**picture: Beacon Hill, Boston
Going out for a drink was rather a wish, since they were all still on meds and couldn't even smell alcohol, but they got together anyway. And since drinks were out of the question, they accepted Ron's invitation to meet at his place.
Laura helped him to the living room, brought coffee and apple pie and left them to take Penny to bed. Ron sunk in his favorite armchair with a tired sigh. His legs were the part of his body that had been more affected by the explosion, burned and cut by sharp glass splinters, and he'd started getting up and walking around a little only a few days earlier, thanks to the intense program he was following with his rehabilitation trainer. The special gear had been effective protecting him from waist up, and he had only some minor burns and bruises in his arms, and no marks at all on his face. Only his left hand needed some rehabilitation, after being crushed under a big chunk of concrete.
"I'm like Alexander The Great," he used to tease. "You know how the legend goes: all of his body was covered in scars from battle, but his flawless face was completely untouched, his breathtaking beauty always preserved."
"Plain to see," they used to answer. "'Cause you're as ugly as ever."
When they were all set in his living room, Ron tasted and praised his wife's pie and turned to Gillian.
"So explain it to me again, please, 'cause my scorched head didn't quite get it," he said. "We cannot work with federal agencies anymore?"
Gillian nodded. "We solve the cases ourselves or we hand them over and forget about them," she said, no hint of a smile on her face.
"It just doesn't make any sense," grunted Kurt, not for the first time.
Hank sighed. "It's called politics, kid."
"I call it stupid," muttered Tanya.
"Do they really think that this way they can throw a cog in our wheel?" said Russell, who had joined them as Gillian's official driver. Riding with him on snow or ice was a dreadful nightmare, but one she was long-acquainted with.
Like earlier at the office, Gillian just raised her eyebrows and shook her head. And the others knew she was keeping her mind to herself because all that nonsense involved her father, and she wouldn't say anything against him in front of them.
"Templeton promised to keep us up about the tampered PCP," said Hank.
"Nice," grumbled Fred. "I mean, it's nice of him, but not like we dig watching things from the outside."
"Are we gonna do something about it, Reg?" asked Aldana, and all of them turned to Gillian.
She shrugged. "I don't know, lads." She sighed. "Of course I don't wanna lower my head and just take the blow, but I can't think of anything that wouldn't get us all kicked outta the force."
"Well, there's always the troopers," said Ron with a tight smile. "We're still state reservists for another ten months, right?"
Gillian frowned at his words, and frowned even deeper when she noticed the others seemed to agree with him. "You mean you'd quit the force?" she asked in a shocked whisper.
Fred flashed a reassuring smile at her. "No, Reg. We're just saying that if push comes to shove, we still have where to turn for a job."
But his answer didn't soothe her. "If push comes to shove?" she repeated.
Aldana took her turn to try to ease her mind. "It's just a way of speaking, Reg. C'mon, you know us better. None of us wanna quit the force."
All of them noticed that Gillian was still upset by that turn of the conversation, and they were trying to come up with something else to say when her phone buzzed. She checked it and took the call, signaling them to keep quiet.
"Connor?" She listened for a moment and her face broke into a horrified grimace. "I'm on my way!"
"What is it, Reg?" asked Russell, seeing her reach out for her crutches.
"Connor's friend! Looks like he's taken tampered PCP!"
A heartbeat later they stormed out. Ron chewed his impotence, watching them leave while he was forced to stay behind.