Title: We're Not Friends
Author: Cheryl W.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fastlane or anything in conjunction with Fastlane nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended.
We're not friends. We got a job to do and it just happens we do it together but that don't make us friends. How many times do I have to explain this to him?! We are partners, not friends!
I've told him again and again that I don't want to hang with him. We do the job and then we walk away. There is no friend thing happening. I don't need another friend. I already got more than my fair share of friends. 'Sides I told him up front that we'll work better if we keep it clean and simple.
I'm only here 'cause we're partners. It don't have a thing to do with friendship. Hell, if he were my friend I'd be taking this whole scene more seriously. I'd probably even be scared and worried. I'ld be pacing the hospital hallways, sitting by his bedside, talking to myself.
Ah hell! I surge from the chair that's sitting beside Van's hospital bed and begin pacing the hospital room.
It was suppose to be a simple bust. Yeah, I know. Van said it best, "Simple Bust. Now why do those two words scare the crap outta me. Oh yeah, right, 'cause last time I did a "simple bust" someone emptied an Uzi clip at me." To say Van was not into this assignment would be a major understatement. But Van did what he always does, he sets out to do the job, liking it or hating it.
I wish I had sided with him. I shoulda trusted his gut feelings and told Billie no. But me, I do the job, liking it or hating it. Same as Van. I look back to the hospital bed and I can't believe it's Van lying there, pale, still, and quiet with tubes stuck in his arms and monitors surrounding him.
It happened so fast. One minute we're negotiating a drug buy and the next...I close my eyes tightly, hoping to block out the memory that I fear will never go away. We didn't screw up! I know we didn't! Our cover was solid. Suddenly, Van's words about my brother rattle around in my brain, "I can't give you one reason why he died."
I round on Van, pointing my finger at him as if I can force him into obeying me. "You are not going to die! You hear me Van, you are not allowed to die!" But there are no reassurances from him. He lies so still that I'm grateful for the monitors' tell tale beeps.
With weariness I reclaim the seat that has been mine for the past two days. The man who shot Van is dead but somehow that means little, here and now. Even the reason why he shot Van means nothing. All that matters is Van ain't talking. Van always talks, talks when we're on stakeout, talks when we're undercover, he probably talks in his sleep. But now, he ain't saying a word. I hang my head. I miss him talking, I miss his uncontrollable energy and I miss his crazy sense of humor.
Even crumpled on the ground with his blood turning the grass red Van was still cracking jokes. "Damn, I hate simple busts," his voice breathless with agony. Mad cool, that's Van. So cool while a bullet's lodged in his chest. But me, I wasn't cool, I was anything but cool.
Kneeling beside Van, I pulled off my shirt with shaking hands and pressed it against the bullet hole to stop the flow of blood. And I tried to be as cool as Van. But meeting Van's pain filled eyes was the same as getting that call sayin' Andre was dead. "Stay with me, Van!" I ordered before I made the 911, choking on "Officer Down".
Once I hung up the phone, it seemed like the rest of the world disappeared, leaving just me and Van. I held onto Van's hand thinking...hell, I just wanted to make sure he didn't, you know, go anywhere, that he knew I was there. And I kept telling him to hang on, that help was on the way, that he'd be alright. But, inside, all I could think about was when Dallas was dying in my arms and I was glad it wasn't Van. Yeah, it was a heartless thought. Don't get me wrong, I liked Dallas, and, at the last, I respected him. Hell, he saved my life at the cost of his own, hard to not idolize a man after that. But Dallas wasn't my partner, wasn't someone I'ld just spent months tight with undercover, he just wasn't Van.
Settling back in the hospital chair, I speak softly, "Alright, I trust ya, Van. Is that what you want to hear? Is that the magic words to getcha awake." But he remains as still as he was when they loaded him in the ambulance. Changing tactics I lean over Van's bed, "OK, you wanna play it like that. Fine, I got a life to be livin'," And I stand up and head for the door. But who am I kidding. I'm not leaving. With a soft curse I stalk back across the room and slam back into the chair. "You are so gonna owe me."
