"No Skipper, it doesn't. You taught me that."

Pete's response lingered in the silence. Once he answered, Pete went back to staring at the parking lot; wishing something would move outside and distract him. He would have settled for a squirrel or a rat; anything to disturb the stillness of both places. Finally, it was Mac who broke the spell.

"Maybe I should have reported Wells' behavior earlier. If I had, he might not have been in the field that night. It was my responsibility to take action sooner." It seemed to Pete that MacDonald wanted to take all of the blame for the delay in bringing the problem to Moore's attention. He felt that if there was blame to be had, he was as guilty as Mac was. Would it really have made a difference?

"What if we had spoken up earlier? We had no proof of wrongdoing on Ed's part. All we had were suspicions and conjecture." He turned his attention to the Captain. "Would you have taken any action then, a week ago?"

"Exactly when did you find out how bad things were for Wells?" This time it was Mac who did the asking. Did Mac think that he hid information from him?

"Yesterday afternoon, some of it anyway" Pete was slowly turning the mug he held in his hands. "That's when I found out about Ed sleeping in his car. Later in the day, I spoke to Betty."

"In this conversation…" The question was cut off by the buzz of the intercom. Fraser was waiting in the outer office. He hesitated before stepping into the room. Probationers rarely spoke to captains and this was Fraser's second time in less than a day. Captain Moore invited him to have a seat, but his tone made it clear that it was an order.

"Do you do know Officer Malloy, the Senior Lead? But of course you do. He's the Chief Training Officer, isn't he?" Pete was trying very hard not to smile; he had to admire Moore's technique. It was then that Pete realized the reason for insisting on uniforms; intimidation. From his spot by the window, Malloy could see the young officer tremble and nod his head.

"Take a good look at Malloy there. Does he remind you of a hangman or a lion about to pounce?" When Fraser looked at him, Pete did his best to look both stern and approachable. Mac coughed in order to cover a chuckle. Moore stood up, put both hands on his desk and leaned forward. The Captain, who was taller than Pete, towered over the much shorter Fraser.

"Do you really think that someone who does his job is looking for reasons to have you fired? Officers, like Malloy there, turn down promotions because they care enough to make sure that you are properly trained so you don't get yourself or another officer killed out there." The rookie slid down so far in his chair that Mac grabbed his wrist to stop Fraser before he fell off the seat. Moore pointed to Pete once more.

"It's his job to make sure that the training you get is as good as the training that other rookies get." The Captain pushed his hands to the far edge of the desk; His head was less than a foot above Fraser.

"Do you think you are worth that kind of dedication? Should Malloy and the other CTOs on the force, give up, take promotions and leave probationers to the hand of fate? Maybe you'll receive the best training and maybe not; maybe you'll be killed, maybe you won't. Is that what you want?" Pete had been on the end of many such lectures, from Moore, during his rookie year; a tiny, tiny part of his sympathized with Fraser.

"Officer Malloy. Kindly tell this probationer what you planned for him after you removed Officer Wells as his training officer."

"Retraining with Officer Walters and three months added to his probationary period."

Fraser just sat there staring at Pete. He thought they called him in here to fire him, but three more months' probation was nothing compared to losing his job. Under further questioning by Moore, Fraser admitted to telling two other rookies the rumor about Malloy. He also said that he got the idea from comments he heard Wells making about Pete being power happy.

"I'm going to go with your Chief Training Officer's recommendation, providing that you tell everyone one you told, and those they told, about Officer Malloy being out to get rookies, that you were wrong.

"Do you understand? Fraser, who was smart enough to know that he dodged a bullet, agreed to the conditions set and left before the Captain changed his mind.

Pete had taken the seat vacated by Fraser. He couldn't stop yawning. Caffeine, even lots of it, wouldn't keep someone awake forever. If he didn't sleep soon, he wouldn't be able to work the PM shift. Captain Moore had left the room in order to speak to his secretary in private. He came back in to hear Pete's latest yawn and Mac's telling Pete to please stop yawning before he starts to do it too. Yawns are contagious.

"When was the last time you slept?" Pete stifled a yawn, opened one eye and replied to the Captain's question. "Last week?" That said, Pete closed his eye and leaned his head back against the chair. He was beyond tired and well on his way to being punchy.

"I have one more question." Captain Moore paused; waiting for Pete to sit up and pay attention. Mac was chuckling; he heard what the Captain didn't. Pete had let out a low groan as he sat up. He knew that Pete's groan had nothing to do with being in physical pain.

"When you spoke to Wells' wife, did she tell you anything else that might have contributed to the changes in his behavior?" She had told him about one other thing, but there was no way he would share something that personal about Ed.

"She spent most of the time we were together crying." He knew he was being evasive but Pete didn't want to answer that question honestly; he prayed that Moore would let the matter drop. To his credit, Moore did let Pete get away with a half-answer.

