Fic: Every Fifteen Minutes, Chapter 2
Chapter Summary: Modern Day Cop!verse AU. (Duh!) Pike plays taxi service to his absolutely toasted-drunk partner and learns a thing or two from an old friend along the way.
Author’s Notes: First and foremost, thank you again to my awesome beta wicked_jade
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money made. No money to be had. Don’t sue for money, ‘cause you ain’t gonna get none if you do.
Chapters | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
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Chapter 2
Driving was normally Chris’ go-to play when he needed to calm down or sort through his thoughts. After spending a decade as a cop, it was second nature to pilot a car, and he did it without conscious thought. The familiar motion of the vehicle relaxed him, and the swooshing hum of the wind breaking across the windscreen and the vibrations of the engine were tactile reminders that he was free to exercise his need to keep his hands busy while his mind worked. During his military service, his duties consisted mainly of lying still while he called in firing corrections (simultaneously hoping he wasn’t found and killed by the enemy), so the freedom of a directionless venture was a very welcome change.
But instead of the expected relaxation, tonight, Pike’s drive was having a very precise but opposite effect. Wound up and tense, he made it to Stumble in record time. Aside from setting a land speed record on his way to his destination, he managed to work through exactly none of the reasons that were bothering him. Chris instead pulled into the muddy, soaked parking lot with more questions than answers, a revelation that frustrated him completely.
Perhaps part of the reason his brain wasn’t willingly cooperating was the fact that Pike’s mind was on more pressing matters, namely the condition of his partner. When he started tugging on some clothes on his way out the door, Lynn was silently glaring daggers at him for what she perceived as insensitivity (again) toward Len. He didn’t really see what the big deal was, and walked to the car without another word. The only promise Chris made to his wife was that he would, “Take care of it.” Whatever the fuck that actually meant, he wasn’t quite sure. He had about thirty miles to figure it out, and out in his car (even at 0300) was preferable to being in a house when Lynn had an axe to grind and point to make.
But it really wasn’t just her. Chris had a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach that when he left his rookie sitting alone in the locker room after shift, McCoy wasn’t as ‘okay’ as he claimed to be. But, Pike wasn’t one to be nosy, and figured if there was something the kid needed, he would voice it. Besides, Len was an adult, and part of dealing with the stresses of the job was finding productive outlets to deal with the bad days. Though EMS workers weren’t often shot at, they still had one of the most stressful jobs in all of civil service. He figured that McCoy had his own strategies all worked out, especially after a few years around the block.
…Or maybe not. With all the evidence in front of him, Chris was slowly beginning to realize that maybe he’d been wrong about Len’s ability to cope. Pike sighed, gripped the squishy leather-wrapped wheel of his Audi A6 so hard his knuckles turned white and laid his head on top of his hands. He was a good read of people, so how was it that he was so off the mark with McCoy? It was both infuriating and embarrassing. Taking a deep breath, he sat back up, pulled the e-brake handle, dropped the shifter into second gear, and slid off the black leather seat. His boots splashed in a puddle, and he muttered out a curse before he reached the cracked cement sidewalk laid haphazardly outside the side door of the Stumble. Lifting his hand, the sergeant pounded the side of his fist against the thick, wide metal door in hopes that AJ would hear him over whatever Skynyrd song he was blasting at the moment.
Abruptly, Pike heard the cut out of the high, squealing notes of the climax to Freebird’s four minute guitar solo as the barkeep pulled the needle off the vinyl record. The sound of shuffling feet against the bare floor was audible right before AJ stuck his head out the old door. “Chris. How are you, son?” he asked, accepting Pike’s outstretched hand before he pulled the sergeant into a manly hug. Smiling broadly, he stepped back and gave the younger man a critical once over. AJ noted the dark rings under Chris’ eyes and the slightly dazed but serious look on his normally youthful face. To the untrained eye, Pike simply looked tired, but AJ, as a military man himself, knew the symptoms of PTSD too well. Pike’s haunted eyes also matched the expression McCoy was sporting when he walked in, albeit the former’s more successfully shielded. Harris schooled his face, stepped back to allow Pike in the door, and added, “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for calling me,” Pike replied, shaking some of the excess water from the Iowa City PD hoodie he threw on in his rush out the door. Pike rubbed his hands together to stimulate some circulation in them, and to ward off the chill of a rainy, dreary Midwestern spring night. His eyes bounced around the hallway toward all the offices he knew were situated in a little corner on the side of the bar, looking for his charge. “Where is he?”
With a flick of his head, Harris motioned in a completely separate direction. “This way.” AJ held the door open for Pike and motioned for the man to fall in step. Chris acquiesced, following the barkeep through the labyrinth of storage and soundstage setup equipment toward the back corner of the structure.
He wondered for a half of a second where they were headed before it dawned on him. The sergeant was a frequent patron of The Stumble Inn, but even he hadn’t ever seen the deep recesses of the place. He knew AJ lived in the retrofitted and spacious apartment placed at the back, but until that moment, he wasn’t sure how the man got there. Harris shepherded Pike around the back of the bar, past the offices, around the storage areas and toward a locked door at the end of the dimly lit hallway. He fished some keys from his pocket and unlocked the door placed at the end, leading Pike through the secondary entryway of his surprisingly detailed home.
