[Riggs]: Martin Riggs. We're gonna make a great team.

"I should be bringing you flowers." Martin eyes the young woman holding a blue vase of matching flowers. "You saved my life."

"You saved my life without even knowing I was there in the first place. I'd say that deserves some flowers," Dahlia says, her wild blue-green eyes flashing.

"What kind are those?"

"They're Hedyotis caerulea," she says, smiling. "Bluets."

Martin sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. "And she knows her plants too. How 'bout that?"

"I was originally going to major in botany. But I felt... More called to doctoring." She laughs and places the bluets on his side table. "How's your leg?"

"Healing, I suppose." He pulls back the blanket's edge to reveal a full leg cast. His lips twist into a moue. "It itches like hell, though, and I can't scratch it. It's driving me crazy."

"As if you weren't crazy already," says a new voice. Roger enters, his demeanor calm, but his face looking a bit irked. His hands are on his hips, pushing back his blue Tom Ford jacket.

"Well, hey, Rog," Martin says, his voice bright with faked happiness.

"I am not- listen to me, now- not pleased to be here."

"Well, who shoved a stick up your ass?"

"No one," he says, his voice both quiet and sharp. Martin begins to feel like a child being scolded for something that wasn't his fault. "I'm mad because you went down in the line of fire. Avery told you not to go in there until SWAT cleared it out."

Sensing that it's about to get ugly, Dahlia slips out, hoping to go unnoticed.

"Oh, great, Rog, you made her leave," Martin says, gesturing after the exiting woman.

"You're not lis- That's exactly what I'm here to talk about, Riggs!" His eyes are wide and his arms are spread out in frustration.

"Rog. Keep the old ticker goin' slow. Besides, I'm not too worried about this particular mode of transportation," he adds, looking down at his encased injury.

"You should be!" Roger moves slowly to a chair in Rigg's room. "With you tied up like this, I- I just..." He stops, watching the look on his partner's face.

"Aw, do you miss me?"

"No." Brown eyes move to the floor and arms shift uncomfortably in the Tom Ford.

"Come on, Rog, your partner's laying in a hospital bed, all knocked around and shot-"

"Fine." Roger's hands come up slowly in a surrendering fashion. "I miss you."

Riggs's golden-brown eyes shine as he smiles. "I knew you thought it, but I never thought you'd admit it. Now come over here and help a partner out of bed."

Murtaugh stands, almost feeling relieved. "What? Where do you think you're going?"

Martin slowly moves his legs to the side of the bed and Roger helps him stand up.

"Why, I got a meeting with Doctor Cahill. If I go missing our meetings, I can't be a cop." Martin runs a hand through his hair and pulls on a pair of shorts under the hospital gown. "And I know you love me, and probably wouldn't have survived this long without me, so I'm doing this for you."

"You only saved me," he pokes a finger at Martin's chest, "because you're the one who put me in danger. Besides, I know Maureen's not the reason you want out of here." He watches as the blue gown is thrown to the floor and a pink palm-tree-print shirt is picked up off the foot of the bed.

Riggs thrusts his arms through the shirt. "Not a chance. Wanna help me bullshit Cahill?" He pulls the pearly buttons together and buttons his shirt. Golden aviator glasses are pulled from the shirt's pocket.

"I'm gonna help you bullshit Cahill." Roger nods, confirming the statement against his better judgment.

"Just a warning: she can be scary. And I'll hold your hand if you need me to."

Roger almost mentions that having a heart attack in the delivery room is probably scarier than Maureen Cahill, who probably weighs 75 pounds soaking wet, but then again, it's the little ones you have to watch out for.

The two walk out of the room and head for the hospital's elevator. As soon as the doors open, Dahlia steps out, gently placing a hand on Martin's chest.

"Where do you think you're going? You haven't been signed out."

"You haven't what?" Roger whips around to face his partner. "This whole time, I thought you had been released!"

Martin holds a finger up. "Never said that. Uh, Miss Amerson, would you mind helping a fella out?"

"There's a lot of paperwork behind it, and I'm just an intern. But, it's official police business, right?" A sly smirk spreads across her face and mentally Riggs maps out every wrinkle it makes in her skin, every time crow's feet grace the sides of her eyes, everything about that smile.

"Of course."

"Then I'd be happy to help the process right along. Just make sure you come back for those flowers. They die quickly."