Part V: In Which Jim Seriously Screws Up
There's something to be said for pure shock: it works damned well on numbing the nerves.
That and alcohol - you combine them both? Damn good pain suppressant.
Chris had very fast reflexes, and if I didn't trust my eyesight so much, then I could probably have made myself believe that what I had just seen hadn't really just happened.
But David Burress was right next to her, hand still on her back, looking aggravated at being interrupted, and I was just standing there, because I couldn't figure out what else to do, so it made for a slightly awkward situation.
"Jim..." That was Chris. She didn't even look guilty, just startled, hand on David's belt, still there because I had taken them by surprise.
And that was about when the reality of it all was finally starting to sink in. I was actually lucky in one respect - one thing in that totally crappy ass day - I wasn't drunk enough to try to kick anyone's ass, I was really just at that point where I just was very, very sad.
And the ground wanted to move a lot.
"I was just... gonna..." I stumbled back, and I really don't think I was as drunk as Chris later led me to believe. Come to think of it, I think I stumbled on a concrete curb or something, and THAT was why I actually fell on my ass, and clonked my head on the car.
"JIM!"
"I'm fine," I said, nodding as I tried to push her away. "I'm fine. My cars right over there-"
"Oh, shit. You're drunk."
"I said I'm fine! I'm fine!" To prove it, I managed to get back on my feet, and between you and me, it was a little harder than I originally thought it would be. Still, with one hand on the cold metal of the car, I was doing pretty well for myself. "See?" I told Chris and David when I had finally righted myself. "I'm fine."
"I really don't think he should drive like that."
Stupid David. With his stupid head that for some reason there was suddenly two of and why was there stuff on my head?
"My head is wet."
"Oh, fuck - let me see that." And my head was shoved down so that my face was momentarily between Chris' very nice cleavage. I considered trying to talk to see what it would feel like to move my lips against her breasts, but I didn't even get to do that because she suddenly let go and smacked me on the shoulder.
"OWW!"
"You cut your head, you idiot!"
"And that's making it better?"
She sighed, biting down on her lip in frustration as she glared at me again, glancing back at David and then back at me.
"Do we need to take him to the doctor?" Stupid David. Dumb David. Dillweed David. Dorky Dav-
"No, it doesn't look that bad. You know what? I'm just gonna take him home."
And at the moment, I remembered what I had caught them out here doing, and suddenly, in self righteous glory, I put my foot down. "No! I can take myself home."
"You're drunk, you asshole," she snapped at me, palm wrapped around my bicep.
"I can help you-"
"Nah, it's cool. His dog's cool if he knows you but if he doesn't he'll take you down. He's a retired police dog."
My dog? My dog! Ha! "Yeah, he's a retired police dog," I said, "And he will TAKE YOU DOWN."
"Jim, shut the fuck up." Unfortunately, my amusement at the situation was short-lived, because stupid ass David decided that just because he managed to plant one on my partner, he could do it again. And he did, less than a foot away from me; this stupid, chaste peck on her lips that made it look like the dumb fuck was falling in love with MY partner.
I was seriously nauseated.
"Can I call you?"
She glanced at him for a minute, processing his smile and the way he grinned, and she actually nodded, smiling in this stupid way. "Yeah, you prick. You can call me."
"Good. Good." He stepped back, looking dumber than I did, waddling back and bobbing his head like a duck. "I'll call you. Maybe we can..."
"Sure."
I didn't really like Chris right then. I didn't like David either. And thanks to the scene I had witness, all my numbing alcoholic pain just went straight out of me and made me want to hurl.
Didn't even get the chance to do that. Before I knew it, he was gone, and she was digging into my pockets for my keys, ignoring my comments about fishing for it a little more to the left and pushing me in my car with so much force I think I got blood on my seats.
"Oww."
"Shut up. Why the hell are you always such a baby when you drink?" Already, she was out of the drive-way and turning onto the Pacific Coast Highway.
The liquor settled slightly, turned in my stomach, and as the wind hit my face, a cold salty tangy moisture, my eyes suddenly fell on Chris, hair blowing wantonly in the air, tank shop tight and arms perfectly toned.