Though the building was far from couture, the previous owners must have definitely enjoyed a flair for the Victorian era, given the look of the home they built onto the back of the bar. Dark wood flooring blanketed the entirety of the place; the only type of carpet in the home was present in the form of rugs. The Oak braces framing the hallways and the doors were ornately carved and stained with a natural wood varnish. The ceilings were all painted; from a deep maroon to a pale, olive green and even an ocean blue, the colors of the rooms reflected a very unique taste. The white mouldings adoring the top and bottom of the wall were thick and layered. The walls themselves were covered in various shades of highly decorative wallpaper that matched perfectly with the color of the ceilings. It was neither a space nor a design that Chris thought went with AJ’s personality, the tobacco-chewing cowboy from Texas, but it worked. That, and Pike figured the older man was too lazy to change it.
Chris and AJ passed the stairs that led to the basement storage cellar and, hanging a right at the end of the hallway, stopped in the darkened living room. Pike stood still, waiting while he let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the room. The light from the entryway spilled into the living room in cracks and pieces, throwing shadows off the walls in odd places. Eventually, Pike was able to make out a lump of humanity sprawled out on the couch once his eyes switched to night vision. McCoy was lying on his back, uncomfortably crammed onto the sofa that was clearly too small to accommodate his entire frame. One leg was draped over the armrest while the other was dangling off the side. He’d thrown one arm over his face, but even through the appendage, Pike could hear the gentle snore floating about the room.
The cop had one foot up in the air when Pike felt a hand clap down over his shoulder. He spun, confused and furrowed his brows. “AJ,” he whispered, “What do you need? I was going to get him up and get out of your hair.”
Harris didn’t reply but instead tipped his head toward the next room. Confused, Chris followed, simply out of forced habit. AJ ushered Pike inside his kitchen and reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of water. Grabbing two, he offered Chris one before twisting off the cap of his own and taking a long, satisfied gulp. The barkeep pulled out the chair in front of the cop and motioned for Pike to sit. Sticking his head into the main room, AJ made sure he could still hear McCoy’s soft breathing before he pulled the sliding divider door closed between the kitchen and living room. Satisfied, he finally joined Pike at the table.
“What are you doing?” Chris asked in a hushed but full voice, spinning the water bottle around the table. He looked up into the older man’s eyes, searching them for any kind of answer. Pike got nothing, and he certainly didn’t like it. “It’s almost four in the morning. Don’t you want us out of here so you can get some sleep?”
“There are more important things than sleep right now,” AJ stated flatly, eyes flashing as if he was back in the Army and about to discipline an unfortunate subordinate. Harris was most definitely a go-for-the-jugular type of guy and wasn’t shy with his opinions. As such, if the man had a point to make, he would damn well go right ahead and make it. Leaning forward in his chair, AJ stared squarely at Pike with an expression that could only be classified as frustrated before the older man continued with, “You know, I’m disappointed in you. I would have expected better from a US Marine. I thought you boys didn’t believe in leaving men behind.”
The words stung with the harsh bite of truth, and Chris visibly recoiled. He felt his blood pressure rise again, since the stress from the night was making his normally lengthy fuse achingly short. “I didn’t leave anyone behind, and if you’re talking about McCoy, you’re full of shit. He said he was fine,” Pike replied tersely, almost defensive while he ran his calloused hands over his face and through his hair. With the smells of peanuts and beer wafting through the bar, Chris ached for the familiar weight of a guitar in his hands and the freedom of open mic night at the Stumble. He’d even settle a quiet few moments alone in his own home if he could use it to de-stress in his own way. Pike closed his eyes tightly and rubbed the temples of his forehead, hoping to abate the migraine he felt forming behind his eyes.
Tipping his head to the side, AJ replied simply, “What he said and what he is are two very separate things. You got eyes and a brain, Pike? If you do, I’d suggest it would be a wise idea for you to use them.”
“I’m not his mother, AJ. If the man said he was okay, I have to believe him,” Chris replied defensively, not at all liking the feeling that a friend was interrogating him.
“You can smell the booze on him from a half a block away. Does that look or sound like a man who’s ‘okay’ to you, son?” with a general motion of his head toward the closed door. He fixed Pike with a pointed, disapproving stare that probably made a few PFCs piss their pants in terror before he crossed his arms over his broad chest.
Pike opened his mouth to answer, but then thought better of it. AJ Harris rarely, if ever, got mad, but Chris could see that the man was on the verge of a very good angry tirade. He’d seen the expression once before when a true douchebag of a man made patronage of the Stumble. The abusive, loudmouthed punk got a crash course in how a gentleman should treat a lady, and how that same gentleman dealt with human trash who thought it was okay to use a woman as a punching bag when AJ made his point by knocking out the kid’s front teeth.
