the walls to the room ever so slightly, and then stopped the shaking. The nurse stopped in mid stride and took a step back, fear racing across her face. Boulder waved his hand at her and softened his face. I'm glad I took some drama classes in school...this would be so much harder without it... "I'm...I'm sorry. I don't mean to scare you. It's just....I...I have a problem...with....with..." He flustered and did his best to look embarrassed. The nurse relaxed a little. "With needles?" she answered for him. He shook his head and looked away from her. "With...hair...." He admitted. "Hair on the head..." he clarified. "It just looks unnatural to me....dirty...invasive..." "Well...what about your facial hair? Isn't that unnatural, dirty and invasive too?" He shook his head. "Only when it's long, like head hair. When it's short, it looks more natural. Less invasive....cleaner...I dunno..."

The nurse balked at him, not sure what to make of such a strange phobia. "Well...people have all kinds of fears...maybe I can help you get over this one?" She took another step towards his bed. Carefully, he rattled the walls again, and stopped when she took a step back. The officer's opened the door and glanced in to see what was going on. Without a word, the nurse nodded that yes, everything was ok, no need to come in, and the officer, after lingering for a few seconds, nodded and closed the door again.


"I'm sorry...I know it's irrational...but I can't shake it. Neither my grandmother or I can afford to send me to a therapist to try and get it worked out. And we can't afford any kind of medication either. Since it's not really anything that obstructs my normal daily life, I've just dealt with it and avoided touching people unless they are bald like me." He sent a pleading look up to the nurse.

The nurse, either in fear of his power, or sympathy for his "phobia", nodded in understanding. "Tell you what. I know a male nurse, who shaves his head and has a neat trimmed goatee like yours. I could get him if that would make you feel better?"

Boulder slumped his shoulders in apparent relief and sighed. "That would be much appreciated. I'm sorry to have to put you through the trouble..."

Satisfied that he wouldn't have another outburst, and also glad to have an excuse to be away from him, she nodded. "I'll go get him then. He'll be here in just a few minutes." Boulder sent her an apologetic smile as she left the room.

I can't belive that worked so well... Well, now if I can manage to make it work for a little bit longer...

Another seven minutes passed when the male nurse came to the door. He stepped inside and cautiously approached. "The other nurse told me about your phobia..." concern on his face was evident. "You sure you'll be ok with me re-stitching you?" He took a few tentative steps forward.

Boulder nodded, and when the nurse made it to the bed without the room trembling, he regained his confidence. "Ok, I'm going to need you to lift your gown so I can take a look at the damage Mister Johnson."

Boulder smiled and lifted his gown. The nurse frowned. "You shouldn't be in your cloths yet...please take off your jeans...again."

"Oh yea...." He tugged down his jeans to let the man see his thigh. "Yep...you managed to bust a stitch. Looks like it tore some of the flesh too due to the strain. You need to relax for a day, keep pressure off it so you won't do any extra damage to it again. I'll patch it up for you real fast."

Too late Boulder remembered that he had taken out his IV drip. He rolled his eyes back into his head and focused on what he had to do in order to ignore the pain.

After a few seconds, the new stitch was in place, alcohol was applied to sterilize, and the nurse stood up.

"Since I'm the only one around here that seems to meet your...unique needs, I'll be tending to you until you are good enough to be discharged. I'll be checking up on you periodically to see how you are doing."

Boulder nodded. "I'm sorry for being so difficult....thanks for accommodating me."

The nurse nodded and headed out of the room. "I better be getting extra pay for this..." he muttered as he closed the door.

Boulder let out a deep sigh. So far, so good.

[Boulder]

The rest of the day drug on. The bald nurse, true to his word would periodically check in and look at Boulder's wound. He's take a few notes, tell Boulder to take it easy, that it looked like the wound was scabbing, and would heal nicely.

After the fifth visit of the day, Boulder used his power and pulled a small chunk of rock, about the size of his thumbnail, out of the wall behind his bed, so that it wouldn't be seen. He idly rolled the cement around in his hands, and formed it into a smooth, cement marble.

