Fic: Defining Family (2/5)
Author's Notes: I hesitated posting this chapter, at least the very first part of it. I've repeatedly said I'm not an angst or hurt/comfort writer, nor do I really feel like I'm capable of writing romance. But in order to get the humor for the payoff of the middle of this chapter, I had to at least attempt it. I rolled with it because it seemed very Pike to me and it worked with the fic. I hope it's not too cheesy and drenched in fail sauce. But if it is, well, I just chalk it up to a learning experience and move on. In either case, I hope you enjoy chapter 2.
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money made. Please don't sue. That is all.
Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |
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Chapter 2
Chris Pike checked his watch.
Exactly thirty-seven seconds later, he checked it again.
And forty-nine seconds after that, he checked it one more time, just for good measure.
"Chris, don't you have anything better to do than sit there and stare at your watch?" Lynnette Pike asked from across the kitchen. While she was putting the finishing touches on McCoy's surprise birthday present, she'd been sneaking little glimpses at her husband's anxious, worried face. "They're going to be here. Don't worry."
Pike ran a hand over his face, not willing to admit that his wife's voice made him jump. Calmly, he replied, "I'm not worried, Lynn."
Lynn stood, metal cake decorating spatula in hand, with her fist propped up on her apron-clad hip. "Bullshit," she said, fixing him with a pointed stare.
Chris had the good grace to duck his chin. It still amazed him, even after more than twenty years of marriage, that she could put him in his place with one withering gaze. It was one of the many reasons he loved her - she kept him grounded and focused, and Pike, especially the younger version, needed that. Sighing deeply, he said, "Yeah, you're right. Like always," he added with a little shot of self-deprecating sarcasm.
She scoffed, focusing her attention on placing some of the small fondant props she'd made for her surprise. Lynn gently poked one of the decorations into place with a chop stick, nodding satisfactorily. "You
have no reason to be concerned. Think about it: you told Kirk to, and I quote, 'Cuff McCoy and drag his sorry ass here if necessary,' and I can't imagine Jim wouldn't have taken that order literally. How often is he going to be able to arrest his partner, at your request? This is probably going to be the highlight of his year, and you know it."
A snort escaped the lieutenant's mouth, nodding to the truth in his wife's words. "The highlight of his life is more like it. What I wouldn't have given to be a fly on the wall for that moment," he muttered, knowing full well what his order likely came to.
"Oh, you sent Scotty along with Jim. I'm sure he recorded it. You know how that man is the master of the video camera," she said, dabbing a little bit of extra fudge on the support beam of her project. Lynn turned on the water and washed her hands, picked up her oversized cake and moved it over to the kitchen table in front of her husband. She stepped back to admire her handiwork, cocking her head to the side and analyzing her masterpiece with the critical eye of a perfectionist. "What do you think, Chris?"
At the table, Pike's face broke out into a broad, pleased smile. "Lynn, it's perfect." He stood up and leaned on the table, wanting a closer look at the most hilarious birthday cake he'd ever seen. "An Angry Birds themed cake. Where did you get this idea anyway?"
"From our son," she replied. "He said he saw a video on YouTube of an Angry Birds cake that someone in Europe made, and I took up his dare to do better."
"Ethan showed me that video, too. That cake was damned good, but I agree - yours is better," Pike said, putting one knee up on the chair he left pushed out from the table. His nose hovered an inch above one of the chocolate wafer bridges as he fiddled with the slingshot. "I know I'm obligated to say that because you're my wife, but it really does look cooler."
"Careful, Pike," she said, shaking the small cake spatula in her hand at him while she walked back towards the sink, "Flattery will get you nowhere."
"Flattery is going to get me everywhere," he replied slyly, following her into the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face into her neck while she filled the sink with warm water for the dishes. He kissed her gently, allowing the open palms of his hands to roam over her body. Closing his eyes, Chris inhaled deeply, relishing the flowery smells of her shampoo mixed with her lotion.
Lynn leaned back into her husband's embrace and soaked in the feeling of closeness. A happy little smile broke out across her face while she scrubbed away at the pile of dishes waiting in the sink. She hummed right along to Blake Shelton's "Home" that was playing on the radio and set the dishes in the rack to dry. "You know, not that I dislike this at all Chris, but what brought this on?" Lynn asked, turning her body around to face him. She laid her still-dripping hands over his shoulders, laughing when the suds from the dishes fell onto his shoulders and marched down the back of his sweatshirt.