Suddenly, Chris had a much clearer understanding of the abject fear the man must have felt, seeing the cold, hard expression on AJ’s face right before he was tossed out on his ass. It was, in a word, frightening. But, before Pike could automatically retort in defense, his mind rolled back to the uneasy feeling coursing through his body during the drive over. Instinctively, he knew Harris was right, as was Lynn. AJ just said aloud what Chris knew but didn’t want to admit, and now it was two against one. In a word, he was sunk.
AJ sat and watched the emotions and the thoughts parade across Pike’s normally composed face. The stress lines made the young sergeant look older, but they weren’t nearly as pronounced as the ones he saw on McCoy. Harris prided himself on the ability to correctly guess ages, but even he was stunned silent when Len pulled out his ID to verify his date of birth. He remembered a distinct feeling of shock when he held the small piece of plastic in his hands. AJ simply stared at it, simultaneously wondering just what could make such a young man look so old. Wordlessly, the barkeep handed Len back his ID while he contemplated the sudden squeezing sensation occupying his chest, and how best to chase it away. It was obvious McCoy’s goal was the same, so when the young man ordered a double shot of Kentucky bourbon, Harris poured two glasses. He slid one to the McCoy, raised his own in silent salute to whatever it was that was on his newest patron’s mind, and tossed it back.
It bothered him all night, why the dark-haired stranger seemed so familiar, and half a bottle in, he still had no more answers than when he poured the first shot. But when a replay of the ten o’clock news flittered across the room, Harris heard McCoy actually speak a full sentence for the first time all night. Albeit slurred, he growled to the bartender to turn it off. It was almost as if a light bulb went off in Harris’ head - McCoy was the young man AJ saw on the news with Chris. Admittedly, after all the bitching Pike did in the past eight months about his new partner, Harris expected McCoy to be a lot more…difficult, to say the least.
After their rather unconventional icebreaker, McCoy finally started acknowledging Harris’ presence other than to ask the man to pour him another drink. What started as nondescript grunts or one word answers morphed into three or four word half-sentences. While he knew he hadn’t gotten the full story by closing time, Harris was able to convince the young man to crash on the couch in the apartment while he found McCoy a ride home.
He just omitted that the cab service was one Sergeant Christopher Pike.
With a sigh, AJ stood up and motioned Pike to follow, knowing that he made his point. With a much softer, more paternal look on his face, he laid a hand on Chris’ shoulder. “I couldn’t make him go home, not like that. Whatever happened, whatever he saw, it’s eating him. Kind of like when I first met you,” AJ said with a pointed but friendly glare over the tops of his reader glasses before he slid the divider open.
Pike’s spine stiffened, his stride hitching momentarily. AJ was already across the room, stooping next to the side of the couch by the time Chris recovered enough to move. Shaking his head, Pike took three quick strides in time to hear Harris grunt as he knelt down next to the obscenely upholstered piece of furniture, knees protesting mightily. AJ tapped the base of the touch light next on the end table, turning the light on as low as possible. The lamp’s soft, warm glow was barely higher on the lumen scale than that of a single candle’s weak flame, but even that small amount was enough to draw a strangled groan from the figure strewn across the old sofa.
Chris stopped, leaning over AJ’s shoulder while he watched McCoy lever his eyes open. Confusion flittered across his face and his unsteady gaze bounced around the décor of the living room. His eyebrows furrowed and his face pinched, and Pike could almost see the wheels attempt to turn. Len opened and closed his mouth twice, finally quipping with a heavy slur, “I got drunk in a bar, and now I’m waking up in Pride and Prejudice. This must be hell.”
Despite the tension winding around the inside of his chest, Chris couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. While most of the department was convinced McCoy was a robotic automaton who was capable only of growling and swearing, Pike, as his partner, was treated to the wittier side of the young cop. Len was the only police officer on the payroll who could stop a full-out bar brawl with a couple of well placed insults, all done without ever breaking a sweat. Pike found himself often shaking his head in disbelief for being bested by his rookie. It was embarrassing.
McCoy would probably be plenty embarrassed in the morning (and in some serious pain), but for the moment, Pike knew he had bigger issues to worry about. The main roadblock keeping him from his home and more specifically his nice, comfortable bed, was a couple hundred pounds of drunken partner. Selfishly, he knew he could simply turn around and walk right out the door. AJ, without actually saying so, gave Pike the distinct impression McCoy’s destination was never anywhere other than a friendly couch. It was simply a matter of deciding which one. He easily could have left his partner in Harris’ capable hands in trade for a night of uninterrupted sleep. But whether it was the right thing to do, well, the jury was still out on that.
Chris was jarred from his internal debate by a scratchy, tired voice from the vicinity of the couch. While he was contemplating the best way to extract himself from the bar whilst still keeping his balls attached to his body from the inevitable Wrath of Lynn, McCoy apparently managed to open his eyes enough to recognize one of the two figures in the room. His gaze locked with Pike’s, and narrowing his eyes, Len pointed one shaky finger up at his partner. “Goddammit, I can’t even get away from you in the 18th Century,” he spat out, eyes unfocused and glassy.
