Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this fic!
This is an A/U fic again. Mainly BROE as usual. I know Broe have "stereotypical" jobs in this one and may not be what you'd expect but that's the whole point. :) Was that mysterious enough? Oh and it may start out kinda slow and even a little sad and the language a little harsh but it won't remain so, I hope! LOL
[b]You're In Good Hands
Chapter 1: Meet Broe
Salem. Really, Really Early in the Morning As in the Sun Has Not Yet Risen [/b]
"Good Morning, Chloe." The red-haired nurse smiled from her place at the nurses' station on the ground floor at Salem University Hospital.
"Good Morning, Brenda," Chloe Lane beamed as she entered the elevator to the fourth floor. Chloe was a registered nurse, had been for three years now and adored her job. This was what she was meant to be, to do. She knew it in her heart now. You couldn't have told Chloe this was her calling twenty years ago though. Hell, not even ten years ago. She would have told you that music was her life, her safe place, her outlet, what she would always be and do. But, one hot, summer day, seven years ago, all that changed.
She was at home, eating dinner in the backyard with her mother Nancy and step father Craig. They were having a kind of family barbeque out back when Craig began to choke on a hunk of hot dog. Naturally, Nancy panicked, beating Craig's back with a spatula as if that would get it out. And Craig, chief of staff of a hospital or not, was freaking too because Nancy wouldn't let up with the spatula and needless to say choking in it of itself causes some degree of panic. The backyard bench was hardly a suitable place to perform the Heimlich maneuver on himself. Craig was doomed. How ironic. Through hazy eyes, Craig could see the Salem Spectator headline now: 'In Defining Moment Hospital Chief of Staff Chokes. . . Literally.'
Chloe, at first completely frozen in horror, suddenly felt something inherently click. And like magic she'd pulled her mother off of her father, did her thing and saved the day. And the rest, as they say, is history.
Chloe adjusted her high ponytail and smoothed down her Bugs Bunny patterned scrubs, yawning loudly. Sighing, she exited the elevator and grinned madly as she made her way to the lounge. The smell of the Pine Sol scented air and the sound of the soles of her white Reeboks squeaking against the glistening, freshly mopped floor, invigorated her. She nearly burst out laughing. God, she was a sick woman.
*************
Somewhere in Salem. Around a Dumpster In a Dark Alley. Same Time.
"F&ck, I'm sick of this waiting," Detective Jason Masters cursed as he sat waiting behind a garbage dumpster next to his partner of two years, friend and roommate, Detective Brady Black. "We should be in Chicago, reading the Trib, eating leftover pizza and having a nice cold beer to wash it all down with. 'Stead of staking out in this ho hum town, waiting to rescue some two-bit crony out of a f&cking abandoned fish warehouse. Assh&le probably deserves whatever the f&ck these bastards are probably doing to him in there."
"Soon, Jase, soon," Brady chuckled as he rubbed his lightly stubbled face.
Bruce Bracco was some eighty-odd year old friend of the mayor of Chicago that got himself kidnapped and held for ransom somehow, something about ownership of some sea ports back east. Only the insiders knew the whole story. Long story short: All things concerning this case were a bit shady, so the mayor wanted this thing handled quick and fast with as little hoopla and fanfare as possible. So, the force put two of Chicago's finest young detectives on the case. And two weeks later, this wild goose chase led them here: Ho Hum, U.S.A, according to Jase. But home sweet home, according to Brady.
Salem was Brady's home, where he was born and raised with his half-sister Belle and a load of other loons he lovingly referred to as family. Sure, he hadn't been here in a while, two years to be exact and even then his visit was short, but his work in Chicago had consumed him. He lived for chasing and beating down the bad guys, not that he wasn't one of those so- called "bad guys" as a kid. But the rebel of the family had seen the error of his ways and become, of all things, a cop. And two years ago, he'd made detective, making his family and himself proud. His job was his life. And so he sat, him and Jase having been in the same spot for ten hours, waiting, just waiting for the go ahead. So why not go in the damn warehouse and just bust up the joint now? Well first off all, they weren't completely sure how many guys were in this place and if they'd just have shown up there and burst in, guns blazing, someone, perhaps all of them, would've gotten themselves killed. Secondly, they were waiting for daylight. More people up and walking around these now abandoned streets, the less likely one of those goons in that warehouse gets a shifty hand when Brady and Jase finally do make their move. Yeah, waiting, however G-d D&mn boring it had been, it would have to do.
