HopelesslyObsessed

Hi

60schic — Wed, 07 Jan 2015 22:47:53 GMT

So.....I know I've been MIA forever. But the lovely mel39 nudged me awhile ago, and....

...Is there anybody still out there who cares what's going on in ChicWorld? *looks around*

*runs and hides again*

It's about time

60schic — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 02:36:06 GMT

Coach won...Coach won....OMG Kyle Chandler won!!!!!!!!

60schic — Sun, 27 Feb 2011 02:39:14 GMT

MissChic got engaged today!

Photo to follow, if I can get it to upload.

S3.05 ~ The Winds

60schic — Sat, 05 Feb 2011 00:42:41 GMT

While I am beginning to dislike the flash forwards b/c they act as a spoiler, this one was effective b/c it was a bit different from the reality at the end.

Foreshadowing for Cooper: If the acupuncture isn’t working, it’s not muscular in nature.

The rape crime scene: I could be wrong, but do rapists usually bother to bring all the trappings of a bondage session to the victim’s house?

The dance between Lydia and Josie continues. L won’t accept anything at face value and J wants to clear a case at all costs.

Oh hey – it’s Mr. Fischer, Holly’s dad from the OC. Not the first shout out to the show here tonight. Then we had the kid, Richard, who’s beating the crap out of his apartment. Ben asks “Did they leave a note, say where they’re going?” “They left 2 things: me and the trash.” Déjà vu for our Ben, but at least Dawn left a note (in lipstick?) And the kid is as polite as Ryan was, says bless you when Coop sneezes and thanks him for the burger: “Mom never cooked.” Again, Dawn.

The traffic stop with the van: “I’m not an addict. I’ve got chronic pain. I take just enough to get through the day.” “Yeah, just enough to maybe get in an accident, get someone killed.” “All I did was take some pills my doctor prescribed. Is that a crime?” “Yeah, as a matter of fact it is, Numbnuts. You’re under arrest.” Ben looked disgusted by Coop’s hypocrisy here. Well conveyed.

I love the whole bit with the pills from the van – did Coop take/switch them, even though he rubbed the log’s veracity in Sherman’s face when Ben obviously made out like he didn’t trust John? The fact that the writer of this episode said on the SouthlandTvFans chat yesterday that it was not intended by her to be that, MrChic still insists John did it (yes, he’s pulling my leg, but that’s besides the point) That John is so adamant about this just betrays his guilty conscience. And he’s still trying to squash what Ben is seeing with his own eyes. Ben’s big response is to slam the locker room door behind him.

Not sure where this fits into the time frame here, but when Ben brings early morning coffee to John, he tosses it out the car door. Seems every contact John has had with Ben this ep is hostile in nature.

Love the seemingly garbage call of the kid calling the cops on his mom who whooped him for cutting class and then lying about it. John makes it something else. And that was based on another true story. Kids think they have way too much power these days, and parents have way too little authority…./rant

How sad that the one bright spot in Cooper’s arc this epi is the abandoned kid – who so badly wants John to take him in and then cusses him out.

The parole hearing: Earlier in the ep, John is at the prison gate………..How ironic is it that when Coop said “I’ve got my gate pass and directions…” both MrChic and I thought we heard ‘gay pass’.

I knew John would speak out against his father. ‘Dad’ says, “Everyone is worthy of forgiveness.” I so totally disagree. We learned a great deal about John’s backstory here.

And I’d really like to know if that victim was someone Coop knew…like a GF…like *someone* wrote in a fanfic…… And how did John know that Monica’s last moments were filled with pleas for mercy? (or is that just expected in a crime such as this)

On to the flash forward/end scene: We now see that the reason John is distracted is that he’s actually fumbling with his pill bottle. That’s why he doesn’t immediately see the ladder fall off the truck. The swerving onto the shoulder has to nicely jar his back. When he gets out of his car, he almost falls out, stiffly. And we see that the reason he scoops at the dirt is that he has dropped some of his precious pills. Once he tries to pop them into his mouth, he spits them out in disgust that he has resorted to this. I realize that at this moment John is not quite rational, but he still could have picked the pills out and dusted them off. Such is his state of mind after the hearing, and everything else in his life, that he can’t deal with that.

And so, Cooper’s addiction leads him to have an accident, just as he told the van driver could happen….and he has his breakdown.