"Oh, just that I'm married to the most awesome woman in the world," he replied, resting his forehead against hers. Chris buried his nose and mouth into the crook of her neck before he placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. He brought his hands up to cup her face and gently nibbled at her lips with his teeth, sucking gently away when his lips contacted hers.
A most un-adult like giggle escaped Lynn's throat, and she scooted her body closer his. She let her hands slide down his chest, leaving sudsy handprints down the front of his black sweatshirt. Lynn helped him along when Chris' hands went for the hem of the garment, pulling it up and over his head in one smooth motion to reveal the white Led Zeppelin t-shirt underneath. Throwing it across the room, she lifted herself up on the tips of her toes in a vague attempt to meet his much taller frame while she returned the kiss. Lynn pulled his neck down toward her mouth. Between kisses, she said, "I sense an agenda here, Mr. Pike."
"What agenda?" he replied, pressing his tongue against her exposed teeth, prodding for access to her mouth. Nimble fingers made quick work of the clip holding her shoulder length honey brown hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. The plastic claw-like accessory went skidding across the kitchen floor, forgotten in the corner by the stove. He reached around and untied the apron from around her waist, pulling the neck strap over Lynn's head before he tossed the garment across the counter toward the sink. Chris ran his hands through her hair, closing his eyes and deepening the kiss. He let out a deep moan of satisfaction when she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned flush against him.
Lynn balanced her hands on her husband's shoulders and with surprising grace, popped herself up and onto the counter with the help of his added height as leverage. She straddled her legs and let Chris sidle in between them while she ran her hands underneath his t-shirt against his chest. She could feel the tiny hairs against her fingertips while she raked her hands up and down his body. It sent little jolts of energy straight to the pit of her belly, and she was enjoying every second of it. Leaning forward, Lynn nibbled on his ear, backing up long enough to say, "You want something, Chris. I know it."
"Isn't it obvious?" he rumbled rhetorically while broad, calloused palms blazed a trail up and down Lynn's back. Chris pushed his hips forward, making his excitement more than clear. His mouth dropped gentle kisses down her neck before he settled in the hollow of her collarbone.
Throwing her head back, Lynn laughed loudly while she squirmed under his ministrations. She shimmied her way forward on the cluttered, wet countertop and wrapped her legs around his waist. "I don't know. Maybe you should show me."
He swayed back and forth from his hips, rocking his wife gently right and left on the counter. The devilish expression in his eyes belied his true motives. Chris waggled his eyebrows and replied, "Maybe I should."
"Hmm," she murmured, closing the distance between their faces. Lynn tilted her head to the right, meeting Chris' soft lips halfway. The stubble of his strong jaw tickled her face, but she never minded it. She had a bit of a soft spot for tall, rugged, good-looking men, and she had to admit her husband fit the bill perfectly. Lynn let herself melt away into Chris' embrace while she reminded herself of all the reasons she loved him.
Measured time slowed; minutes became hours and hours twisted into days. Nothing else important existed in that moment, only the need for each other. He let his hands trail up and down Lynn's hips, pulling her closer while he reached up the back of her shirt. The roar of blood rushing through his ears and the heat of passion Pike felt for his wife, the same tingly feeling he got in the pit of his stomach the day he married her, cascaded over him in waves. All conscious thought was relegated to some unused, dusty, dank part of his brain while instinct took completely over the higher motor functions of his body. Muscle memory allowed Chris to remap every curve, every scar, and every part of Lynn he loved so dearly. And from the looks and sounds he was getting out of her, it was clear she was enjoying herself just as much.
There was no way they were going to make it to the bedroom.
'Thank God for strong countertops,' Pike thought in the instant before all his slightly lascivious intentions came crashing to an abrupt halt. He was so singularly focused he didn't hear the car pull into the driveway, nor did he register the rickety metal clanking of their tired garage door laboriously heaving its way open. Chris didn't see his son walk through the threshold of the mudroom off the kitchen, and he certainly didn't hear the clatter of a hockey bag and hockey sticks dropping heavily to the kitchen floor.
Chris' ears did, however, acknowledge the accompanied curse of displeasure from a teenage male voice before, "Jesus Christ! MOM! DAD! GET A ROOM!" rang off the walls of the kitchen.
Pike pulled his face a reluctant few inches away from that of his wife's, while Lynn tried unsuccessfully to stifle her laughter into the open palm of her hand. Chris, smirking, continued undressing Lynn with his eyes while he said, "Back from hockey practice already? How was it?"
Ethan Pike stood in the doorway of the kitchen in shock. Hands up in front of his face, gesturing wildly, he said, "No, Dad! That is just wrong. You cannot just change the subject like that after what I just saw. You have ruined this room for me now! I will never be able to come in here for food again when I think about…that! Ugh!"
"Oh, come on. Stop being such a prude. We weren't doing anything gross," Pike replied, finally turning away from Lynn's warm embrace. He leaned casually up against the counter next to her and crossed his arms over his chest. Pike's butt hit the lip of the countertop with a dull thump when he adjusted his stance. His right foot fell naturally over his left, and with most of his weight on one leg, Chris titled his head toward the floor and looked down his nose.
The causal stance his father was sporting wasn't fooling the young man practically gaping like a fish in the doorway. "You weren't doing anything gross? Oh my God, you're kidding me. And I'm the teenager in this house? You were totally macking on Mom when I walked in! There has to be a law against that. I mean, look at you two! You're old! Stuff like this is what they made bedrooms for!" With each passing sentence, Ethan's voice grew louder and higher while his face turned redder. A head-to-toe, full body shudder ran up his tall, lanky frame. "So I say again: Mom, Dad, get a freaking room!"
Chris raised one eyebrow in a gesture the lieutenant knew he learned from his former partner. He wrapped one arm around Lynn's shoulders when she hopped down from her perch on the counter. With a wide sweeping motion of his hands, Chris said, "Ethan, I own this house, so technically all these rooms are mine. You just get the privilege of living here."
A strangled growl escaped the teen. He executed a quarter turn, put his right forearm up against the frame of the mudroom door, and plopped his face into his arm. Pike men didn't cry, but he was damned close to breaking into tears induced by agony. He moaned out a muffled, "I do chores, pay my own car insurance, have a job, play a couple sports, do okay in school, but that's not enough? I have to SEE MY PARENTS MAKING OUT IN THE KITCHEN! My eyes are burning!"
"Your school told us they teach you kids about this stuff in health class when you were in eighth grade, and it's not like we haven't had this conversation with you before," Chris started. "How do you think we ended up with you? You know son, the stories you heard about the stork back in the day really weren't true."
"Augh! Not the birds and bees conversation again! I can't take that anymore. Shut up, dad!" Ethan replied, pulling his Bauer hockey trucker-style baseball hat down over his eyes. He grabbed the arm of the stunned young man standing immediately next to him and said, "Come on, Pavel. I'm gonna have a seizure if we don't get the hell out of here, and fast. Let's roll."
"Yes, I think it would be wise for us to leave. You look unwell, my friend," Chekov replied honestly.
"Have you ever walked in on your parents like that? Seriously, dude. I think I need therapy now. Let me get a few things from my room and we'll be out. I need a beer," Ethan said, but stopped and reconsidered when he met his father's sharp gaze. "…Or ice cream. That might work, too."
"That's better," Lynn scolded, shaking a finger at her seventeen-year-old son. "I would hate to see you jeopardize that trip down to Florida you were looking forward to taking this summer with us by doing something stupid now."
"Right, Mom. No trip to Miami for my explorer convention if I get in trouble. Keep hanging that over my head," he grumbled, growing a bit petulant in stance.
Chekov stood and silently watched the exchange between child and parents. As Ethan's best friend, Pavel felt a complete obligation to share his buddy's level of disgusted outrage from the overt display of affection laid out directly in front of them. He might not have needed the 'un-see' button quite as much as the younger Pike, but still, his mind was plenty capable of filling in the blanks. He was, however, glad that he'd been blessed with the gift of multitasking to go with his genius level brainpower. As his feet moved him forward and into the kitchen, Chekov started doing what he did best: he commenced thinking.
As a newly minted US citizen, Pavel also felt an equal obligation to learn the customs and cultures of his new country. It was difficult at first; his awkward acclimation to Iowa City's public school system was rough, but it could have been much worse without Ethan's constant support. Chekov felt like he could ask his American friend anything, and up to that particular moment, he could. Stutter stepping, he scratched at his curly hair before he uttered, "Ethan, I beliewe in America, our sudden entrance is what is known as 'cock block,' da?"