And she had let David kiss her. My partner, who said she missed me, and only tolerated him for me, had told Hondo it was okay to be without me for two more weeks and let David Fucking Burress kiss her.
I didn't want to see her.
"You should have let me take a cab," I muttered, crossing my arms and burying my head back in the cushioned headrest.
"Don't be such an asshole, Jim." Her tone was sharp, angry, like I deserved to be yelled at, and maybe I did. Because according to her, because Chris is as dense as a guy, her partner had just ruined potential sex, and wasn't the rule that partners never overruled great sex? "Are you okay?" The anger was gone now, her eyes flickering from the road to me, worry clearly on her face. "How's your head?"
"It's fine," I snapped, pushing her hand away and keeping my face on the road. She stayed silent, driving fast and swerving across a turn. "So... you gonna date DavID, now?"
She waited a moment before replying, like she was trying to feel me out. "Didn't see much of a reason not to."
My laughter at that was bitter, angry, and she didn't even bother to question it. With a turn, we were at my apartment building, Chris digging in my glove compartment for the card key to let her into my garage, cause she knows parking is a bitch.
"Come on," she said, shoving at my shoulder as she opened her door. 'I'm not carrying you."
So I got out, walking with her to the elevator, watching like a child as she pushed the button to my floor.
"So... what's the attraction?" I asked, head starting to bang a bit, making me wince a little and dig my hands further into my pockets.
She shrugged, arms crossed and tone level as she remarked easily, "Maybe I just wanna try not dating a complete asshole for once." I didn't respond, and when she glanced at me, she decided it was okay to continue. "He's not like the other cops I know, Street. He's genuinely nice. I mean, I thought it was a load of bullshit before, but he's just a seriously nice guy. There's no games with him."
I didn't want to hear anymore. "Chris?"
"What?"
With a puppy grin and a wince to the back of my head, I said, "I'm probably not going to remember any of this."
She grinned. "Maybe that's why I'm telling you. Cause sober you'd be making fun of me."
"I still reserve that right." The door opened, and gently, my girl Chris grabbed my hand, leading me to my apartment and opening the door to the typical bachelor pad of a typical guy who was just like any other typical asshole cop that Chris had known.
I glanced at it, going over the dirty dishes, and the television too big for the room, the big dog jumping about excitedly. Empty beer bottles on the counter and old pizza boxes on the stove.
David wouldn't live like this.
"Come on," she said, reminding me she was here, instead of with him, pushing me on my bed and leaving me there to go into my bathroom.
Rox, my big retired police dog, licked my hands and wagged his hail so excitedly, it thumped against my legs. "Hey, Rox," I whispered.
"Oomph. Out of the way, you animal." Dropping the band-aids and antiseptic on my bed, Chris patted him affectionately, scooting him over with her legs to take his place between my knees. Smiling grimly, she glanced into my eyes, before nodding. "Look down."
I did, directly down on her beautiful breasts, round and supple, perfectly sized to fit into my hands, if I wanted to hold them, nipples hard from the cold beach air, a perfect distance from my mouth, within easy reach...
"It's not too bad," I heard above me. "You won't need stitches or anything. Let me just clean it..."
I hissed as she poured the Hydrogen Peroxide on my head, the chill unexpected.
"Shut up," she remarked, laughter in her tone as she reached around me for a band-aid. "It's not even a scratch."
"It's COLD."
"Yeah, right. Shit. That's not gonna work. Well... the bleeding's stopped. You should be okay." Kneeling down, she pulled my boots off, working the laces quickly. My mood was settling in, soft and mellow, David a far off dream, as she pulled off my shirt and pushed me gently back on the bed, reaching for the covers and tucking me in. "You are seriously such a baby."
Her hair was wild, wind blown, and I reached up, tangling a strand in my fingers. Too tired to do anything but look, I smiled, worshiping my partner with an adoring glance.
"I love you." Yes, I was drunk. Completely. Had I been sober, chances are I never would have even thought to say that, but the words came tumbling from my lips, and I loved the sound of them, wanted to say them over and over to her, keep her here on my bed so I could tell her over and over that I loved her.