"Black, I gotta take a piss," Jason whined, wriggling against the dumpster.
"So, piss." Brady shrugged.
"Where?"
Brady casually gestured to the dumpster they were perched against. "This thing can't possibly smell any worse."
"Great," Jason muttered, attempting to climb into the dumpster. "Just don't let me get caught with my pants down," he chuckled at his own joke.
Brady grinned and kept his eyes trained on the warehouse door. "Hurry up, I gotta take a piss too," he whined as he listened to the steady stream of Jason's pee hit some trash inside the dumpster. "Hurry."
"Okay, okay, I'm done," Jason zipped up his pants and climbed out.
"Thank God," Brady sighed as he began climbing the dumpster but jumped back down the side. "Wait, wait, wait," he started, shaking his head.
"What?"
"Where did you pee exactly?"
"Inside the dumpster." Jason looked over his partner incredulously.
"I know that," Brady rolled his eyes. "But did you pee to the right or to the left?" He made a dramatic show of it all by moving his hands right, and then left.
"What the f&ck are you talking about? What the f&ck does that matter?"
"I don't wanna stand in your piss, man." Brady stood, hands on hips, stony- faced.
"What the. The piss is probably all soaked into the trash by now, Brady. it's." He trailed off as he noticed the wide grin slowly crawling across Brady's face. "You think you're so f&cking funny don't you? Get the f&ck in there and pee, d&ckhead."
Brady let out a raucous laugh and obliged, climbing into the dumpster as Jason kept an eye on the warehouse door. "You're too easy man," Brady was still smiling as he was about to zip up his jeans. "Jase?" He waited for his partner to curse at him, spit at him, something. "Jase?"
"Shhhh." Jason quieted his partner as he eyed the doors of the warehouse slowly opening. "They still got him, Brade," he murmured as he eyed four goons and their frail hostage: Bruce Bracco, looking as old as ever. If these idiots didn't kill him soon, lord knows, he'd die of some other natural cause in the next few days. "I say we make our move before they send us to some other piece of sh&t town for another stakeout."
"No, Jase, you're gonna get him killed," Brady rasped, still in the dumpster, pants still unzipped as he pulled his gun from his shoulder holster, prepared to back up his roguish partner. "Jase!" Brady half yelled and half whispered as Jason blew their cover and began to walk towards the oblivious creeps. "Shit," Brady cursed as he attempted to jump out of the dumpster.
"Police!" Jason yelled, getting the goons' attention as they threw Bracco into the backseat of an old, maroon-colored Buick. "Police! Put down your weapons and throw your hands up where I can see them!" He jogged toward the unyielding suspects.
Brady nearly squealed in annoyance. What the f&ck was Jason trying to do? Get them all killed? "Oh Christ," Brady muttered as he heard the first shots ring out.
Before Brady could get his bearings, shots were being fired on both sides and his partner was down. His mind always went into overdrive during a gunfight. And it seemed, all of a sudden, things moved at a blinding speed. This was no different as he successfully shot and downed three of the armed suspects and shot the tires out of the Buick that made a feeble attempt at escape with the bound and gagged hostage in the backseat. He watched the car screech and donut out of control a bit before slowing down to a stop. The driver jumped out the vehicle and shot Brady before he knew what hit him. The bullet ripped through his shoulder and before he knew what was happening, he too laid a trail of deadly shots into the suspect's chest.
One. Two. Three. Four. All four goons shot and if Bracco, the hostage, wasn't wounded during the crossfire, this mission would be labeled a success. God, his shoulder hurt like a b&tch! Brady had little time to think though, as he saw his partner lying unconscious in a pool of blood, the slowly rising sun only now beginning to illuminate Jason's body and the ugly scene that had played out only seconds before. Brady, meekly holding his wounded shoulder, checked on the hostage. Bruce Bracco was fine, a little shaken up but fine. Brady left him there in the backseat and attempted to run back across the street and reach Jason, but his damn jeans were falling down. He'd been so caught up in the fight, he hadn't realized he had never zipped up his jeans and they were practically around his ankles now. "Sh&t," Brady muttered, clad only in his blood-laden shirt, shoulder holster and pinstriped boxers as he stood in the middle of the street and began to pull up his jeans.
And that's why he didn't even hear it coming. Seconds later, Brady saw two blinding lights headed his way and felt himself hit something way too hard to be anything good and feel as his body propelled through the air and land with a thud before everything went black.