"You two can go. My meeting with Wells is coming up soon and I need to go over the reports. I feel like I need to give Officer Wells one more chance to tell me the truth. Thank you both." Pete and Mac shared a hint of confusion. Was the Captain changing his mind?

"Fox?" Pete stopped his movement towards the door; turning to see what else Moore wanted. "Do you know if Mrs. Wells has solved her mortgage problem?" If he was expecting Pete to give anything away, he was out of luck. Malloy had put on his poker face.

"Yes, Skipper. She has." Pete gave Moore a casual salute and left.

Mac lingered despite having permission to leave. "Did you mean to suggest that Pete paid the mortgage? He wouldn't give Ed a paper clip."

"She had a problem yesterday but not today. If her or Ed's family could help, why haven't they done so already?" Moore didn't know why Pete would help Wells' wife, but he was sure Pete did. "Go home Bill. Take care of your family."

Mac shook his head and chuckled as he left the office. "I wonder if I will ever totally figure our friend out."

Pete finally made it home. Once he was inside his apartment, he took two aspirin and stripped down to a tee shirt and boxers before hopping into bed. The building was bursting with the sounds of babies crying, kids yelling and people hammering. He didn't hear any of it for hours.

While Pete slept, Captain Moore was working. He spoke to the head of Internal Affairs, someone from the Chief's office and a few captains whose opinions he respected. Pete was right; the reasons behind someone's conduct didn't excuse it. Wells was guilty. The nature of his punishment was subject to Moore's own personal opinion. Wells would never win 'police officer of the month', but he wasn't a bad cop. Do you take into account the years he has served or are they irrevelant? He heard arguments for both sides during his phone calls. He hadn't asked MacDonald or Malloy; he didn't want to put them on the spot. This was his to decide.

When Wells entered the office, Moore hid all uncertainly before it showed on his face. As Wells took a seat, Moore poured himself a mug of coffee. It was a signal to Wells; this was not a casual conversation between friends. Ed squirmed in his seat as the Captain slowly sipped his coffee and stared at him. Finally, Moore spoke.

"Officer Wells. I have read the reports about the incident early Saturday morning. In addition, I have spoken to all the witnesses, including you. I have read your statement about the encounter you and Malloy had outside of his apartment. I have read both Malloy and Reed's statements about that encounter. I have also read the statements of three witnesses to that encounter. I have one question for you." As the Captain spoke, he placed more and more emphasis on the word "I". It was like a hammer hitting a nail harder and harder.

"Why is every one of your statements in conflict with those of the other witnesses?"

Ed didn't speak right away. He expected to be fired and didn't know if anything he said would change that fact. If the Captain hadn't been thinking that way, he was sure that MacDonald and Malloy would have argued for his termination. Did he have any chance of saving his job? He had to try.

"I was afraid of being fired…Sir." He needed to be respectful, but how do you grovel and keep your self-respect?

"In other words, you lied. Is that what you are telling me?" Captain Moore couldn't believe it. If Wells had been honest about what happened that morning, he wouldn't be in this spot now.

"I don't know if…." Ed let that sentence die when he saw Moore's facial expression. He was giving Wells the same look of disgust that most people have after they step in a pile of dog droppings.

"Yes Sir. I lied. I know I shouldn't have, but I panicked after Malloy's threat." Moore stared at Wells over the rim of his coffee mug. He slowly sipped the dark liquid; waiting for Wells to volunteer more information. When Ed failed to explain that statement, Moore spoke again.

"Are you blaming all this on a threat that would have never been made if you were doing your job in the first place? Am I to understand that you were threatened without cause?" To emphasize his point, the Captain waved a hand over the spread out statements on his desk.

"Malloy didn't have to threaten me. So I was late with the paperwork. Couldn't he trust me? Instead he followed me around, watching me." In his mind, he still thought that things would have been fine if Pete hadn't gotten involved.

"Trusting you is not in his job description. Nor is it in mine." He finished up his coffee and poured himself another mug full. "You seem to have a problem with Pete. Would you mind explaining that?"

"I don't have a problem with him. He's a nice guy, but …" It was right around then when Wells remembered that Captain Moore had been Pete's training officer. Maybe dissing Malloy wouldn't help his case.

"But what?"

"At work, it's like he's "Joe Cop": so serious. I mean, have some fun. I do." Moore had some very vivid memories of being on patrol and laughing with Pete. He also knew that rising in the ranks can get in the way of fun at work.

"He has a lot more responsibly than you do. Supervisors have to keep some distance from the other officers. He also had reason to be checking up on you. Enough of this. If blaming Malloy for your trouble is all you are going to do. This meeting is over." Moore had hoped that Wells would tell him the truth. He could have spared himself this waste of time.

