[Original: Drabble] "That Time of the Month" [Zeke Jones, G]
Title: That Time of the Month
Prompt: writerverse challenge #26 quick fic #9 (‘horizon’)
Word Count: 622
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Partners are always there for each other.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
That Time of the Month
I drove about ten miles under the speed limit all the way back to the precinct. I turned our patrol car in at the motor pool and immediately turned back around, catching the first train going uptown, still in uniform.
I only made one stop, glancing anxiously at the rising full moon, and made it to Howell’s brownstone on Society Hill in record time. His front door was unlocked, a clear sign of just how close he’d cut it this time, so I let myself in.
“Sir?” I called, locking the front door behind me and heading through Howell’s kitchen to the basement. It was open, and there were no lights on the stairs going down.
“Sir,” I said again, and started down the stairs. “I’m really hoping you’ve changed already, so you can’t yell at me for this.”
I had never been in Howell’s basement before, but I knew what was down there. The largest space was taken up by storage, the neatest arrangement of wooden shelves and cardboard boxes I’d ever seen. But the other side was a homemade vault, with a thick wooden door and a heavy lock.
The lock was just a mechanism, not one that needed keys, and I pulled it open, then quickly shut the door behind me. Howell had told me once that it could be opened from both sides, but only by human hands- he wouldn’t be able to get out again until he’d transformed back into himself.
I turned around slowly, and looked around. Howell, in wolf form, lay against the far wall, head on his front paws. He lifted it to look at me, scowling even with a muzzle instead of a mouth.
“Okay,” I said, leveling a finger at him. “First off, you can’t Turn me. I’m already an undead creature. And second, did you really think I was going to let you spend tonight alone after the week we’ve had?”
This case had had us running nonstop, following lead after lead, never slowing down, running back-to-back shifts, defying the daylight with lashings of sunblock. We were so run-down that I didn’t notice Howell getting grumpy- well, grumpier- until the sun started going down, and I realized what today was.
Howell’s lupine expression softened. He got up and padded the few feet over to sit beside me, with a vaguely interrogative-sounding whine.
I slid to the ground with my back to the door, and pulled my backpack around into my lap. “You know me too well, sir,” I said. “We skipped lunch today, and I figured you’d be as hungry as I am. If not more, what with that whole total body transformation you did just now.”
He thumped his tail, hard, against the concrete floor.
“Right, food, I’m on it.” I dug into my pack and pulled out an extra-large box of chicken nuggets. “Catch, sir!”
I was still awake when the sun crept over the horizon, shooting golden beams of light through the high basement window. Beside me, Howell let out a growl that quickly began sounding human-like. I closed my eyes and held out my jacket.
“Jones,” he said, hoarsely, and I opened my eyes to see him sitting up against the wall next to me, my jacket over his lap.
“Good morning, sir!” I said, as brightly and annoyingly as I possibly could.
Howell scowled, his usual everyday default scowl. “Did you come back here to stay the night with me when I very specifically told you not to?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“And did you throw chicken nuggets at me?”
“Yes, sir,” I said again.
He snorted, and placed a warm hand on my knee. “Thank you, Zeke.”
I grinned. “Same time next month?”
THE END
Current Mood:
crappy
Prompt: writerverse challenge #26 quick fic #9 (‘horizon’)
Word Count: 622
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Partners are always there for each other.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
That Time of the Month
I drove about ten miles under the speed limit all the way back to the precinct. I turned our patrol car in at the motor pool and immediately turned back around, catching the first train going uptown, still in uniform.
I only made one stop, glancing anxiously at the rising full moon, and made it to Howell’s brownstone on Society Hill in record time. His front door was unlocked, a clear sign of just how close he’d cut it this time, so I let myself in.
“Sir?” I called, locking the front door behind me and heading through Howell’s kitchen to the basement. It was open, and there were no lights on the stairs going down.
“Sir,” I said again, and started down the stairs. “I’m really hoping you’ve changed already, so you can’t yell at me for this.”
I had never been in Howell’s basement before, but I knew what was down there. The largest space was taken up by storage, the neatest arrangement of wooden shelves and cardboard boxes I’d ever seen. But the other side was a homemade vault, with a thick wooden door and a heavy lock.
The lock was just a mechanism, not one that needed keys, and I pulled it open, then quickly shut the door behind me. Howell had told me once that it could be opened from both sides, but only by human hands- he wouldn’t be able to get out again until he’d transformed back into himself.
I turned around slowly, and looked around. Howell, in wolf form, lay against the far wall, head on his front paws. He lifted it to look at me, scowling even with a muzzle instead of a mouth.
“Okay,” I said, leveling a finger at him. “First off, you can’t Turn me. I’m already an undead creature. And second, did you really think I was going to let you spend tonight alone after the week we’ve had?”
This case had had us running nonstop, following lead after lead, never slowing down, running back-to-back shifts, defying the daylight with lashings of sunblock. We were so run-down that I didn’t notice Howell getting grumpy- well, grumpier- until the sun started going down, and I realized what today was.
Howell’s lupine expression softened. He got up and padded the few feet over to sit beside me, with a vaguely interrogative-sounding whine.
I slid to the ground with my back to the door, and pulled my backpack around into my lap. “You know me too well, sir,” I said. “We skipped lunch today, and I figured you’d be as hungry as I am. If not more, what with that whole total body transformation you did just now.”
He thumped his tail, hard, against the concrete floor.
“Right, food, I’m on it.” I dug into my pack and pulled out an extra-large box of chicken nuggets. “Catch, sir!”
I was still awake when the sun crept over the horizon, shooting golden beams of light through the high basement window. Beside me, Howell let out a growl that quickly began sounding human-like. I closed my eyes and held out my jacket.
“Jones,” he said, hoarsely, and I opened my eyes to see him sitting up against the wall next to me, my jacket over his lap.
“Good morning, sir!” I said, as brightly and annoyingly as I possibly could.
Howell scowled, his usual everyday default scowl. “Did you come back here to stay the night with me when I very specifically told you not to?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“And did you throw chicken nuggets at me?”
“Yes, sir,” I said again.
He snorted, and placed a warm hand on my knee. “Thank you, Zeke.”
I grinned. “Same time next month?”
THE END
Current Mood:
crappy