"You did not just go there. No effin' way. You did not just say 'cock block' in reference to my parents in the same sentence," Ethan replied, his jaw falling open in abject horror. He stopped dead in his tracks, whirled around and shoved one finger in Chekov's chest. "Because if you did, and I don't think you're nuts enough to actually do that, I might have to kill you for talking about their sex life." Ethan took a couple menacing steps toward his best friend, fists balled up at his sides. His breaths were coming out in angry huffs, and the barest hit of a growl was starting to rumble in his throat.
Chekov's eyes went wide while he threw his hands up in the air and stepped back toward the door separating the mudroom from the garage. His eyes flicked in the general direction of the best exit while he said, "I have always been able to ask. I just thought it was good expression to use." If he just got a little closer, he could perhaps make a break for it…
"Ethan Christopher Pike! Stop that!" Lynn took three quick steps across her kitchen and lightly cuffed her son's shoulder in warning. "Leave him alone. You know better." She put her hand on the shoulder she'd just smacked and angled him away from the wide-eyed Russian. "I want to show you something. Now come here," she said, motioning to Ethan. She locked gazes with Chekov, and smiling, tilted her head in invitation to him as well. Out loud, Lynn added, You too, Pavel. He won't bite. I'll make sure of that."
Ethan rolled his eyes while shooting his father a glare from across the room. Shaking his head at Chris' wide smirk, the teen turned back toward Lynn and said, "Why do you guys have to embarrass me all the time?"
"Because it's my job. It's in the rulebook of parenting, son," Pike replied, pushing off the counter. He walked toward the stove in the kitchen and picked Lynn's hair clip up off the floor and set it gently near the
cutting board next to the sink. He snagged his sweatshirt from where it touched down earlier, slipped it over his head, and joined the trio's pilgrimage to the family dinner table.
"Okay, I do not need to know of that rulebook's existence," he replied, shuddering. Ethan's eyes shifted between the alight expressions on his parents' faces a before he asked, "What's going on here, Mom? Are you guys shipping me off to boot camp? Is that why you look so pleased?"
Lynn snorted. "No, of course not, Ethan, even if we have been tempted in the past." She exchanged a knowing look with her husband before she continued. "This time, it's good news, I promise. Remember that cake you showed me a couple of months ago? The one that you said was all over YouTube?" she asked, her grey eyes twinkling with mischief.
A blank stare met her happy expression. Ethan racked his brain to think about what (appropriate) video he would have showed his mother on the internet, and one involving a cake. He combed through his memories until he found the right one. "Oh!" He exclaimed after a short delay. "The Angry Birds cake?"
"That's the one," she said, leading him around the obstructive cabinets in the horseshoe-shaped kitchen and into the dining area. She gestured toward the table with one hand while she gently gave her son a shove forward.
Ethan looked down. And blinked. And blinked again. A huge, shit-eating smile broke out across his face. "Mom! You did not! It's absolutely awesome!" he yelled, all previous sexual exploits of his parents completely forgotten. He flipped his hat around backwards and made a lap around the table, inspecting every inch of the cake. "You made a playable, for-real Angry Birds cake!"
The cake was sizeable, but not a stretch by any means of Lynn's prolific skill as a top pastry chef. It was faithful in its redesign from the source game; it was as linear as a three dimensional creation based off a two dimensional model could be. At close to four feet long, the cake was much longer than it was wide, but it was tall at almost two feet off the table. Lynn clearly went all out, using various pastry techniques to create what Ethan was sure was an entirely edible cake. He knew his mom didn't like to cheat with cardboard or pre-packaged products on her masterpieces. She was proud of her work and liked to make everything both by hand, and safe to eat.
He gave the slingshot situated at one end of the green, frosting-covered base an experimental tug, marveling that she'd even thought to angle the small plastic launcher away from the cake as to facilitate a better shot. Looking down the slingshot like he was looking down the barrel of a handgun, Ethan took a peek at the level Lynn picked to make.
It wasn't one of the harder levels of the game, but it was definitely awesome. Two fudge-drenched mounds of dark chocolate cake formed ridges on each end of the platform. In between the chocolate valley, a bridge sat, coated in some sort of glaze and made from Special K bar mix. Two large pigs sat below the bridge with a crate of TNT, constructed from graham crackers and frosting, next to each. Above it and on the main part of the suspension bridge, three smaller pigs sat, defiantly smirking at their angry tormentors.