On his left, Harris let out a loud snicker, but Pike was simply perplexed. Replaying his partner’s words once and then twice, he still had no idea what the hell McCoy said. Chris shot a helpless expression over to AJ and raised his hands, palms up in a gesture of surrender. “It’s ass o’clock in the morning, and I didn’t get a word of that. What did he just say?”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m fluent in every dialect of Drunk. Otherwise, you’d be up the creek without the paddle, son,” Harris replied in a low but light tone. He executed a fine double take and added, “You’re a cop, Pike. You’re supposed to be able to understand drunks, since according to you, that’s what you spend the majority of your calls clearing.”
Pike scoffed loudly. “I arrest the drunks. I don’t have to listen to them. The handcuffs are one of the perks of the job,” he said with a shrug, ignoring the amused expression Harris shot his direction. Chris shook his head and looked down, refocusing on the task at hand. “Should we do this shit?” he asked McCoy.
“Whatever you say, boss,” was Len’s sarcastic, snarky reply.
With the help of Harris, Pike pulled McCoy up and off the couch, ever-mindful not to hit the bandaged burns on Len’s right hand and arm. Had Chris not been so utterly frustrated at his partner’s inability to balance his own body weight, he might have seen the humor in the situation. In the process, Pike decided two things: 1) McCoy was much denser than he looked, and 2) He really needed to get back into the damn gym. Throwing one of Len’s arms over his shoulder, Pike let his partner find his balance before he started moving toward the door. He tossed a ‘thank you’ over his shoulder in Harris’ direction as he shuffled back through the bar towards the exit and his car, which AJ returned with a friendly wave.
Muttering to McCoy to keep his damned feet moving and stay awake, Pike finally made it out the door and to his car. He propped McCoy up with his hip against the rear passenger side while he fished through his pockets to find his keys, cursing himself that he hadn’t thought to pull out the remote beforehand. Chris found it, pressed the button and opened the door. He turned his body so Len was facing away from the vehicle before the sergeant gave his rookie a gentle shove. Without Pike there to support him, McCoy stumbled, nearly whacking his head on the doorframe of the Audi. The sergeant’s hand prevented a possible concussion, and Len folded himself into the passenger seat with only a muted grunt.
Chris sighed, counting backwards from ten in his head while he nudged McCoy’s shins with the toes of his boots. It was more like a kick, but either way, it was a silent signal to the younger man to pull his feet in the vehicle, which Len eventually did. Pike braced one hand against the open door frame and stuck his head into the car. He grabbed the seatbelt from its neutral position and fastened it around his partner’s nearly limp body.
The dim light of AJ’s home hid quite well the clearly troubled face. Against the bright glow of the car’s interior dome light, Pike saw exactly what Harris was trying to get at when he sat Chris down at his kitchen table. The fact that the younger man smelled like a goddamned distillery not withstanding, McCoy’s expression was pinched and wound up, his breathing short and shallow instead of deep and relaxed. Pike felt the first pangs of regret pulsing in his stomach while he studied his young partner’s face. He swallowed hard before he started to pull his head away, stamping down hard on his feelings because there was no way he was feeling any kind of remorse. None. No, he was only doing this to keep because he was the sergeant and AJ happened to call him. That was all. One hand on the doorframe, Chris paused while he ran through his list of (crappy) options.
A half second later, McCoy, whose timing was always wonderful, chose that exact moment to crack one eye open long enough to ask, “Where we going?”
That was a good question. “Home,” Chris answered automatically, mentally kicking himself for a response that came out far too easily. Pike walked around the car without another word before he slid into the driver’s seat.
Len nodded and let out a little grunt before his eyes slid closed again. His soft snore and occasional snort quickly followed, signaling to Chris that it was time to go.
As if his night hadn’t been interesting enough, Sergeant Chris Pike was about to bring his extremely intoxicated partner back to his house, voluntarily no less, and with every intention of actually caring for the man. In his head, Pike checked off about a dozen of the personal rules he was breaking doing it, while at the same time hoping it wouldn’t be too weird in the morning when Len sobered up. Chris sent a silent prayer heavenward to whatever long-abandoned deity to whom he claimed allegiance during his youth, because a little divine help would be nice to get him through this, thanks very much. But whatever happened, it was going to be a long night.
Pike stuck the key in the ignition, started the engine and popped the car into reverse. The tires crunched over the gravel of the Stumble’s parking lot as Chris pulled the car onto the deserted country road. ‘Sleep is overrated,’ he thought with more conviction than he should be able to muster at such an ungodly hour. As fast as the thought came, it went, replaced instead by, ‘Yeah, keep telling yourself that, asshole. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.’
Yeah, he’d believe that the very same time he’d believe that he and his straight-laced, guarded, jaded rookie partner could ever be friends outside the job. Even if the idea was novel, Chris saw no way possible to make it work. But, as his wife often told him, he needed to look on the bright side more often. Just because he saw the worst of humanity on a daily basis didn’t, in Lynn’s mind, mean he couldn’t extend the proverbial olive branch to his fellow man every once in a great while.
‘Small steps, Chris. Small steps,’ he thought with a sigh.
It would be nice one day if the all the self talk bullshit actually worked.
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Next Up: Chris arrives home just in time for his wife Lynn to voice her opinion about the situation. And by ‘voice her opinion,’ what she really means is ‘lecture her husband for his own damned stupidity’. She is, without a doubt, not pleased. Oh, his night just keeps getting better and better.