This is an A/U fic again. Mainly BROE as usual. I know Broe have "stereotypical" jobs in this one and may not be what you'd expect but that's the whole point. :) Was that mysterious enough? Oh and it may start out kinda slow and even a little sad and the language a little harsh but it won't remain so, I hope! LOL
[b]You're In Good Hands
Chapter 1: Meet Broe
Salem. Really, Really Early in the Morning As in the Sun Has Not Yet Risen [/b]
"Good Morning, Chloe." The red-haired nurse smiled from her place at the nurses' station on the ground floor at Salem University Hospital.
"Good Morning, Brenda," Chloe Lane beamed as she entered the elevator to the fourth floor. Chloe was a registered nurse, had been for three years now and adored her job. This was what she was meant to be, to do. She knew it in her heart now. You couldn't have told Chloe this was her calling twenty years ago though. Hell, not even ten years ago. She would have told you that music was her life, her safe place, her outlet, what she would always be and do. But, one hot, summer day, seven years ago, all that changed.
She was at home, eating dinner in the backyard with her mother Nancy and step father Craig. They were having a kind of family barbeque out back when Craig began to choke on a hunk of hot dog. Naturally, Nancy panicked, beating Craig's back with a spatula as if that would get it out. And Craig, chief of staff of a hospital or not, was freaking too because Nancy wouldn't let up with the spatula and needless to say choking in it of itself causes some degree of panic. The backyard bench was hardly a suitable place to perform the Heimlich maneuver on himself. Craig was doomed. How ironic. Through hazy eyes, Craig could see the Salem Spectator headline now: 'In Defining Moment Hospital Chief of Staff Chokes. . . Literally.'
Chloe, at first completely frozen in horror, suddenly felt something inherently click. And like magic she'd pulled her mother off of her father, did her thing and saved the day. And the rest, as they say, is history.
Chloe adjusted her high ponytail and smoothed down her Bugs Bunny patterned scrubs, yawning loudly. Sighing, she exited the elevator and grinned madly as she made her way to the lounge. The smell of the Pine Sol scented air and the sound of the soles of her white Reeboks squeaking against the glistening, freshly mopped floor, invigorated her. She nearly burst out laughing. God, she was a sick woman.
*************
Somewhere in Salem. Around a Dumpster In a Dark Alley. Same Time.
"F&ck, I'm sick of this waiting," Detective Jason Masters cursed as he sat waiting behind a garbage dumpster next to his partner of two years, friend and roommate, Detective Brady Black. "We should be in Chicago, reading the Trib, eating leftover pizza and having a nice cold beer to wash it all down with. 'Stead of staking out in this ho hum town, waiting to rescue some two-bit crony out of a f&cking abandoned fish warehouse. Assh&le probably deserves whatever the f&ck these bastards are probably doing to him in there."
"Soon, Jase, soon," Brady chuckled as he rubbed his lightly stubbled face.
Bruce Bracco was some eighty-odd year old friend of the mayor of Chicago that got himself kidnapped and held for ransom somehow, something about ownership of some sea ports back east. Only the insiders knew the whole story. Long story short: All things concerning this case were a bit shady, so the mayor wanted this thing handled quick and fast with as little hoopla and fanfare as possible. So, the force put two of Chicago's finest young detectives on the case. And two weeks later, this wild goose chase led them here: Ho Hum, U.S.A, according to Jase. But home sweet home, according to Brady.
Salem was Brady's home, where he was born and raised with his half-sister Belle and a load of other loons he lovingly referred to as family. Sure, he hadn't been here in a while, two years to be exact and even then his visit was short, but his work in Chicago had consumed him. He lived for chasing and beating down the bad guys, not that he wasn't one of those so- called "bad guys" as a kid. But the rebel of the family had seen the error of his ways and become, of all things, a cop. And two years ago, he'd made detective, making his family and himself proud. His job was his life. And so he sat, him and Jase having been in the same spot for ten hours, waiting, just waiting for the go ahead. So why not go in the damn warehouse and just bust up the joint now? Well first off all, they weren't completely sure how many guys were in this place and if they'd just have shown up there and burst in, guns blazing, someone, perhaps all of them, would've gotten themselves killed. Secondly, they were waiting for daylight. More people up and walking around these now abandoned streets, the less likely one of those goons in that warehouse gets a shifty hand when Brady and Jase finally do make their move. Yeah, waiting, however G-d D&mn boring it had been, it would have to do.
