riptide_asylum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
riptide_asylum) wrote2008-07-27 07:41 am
riptide_asylum) wrote2008-07-27 07:41 am
Entry tags:
"Grounded" (Beach Boys, 1985)
Title: Grounded
Rating: PG
Summary: What does Nick really do in the Reserves?
"Seriously, the way you two...beach bums run around, shooting the hell out every halfway decent case that comes across my desk, you'd think it was open season on the innocent people of Redondo!"
Nick, sitting on the jailcell cot next to Cody, rolled his eyes. Cody nudged him gently with his thigh before Nick could speak. It'll only make things worse.
Quinlan continued. "And what in the Sam Hill made you think it was a good idea to take your chopper out for a little Sunday spin through the middle of downtown, anyway? I oughta get your license hung, drawn and quartered, flyboy!"
Cody closed his eyes. Nick was up off the cot in an instant. "Lieutenant, if we hadn't flown to the Galleria, at least a dozen people would be dead by now. Those gunmen were professionals. They were there to do a job, and they didn't care who got in their way. After all, they were damn sure they'd get no interference from the police around here!"
"Is that so, wiseguy? Well we'll just see how your superiors up the coast feel about one of their own, carousing around in a big pink rustbucket--"
Cody watched Nick's ears turn red, then closed his eyes against the coming explosion.
They were interrupted by the sharp tap of stilettos on the linoleum. "Lieutenant, phone call, line 1. It's from Fort Bragg."
Quinlan swaggered up to the bars of the cell and lowered his voice. "Now we'll see who's covered in rust, guy. Kiss that big pink contraption--and your pretty partner---goodbye. See how tough you are without any wings." He spun around and marched out of the room. Nick gripped the bars of the cell until his knuckles turned white.
Behind him, Cody said softly, "Come on, Nick The worst they'll give you is a warning. You're a great pilot."
Nick walked resignedly over to the bunk and sank back down next to Cody, resting his head on his partner's shoulder. "I can't lose my license, man....I can't." Cody put a comforting hand on Nick's knee.
A patrol officer entered a few minutes later. Quinlan was nowhere in sight. He unlocked the door to the cell and held it open. Nick and Cody exchanged puzzled glances.
"Uh, we can just go?" Cody asked.
The officer nodded. "The lieutenant got a phone call a few minutes ago. Man, he must've gotten some kind of earful, 'cause when he was done, he said he wanted you two out of here yesterday."
Nick and Cody looked at each other, then grinned. "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy," Cody commented as they scrambled off the cot.
Outside, in the Jimmy, Cody put the keys in the ignition, then paused. Nick frowned. "What's wrong? Starter acting up again?"
Cody looked out at the traffic going by on Bayside Boulevard, a stream of cars and trucks carrying people to their normal everyday jobs, their normal everyday lives. Finally he turned to his partner. "What exactly do you do in the Reserves, Nick?"
Rating: PG
Summary: What does Nick really do in the Reserves?
"Seriously, the way you two...beach bums run around, shooting the hell out every halfway decent case that comes across my desk, you'd think it was open season on the innocent people of Redondo!"
Nick, sitting on the jailcell cot next to Cody, rolled his eyes. Cody nudged him gently with his thigh before Nick could speak. It'll only make things worse.
Quinlan continued. "And what in the Sam Hill made you think it was a good idea to take your chopper out for a little Sunday spin through the middle of downtown, anyway? I oughta get your license hung, drawn and quartered, flyboy!"
Cody closed his eyes. Nick was up off the cot in an instant. "Lieutenant, if we hadn't flown to the Galleria, at least a dozen people would be dead by now. Those gunmen were professionals. They were there to do a job, and they didn't care who got in their way. After all, they were damn sure they'd get no interference from the police around here!"
"Is that so, wiseguy? Well we'll just see how your superiors up the coast feel about one of their own, carousing around in a big pink rustbucket--"
Cody watched Nick's ears turn red, then closed his eyes against the coming explosion.
They were interrupted by the sharp tap of stilettos on the linoleum. "Lieutenant, phone call, line 1. It's from Fort Bragg."
Quinlan swaggered up to the bars of the cell and lowered his voice. "Now we'll see who's covered in rust, guy. Kiss that big pink contraption--and your pretty partner---goodbye. See how tough you are without any wings." He spun around and marched out of the room. Nick gripped the bars of the cell until his knuckles turned white.
Behind him, Cody said softly, "Come on, Nick The worst they'll give you is a warning. You're a great pilot."
Nick walked resignedly over to the bunk and sank back down next to Cody, resting his head on his partner's shoulder. "I can't lose my license, man....I can't." Cody put a comforting hand on Nick's knee.
A patrol officer entered a few minutes later. Quinlan was nowhere in sight. He unlocked the door to the cell and held it open. Nick and Cody exchanged puzzled glances.
"Uh, we can just go?" Cody asked.
The officer nodded. "The lieutenant got a phone call a few minutes ago. Man, he must've gotten some kind of earful, 'cause when he was done, he said he wanted you two out of here yesterday."
Nick and Cody looked at each other, then grinned. "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy," Cody commented as they scrambled off the cot.
Outside, in the Jimmy, Cody put the keys in the ignition, then paused. Nick frowned. "What's wrong? Starter acting up again?"
Cody looked out at the traffic going by on Bayside Boulevard, a stream of cars and trucks carrying people to their normal everyday jobs, their normal everyday lives. Finally he turned to his partner. "What exactly do you do in the Reserves, Nick?"