"That's the problem Captain. Things in my personal life caused those problems with Pete. He was right." It galled Wells to admit that Pete was right to want to remove him as a training officer. Ed shifted in his chair. The Captain was content to wait him out.

"My brother is sick. He might die." Wells had finally accepted the fact that he would have to tell the Captain everything. No one had ever heard Wells speak this honestly. He told Moore about the money problems, pressures of his family to help his brother, his problems with Betty and, finally, the effect these problems were having on with his ability to his work properly.

"Leave your problems at the door. It's not so easy sometimes, is it?" The Captain refilled his mug and poured one for Ed. "I do know about your behavior on patrol. Some of the other officers mentioned their concerns about you. MacDonald asked Pete to see what he could find out. Why didn't you say something to me before it got this bad?" Moore spoke softly; after all, he did care about his men. Would this effect his decision? Even Moore didn't know for sure.

"You would have fired me sooner and I needed the money." The Captain shook his head; now he understood why Wells tried Pete's patience. If nothing else, he could have assigned Ed to a desk job until he could keep his mind focused while on patrol.

"You don't know that. You're free to leave. I'll let you know my decision tomorrow."

A ringing phone, not the noise outside his apartment, succeeded in waking Pete up. There was a hint of a grumble in Pete's hello. Jim actually called him to make sure that he was awake; he wanted to make sure his partner would be at work. While Pete was on light-duty, Jim had been riding with Woods. Jerry was a good guy, but he could talk your ear off.

After roll call Jim checked out the shotgun while Pete spoke to Walters about taking over Fraser's training starting with the next shift. Pete expected to find Jim sitting in the unit and he was, but he was sitting in the driver's seat. That was not going to happen tonight. He snuck up on Reed from behind and pulled the car door open.

"OUT! Scram, scoot, skedaddle, shoo." Reed jumped so high that he hit his head on the roof of the car. Luckily, he had already secured the shotgun below the seat.

"What? I thought I'd drive today; give you a chance to slowly get used to patrol again." He had the silliest grin on his face.

"No, no, no, no, no. I wasn't gone so long that I forgot how to drive. Move it." Pete's right hand was waving backwards, indicating where he wanted Reed to go. In case he didn't get it yet.

"I've been practicing my high speed driving. You gotta see it." So far, Jim hadn't moved to his customary seat. Plus, he was still wearing that silly grin. "Woods trusted me to drive every day."

"Everyone knows that Woods is the gullible type. I'm not. Move over and clear us, will ya?"

"Come on Pete. Let me drive this shift." This routine had a long history: Jim begging and Pete refusing. Pete had 63 days from now in the station betting pool. He had ten bucks invested in it. Pete missed the familiar banter while he was out; his missed his partner. Since their talk the other day, Captain Moore hadn't brought up the sergeant's exam again. Pete knew that wouldn't last.

They passed the first hour without a call. No speeding cars. No deuces. Not even a jay-walker. They didn't mind. It gave Pete time to tell Jim about Captain Moore and Fraser. When he finished his tale, Jim launched into his plans for cutting down that big, dead tree in his yard.

Pete was cruising a modest, quiet section of their beat. It was a neighborhood that rarely required their attention. He almost made a right hand turn onto Baxter Lane, but pulled the squad car back to the left. He never drove down that street unless he had to. it had been years since Jim killed a teenage sniper there, but he tensed up anytime they drove past that house. Why remind him?

The first call they responded to was a missing child. He was five years-old and had been gone for over an hour. His parents had searched the house and property, but Jim and Pete checked it out anyway. They knew the weird places kids found to hide. Twenty minutes later, Jim found the boy. He was hiding in a dog house two doors down, happily eating from a big bag of M & M's that his mother told him he couldn't have. They left the boy with two very annoyed parents.

"That kid is going to be up all night. That one pound bag was almost empty." Pete was hoping to distract Jim from that dead tree.

Jim cleared them and dove back into his plans for the tree. "I figure that we can run a rope from the chimney to the tree trunk and another from the top of the pole for the clothes line." He was so excited that he was talking with his hands. Pete idly wondered when was the last time Jim had a tetanus shot before remembering the TV antenna. Cutting down the tree was definitely going to involve a trip to the ER.

"Wouldn't you rather hire someone to cut it down? What if it falls on the house?" If this suggestion didn't change Jim's mind, he had some other ideas on how to get out of cutting down the tree.

"! Adam-12, 1 Adam-12. 211 in progress, silent alarm. Freeway Liquors. 223 Third Street. Handle Code 3." They turned onto 3rd in time to see two armed males running out of the store and getting into a green 1970 impala two door. Jim called in the pursuit as Pete turned on the reds and siren.