I said this over at TWoP. Cudlitz’s scene here could have been a stellar break through. But it was the 3rd such breakdown in as many episodes and now this plot device almost seems trite.

Great Lines

“You can’t put a price tag on Man’s Best Friend.” “Sure you can.”

“Hit him again.”

“Rape victims don’t usually lawyer up, even on the Westside.”

"Look at this asshole, driving by Braille.”

“I’ve been on the job since before your balls dropped.” (my personal fav, and BMcK never flinched)

“I gotta be back here again because you’re ditching class, I’m gonna peel this big belt off and I’m gonna hit you myself.” (snowprince confirms that this really happens)

"...and the beat down builds character - worked for me." "Oh yeah, you're the picture of mental health!" (I swear there's a snort from Ben here)

"Hey Boot - how did your parents punish you? Did your Daddy pick out the marshmallows from your hot chocolate or did he just get really, really disappointed?"

"I think the Santa Anas blew a stick up his ass."

So, to sum up the Santa Ana Winds:

fires
bad 'dos
allergies
snakes eating dogs
hangings
rapists
child abuse/abandonment
ashes in Coop's pool!

That's how I see it...YMMV

Not-So-Divine Intervention

60schic — Sun, 02 Jan 2011 19:50:17 GMT

Title: Not-So-Divine Intervention ~ Part 4
Author: 60schic
Rating: soft R for language and sexual content
Beta: chazper who has gotten me through this little fic. Many thanks to snowprince who provided invaluable technical support.

It has been way too long since the last chapter. I wanted to get this posted before the S3 premier, so here it is with all its warts.

An inch or two closer to his carotid artery and Ben would have been dead. He had the lousy marksmanship of the deranged gunman to thank for that miracle. Lying on the ground trying not to pass out, the young officer pressed the heel of his right hand into the hollow of his left shoulder, biting his lip in pain as he attempted to staunch the flow of blood. Before blacking out, Ben activated the "help" button on his rover. It was only in his last seconds of consciousness that he heard the heavy footfalls of his partner.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"All units, officer needs help; 15A43's rover has been activated. 15A43 come in with your location"

Officer Sands snatched the radio mic so sharply, she nearly smashed it into the window. She took a deep breath before responding that they were in route, closing her eyes in silent prayer that it was Cooper, not Ben. She was immediately ashamed that she wished this misery on any other police officer. Still…‘let him be okay,’ she whispered, earning a sympathetic glance from her partner.

Arriving on the scene minutes later, Michelle saw that their car was not the first to respond. Chickie and her new interim partner were there, setting up the perimeter. The paramedics were just arriving as well.

Michelle flew out of the car, running in the direction of the crowd. Elbowing past all of the lookie loos, she came upon the body….and oh Christ, it was Ben…..

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The only pertinent conversation that passed between the partners in the ER went like this:

“Where the hell were you?!”

“I was right there.”

Ben’s expression said, ‘The fuck you were.’

Cooper attempted to make light of his injury. There were no apologies; only lame excuses, one after another. Ben was having none of it, turning away in disgust.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Michelle raced to the hospital, her heart pounding loudly somewhere near her throat. She desperately pawed open curtains in the ER until she came upon Ben, his face ashen and turned away from Officer Cooper. The wound was a through and through to the shoulder, already cleaned and dressed by the time Sands located him. She fussed over Ben, pulling his shirt over his exposed shoulder, in an attempt to cover her worry. Ben ignored John’s raised eyebrows.

Leaning conspiratorially closer to his trainee, John whispered in his ear, “If the drugs the docs give you aren’t doing the trick, I can get you something stronger.” This was a fatal mistake.

When Michelle saw Ben’s previously noncommittal expression change, and he snapped his head around to face his T/O, she’d had enough.

“I can take it from here, Officer Cooper.”

John bristled, about to tell the girl off when Ben quietly yet unequivocally told him, “Go home, John…take care of yourself.” He knew his partner would have reams of paperwork to fill out, and yet Ben couldn’t muster up any sympathy, nor could he even hazard a guess as to how the report would be slanted.

Ignoring the older man, Michelle refocused on Ben. “Have they signed your release papers yet?”

“Just about, but you’d better go finish your shift.”

“Don’t have to. We weren’t first to back you up….my T/O told me to take off, that he could handle whatever was needed and that I’d be useless to him anyway with you lying here.”

Ben managed a lopsided smile at her solicitousness.

Watching this exchange with a guarded expression, Cooper felt he had been dismissed. He left without another word, though he sensed Ben’s glare piercing his back. “Fuck him,’ he thought. ‘He may not need anything stronger, but I sure-as-shit do.’

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

His doorbell kept ringing; first it was fellow officers, then later his family.

Michelle could forgive Ben’s sisters for their ignorance; they were young and somewhat vapid. His mom should have known better but all she did was chastise her only son for being in such a dangerous neighborhood in the first place…..WTF? Since this was the first time she had met any of them, Michelle held her tongue.

Seeing how pale Ben had become, she was about to clear the house. But it was when Ben Sr. dared to show up that Michelle’s authority kicked in again. Ben’s father was being a pompous ass, making disparaging comments about the police and pointless foot chases, and why hadn’t they been out catching ‘real’ criminals?

“Why? So you’d have the pleasure of putting them back out on the streets to shoot another cop?” Michelle had seen the suspect’s rap sheet. He had last gotten off on a technicality, with the help of a high-priced, fast talking lawyer.

“I don’t think I like your tone,” Senior sneered. He’d taken one aggressive step forward, when Ben was off the couch in a flash, his good arm blocking any further movement from the Old Man.

Pulling Ben back to sit down before he fell down, Michelle turned to the family who had varying degrees of concern on their faces.

“Really, he’s had enough for one day. He needs his meds again and needs to rest. Please…..just go…give him another day to recoup then you can hit him again with all of your caring attention.” In truth, Michelle had no intention of allowing them in until Ben could properly defend himself from these vultures.

Interestingly enough, the one person who did not stop by the house was Officer Cooper. After several frustrating hours spent on tedious paperwork, John was currently struggling with a pill bottle, much as he had been just before the shooting.

‘Goddamned childproof cap!’ The three extra seconds it took him to open it before following Ben would have made no difference. No difference at all, he reasoned before downing two more pills.

John sank wearily into his easy chair. He was asleep before he could open his second beer.

Johnnie was never so happy to see cops at his house. He did have one moment of panic when his old man had tried to pin it all on him. An older officer grabbed both of the Coopers’ hands, comparing the differing spread of their fingers to the purple welts around the girl’s neck. With keen powers of observation honed over decades, he thought he could just barely make out a faint circlet of bruises around the boy’s throat as well. The officer turned to the man with a caustic glare and used his body to block his words from the boy.

“Did you have your way with her first, you miserable piece of shit?” The briefest look of guilt that flashed across the man’s face told the experienced officer all he needed to know. That, and the naked expression of pure anguish on the boy’s face. He noted the bite marks on the older man’s hand and scratches on his neck - classic defensive wounds. The officer was sure they’d find corresponding evidence under the victim’s finger nails. Oh yeah, the father was going down.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“I don’t think you should be doing this.”

“Mmmmm…..”

“No, really, you should stop……”

“You don’t sound very convincing, Officer Sands.”

Michelle attempted to re-button her shirt with the hand Ben did not have pinned to the bed. She batted away his fingers as he tried again.

“Are you crazy? Your wound is probably still throbbing…”

“That’s not the only part of me that’s throbbing,” he mumbled into her neck as he kissed along her jaw line.

“Ben, I don’t want to hurt you, I mean, you can’t put pressure on your arm like this…No, no…you’ll tear the stitches!” When Sherman only redoubled his efforts to get into her pants, Michelle sighed and sat up abruptly on his bed. She gently pushed him onto his back, slipping out of her shirt and bra at the same time to offer him a view she knew he'd enjoy. She leaned in to kiss him as she straddled his body.

“Hey, what-are-you-doing?” he slurred, his pain meds kicking in.

Much as she normally loved the attention of Ben’s capable and competent hands, Michelle knew this really wasn’t about her. He was angry, frustrated, a little loopy and in need of release.

“Let me do the work this time,” she murmured while unbuckling his belt and working his fly. Sands heard his faint moan as she slid back down his body, lowering her head to his boxers. The groans grew louder when she engulfed him, his hand twining in her thick, raven hair. His neck arched gracefully, exposing his Adam’s apple, bobbing as he swallowed. She smiled at the simplicity of this act, and how, when she was done, he was softly snoring.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Owing to the recuperative powers of the young and strong, Ben went back to work after only three weeks of IOD time. He found himself again the object of many congratulations from officers on the job much longer than he had been. It was uncomfortable, made more so by the often callous comments that followed from Cooper. Theirs was no longer an easy partnership. Since the shooting, John was sarcastic and demeaning at every turn, cutting Ben no slack at all. Plus, he was getting sloppier.

Ben couldn’t ignore the situation any longer, fearing someone would be killed next time. After many late night discussions with Michelle, and then a few with Chickie, Ben began bidding his time, waiting for an opening. Such a moment came a month later, over drinks in one of the cop bars they all liked to frequent.

“Dewey called me again yesterday, pestering the fuck outta me ‘When’s Chickie gonna come see me?’ till I wanted to slug him,” John scoffed derisively in a most whiny imitation.

There was quick, meaningful eye contact between Ben and Chickie. Once he was sure John hadn’t intercepted this silent message, Ben nodded ever so slightly to those present.

Chickie then protested to the group with a shake of her head, letting everyone know that she was still unwilling to visit her former partner.

“Yeah, Chickie, and now he’s calling me!” Sherman laughed. “You’ve gotta do something so he gets off our backs.” He joined Cooper in an apparent conspiratorial grin.

Glancing up sharply at the two men, Chickie’s eyes softened when she directed her comment to Ben. “He’s really calling you now?”

Michelle joined the conversation. “Yeah, and at a few very inopportune moments!”

John grimaced at this image before adding, “Don’t make me have to block his calls; that would probably set him back in his ‘recovery’.” He mocked the word with air quotes.

Chickie began to waiver, her face seeming to betray her ambivalence. She shook her head, saying, “I’m still not ready to forgive him…..”

Reaching across the table, Ben gently took the woman’s hand. “He has to ask for your forgiveness first, Chickie. And the program says he has to do it in person.”

“Hey, we had to suffer through that once, Brown. You should hafta, too.”

She stared hard at Cooper, uncertainty still etched into her face. “If I do this, and I’m not saying I will, I refuse to go alone.” Her glance alternated between John and Ben.

Turning to his partner, Ben shrugged his shoulders. “What do you think?”

“Yeah, what the hell. If nothing else, it could be amusing watching Chickie rip Dewey a new one!”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

After yet another plaintive phone call from Dewey to Coop, a meeting date was set. Chickie agreed to accompany Ben and John to the halfway house where Dewey was now living.

On the ride there, John was in a jovial mood. It was as if this was a party, and he, Ben and Chickie were all going to see the guest of honor.

There was a large reception room just off the entrance, with floor to ceiling windows looking out over a bucolic front lawn. The space was set up like a living room, except there was a circle of folding chairs instead of comfortable seating groups.

The first note of suspicion registered on John when Officer Sands, in civvies and with her hair down, sidled up to Ben. She took his arm and they moved so that they stood with their backs to the closing door. John turned again to the room when Dewey rose and made his way over to him.

“Coop...Jeez, thanks a million for coming and bringing Chickie. Come on and sit.” He appeared apprehensive, moving with jerky little steps towards the chairs. Chickie remained a foot or two behind John, leaning away from Dewey’s outstretched hand, as the man led Coop to a chair next to a stranger with a clipboard on his lap. Coop didn’t recognize the guy but figured he must be Dewey’s counselor.

John slowly scanned the room. The following minute seemed to last forever as reality began filtering slowly into his brain. He subsequently noticed Detectives Adams and Clarke. ‘What has Dewey gotten himself into,’ John thought briefly, but he didn’t find their presence that unusual……until he spotted Jorge, who was most definitely out of place. ‘What the fuck is going on here?’ screamed through his mind. Then he saw Cesar and Laurie and everything became painfully clear.

With a grim set to his mouth, John turned from the assembled group and attempted to make his way to the door. Ben blocked his escape route, arms crossed tightly over his chest. It was only residual guilt that prevented Cooper from pushing his Boot, so recently shot in the line of duty, out of his path.

Instead, he hissed, “Get the fuck out of my way, you little shit!”

Ben gritted his teeth as he shook his head. Before John could totally abandon his reluctance to use force, his trainee softly repeated his T/O’s words: “When your partner’s in trouble, you find a way to help him before it gets out of control. We’re there, John.”

The anger in Cooper’s eyes was unmistakable. He looked a bit like a caged animal as he scrutinized the roomful of people. Chickie had finally taken a seat next to Dewey, grasping her former partner’s hand while biting at her lip. