wooo!!! The plot is picking up for once!!

---

"Yeah, can I request backup at..." Tom pauses to glance around the room, searching for some sign of where they are. "At.... at the shady looking turtle store. You know which one I'm talking about."

There's a chuckle from the other end of the call. "A'ight man, I got you."

"Thanks Max," Tom says. He hangs up, then looks down pitifully at his crushed radio on the ground.

Damn. He just got that one, too.

Tom then looks up at the dead body laying across a countertop. He shakes his head in disapproval, then leans back against the wall to wait.

A robbery turned into a murder-suicide case. How pleasant. Tom is actually quite tempted to light some of the incense sitting on the counter by the body, but he's also pretty sure that's not good for the turtles.

There's some rustling in the back of the store. Tom stands up, fully alert.

A soft clack is heard, as if something bumped into a shelf. Tom reaches for his gun out of habit. He begins to creep towards the shelf, gun out and ready to attack whatever might be lurking.

He turns a corner, and is suddenly face to face with a strange man who is also holding a gun. Tom is quick to move, giving the man a harsh uppercut to the bottom of his jaw.

Unfortunately, the stranger is quicker. He shoots his gun before Tom makes any contact, a bullet flying straight into Tom's arm. It sends him backwards into some shelves and slamming into his side. He gives a cry of pain, his ears left ringing from the gunshot. Of course, though, he has no time to worry for his safety. He's in the middle of a fight.

The stranger stumbles backwards, clearly in pain. Tom aims his gun at him using his good arm.

"Who the fuck are you, and why did you shoot me," he demands, hardly making it a question.

The man just spits at him. "Fuck off cop, I'm here for my payment-" He then moves to pull something out of his pocket.

Tom pulls the trigger and whoops, his gun isn't even loaded. He settles for throwing the gun at the man as hard as he possibly can instead. The robber falls unconscious.

He grunts in pain as he moves to check the rest of the store. Given that a previously closed door (one of the back doors) is now open, Tom would like to assume he picked the lock and snuck in.

(In his defense, it's very hard to secure a building on your own. Fuck this city's shitty police department.)

Red and blue begin to flash through the windows, and Tom smiles. The backup is here, so now Tom can go get this bullet out of his arm.

--

"God, Tom, how do you always do this?" The doctor, a friendly, calm lady named Jessica, is grumbling to herself as she digs for the bullet. "It went in further than expected. How far away were you when he shot you?"

Tom shrugs. "I dunno. Within punching distance." He laughs at the awestruck look on her face at his response.

"That's- that's not good, Tom! What if he shot you in the chest?!" She lightly smacks his chest for emphasis.

He laughs weakly (it kinda hurt) and shrugs. "I have a bulletproof-"

"Still could've fractured a couple ribs, dammit. Pull up your shirt, I need to check for wounds." Jess doesn't even wait for him to start moving- she yanks his shirt up, carefully examining his torso by his arm.

It is now that Tom is aware of the scratches along his upper chest. Probably from where he had slammed into some shelves.

He sighs. "Fine. Do your magic, Doctor."

They both sit there, in the hospital, in a comfortable silence as Tom gets a bullet pulled out of his body and stitched up. It hurts like hell, but that's okay. It's not the first time Tom's been like this.

He thanks her after she's done, and promises to meet her for their weekly lunch together. (After the third visit to the hospital, Jess and Tom began to talk more. They're pretty much best friends now.)

The air outside is nice and cool, and feels good against Tom's skin. It's a good day to get some tacos, he decides.

He's gonna go get some tacos. And maybe a shot of vodka, or some painkillers. His arm is killing him.

---

Well... the animal guy is back. Tom hadn't expected to run into the guy again, but he's here, standing across from Tom with a slightly intrigued look in his eyes. Tom can't blame him, though.

Most people would be a little curious about a giant wad of bandages wrapped around one's arm. Tom shrugs casually, or at the very least tries his best because wow did moving his shoulders hurt.

"Got shot," he says. It explains everything.

The other nods. What was his name again? Galm, right?

"Oh. That... that's rough, buddy," comes the response.

Tom can't help but laugh. "Yeah, it kinda was."

Galm rolls his eyes, sipping from his cup. What a coincidence, that they both went to the same place for tacos. Tom, in an act of flirtatious courage, sits in the chair across from Galm and begins to eat his own food.

He recieves a curious glance, but no objection. Tom takes this as a good sign. "Nice weather, huh?"

"Yeah," Galm hums. "Would be nicer if it was a bit warmer, though."

Tom nods. He finds this a bit odd, but hey. Some people have no tolerance for cold. Maybe he's just a warm person, with his fire and all.

The two fall into a comfortable silence, eating together and listening to the news playing on a television not too far away, just barely audible over the sound of chattering customers.

"-and onto more recent events, Shawn Arthur, mayor of Townsville, has released a statement on the robberies that took place in City Hall just this week, saying..."

Galm seems only slightly interested. Tom thinks his reactions are actually much more interesting than the news. His eyes widen at something the news must've said, and Tom mimics him out of curiosity.

...He has nice eyes. Does he know this?

Tom smiles to himself. He's actually quite cute, Tom realizes. Especially when he looks surprised, like he does now.

Wait. What's he so surprised about?

"What is even happening?" Tom asks his question curiously, feigning obliviousness. He pretends to have been focused on his food- which isn't entirely wrong.

Galm, from across the table, begins to speak around a mouthful of burrito (which, in all honesty, should not be something Tom finds as attractive as he does). "Well, there was the big break-in to the city building-slash-capital thing a few days ago, right? Well, they're saying some people are speculating a connection between the mayor and the robber, because of the way evidence doesn't add up."

He continues talking, but Tom is, admittedly, very distracted. Galm is just so animated when he speaks, his arms are waving around and his eyes are big and wide and so excited that Tom suddenly feels like he's talking to some kind of animal, and-

Bzzt. Bzzt. His phone goes off in his pocket, startling him.

He pulls it out, giving Galm an apologetic glance as he does so.

Jessica (2)

Tom come back.

Please. It's important.

The lack of context worries him. He furrows his brow and tries to think of what to say, or how to respond to such a vague message.

Galm must've sensed his uneasiness, for he nods his head at Tom as if giving him permission to leave. "Do you need a ride?"

"Yeah," Tom admits. Oh, the downsides to having your coworker drop you off at a tiny Mexican restaurant. The two of them get up, leaving money for their food and a tip.

(By that, Tom means he just slams a fifty on the table, and prays that they'll keep the change. Two burritos and a taco can't cost more than a few dollars, anyways.)

They're out the door in less than a minute, and then they're off on their way to Jess at her clinic.