Fanfic - Haven - Professional Aptitude (9/9)
Title: Professional Aptitude
Fandom: Haven
Pairing: None, necessarily.
Rating: PG-13 (T)
Disclaimer: There'd be plenty of things that would be different if I owned Haven, despite its near perfection.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: No respect. Drabble. Part of a nine-part series of one-shots for a scifiland challenge. They're unrelated drabbles, but written and published as a group. Prompt: BAMF. (619 words)
City-slickers never understood how this sort of thing could happen, but a small-town New England cop could see it easily. Around these parts, most folks had guns, plain and simple. Hunting was a popular pastime, as was the shooting range over in Tarker’s Mill. But really, the most popular reason for having firearms began with a capital ‘T’ and ended with ‘roubles’. Even though most of the time people didn’t want to acknowledge the strange, unfortunate occurrences in town, they made this concession despite the fact it was probably the one thing that would do nothing to keep them safe. But it made them feel safer and he understood the need. So long as they owned them legally, firearms weren’t much of an issue.
Usually. Of course, every statistic has examples that prove it wrong, and this particular example went by the name of Davis Bruce.
The station got a call around ten of ten saying that Davis had walked into Rosemary’s brandishing his pistol. Typical Monday morning. They hadn’t had time to talk to Bruce yet, since at the moment he was currently still waving his handgun around with a slightly wild look in his eyes, but something about this reeked of the Troubles to Nathan. First, the gun.
“Davis, it’s me, Nathan Wournos,” he opened, only to have the barrel now pointed at him. He responded by putting his hands up in the air. “Why don’t you put down the gun, and we can talk”.
“Enough talking!” the man cried, one hand going to his thinning brown hair. The muzzle of the gun flagged as he continued. “I have to do this,” he pled, eyes beseeching, “Don’t you understand?” He looked sad and brought the gun back up.
“Mr. Bruce,” the high alto of his partner warned from over his shoulder. “I’m going to have to ask you to put down the weapon”.
“Who asked you, Fed?” he catcalled. His gaze shifted to her. “You don’t understand. You outsiders never can”. The barrel of his gun shifted to her as well. “Good for nothing, that’s what you are”.
“Davis,” he cautioned, “she’s an officer with Haven PD and deserves the same respect any member of this town does.” There was little doubt he’d said the wrong thing as Bruce swung the pistol back toward him, anger evident.
“No! She’s-"
BANG
The assembled crowd gasped. The next thing he knew, Bruce was on the ground, cradling his hand and in obvious pain. The gun skittered to a stop at Nathan’s feet. He looked over his shoulder to where Parker, tiny Audrey Parker, stood with a fierce look on her face, the barrel of her gun still smoking.
She’d shot the damn thing right out of his hand. He felt immensely proud.
Another deputy had gone to cuff Bruce while making sure he was going to be okay. Applause began to ring out, bouncing loudly off the linoleum floor. When she realized the danger was over, she lowered her gun and blushed, self-effacing. People came up to her and patted her on the back as she made her way toward him. He didn’t say anything, and they walked out into the afternoon sun together where they scuffed to a stop near his truck. After a moment of silence, he began.
“That was-“ he began. She cut him off.
“Hot, I know,” she teased, pushing a tendril of hair from her face. He chuckled and responded with a grin.
“I was going for ‘impressive’, but ‘hot’ works too. I guess the FBI does have some moves”. She slapped him lightly on the chest, then brushed off her blouse.
“That’ll teach him some respect,” she muttered. “‘Outsider’ my ass”.
Fandom: Haven
Pairing: None, necessarily.
Rating: PG-13 (T)
Disclaimer: There'd be plenty of things that would be different if I owned Haven, despite its near perfection.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: No respect. Drabble. Part of a nine-part series of one-shots for a scifiland challenge. They're unrelated drabbles, but written and published as a group. Prompt: BAMF. (619 words)
City-slickers never understood how this sort of thing could happen, but a small-town New England cop could see it easily. Around these parts, most folks had guns, plain and simple. Hunting was a popular pastime, as was the shooting range over in Tarker’s Mill. But really, the most popular reason for having firearms began with a capital ‘T’ and ended with ‘roubles’. Even though most of the time people didn’t want to acknowledge the strange, unfortunate occurrences in town, they made this concession despite the fact it was probably the one thing that would do nothing to keep them safe. But it made them feel safer and he understood the need. So long as they owned them legally, firearms weren’t much of an issue.
Usually. Of course, every statistic has examples that prove it wrong, and this particular example went by the name of Davis Bruce.
The station got a call around ten of ten saying that Davis had walked into Rosemary’s brandishing his pistol. Typical Monday morning. They hadn’t had time to talk to Bruce yet, since at the moment he was currently still waving his handgun around with a slightly wild look in his eyes, but something about this reeked of the Troubles to Nathan. First, the gun.
“Davis, it’s me, Nathan Wournos,” he opened, only to have the barrel now pointed at him. He responded by putting his hands up in the air. “Why don’t you put down the gun, and we can talk”.
“Enough talking!” the man cried, one hand going to his thinning brown hair. The muzzle of the gun flagged as he continued. “I have to do this,” he pled, eyes beseeching, “Don’t you understand?” He looked sad and brought the gun back up.
“Mr. Bruce,” the high alto of his partner warned from over his shoulder. “I’m going to have to ask you to put down the weapon”.
“Who asked you, Fed?” he catcalled. His gaze shifted to her. “You don’t understand. You outsiders never can”. The barrel of his gun shifted to her as well. “Good for nothing, that’s what you are”.
“Davis,” he cautioned, “she’s an officer with Haven PD and deserves the same respect any member of this town does.” There was little doubt he’d said the wrong thing as Bruce swung the pistol back toward him, anger evident.
“No! She’s-"
BANG
The assembled crowd gasped. The next thing he knew, Bruce was on the ground, cradling his hand and in obvious pain. The gun skittered to a stop at Nathan’s feet. He looked over his shoulder to where Parker, tiny Audrey Parker, stood with a fierce look on her face, the barrel of her gun still smoking.
She’d shot the damn thing right out of his hand. He felt immensely proud.
Another deputy had gone to cuff Bruce while making sure he was going to be okay. Applause began to ring out, bouncing loudly off the linoleum floor. When she realized the danger was over, she lowered her gun and blushed, self-effacing. People came up to her and patted her on the back as she made her way toward him. He didn’t say anything, and they walked out into the afternoon sun together where they scuffed to a stop near his truck. After a moment of silence, he began.
“That was-“ he began. She cut him off.
“Hot, I know,” she teased, pushing a tendril of hair from her face. He chuckled and responded with a grin.
“I was going for ‘impressive’, but ‘hot’ works too. I guess the FBI does have some moves”. She slapped him lightly on the chest, then brushed off her blouse.
“That’ll teach him some respect,” she muttered. “‘Outsider’ my ass”.