She blinked, words registering, my heart on a precipice, before her face broke out into a beautiful grin and she answered lightly, "Love you, too, Partner." God, she was dense. Such a dense guy. But before I could protest that she had it all wrong, she did something she had never done before. Her lips brushed my forehead and her knuckles caressed my cheek, and with a whispered affectionate, "You asshole," she left me, turning off my light, and closing the door to my apartment.
Waking up Saturday morning with a massive hangover, and a dog who really needed to go out, I found myself amazed that I could actually remember the events that had transpired. I remembered the bar, I remembered the parking lot, I remembered the car ride, and the ride to my elevator. I remembered my whispered confession.
And I realized I had much more than a crush.
Sitting on the beach, watching my dog dancing in the waves, I realized one more thing: it was way too late.
Falling hard for Chris was a guy who was a ready-made husband. A nice guy who thought she was a freaking goddess, who didn't call girls just for sex, who wasn't like every other asshole cop who wanted to get laid and got laid on a regular basis.
I was Chris' partner. That was what I was good at. When I was Chris' partner, I wasn't the asshole that amused her so much when we went to bars. When I was her partner, she was my best friend, my best relationship - the longest and healthiest relationship I ever remember having.
Problem was, she never knew she was having it.
I had been so busy pretending Chris was a guy that I hadn't really understood why I was trying so hard to pretend. I had figured that I had time to deal with this shit, that I could have my non-dates with Chris, and be with her, and still be the guy I was before, have my Mandys on the side because it didn't matter yet.
Never thought I'd have to deal with the Davids. And that's who Chris wanted, anyhow. Nice guys like David, not dime-a-dozen assholes like me.
I wanted to call Chris. I did - but deep down, I'm still an asshole, and with all this shit going around in my head, I didn't want to deal with seeing her.
So I let Saturday and Sunday go by, and Monday morning, Hondo called me into his office.
Hondo is a serious asshole and a great cop. He's not married - his life is his job, and he could care less about settling down, having kids. His life is his team, his head right where it's supposed to be. On his squad. No distractions.
That morning, sitting across from him, I could see myself where he was, twenty years from now.
For some reason, it depressed the hell out of me.
"Called you in here for a couple reasons," he began without preamble, looking up at me with that look that makes me think he knows more than he lets on. "First off, what do you think of the new guy?"
I considered my answer, kept my voice low, without emotion. "Nice guy."
"I didn't ask if he was a nice guy, Street, and you know it. Do you think he's a good cop?"
Again, I considered my answer, came out with, "I think he's a great cop."
He narrowed his gaze. "But not better than you."
I couldn't help but grin at that. "No one's better than me."
That's the attitude that he was looking for, cocky, self-assured, just like him. He cracked a smile, nodding his head and leaning back, pleased.
"That what you asked me in here for?" I asked.
If it were only so easy. "No," he said without preamble. "The reason I called you in here is because Burress has requested to take another month of your partner's time."
I blinked, processing the statement. "A month?" I repeated. "Wha'd Chris say?"
"I haven't talked to Sanchez, yet, I'm talking to you," he snapped. "She's your partner, you have as much a say in this as she does."
He was handing me her leash, just when I had the least right to claim it. I shifted in my seat, shuffled uncomfortably, laughing this horrible little chuckle that sounded like a cough.
He watched me with his hawk eyes. "You and Sanchez work well together. I'm not denying that. But you're a great cop, Street - you can make it work with anyone."
And because of that, I was going to sit here and let Sanchez get ripped away from me like a band-aid. The one thing I had left.
"I'm Chris's partner," I cut in, stony gaze stubborn on my boss.
He considered that, the emotional outburst, the agitated knocking of my fingers on the side of my chair, creating deep, dark taps that echoed in the silence that followed.
"Not anymore," he said finally, and before I could register the drop of my heart and the surging anger, he continued, "And neither is Burress." I'm sure the shock must have registered on my face pretty quickly, but he went on, as if not noticing. "I've been watching this team, and I've come to the conclusion that some members don't seem to be gelling." He was asking for a confirmation from me, but I gave him nothing. Nodding slightly, he continued. "So until, I can figure out what the hell is going on with half of my team members, I will be taking Sanchez under my wing. She will ride with me. For the time being, Burress will be your new partner."
That conclusion left me stunned, throwing out a bitter laugh that was disbelieving, almost mocking. "You're kidding, right?"
Of course, that would be when the pagers went off, disrupting my would be tirade. Calmly, Hondo took the phone out of his belt and glanced at it.
"Better go get your new partner," he said pleasantly. "We're heading out."
--
So we headed out – what should have been a call that we could have handled any day of the week. Nothing major – four guys barricaded in a house on a drug raid that had gone bad, holding two cops hostage for no real reason except they were panicked and scared.
My mind should have been on the call. I know that. But our van was crowded and quiet, Sanchez looking bewildered and Burress not saying much of anything at all as he rode next to me. Deke and Boxer, usually talking non-stop, kept their mouths shut, sharing looks that made me wonder whether their wives had anything to worry about.
We got there, bursting through the reporters and the cop cars, filing out of the van and pulling together gear, my and my 'partner', who had gotten the news from me with a clipped, "You and are together now, let's go."
I didn't want to see Chris' expression, didn't want to have to deal with her, and that was the beginning of my little fuck up.
Because yeah, I fucked up. Big time. First time in my life when I went in on a mission with my mind not on the job, and I should have known better. I knew that.
It was Hondo who came up with the plan, straight forward and to the point – half the team busting through the back, two of us in the front, and one shooter on the roof, keeping us covered should any of these guys get a little brave.
We should have handled it – we should have never had a problem.
"Allright," Hondo said, hands on his hips, glancing between the five of us, and nodding. "Sanchez, Boxer, you'll go in with me through the back. Burress, you and Street are covering the front, busting that door down, I want those flash-bang grenades as soon as the doors open. You got it?"
"We can handle it," I said matter-of-factly.
"Good," he snapped, never questioning. "Deke – you're the best shot we have – I want you on that roof, you keep your eye on us. Don't let any of us get dead in there."
"Don't worry, I'll be watching."
"Allright," he said, because he trusted and knew us, knew we'd get the job done. "Let's do it."
It was tense, too tense. Sanchez glanced back, and I wasn't sure she was looking at me or Burress before she followed Hondo and Boxer. Deke, big and muscular, had to concentrate on getting on that roof without announcing that we were in there, and my concentration, I thought, was on the mission.
But I felt Burress beside me, listening and responding automatically to Hondo's whispered instructions, my grenade in my hand, ready to go off. Sanchez whispered in her radio in my ear, and at that moment, I looked at Burress, and I remembered, at that moment, what it felt like to stumble up on Chris kissing him – a sudden flash, and she was fucking him, arching hips and whispering moans while he pumped into her-
"NOW!"
And I came back to life, remembered the mission, seconds too late, lobbing my grenade clumsily, nearly tripping into a fevered Burress as we toppled into the door, into the shouts and smoke and bullets.
On this job – everything happens in fast forward, a minute is a minute too long, and ten seconds is the difference between life and death.
Burress froze, saw something I didn't see and dropped his guard, seconds too late to see the guy behind him, waving his gun crazily. The grenade I had tossed, I processed immediately, hadn't been set right, it hadn't gone off – lying there like a recycled coke can, and my finger quirked, even though I knew it was coming too late-
The guy's face exploded into a haze of red, and it wasn't my shot that did it. But Burress was clean. But as I heard shouts and curses, I suddenly realize why Burress froze.
The smoke was clearing, and it was then I finally saw the haze of my partner, slumped against the door, arm stretched up, a wavering pistol in her hand, straight at the guy she had just brought down.
The same arm, was soaked red with blood. Sanchez took in a ragged breath, glancing up at Hondo as he knelt beside her, and with a swallow, she nodded, dropping her hand and curling it into her side.
I knew then, I had seriously FUCKED UP.
End Part V
Coming Soon: Part VI: In Which Chris Decides