"They're going to go on the Freeway. I just know it." Pete was talking to himself again. Jim was too busy with the radio to hear Pete's mutterings. The impala ran a red light, nearly hitting an old Ford pick-up and causing Pete to have to slam on the brakes. He maneuvered around the truck and hit the gas once more. "Damn". The impala flew up the on-ramp for the Freeway. That was the end of the division lines, but you don't stop a pursuit in the middle because of district lines. Five thirty on a weekday afternoon wasn't the best time for a high speed pursuit.

The Impala was weaving around the slower moving cars. It side-swiped a Plymouth wagon and kept going. Two cars darting through traffic was never a good idea. Jim called in a request for help from the highway patrol. Instead of following the Impala's weaving, Pete pulled onto the shoulder. He could keep pace with the impala without further endangering the commuters trying to get home safely. Both cars were traveling at over 70 miles per hour.

A high speed pursuit is dangerous on empty streets, but on a busy highway it was near suicide. So far, they hadn't gotten close enough to catch the license plate. The squad car was running out of shoulder to run on. Now was the time to decide if the pursuit was worth it. Dispatch had informed them that the robbers shot the store owner and two customers, killing one of them. They had to catch them.

Pete wasn't worried about his own driving ability, but he was concerned about the skills of the man driving the Impala. Red lights and sirens did wonders to traffic. He wasn't risking commuters by his driving, but the Impala was. The speedometer read ninety-five when they got close enough to read the license plate. Pete had let up a little on the gas while they waited for the dispatch's response to Jim's request for wants and warrants on the plate. Was getting the plate enough?

Dispatch reported the Impala as a stolen car. She also relayed information from the Highway Patrol: they had officers stationed at the next mile marker. The idea was to use four cars, including Adam-12 to box the Impala in to force it to stop. Pete pressed the gas pedal to the floor. Both officers agreed that they wanted to be the car in front of the Impala. They knew these men were killers and their consciences wouldn't let them put other officers in the most dangerous spot.

The CHP had sealed off the left lane to give them some place to use to force the car into stoppimg. By using the left lane, they were able to cut off avenues of escape. Pete pulled in front of the Impala and began to let up on the gas. Two CHP units were moving up to take positions on both sides of the green car. Pete and Jim heard the back window crack as a bullet went through it. Jim was trying to duck down but still be able to see the Impala. Pete pressed on the brake; lightly at first but steadily pushing harder.

"Which side is the shooting coming from?" Pete needed to know so that he could take the safest option out of a list of bad ones. The shooter was in the passenger seat so Pete steered the unit slightly to the left. It would make shooting from the right harder. Once he did that, Pete ordered Jim to duck below the front seat. Jim wanted to shoot back, but Pete nixed that idea.

"I need you safe. If I get hit, you'll have to take the wheel. GET DOWN!" Two more bullets went through the back window. Jim hated hiding, but Pete was right. He said a short prayer for Pete's safety. The gunmen didn't seem to be shooting at the CHP cars. It made sense; if they got rid of the car in front of them, they could try again to outrun the other cop cars. The CHP units were forcing the Chevy into the left lane. Once they were there, Pete braked sharply. The gunmen's car drove into the back of the squad car before veering onto the median and flipping onto its roof.

Both men inside the car were seriously injured. While Jim rode in the ambulance, Pete thanked the CHP officers for their assistance. They exchanged official information needed for all of their reports. Before leaving, Pete checked the squad car for damage. The trunk was pushed in some, but the lights still worked. The body damage didn't bother Pete, but the five bullet holes in the back window did. Pete checked closely. Three bullets barely missed hitting Jim; the other two came way too close to hitting him. Pete was known for being cool under fire, unflappable, but this one shook him.

He picked Reed up at the hospital and together they wrote the arrest and property damage reports. They booked the suspects into the system in abstentia. It had taken two hours to write and submit the reports. They were hungry and still unnerved by that last call, so they put in a request for "seven".

They were sitting in a booth at Biff's Diner when a cute, young waitress approached. Neither officer noticed her until she dropped her order pad and cursed. That wasn't the usual response to their presence. They turned to look at the waitress and Pete uttered a soft "Why God?" It was Cindy Harrison.

The young woman wasn't very pleasant when she took their order; blaming Pete for her father making her take this job. Once she was gone, Pete told Jim how he knew the girl. Jim couldn't stop laughing.

"You do know that she's going to spit in your food, don't you?" Pete put his elbows on the table, holding his head in his hands.

"Great...Just great."

Life goes on…

Epilogue:

Ed Wells was suspended for twenty days, not including the traditional two days off a week. In addition he was reduced in rank to Policer Officer II (the rank given to an officer upon completion of their probationary year), removed as a Training Officer and placed on probation for one year.

A/N. That's it folks. Thank you for reading along as I indulged myself in Trying to keep alive a great show's memory. As always, I welcome all reviews. They make me a better writer.

~J~