Sirens

What you thinking about, T?

- The future, actually... - Mm.

You know, where I see myself in ten years time.

You know what? I think I'm gonna be high-level FBI by then.

I know where I'm gonna be in ten years.

Wow. Really? You have a plan?

- Yeah. - I'm impressed.

Yeah, I put a lot of thought into it too.

Planned it out.

- Get this. - Yeah?

Miami.

And you're what... gonna be a detective?

Yeah.

Yeah! I'm gonna be a detective.

- Oh, my God! - Oh, my God.

Yes, I'm gonna be a detective in Miami!

Man, that would be, like, so cool.

If I was a detective in Miami, I could do

- so many detective things. - Yeah, you could.

And you can be pretty damn sure of one thing.

Yep.

All units, armed robbery in progress.

Northwest corner of 18th and Morgan.

That's us.

Car 48, ready to annihilate.

Don't move, asshole!

Oh, why do they always move?

Hey, drop your weapon!

- -

Got him!

Aah! Aah!

Suspect down, corner of Morgan and 18th.

Officer down... medical assistance required.

- Yo, nice shot, T. - No.

- He got me in the arm. - No, no, no, you got him.

No, he got me right in the arm.

No, T, I'm looking at it. It looks fine.

The arm with all the blood on it?

I'm serious, your uniform... oh, my God!

Oh, my God!

Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God!

- Okay, okay. - Dude, it's okay. Hey.

Papi, papi, papi. Santo Dios, hallelujah.

Oh, my...

One officer down, one officer...

Kind of a pussy.

How's she doing, guys? How you doing, hon?

Quick clot's working great.

She won't be losing any more blood.

Took a couple of pellets of buckshot, T.

Don't worry... the docs should patch you up in no time.

Any shortness of breath, blurred vision,

- dizziness, clammy hands? - Um...

Yes, yes, all of them.

Oh, my God. Billy, I'm okay.

I'm so sorry, T.

It's all my fault. Madre de Dios.

- It's not your fault, Billy. - Just blame your parents.

That's probably what the shooter's gonna do.

Are you okay, babe?

Oh, shit, call my parents before the precinct does

and let them know that I'm absolutely fine.

No, it's not fine, T.

You're my partner, and I'm supposed to protect you.

Yo soy un idiota!

Your mouth's probably dry. Do you want some water?

Oh, my God, yes. Thank you.

My mouth is so dry, I can't even breathe.

It should be me lying there, T.

Not you, it should be me.

Billy should be in that bed.

I hate to sedate a patient who's not seriously injured,

but I just couldn't take all the goddamn whining.

Were you scared? I know I was.

You know what the really scary part was?

Dealing with my parents... and Maeve.

Did you see her hitting on that doctor?

Yeah, I thought she was gonna blow him

- right there in the waiting room. - Yeah, I know.

I know Hank wanted to.

- Oh, he gave Hank his number. - No!

Mm-hmm. Classic.

- - Wow.

- Are the Percocets working? - Oh, yeah.

Good.

- How's your wound? - What wound?

- You all right? - I am high as shit.

Okay, well, whatever you want, I am at your service.

You name it, you got it.

You want ice cream,

you want a Dwayne Johnson film fest, whatever you want.

Will you stay over?

Yeah, of course.

Cool.

Just, you know, I don't want to be alone tonight.

Yeah, I totally get it.

You know, it's okay to be, um...

If you're afraid.

- No, I wasn't. - No, not at the time. No.

I pulled one of the doctors aside,

and he said sometimes in cases like this,

there can be a delayed reaction.

Sometimes people feel more afraid afterwards.

No... I mean, what... afraid of what?

- Of dying. - But I didn't die.

- No, but you could have. - No, but I didn't.

I know, honey, but just...

Hey, I am not afraid of anything, baby.

I am...

Horny.

I'm thirsty.

I just want to go home and drink a ton of really great Tequila

and then have really insane sex.

Ha.

- Seriously? - Seriously.

How was that for delayed reaction?

I hate to say it, but you should get wounded more often.

Good morning, my love.

I whipped you up your favorite breakfast and a rose...

A fresh and healing flower, your favorite kind of...

Okay, what... I know that look.

- No, you don't. - Yeah, I do.

You have never seen this look before.

I'm pretty sure it's the "we need to talk

about our relationship" look.

No?

It's "the bullet holes in my arm

are really starting to hurt" look?

You don't want eggs.

Okay, it's official. I'm scared here.

What happened to the happy, sexy, fun girl from last night?

I got shot. I survived. I wanted to celebrate.

Oh, right. I'll get the Percocets.

No, no Percocets!

Happy, fun, sexy time, babe, three feet away.

Listen, I've been thinking a lot lately about...

Where I see myself in ten years' time and...

Oh, boy, I'm taking the Percocets.

- No, wait. Hey. - Huh?

- Don't you have a plan? - What?

Uh, yeah, I do.

In ten years, I plan to be sitting

in primo season-ticket-owner box seats

right behind the Cubs Dugout at Wrigley Field,

thank you very much...

With you.

That is your ten-year plan?

No, of course not. It's my 20-year plan.

It took me ten years just to get on the list for these tickets.

- Holy crap. - What?

I'm a cop, John.

I might not have ten years' time.

I could take a bullet in the face tomorrow morning

from some meth-head freak

outside of a chicken and liquor store.

Or I could take a bullet

in the line of duty for my country in D.C.

- Hmm? - I want to go to Washington

- and work for the FBI. - What? When?

Today, now.

I'm ready to fill out the application form.

Okay, wait. Wait.

Listen, I think that you lost a lot of blood yesterday,

and I think that you got a shock to your system.

What am I waiting for, huh?

- There's nothing keeping me here. - Easy, easy.

That's for sure.

Well, what about a little thing called us?

Oh, right, us.

Yes, there's my place, and there's your place.

And you know what, John?

It's not enough anymore.

Okay, um, I think this is the part

the doctor was talking about.

This is, like, a delayed reaction.

Yes. I was 16 when I decided I wanted to work for the FBI.

It's only taken me a decade to finally make the move.

You're serious?

Wow.

You are so observant.

Yes, I've only been up half the night thinking about it.

Marry me.

Yeah, right.

- I'm serious. - I'm serious!

Let's get married. Ha ha! Whoo!

Great idea.

Theresa Kelly...

Theresa Kelly, will you marry me?

You're kneeling on my pants.

Hey, listen to me.

I am 100% balls-out dead certain goddamn serious right now.

- Can you pass me my top? - Not until you answer me.

- Get up. - No.

John Farrell, get up.

I'm not getting up.

Okay, fine.

So I say yes, and then we're engaged forever and ever

because you won't commit to a wedding date

and then I waste a whole another chunk of my life

drinking overpriced box-seat beers