What I own: A shiny new pair of crutches, a hinged knee brace and a shit load of painkillers.
What I don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, not mine. I just play with them. I promise I will clean them up when I'm done.
Author's Note: DON'T KILL ME! I know, I owe updates on my three already in progress stories, TRUST ME! I hate that I haven't written on any of them in AGES but life has been a cruel mistress. Turns out, Norco gives me AWESOMELY vivid dreams, which was where this originally came from and I haven't been able to get it out since. Seriously, NOBODY else will talk to me, I have tried time and again to no avail. This little tale is KIND of canon, set around the end of season two time wise. I'm playing with events as they suit me because it is what I do. Luke and Andy never happened, nor did the interrupted hook up from 'Hot and Bothered' as much as it pains me cause good lawd do I love that scene. As usual, you get a glimpse into the future before diving headfirst into the past. This hasn't been beta'd because really, this is me here, it's how I roll. It does, however, include pretentious shout outs to Janeycakes because I love her and that is how I roll. As always, reviews make me grin like a movie star and are rewarded with sneak peeks of future chapters and LOTS of babble. Questions, comments and creative criticism are warmly welcomed both here and on twitter. Songspiration for this fic is 'The Light Behind Your Eyes' by My Chemical Romance. Listen to it and tell me you didn't get a little misty. This is rated M for adult situations, drinking and fucking language. If you can't but smokes and vote where you live, scamper on away, this isn't for you. This is, however, for MD14 because she is amazing and the respect I have for her cannot be put into words. Thank you for everything.
This place was sensory overload. The air was thick with smoke and perfume, the sweet, almost cloying scent of liquor and fruit mingling with stale beer added just the right amount of nausea induction to make me happy I had stopped drinking three bars ago. The music, if you could call it that, was loud and thumping, and my cohorts were out on the makeshift dance floor almost as soon as we had arrived. Strangely, I was not bothered at all and was more than happy to sit at the slightly sticky high top, sipping my sprite with lime and watching the scattering of purses that were strewn on the table.
'Bridal party bonding' were the words that Janey, one of my best friends since kindergarten, had practically squealed into the phone when she had called the week before. I had agreed, reluctantly, only because it was, as she so politely informed me, my duty as her Maid of Honor. And because I had the weekend off from work, although I did consider begging Traci to switch a shift.
Janey and I had drifted apart after we both graduated, going to different universities and pursuing vastly different career paths, but anytime we met up, weather weeks or months had passed, we were able to pick up exactly where we left off. She had been more of a sister than a friend when we were growing up, especially after Claire had left. There were months where I spent more time at Janey's house than my own, a fact that my dad, while he loved me and did everything he could, was a bit pleased about. Single dad, working full time and raising a teenage daughter? The breaks were much appreciated, I could tell.
When she showed up on my doorstep four months ago at seven AM with sunglasses on, two Starbucks cups in her hand and a ring that was roughly the size of a VW Bug on her left ring finger and a megawatt smile to ask me (or more politely tell me, in her very Janey way) that I was going to be her maid of honor, tacky dress, matching shoes and tears and all, there was no way I could say no.
Which was what had me here tonight, sipping citrus infused soda through a dinky bar straw while I watched my comrades in satin (or, more accurately, silk, chiffon and lace, Janey had exquisite taste and designed our dresses herself, as her profession practically dictated), writhing on the dance floor. Eschewing the traditional and tacky veils, sashes and homemade t-shirts, we instead were all dressed by the bride, a rather semiformal preparation for the actual event, part of her gift to each of us: Cocktail dresses in varying shades of blue silk and chiffon, the styles customized to each member of the bridal party. My own was a deep navy, almost black, the silk gliding easily over my curves and ending an almost uncomfortable distance from my knees, thin straps leaving my back completely bare. She had, simply to torture us, had us choose matching silver shoes and purses, 'because it's my night'. The sarcasm at the expense of some of the more, shall we say, hard to manage brides that she had regaled me with tales of, was not missed as she handed out the accessories as we piled into the cars.
The music seemed to slow down and my companions moved, en masse, back toward the corner table, peals of laughter and snippets of conversation arriving ahead of them. The attention they drew was hardly hidden, interest and flat out lust from men and barely concealed scorn from a good portion of the women, although it was wither ignored or laughed off.
Slipping easily from my stool, I gave a small as I headed towards the group. "I'll grab another round." The suggestion seemed exceedingly appreciated and was greeted with a chorus of squeals and hugs from the seven women. Laughing as I extracted myself from the sea of arms, I shook my head and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
The bar itself was crowed, wall to wall people all in various stages of drunk, looking either to increase their chances of not going home alone, or drown their sorrows because they would be doing exactly that. I caught sight of a few familiar faces in the crowd. Most of them didn't recognize me sans uniform and Kevlar, but the few who did got the sternest glances I could manage. The bodies were packed tightly and the potent combination of cologne, body spray and sweat had my near empty stomach churning.
The testosterone level in the place was high and there was almost a frenzied energy in the air, one that had the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end and my eyes darting around the room, yeah I was VERY off duty, but just because I wasn't in uniform didn't mean I wasn't a cop, no matter how much Something was going to happen. Three years on this job had taught me A LOT, and trusting my instincts was a lesson I had learned very early on, and one that my TO and sometime partner had instilled in me from the beginning. That slight pang that I always felt when I thought of Sam Swarek was there, as always. It had been nearly three months since he had taken off in the middle of the night, though none of us were surprised. Undercover work was his passion, and he was made for it. His presence, that dry wit, blatant disregard for almost all rules but his own and those damn dimples, were all very missed both on the job and off.
Despite our… rocky beginning, he and I had formed, what was at first, a tenuous friendship, one that was built on trust, honesty and the closeness that could only come with literally trusting each other with your life on a daily basis. There had always been an undercurrent of… something else that lay there, just below the surface. Attraction, maybe? Lust? I wasn't sure, but it wasn't something we had neither taken the conscious effort to explore, although one night after a shit day and a shared bottle of tequila we had broached the subject, although the actual discussion was more than slightly hazy.
The shattering of glass and clattering of a stool falling to the floor pulled me out of my slight reverie, angry words and raised voices piercing the air, proving that my gut was right. I could barely see the actual fight break out over the crowd, although the four inch heels provided far more height than I was used to, but the surge in the crowd was palpable.
Alcohol, testosterone and jealousy was never a good combination and it was here tonight in spades. As more bodies joined the fray, limbs flew and the security, what little there was, was quickly outnumbered. Cursing under my breath, I jumped, missing a fist to the face by about two inches. Another crash and I stumbled backwards, backing into a very firm body. Before I could say anything, an arm circled around my waist tugging me away from the melee. My senses were still slightly dulled from the Jack and Cokes I had started the evening with and I blinked, my arms pulling futilely as the muscled bicep that was stretched across my waist as I struggled to get free.
"Goddamnit Sweetheart, stop that." The words were growled into my ear and I stopped immediately, instead allowing my captor to lead me out a side door into an alley.
The night air was cool and damp, heavy with the promise of rain, even as thunder rumbled overhead, echoing the ruckus from inside and I shivered, not from fear or cold but rather anticipation, if that was possible. The arms dropped from my waist and the warmth from the body vanished as I caught my breath. A cold raindrop splattered against the very tip of my nose, a small warning before the impending storm. I turned and met a pair of warm, familiar brown eyes, the same ones that I had been missing for months, just as the sky opened up with a deafening roar of thunder.