Pain stabs through my back as I come awake and I squint against the light filtering into the room. My eyes shoot to Van, hoping that he's finally done milking this for all it's worth. But nothing has changed. "Van, how 'bout you wake up now," and I hate that I'm using that "soft voice" Van claims I have. I'm shocked to see a flinch cross Van's face before his eyes flicker open.
I know I'm grinning like a big fool but I can't help myself. Groggily Van asks, "How long I been outta it?" And I answer, trying to sound annoyed, "Three days." I can see the surprise in his eyes and he tries to reposition himself on the bed but immediately moans in pain and tightly closes his eyes. "Stay still, Van," I order and he mumbles back, "Good advice."
When he's managed the pain, his eyes open and meet mine. "How long you been here?" I'm caught off guard by the question and try not to stumble on my lie, "I've been droppin' in a few times." But when a smile pulls onto Van's pale face, I remember the rules: Don't play a player. "You're lying," Van murmurs, fighting hard to stay awake. I put on my best innocent act, "Lying? Why'd I be lying 'bout this?" Van closes his eyes, "I don't know why, I just know you're lying." Then he opens his eyes and nails me with that cocky look that seems out of place on a man that almost died, "Your tell says you're lying."
How does he always know?! "Hey, I didn't ramble." But his cocky grin increases, "Your other tell." Even as I'm ready to make more denials, his grin fades into a grimace of pain and I'm wondering if I should get a doctor. When he speaks again his voice is soft, pained, grateful, "You've been here awhile, haven't you?" But before I can decide if I'll tell the truth or another lie, Van says, "Thanks Deaq," and drifts back to sleep.
I watch Van a moment to make sure he's OK and then I slump back in the chair, feeling like I can finally draw in a breath. I thought being a cop was all about righting wrongs and putting the bad guys away. And maybe I could believe that lie in New York, doing undercover alone. But here, now, undercover with Van, it's like a new job. A job that isn't just about me saving the world...no, it's about me protecting my partner and then saving the world.
I'ld love to hear what you think!
Author: Cheryl W.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fastlane or anything in conjunction with Fastlane nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended.
We're not friends. We got a job to do and it just happens we do it together but that don't make us friends. How many times do I have to explain this to him?! We are partners, not friends!
I've told him again and again that I don't want to hang with him. We do the job and then we walk away. There is no friend thing happening. I don't need another friend. I already got more than my fair share of friends. 'Sides I told him up front that we'll work better if we keep it clean and simple.
I'm only here 'cause we're partners. It don't have a thing to do with friendship. Hell, if he were my friend I'd be taking this whole scene more seriously. I'd probably even be scared and worried. I'ld be pacing the hospital hallways, sitting by his bedside, talking to myself.
Ah hell! I surge from the chair that's sitting beside Van's hospital bed and begin pacing the hospital room.
It was suppose to be a simple bust. Yeah, I know. Van said it best, "Simple Bust. Now why do those two words scare the crap outta me. Oh yeah, right, 'cause last time I did a "simple bust" someone emptied an Uzi clip at me." To say Van was not into this assignment would be a major understatement. But Van did what he always does, he sets out to do the job, liking it or hating it.
I wish I had sided with him. I shoulda trusted his gut feelings and told Billie no. But me, I do the job, liking it or hating it. Same as Van. I look back to the hospital bed and I can't believe it's Van lying there, pale, still, and quiet with tubes stuck in his arms and monitors surrounding him.
It happened so fast. One minute we're negotiating a drug buy and the next...I close my eyes tightly, hoping to block out the memory that I fear will never go away. We didn't screw up! I know we didn't! Our cover was solid. Suddenly, Van's words about my brother rattle around in my brain, "I can't give you one reason why he died."
I round on Van, pointing my finger at him as if I can force him into obeying me. "You are not going to die! You hear me Van, you are not allowed to die!" But there are no reassurances from him. He lies so still that I'm grateful for the monitors' tell tale beeps.