And the pigs.
Ethan threw his head back and laughed when he took a closer look at the birds' adversaries. Instead of crowns or helmets, the bright, neon-green pigs Lynn concocted were adorned with little police hats as an obvious tongue in cheek joke to the profession dominated by the household. No one ever said Chris Pike couldn't make fun of himself, and apparently he'd passed that gene down to his son.
Next to the slingshot, six birds sat, anxiously waiting their turn to be launched. There was one of each kind of bird: the little red one, the blue triple splitting bird, the giant red bird, the triangle yellow bird, the white bird (complete with egg-bomb), the black bomb bird, and finally, the green boomerang bird. Ethan picked each bird up and turned it over in his hands. There was a surprising bit of weight to it, and he made a mental note to ask his mother later what exactly they were made from. For now, he was happy to simply admire her work, and her supreme level of cake-making genius.
Chekov walked silently up to stand next to his best friend, though he stopped a noticeable arm's length away. Ethan rolled his eyes and laughed. He stepped over and put one arm around Chekov. "I'm sorry, dude. I'm gonna claim temporary insanity based on what we saw when we walked in. I think the idea of my parents making out in front of me made my brain freeze."
The Russian's face relaxed visibly and he said, "So you've managed to ctrl-alt-delete, yes?'
Hands on his hips, Ethan pushed his sweatshirt back to allow his fingertips to rest on the top of his jeans. The Tackla belt jacked from his hockey pants (why he used it as a regular belt for his street clothes his parents would never understand) poked out from under the hem of his team sweatshirt. "I think it was more like the blue screen of death. It required the power to be cut and then restarted in safe mode."
"Fair enough, my friend," Pavel replied. "I understand now."
"Trust you to only get it when I used a computer reference," the younger Pike said with a smirk. "Now come here and check out this sweet-ass cake!"
Chekov practically bounced on the balls of his feet while he examined Lynn's handiwork. He reached out to touch some of the props and the cake itself, but pulled his hand back at the last second. He straightened, looking at his best friend with a quizzical expression. "Ethan, I did not realize it was your birthday. I would hawe brought you a present."
"It's not my birthday, numb nuts. That was this summer. Remember? We went and raced those go-karts around?"
"Well, yes. Of course I remember that. You lost. But this birthday you speak of - I thought I knew, but now, I am just confused," Pavel replied, eyes practically crossing while his brain tried to make heads or tails of it all.
Ethan chuckled. For such a book smart kid, Pavel still lacked quite a bit in the street smarts department. Figuring at least he had that part covered (and what made them such a good team), Ethan pointed to the massive pastry taking over the Pikes' kitchen table. "Chekov, read the cake."
The young Russian genius tipped his head to the side and surveyed the pastry. "'Happy birthday Len, Bones and McCoy? There are three people celebrating birthdays today? That must be rare occurrence," Pavel said, looking around the room at Ethan, and also at Lynn and Chris, the latter two having come to stand behind their son. Chris still had his arm draped around Lynn's shoulders, and she was leaning her head into the space made in the crook of his arm.
Lynn laughed at the owlish, innocent look on Chekov's face. The kid had the expressions of an angel, but the thought processes of the devil. Idly, she wondered if Kirk was the same way as a child, but just better with things that blew up. She shook her head at that thought, not in the slightest bit envying Winona Kirk. It was amazing the woman didn't need therapy after raising a little hellion like Jim. Reaching out, she tousled Chekov's hair and answered, "No, that's just one person."
"Then who? I thought it was customary in America to put only first name on cake," Chekov half-asked, motioning with his hands through the air.
"Normally, you'd be right," Pike replied, noting Pavel's befuddlement with a silent chuckle. "But we couldn't decide which name to use, since everyone calls him something different. So, we thought it would be okay to go with all three."
Ethan nodded and chimed in his two cents as clarification. "Chekov, you remember McCoy, my dad's old partner, right? Mid thirties, sometimes is a little cranky, about the same height as dad, dark hair, and epic eyebrow? You know, the one from Georgia?" he supplied. "My Georgia, southeast US, not your Georgia, near Russia."