Author’s Notes: First and foremost, thank you again to my awesome beta wicked_jade
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money made. No money to be had. Don’t sue for money, ‘cause you ain’t gonna get none if you do.
Chapters | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
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Chapter 2
Driving was normally Chris’ go-to play when he needed to calm down or sort through his thoughts. After spending a decade as a cop, it was second nature to pilot a car, and he did it without conscious thought. The familiar motion of the vehicle relaxed him, and the swooshing hum of the wind breaking across the windscreen and the vibrations of the engine were tactile reminders that he was free to exercise his need to keep his hands busy while his mind worked. During his military service, his duties consisted mainly of lying still while he called in firing corrections (simultaneously hoping he wasn’t found and killed by the enemy), so the freedom of a directionless venture was a very welcome change.
But instead of the expected relaxation, tonight, Pike’s drive was having a very precise but opposite effect. Wound up and tense, he made it to Stumble in record time. Aside from setting a land speed record on his way to his destination, he managed to work through exactly none of the reasons that were bothering him. Chris instead pulled into the muddy, soaked parking lot with more questions than answers, a revelation that frustrated him completely.
Perhaps part of the reason his brain wasn’t willingly cooperating was the fact that Pike’s mind was on more pressing matters, namely the condition of his partner. When he started tugging on some clothes on his way out the door, Lynn was silently glaring daggers at him for what she perceived as insensitivity (again) toward Len. He didn’t really see what the big deal was, and walked to the car without another word. The only promise Chris made to his wife was that he would, “Take care of it.” Whatever the fuck that actually meant, he wasn’t quite sure. He had about thirty miles to figure it out, and out in his car (even at 0300) was preferable to being in a house when Lynn had an axe to grind and point to make.
But it really wasn’t just her. Chris had a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach that when he left his rookie sitting alone in the locker room after shift, McCoy wasn’t as ‘okay’ as he claimed to be. But, Pike wasn’t one to be nosy, and figured if there was something the kid needed, he would voice it. Besides, Len was an adult, and part of dealing with the stresses of the job was finding productive outlets to deal with the bad days. Though EMS workers weren’t often shot at, they still had one of the most stressful jobs in all of civil service. He figured that McCoy had his own strategies all worked out, especially after a few years around the block.
…Or maybe not. With all the evidence in front of him, Chris was slowly beginning to realize that maybe he’d been wrong about Len’s ability to cope. Pike sighed, gripped the squishy leather-wrapped wheel of his Audi A6 so hard his knuckles turned white and laid his head on top of his hands. He was a good read of people, so how was it that he was so off the mark with McCoy? It was both infuriating and embarrassing. Taking a deep breath, he sat back up, pulled the e-brake handle, dropped the shifter into second gear, and slid off the black leather seat. His boots splashed in a puddle, and he muttered out a curse before he reached the cracked cement sidewalk laid haphazardly outside the side door of the Stumble. Lifting his hand, the sergeant pounded the side of his fist against the thick, wide metal door in hopes that AJ would hear him over whatever Skynyrd song he was blasting at the moment.
Abruptly, Pike heard the cut out of the high, squealing notes of the climax to Freebird’s four minute guitar solo as the barkeep pulled the needle off the vinyl record. The sound of shuffling feet against the bare floor was audible right before AJ stuck his head out the old door. “Chris. How are you, son?” he asked, accepting Pike’s outstretched hand before he pulled the sergeant into a manly hug. Smiling broadly, he stepped back and gave the younger man a critical once over. AJ noted the dark rings under Chris’ eyes and the slightly dazed but serious look on his normally youthful face. To the untrained eye, Pike simply looked tired, but AJ, as a military man himself, knew the symptoms of PTSD too well. Pike’s haunted eyes also matched the expression McCoy was sporting when he walked in, albeit the former’s more successfully shielded. Harris schooled his face, stepped back to allow Pike in the door, and added, “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for calling me,” Pike replied, shaking some of the excess water from the Iowa City PD hoodie he threw on in his rush out the door. Pike rubbed his hands together to stimulate some circulation in them, and to ward off the chill of a rainy, dreary Midwestern spring night. His eyes bounced around the hallway toward all the offices he knew were situated in a little corner on the side of the bar, looking for his charge. “Where is he?”
With a flick of his head, Harris motioned in a completely separate direction. “This way.” AJ held the door open for Pike and motioned for the man to fall in step. Chris acquiesced, following the barkeep through the labyrinth of storage and soundstage setup equipment toward the back corner of the structure.
He wondered for a half of a second where they were headed before it dawned on him. The sergeant was a frequent patron of The Stumble Inn, but even he hadn’t ever seen the deep recesses of the place. He knew AJ lived in the retrofitted and spacious apartment placed at the back, but until that moment, he wasn’t sure how the man got there. Harris shepherded Pike around the back of the bar, past the offices, around the storage areas and toward a locked door at the end of the dimly lit hallway. He fished some keys from his pocket and unlocked the door placed at the end, leading Pike through the secondary entryway of his surprisingly detailed home.