"Black, I gotta take a piss," Jason whined, wriggling against the dumpster.
"So, piss." Brady shrugged.
"Where?"
Brady casually gestured to the dumpster they were perched against. "This thing can't possibly smell any worse."
"Great," Jason muttered, attempting to climb into the dumpster. "Just don't let me get caught with my pants down," he chuckled at his own joke.
Brady grinned and kept his eyes trained on the warehouse door. "Hurry up, I gotta take a piss too," he whined as he listened to the steady stream of Jason's pee hit some trash inside the dumpster. "Hurry."
"Okay, okay, I'm done," Jason zipped up his pants and climbed out.
"Thank God," Brady sighed as he began climbing the dumpster but jumped back down the side. "Wait, wait, wait," he started, shaking his head.
"What?"
"Where did you pee exactly?"
"Inside the dumpster." Jason looked over his partner incredulously.
"I know that," Brady rolled his eyes. "But did you pee to the right or to the left?" He made a dramatic show of it all by moving his hands right, and then left.
"What the f&ck are you talking about? What the f&ck does that matter?"
"I don't wanna stand in your piss, man." Brady stood, hands on hips, stony- faced.
"What the. The piss is probably all soaked into the trash by now, Brady. it's." He trailed off as he noticed the wide grin slowly crawling across Brady's face. "You think you're so f&cking funny don't you? Get the f&ck in there and pee, d&ckhead."
Brady let out a raucous laugh and obliged, climbing into the dumpster as Jason kept an eye on the warehouse door. "You're too easy man," Brady was still smiling as he was about to zip up his jeans. "Jase?" He waited for his partner to curse at him, spit at him, something. "Jase?"
"Shhhh." Jason quieted his partner as he eyed the doors of the warehouse slowly opening. "They still got him, Brade," he murmured as he eyed four goons and their frail hostage: Bruce Bracco, looking as old as ever. If these idiots didn't kill him soon, lord knows, he'd die of some other natural cause in the next few days. "I say we make our move before they send us to some other piece of sh&t town for another stakeout."
"No, Jase, you're gonna get him killed," Brady rasped, still in the dumpster, pants still unzipped as he pulled his gun from his shoulder holster, prepared to back up his roguish partner. "Jase!" Brady half yelled and half whispered as Jason blew their cover and began to walk towards the oblivious creeps. "Shit," Brady cursed as he attempted to jump out of the dumpster.
"Police!" Jason yelled, getting the goons' attention as they threw Bracco into the backseat of an old, maroon-colored Buick. "Police! Put down your weapons and throw your hands up where I can see them!" He jogged toward the unyielding suspects.
Brady nearly squealed in annoyance. What the f&ck was Jason trying to do? Get them all killed? "Oh Christ," Brady muttered as he heard the first shots ring out.
Before Brady could get his bearings, shots were being fired on both sides and his partner was down. His mind always went into overdrive during a gunfight. And it seemed, all of a sudden, things moved at a blinding speed. This was no different as he successfully shot and downed three of the armed suspects and shot the tires out of the Buick that made a feeble attempt at escape with the bound and gagged hostage in the backseat. He watched the car screech and donut out of control a bit before slowing down to a stop. The driver jumped out the vehicle and shot Brady before he knew what hit him. The bullet ripped through his shoulder and before he knew what was happening, he too laid a trail of deadly shots into the suspect's chest.
One. Two. Three. Four. All four goons shot and if Bracco, the hostage, wasn't wounded during the crossfire, this mission would be labeled a success. God, his shoulder hurt like a b&tch! Brady had little time to think though, as he saw his partner lying unconscious in a pool of blood, the slowly rising sun only now beginning to illuminate Jason's body and the ugly scene that had played out only seconds before. Brady, meekly holding his wounded shoulder, checked on the hostage. Bruce Bracco was fine, a little shaken up but fine. Brady left him there in the backseat and attempted to run back across the street and reach Jason, but his damn jeans were falling down. He'd been so caught up in the fight, he hadn't realized he had never zipped up his jeans and they were practically around his ankles now. "Sh&t," Brady muttered, clad only in his blood-laden shirt, shoulder holster and pinstriped boxers as he stood in the middle of the street and began to pull up his jeans.
And that's why he didn't even hear it coming. Seconds later, Brady saw two blinding lights headed his way and felt himself hit something way too hard to be anything good and feel as his body propelled through the air and land with a thud before everything went black.