Chekov scratched his head. Slowly, a flush started working its way up from the collar of his shirt before coloring his face a light pink. The night he met Pike's old partner was definitely not a highlight of his time thus far in America. At the time, his exploits seemed like a good idea, but after a very irritated Sergeant McCoy and an equally amused Officer Kirk dragged him back home, it hadn't been so cool. Neither had the punishment imposed by his parents of a month's forced manual labor been particularly stunning. Stuttering, Pavel said, "Yes, I remember now. When we uh, borrowed that scraper from construction site, he brought me back home to my parents. He is wery serious man."
Ethan shook his head. "Chekov, that was three years ago! It's ancient history. Let it go, dude!"
Pike snorted. "You haven't been around him enough, Pavel. Just give him an hour, so he starts to get to know you. He'll relax, which is good, because he's actually funny when he's not arresting you. Not that you two juvenile delinquents didn't deserve it," Chris added, shooting the teens twin disapproving glares.
'Cool under pressure' must have been a genetically superior trait in the Pike family, because Ethan didn't even register his dad's evil eye. He bumped Chekov on the arm, before he said, "Yeah, man. He's not as serious as you think, but you just have to get to know him. It took me a while to get him to thaw out, but I think he's a pretty cool guy now. Besides, his new-ish partner is coming over, too, and Jim is awesome!"
"Yes, I know Jim Kyrk," Pavel said. "He was the funny one that night."
Pike bit down a curse and made a mental note to keep Chekov, Ethan and Kirk as far away from each other as possible. Kirk and Pavel were bad enough; the world ending prospect of three of them teaming up was too scary for words. 'Speaking of Jim,' he thought. Pike checked his watch (again) and said out loud, "I wonder where Kirk and Scotty are. They should be here by now."
As if on cue, the sound of a high horsepower, obscenely modified BMW engine pulling into the Pikes' driveway wafted to Chris' ears. He heard three doors open before they slammed shut again. The only audible voice was that of Pike's former partner, the man's telltale drawl carrying on about the injustice of life, and God only knew what else. Chris wandered back into the kitchen to wait for his wet team, confident that Jim had indeed been forced to execute his order of aggravated persuasion to 'convince' McCoy to come to his own party.
'This should be interesting,' Chris thought, plastering a satisfied smirk on his face in preparation. The bitching arced into a high crescendo while Kirk, Scotty and McCoy made their way toward the door outside the threshold of the kitchen. Jim cracked the mudroom divider open with his foot and turned, attempting to pull McCoy through with brute force. The sergeant was having none of it, stubbornly refusing to move until Kirk tugged at just the right angle. McCoy's body lurched forward, and he lost his footing on the welcome mat strategically placed at the bottom of the stairs to catch dirt and snow. Without his hands to help aid his balance, he was kept from smashing his face on the concrete only by Jim's quick reaction.
Liberal cursing, both general and directed at other people, floated through the crack in the door while Scotty and Kirk tried the push-pull method to physically shove McCoy up the stairs and into the Pike house's kitchen. Their level of success was debatable at best, though downright pathetic would probably have been a more accurate depiction. Jim lost his grip on his partner's jacket and nearly tumbled down the stairs himself, allowing the mudroom door he'd previously opened to snap back shut. It muffled the argument, but not enough to where the house's occupants couldn't visualize the play-by-play of the competition that was taking place five feet outside the door.
"Hey Chekov, a month of snowblowing the winner's driveway this year says McCoy punches my dad in the face," Ethan whispered in his best friend's ear from his chair at the kitchen table, wincing while he listened to the argument just outside the door.
Pavel silently turned his head and pondered the proposition. "I do not know this McCoy you speak of. I remember him only from the one encounter you described, but I believe you have given me enough information." He reached out and accepted Ethan's open palm. In an equally hushed voice, he replied, "I do not think he will resort to physical violence. Is the correct expression, 'You are on'?"
"Of course you'd have to get that one right," he scoffed. The incredulity didn't last long, however. Smug, Ethan sat back, slouching with an air that exuded steely confidence. He infused his voice with a cocky swagger when he stated matter-of-factly, "You're going down, bro."
In the corner of the room, Chris stood by his lonesome, silently watching while he hoped his laughter was quiet enough that it wasn't audible to the two teens. He wasn't sure which outcome of the bet was going to prove more amusing, but he knew he was going to find out. Whatever happened, it was going to be a hell of a lot of fun.
A lot of fun, that is, if he could get McCoy in the door first.
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Next Up: McCoy is literally rendered speechless by Lynn Pike. Meanwhile, Chris wonders how he can duplicate the feat, and Jim tries to dodge his understandably angry partner.