Though the building was far from couture, the previous owners must have definitely enjoyed a flair for the Victorian era, given the look of the home they built onto the back of the bar. Dark wood flooring blanketed the entirety of the place; the only type of carpet in the home was present in the form of rugs. The Oak braces framing the hallways and the doors were ornately carved and stained with a natural wood varnish. The ceilings were all painted; from a deep maroon to a pale, olive green and even an ocean blue, the colors of the rooms reflected a very unique taste. The white mouldings adoring the top and bottom of the wall were thick and layered. The walls themselves were covered in various shades of highly decorative wallpaper that matched perfectly with the color of the ceilings. It was neither a space nor a design that Chris thought went with AJ’s personality, the tobacco-chewing cowboy from Texas, but it worked. That, and Pike figured the older man was too lazy to change it.
Chris and AJ passed the stairs that led to the basement storage cellar and, hanging a right at the end of the hallway, stopped in the darkened living room. Pike stood still, waiting while he let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the room. The light from the entryway spilled into the living room in cracks and pieces, throwing shadows off the walls in odd places. Eventually, Pike was able to make out a lump of humanity sprawled out on the couch once his eyes switched to night vision. McCoy was lying on his back, uncomfortably crammed onto the sofa that was clearly too small to accommodate his entire frame. One leg was draped over the armrest while the other was dangling off the side. He’d thrown one arm over his face, but even through the appendage, Pike could hear the gentle snore floating about the room.
The cop had one foot up in the air when Pike felt a hand clap down over his shoulder. He spun, confused and furrowed his brows. “AJ,” he whispered, “What do you need? I was going to get him up and get out of your hair.”
Harris didn’t reply but instead tipped his head toward the next room. Confused, Chris followed, simply out of forced habit. AJ ushered Pike inside his kitchen and reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of water. Grabbing two, he offered Chris one before twisting off the cap of his own and taking a long, satisfied gulp. The barkeep pulled out the chair in front of the cop and motioned for Pike to sit. Sticking his head into the main room, AJ made sure he could still hear McCoy’s soft breathing before he pulled the sliding divider door closed between the kitchen and living room. Satisfied, he finally joined Pike at the table.
“What are you doing?” Chris asked in a hushed but full voice, spinning the water bottle around the table. He looked up into the older man’s eyes, searching them for any kind of answer. Pike got nothing, and he certainly didn’t like it. “It’s almost four in the morning. Don’t you want us out of here so you can get some sleep?”
“There are more important things than sleep right now,” AJ stated flatly, eyes flashing as if he was back in the Army and about to discipline an unfortunate subordinate. Harris was most definitely a go-for-the-jugular type of guy and wasn’t shy with his opinions. As such, if the man had a point to make, he would damn well go right ahead and make it. Leaning forward in his chair, AJ stared squarely at Pike with an expression that could only be classified as frustrated before the older man continued with, “You know, I’m disappointed in you. I would have expected better from a US Marine. I thought you boys didn’t believe in leaving men behind.”
The words stung with the harsh bite of truth, and Chris visibly recoiled. He felt his blood pressure rise again, since the stress from the night was making his normally lengthy fuse achingly short. “I didn’t leave anyone behind, and if you’re talking about McCoy, you’re full of shit. He said he was fine,” Pike replied tersely, almost defensive while he ran his calloused hands over his face and through his hair. With the smells of peanuts and beer wafting through the bar, Chris ached for the familiar weight of a guitar in his hands and the freedom of open mic night at the Stumble. He’d even settle a quiet few moments alone in his own home if he could use it to de-stress in his own way. Pike closed his eyes tightly and rubbed the temples of his forehead, hoping to abate the migraine he felt forming behind his eyes.
Tipping his head to the side, AJ replied simply, “What he said and what he is are two very separate things. You got eyes and a brain, Pike? If you do, I’d suggest it would be a wise idea for you to use them.”
“I’m not his mother, AJ. If the man said he was okay, I have to believe him,” Chris replied defensively, not at all liking the feeling that a friend was interrogating him.
“You can smell the booze on him from a half a block away. Does that look or sound like a man who’s ‘okay’ to you, son?” with a general motion of his head toward the closed door. He fixed Pike with a pointed, disapproving stare that probably made a few PFCs piss their pants in terror before he crossed his arms over his broad chest.
Pike opened his mouth to answer, but then thought better of it. AJ Harris rarely, if ever, got mad, but Chris could see that the man was on the verge of a very good angry tirade. He’d seen the expression once before when a true douchebag of a man made patronage of the Stumble. The abusive, loudmouthed punk got a crash course in how a gentleman should treat a lady, and how that same gentleman dealt with human trash who thought it was okay to use a woman as a punching bag when AJ made his point by knocking out the kid’s front teeth.
Suddenly, Chris had a much clearer understanding of the abject fear the man must have felt, seeing the cold, hard expression on AJ’s face right before he was tossed out on his ass. It was, in a word, frightening. But, before Pike could automatically retort in defense, his mind rolled back to the uneasy feeling coursing through his body during the drive over. Instinctively, he knew Harris was right, as was Lynn. AJ just said aloud what Chris knew but didn’t want to admit, and now it was two against one. In a word, he was sunk.
AJ sat and watched the emotions and the thoughts parade across Pike’s normally composed face. The stress lines made the young sergeant look older, but they weren’t nearly as pronounced as the ones he saw on McCoy. Harris prided himself on the ability to correctly guess ages, but even he was stunned silent when Len pulled out his ID to verify his date of birth. He remembered a distinct feeling of shock when he held the small piece of plastic in his hands. AJ simply stared at it, simultaneously wondering just what could make such a young man look so old. Wordlessly, the barkeep handed Len back his ID while he contemplated the sudden squeezing sensation occupying his chest, and how best to chase it away. It was obvious McCoy’s goal was the same, so when the young man ordered a double shot of Kentucky bourbon, Harris poured two glasses. He slid one to the McCoy, raised his own in silent salute to whatever it was that was on his newest patron’s mind, and tossed it back.
It bothered him all night, why the dark-haired stranger seemed so familiar, and half a bottle in, he still had no more answers than when he poured the first shot. But when a replay of the ten o’clock news flittered across the room, Harris heard McCoy actually speak a full sentence for the first time all night. Albeit slurred, he growled to the bartender to turn it off. It was almost as if a light bulb went off in Harris’ head - McCoy was the young man AJ saw on the news with Chris. Admittedly, after all the bitching Pike did in the past eight months about his new partner, Harris expected McCoy to be a lot more…difficult, to say the least.
After their rather unconventional icebreaker, McCoy finally started acknowledging Harris’ presence other than to ask the man to pour him another drink. What started as nondescript grunts or one word answers morphed into three or four word half-sentences. While he knew he hadn’t gotten the full story by closing time, Harris was able to convince the young man to crash on the couch in the apartment while he found McCoy a ride home.
He just omitted that the cab service was one Sergeant Christopher Pike.
With a sigh, AJ stood up and motioned Pike to follow, knowing that he made his point. With a much softer, more paternal look on his face, he laid a hand on Chris’ shoulder. “I couldn’t make him go home, not like that. Whatever happened, whatever he saw, it’s eating him. Kind of like when I first met you,” AJ said with a pointed but friendly glare over the tops of his reader glasses before he slid the divider open.
Pike’s spine stiffened, his stride hitching momentarily. AJ was already across the room, stooping next to the side of the couch by the time Chris recovered enough to move. Shaking his head, Pike took three quick strides in time to hear Harris grunt as he knelt down next to the obscenely upholstered piece of furniture, knees protesting mightily. AJ tapped the base of the touch light next on the end table, turning the light on as low as possible. The lamp’s soft, warm glow was barely higher on the lumen scale than that of a single candle’s weak flame, but even that small amount was enough to draw a strangled groan from the figure strewn across the old sofa.
Chris stopped, leaning over AJ’s shoulder while he watched McCoy lever his eyes open. Confusion flittered across his face and his unsteady gaze bounced around the décor of the living room. His eyebrows furrowed and his face pinched, and Pike could almost see the wheels attempt to turn. Len opened and closed his mouth twice, finally quipping with a heavy slur, “I got drunk in a bar, and now I’m waking up in Pride and Prejudice. This must be hell.”
Despite the tension winding around the inside of his chest, Chris couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. While most of the department was convinced McCoy was a robotic automaton who was capable only of growling and swearing, Pike, as his partner, was treated to the wittier side of the young cop. Len was the only police officer on the payroll who could stop a full-out bar brawl with a couple of well placed insults, all done without ever breaking a sweat. Pike found himself often shaking his head in disbelief for being bested by his rookie. It was embarrassing.
McCoy would probably be plenty embarrassed in the morning (and in some serious pain), but for the moment, Pike knew he had bigger issues to worry about. The main roadblock keeping him from his home and more specifically his nice, comfortable bed, was a couple hundred pounds of drunken partner. Selfishly, he knew he could simply turn around and walk right out the door. AJ, without actually saying so, gave Pike the distinct impression McCoy’s destination was never anywhere other than a friendly couch. It was simply a matter of deciding which one. He easily could have left his partner in Harris’ capable hands in trade for a night of uninterrupted sleep. But whether it was the right thing to do, well, the jury was still out on that.
Chris was jarred from his internal debate by a scratchy, tired voice from the vicinity of the couch. While he was contemplating the best way to extract himself from the bar whilst still keeping his balls attached to his body from the inevitable Wrath of Lynn, McCoy apparently managed to open his eyes enough to recognize one of the two figures in the room. His gaze locked with Pike’s, and narrowing his eyes, Len pointed one shaky finger up at his partner. “Goddammit, I can’t even get away from you in the 18th Century,” he spat out, eyes unfocused and glassy.
On his left, Harris let out a loud snicker, but Pike was simply perplexed. Replaying his partner’s words once and then twice, he still had no idea what the hell McCoy said. Chris shot a helpless expression over to AJ and raised his hands, palms up in a gesture of surrender. “It’s ass o’clock in the morning, and I didn’t get a word of that. What did he just say?”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m fluent in every dialect of Drunk. Otherwise, you’d be up the creek without the paddle, son,” Harris replied in a low but light tone. He executed a fine double take and added, “You’re a cop, Pike. You’re supposed to be able to understand drunks, since according to you, that’s what you spend the majority of your calls clearing.”