On the eighth visit of the day, the sun was glaring red through the window as it set. The nurse nodded in satisfaction. "At the rate your wound is healing, you should be able to walk out of here tomorrow morning. I'll be here all night as well. I'll check in once more before I leave you to get some sleep. In the morning, I'll check you out again, and you should be right as rain as long as you don't strain yourself too much."

Boulder smiled. "Thanks so much. I'm looking forward to getting out of this hospital. I never much cared for hospitals..."

The nurse laughed. "Trust me, nobody does. Not even the staff. See you in a few hours." He stifled a yawn as he stepped out.

Boulder peered outside and caught a glimpse of the officers outside. They were sitting around, drinking coffee.

Once the door was closed, Boulder got out of his bed and took a few careful steps to the window. He was surprised at how well he was healing. His leg was a little stiff, and it still hurt a little, but it held his weight.

He took a few practice laps around his little room, ignoring the protest from his leg, and walked until he was confident he could walk about fifty paces without limping.

He clambered back into his bed, the pain in his leg subsiding as if glad to be rid of the weight of Boulder's body. He carefully put his jeans back on under his gown.

Boulder, bored and impatient for the time to pass, place his hand on the wall and closed his eyes. He was bombarded with images in his head as the vibrations from people and machines moving reached him. He focused for a long while, sifting out the different footsteps of doctors and nurses, the rolling of beds and equipment passing in the hallways, and the scraping of chairs over the floor.

Boulder finally saw what he was waiting for through the vibrations. Two sets of feet came into his field of view and were greeted by the vibrations of two chairs scraping the floor and two more sets of feet moving. It was another shift change for the police. "Perfect..."

The new officers, after not moving for a handful of seconds, swapped places with the officers they were replacing. Two sets of feet walked away, while the new ones disappeared in the overwhelming grinding of two chairs being drug closer to a table a few feet away from the door.

Boulder rolled his concrete marble between his fingers as he waited.

Another hour passed, but finally the nurse came back. He had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. "Ok, let's get this done so you and I both can get some sleep" *click* The door closed behind him. He came over to the bed and motioned for Boulder to lift the blankets and his gown.

Boulder reached down to grab the corner of the blanket, and quickly flicked his marble up and guided it unerringly into the nurses temple, knocking him out cold. He crumpled forward onto the bed, and Boulder grabbed him before the nurses unconscious body could thunk to the floor.

He quickly muscled the other man onto the bed and stripped him of his scrubs. Tossing his own gown off, Boulder carefully put on the scrubs before grabbing his shoes. He put them on and slipped the scrub booties on over them. He clumsily put the gown on the nurse, who was now down to a t-shirt, sweat pants, and tennis shoes, and placed him in the bed.

Eying the unconscious nurse Boulder grimaced. He rummaged through the man's back pocket and found his wallet. He pulled a twenty out, folded the wallet back up, and put it back in the man's pocket.

Mind racing, Boulder gave it a little more thought, and turned the nurses face away from the door, and pulled the blanket up over the prone man, tucking it around his head a little so as to hide his face a little better, just in case someone else stopped in before the man woke, or morning came, whichever came first.

He hastily put on the nurse's cloth face mask. Breathing hard, from excitement and exertion both, Boulder did a quick lap around the room to get used to walking without favoring his leg, grabbed the clipboard, and headed out.

"How is he?" One of the officer's called. Boulder didn't turn, but said, "He'll be fine in the morning to leave with you. As for now, he's sleeping soundly. It should be a quiet night for you."

"Good. Thanks for the little station here for us bud. You want some coffee or a doughnut?"

"No thanks. I've got one more patient to see to and I can get some sleep finally."

"Suit yourself. I suppose we'll see you in the morning then."

"I'm sure you will..."

Boulder grinned like an idiot under the mask as he walked, carefully, without limping, and staring at his clipboard like he was reading, to the elevator.

While I'm here.... I should stop by the pharmacy and see if they have something for my grandmother....