With weariness I reclaim the seat that has been mine for the past two days. The man who shot Van is dead but somehow that means little, here and now. Even the reason why he shot Van means nothing. All that matters is Van ain't talking. Van always talks, talks when we're on stakeout, talks when we're undercover, he probably talks in his sleep. But now, he ain't saying a word. I hang my head. I miss him talking, I miss his uncontrollable energy and I miss his crazy sense of humor.
Even crumpled on the ground with his blood turning the grass red Van was still cracking jokes. "Damn, I hate simple busts," his voice breathless with agony. Mad cool, that's Van. So cool while a bullet's lodged in his chest. But me, I wasn't cool, I was anything but cool.
Kneeling beside Van, I pulled off my shirt with shaking hands and pressed it against the bullet hole to stop the flow of blood. And I tried to be as cool as Van. But meeting Van's pain filled eyes was the same as getting that call sayin' Andre was dead. "Stay with me, Van!" I ordered before I made the 911, choking on "Officer Down".
Once I hung up the phone, it seemed like the rest of the world disappeared, leaving just me and Van. I held onto Van's hand thinking...hell, I just wanted to make sure he didn't, you know, go anywhere, that he knew I was there. And I kept telling him to hang on, that help was on the way, that he'd be alright. But, inside, all I could think about was when Dallas was dying in my arms and I was glad it wasn't Van. Yeah, it was a heartless thought. Don't get me wrong, I liked Dallas, and, at the last, I respected him. Hell, he saved my life at the cost of his own, hard to not idolize a man after that. But Dallas wasn't my partner, wasn't someone I'ld just spent months tight with undercover, he just wasn't Van.
Settling back in the hospital chair, I speak softly, "Alright, I trust ya, Van. Is that what you want to hear? Is that the magic words to getcha awake." But he remains as still as he was when they loaded him in the ambulance. Changing tactics I lean over Van's bed, "OK, you wanna play it like that. Fine, I got a life to be livin'," And I stand up and head for the door. But who am I kidding. I'm not leaving. With a soft curse I stalk back across the room and slam back into the chair. "You are so gonna owe me."
Pain stabs through my back as I come awake and I squint against the light filtering into the room. My eyes shoot to Van, hoping that he's finally done milking this for all it's worth. But nothing has changed. "Van, how 'bout you wake up now," and I hate that I'm using that "soft voice" Van claims I have. I'm shocked to see a flinch cross Van's face before his eyes flicker open.
I know I'm grinning like a big fool but I can't help myself. Groggily Van asks, "How long I been outta it?" And I answer, trying to sound annoyed, "Three days." I can see the surprise in his eyes and he tries to reposition himself on the bed but immediately moans in pain and tightly closes his eyes. "Stay still, Van," I order and he mumbles back, "Good advice."
When he's managed the pain, his eyes open and meet mine. "How long you been here?" I'm caught off guard by the question and try not to stumble on my lie, "I've been droppin' in a few times." But when a smile pulls onto Van's pale face, I remember the rules: Don't play a player. "You're lying," Van murmurs, fighting hard to stay awake. I put on my best innocent act, "Lying? Why'd I be lying 'bout this?" Van closes his eyes, "I don't know why, I just know you're lying." Then he opens his eyes and nails me with that cocky look that seems out of place on a man that almost died, "Your tell says you're lying."
How does he always know?! "Hey, I didn't ramble." But his cocky grin increases, "Your other tell." Even as I'm ready to make more denials, his grin fades into a grimace of pain and I'm wondering if I should get a doctor. When he speaks again his voice is soft, pained, grateful, "You've been here awhile, haven't you?" But before I can decide if I'll tell the truth or another lie, Van says, "Thanks Deaq," and drifts back to sleep.
I watch Van a moment to make sure he's OK and then I slump back in the chair, feeling like I can finally draw in a breath. I thought being a cop was all about righting wrongs and putting the bad guys away. And maybe I could believe that lie in New York, doing undercover alone. But here, now, undercover with Van, it's like a new job. A job that isn't just about me saving the world...no, it's about me protecting my partner and then saving the world.
I'ld love to hear what you think!