Pike scoffed loudly. “I arrest the drunks. I don’t have to listen to them. The handcuffs are one of the perks of the job,” he said with a shrug, ignoring the amused expression Harris shot his direction. Chris shook his head and looked down, refocusing on the task at hand. “Should we do this shit?” he asked McCoy.
“Whatever you say, boss,” was Len’s sarcastic, snarky reply.
With the help of Harris, Pike pulled McCoy up and off the couch, ever-mindful not to hit the bandaged burns on Len’s right hand and arm. Had Chris not been so utterly frustrated at his partner’s inability to balance his own body weight, he might have seen the humor in the situation. In the process, Pike decided two things: 1) McCoy was much denser than he looked, and 2) He really needed to get back into the damn gym. Throwing one of Len’s arms over his shoulder, Pike let his partner find his balance before he started moving toward the door. He tossed a ‘thank you’ over his shoulder in Harris’ direction as he shuffled back through the bar towards the exit and his car, which AJ returned with a friendly wave.
Muttering to McCoy to keep his damned feet moving and stay awake, Pike finally made it out the door and to his car. He propped McCoy up with his hip against the rear passenger side while he fished through his pockets to find his keys, cursing himself that he hadn’t thought to pull out the remote beforehand. Chris found it, pressed the button and opened the door. He turned his body so Len was facing away from the vehicle before the sergeant gave his rookie a gentle shove. Without Pike there to support him, McCoy stumbled, nearly whacking his head on the doorframe of the Audi. The sergeant’s hand prevented a possible concussion, and Len folded himself into the passenger seat with only a muted grunt.
Chris sighed, counting backwards from ten in his head while he nudged McCoy’s shins with the toes of his boots. It was more like a kick, but either way, it was a silent signal to the younger man to pull his feet in the vehicle, which Len eventually did. Pike braced one hand against the open door frame and stuck his head into the car. He grabbed the seatbelt from its neutral position and fastened it around his partner’s nearly limp body.
The dim light of AJ’s home hid quite well the clearly troubled face. Against the bright glow of the car’s interior dome light, Pike saw exactly what Harris was trying to get at when he sat Chris down at his kitchen table. The fact that the younger man smelled like a goddamned distillery not withstanding, McCoy’s expression was pinched and wound up, his breathing short and shallow instead of deep and relaxed. Pike felt the first pangs of regret pulsing in his stomach while he studied his young partner’s face. He swallowed hard before he started to pull his head away, stamping down hard on his feelings because there was no way he was feeling any kind of remorse. None. No, he was only doing this to keep because he was the sergeant and AJ happened to call him. That was all. One hand on the doorframe, Chris paused while he ran through his list of (crappy) options.
A half second later, McCoy, whose timing was always wonderful, chose that exact moment to crack one eye open long enough to ask, “Where we going?”
That was a good question. “Home,” Chris answered automatically, mentally kicking himself for a response that came out far too easily. Pike walked around the car without another word before he slid into the driver’s seat.
Len nodded and let out a little grunt before his eyes slid closed again. His soft snore and occasional snort quickly followed, signaling to Chris that it was time to go.
As if his night hadn’t been interesting enough, Sergeant Chris Pike was about to bring his extremely intoxicated partner back to his house, voluntarily no less, and with every intention of actually caring for the man. In his head, Pike checked off about a dozen of the personal rules he was breaking doing it, while at the same time hoping it wouldn’t be too weird in the morning when Len sobered up. Chris sent a silent prayer heavenward to whatever long-abandoned deity to whom he claimed allegiance during his youth, because a little divine help would be nice to get him through this, thanks very much. But whatever happened, it was going to be a long night.
Pike stuck the key in the ignition, started the engine and popped the car into reverse. The tires crunched over the gravel of the Stumble’s parking lot as Chris pulled the car onto the deserted country road. ‘Sleep is overrated,’ he thought with more conviction than he should be able to muster at such an ungodly hour. As fast as the thought came, it went, replaced instead by, ‘Yeah, keep telling yourself that, asshole. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.’
Yeah, he’d believe that the very same time he’d believe that he and his straight-laced, guarded, jaded rookie partner could ever be friends outside the job. Even if the idea was novel, Chris saw no way possible to make it work. But, as his wife often told him, he needed to look on the bright side more often. Just because he saw the worst of humanity on a daily basis didn’t, in Lynn’s mind, mean he couldn’t extend the proverbial olive branch to his fellow man every once in a great while.
‘Small steps, Chris. Small steps,’ he thought with a sigh.
It would be nice one day if the all the self talk bullshit actually worked.
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Next Up: Chris arrives home just in time for his wife Lynn to voice her opinion about the situation. And by ‘voice her opinion,’ what she really means is ‘lecture her husband for his own damned stupidity’. She is, without a doubt, not pleased. Oh, his night just keeps getting better and better.