The Cliché

Chapter 3:

Disclaimer: If I ever get ownership of Special Unit 2, I'll eat my ceiling fan. It would be worth it, but it's not gonna happen.

A/N: Sorry for the wait, kids, but you know it's worth it!

"Alright, Nick, we're almost there, so let's lay down some ground rules."

"Only married two hours and I'm getting lectured," Nick said.

"Come on, I'm serious. This is work," Kate reminded him. "Rule number one, Carl is your stepson, so no beating on him. We can't draw undue attention to ourselves."

"I was actually pretty good as a regular cop. I know that's hard to believe, judging by what an immature brat I am . . ."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you; I know you're a good cop."

Nick acted surprised. "Actually, I wasn't being sarcastic. It is hard to believe."

"And Carl, don't provoke him."

"I'm his stepson. I'm supposed to provoke him. Getting into character, I realize that my entire existence revolves around making you miserable for marrying my dear mommy." He smiled wickedly at Kate.

"Carl, we are not there yet, and until we are, I am your dear nothing," she reminded him. Nick grinned.

"Here we are." Nick pulled up to a nice house. "Cool place. I wonder if there's a hot tub?"

"Nick, we're here to work, I don't think you can do very good surveillance from a hot tub."

"No, but we could go a long way to convincing the neighbors that we really are newlyweds."

Without missing a beat, Kate shot back. "Which brings us to rule number two (or 12 if you're an NCIS fan!). Try anything, and your pepper spray ends up in a different time zone. Got it?"

"Hey, come on, if I'd really ever wanted to 'try anything,' don't you think I would have the other week when I was at your place. (A/N: The Sock)

Kate was suddenly very glad she wasn't driving because she felt the need to look out her window and hold her rapidly pinkening face away from view.

"Hey, Kate, what's he talking about?" Carl wanted to know.

"We got together and watched some movies last Saturday," Nick explained.

Fortunately, Carl didn't even think to turn it into an off-color joke. "Why wasn't I invited?"

"Because you suck," Nick said calmly. Kate, meanwhile, was feeling hideously embarrassed at having mentioned 'trying anything,' when she had been the one to cross the line last time they'd been together.

Nick was thinking about that, too. He had never acted inappropriately with her. I mean, he made some jokes that might normally come across as sexual harassment, but they could get away with that, they were best friends. And if he ever got out of line, there was no doubt in Nick's mind that Kate could pound him. That kiss had thrown him for a loop, and he took the easy way out by pretending to be asleep. He hadn't wanted to escape it, really, but he was afraid that she would consider it a lapse of judgment and it would be easier for them both this way. Conveniently for the fanfiction writer, who had, at this point run out of internal dialog, Nick parked the car, and they all got out.

No sooner had they set foot on the pavement when they heard a horrified scream.

"Help me, please!" The woman next door was screaming. "Something's wrong with my daughter, help please." Cops first, Nick and Kate rushed over to see what they could do. They found the woman's teenage daughter in her bedroom slumped over her desk. Grey goo was seeping out her ears. Kate took the girl's pulse, then looked at her mother mournfully.

"Nick call an ambulance." She made eye contact and mouthed, so the mother wouldn't hear, "No hurry." She turned her attention completely to the girl's mother. "What happened, exactly?"

"She was studying for a chemistry test she had in three days." She began sobbing. "The last thing she said was, 'My brains are turning to mush!' I can't believe she's gone!" Kate tried desperately to comfort her new neighbor, moving her away from the body, and trying to keep the paramedics away from her when they arrived.

Later that evening, at 'home,' Kate took a sip of coffee. "We can't let that happen again, Nick, we've got to find some way to render the literalus powerless until we can find it. We don't know where to start looking, and we certainly can't wait for it to strike again."

Nick nodded, and Kate could tell he was thinking. "We need to make everybody shut up."

"Is there any kind of serum or anything?" Kate realized immediately how stupid that had sounded, but she was still somewhat unfamiliar with the world of links and link hunting.

"No," Nick said, not bothering to make fun of her. "Hey, Carl, you know any link who could help us out with this?"

Carl looked up guiltily from where he was using the telescope to look in the neighbor's window.

"Stop spying on the neighbors, Carl. You're supposed to be a little kid, so you really can't be looking in women's windows," Kate reminded him.

"I'm not!" He said defensively. Then he mumbled under his breath, "I was casing the joint." Kate looked at him severely.

"A link, Carl, help," Nick reminded him.

"Right. I know a guy who might help us out here. The Halteparle. Capable of paralyzing the voice boxes of large groups at a time."

"Well, it sounds good," Kate tried to map out what would follow. "If I were the people here, and I suddenly couldn't talk, I would panic."

"Alice and damage control could take care of that," Nick offered.

"How?" Kate wondered.

"Shh. Follow sci-fi rule number 23 (If you want to live, never touch a Marine's coffee? No, that's Gibbs's rule number 23). Rule number 23 says if you don't know how to take care of a difficult situation that could complicate the plot, just don't mention it, and the audience won't think of it!"

"Got it," Kate answered. "If I were them, though, I'd start writing stuff down to communicate. Can the Literalus use written words to make clichés?"

"Nope. He'd love to, I'm sure, but like most links, he's dumb as a post and can't read."

"Hey, I resent that!" Carl shouted.

"I know you do," Nick replied simply. "That's why I said it."

"But how will we be able to hunt down the Literalus even after everyone's voice is gone? They could be missing their voices forever," Kate pointed out.

"Not really. The Literalus has to find clichés to use, and it will follow the voices. Naturally we'll keep our own voices so we can work. We'll just have to speak very carefully. He'll come right here, and we'll blow him away."

Kate nodded. "Sounds like a plan. Carl, can you contact this guy?"

"What's in it for me?" Carl asked.

"I don't smash your face in."

"Okie-dokie."

Ooh, how exciting!

Here are the stupid questions I always ask:

What does the Literalus look like? (I don't know, but I'll have fun deciding.)

Does the Literalus blow up? (Duh.)

What does the Literalus look like while he's blowing up? (Hmm.)

When do we get to the part about hot dogs and 'ship talk? (Soon, I promise.)

Where might the Literalus go if he can't find people to give him clichés? (Can't answer this one; I actually have an answer already! Very hush hush!)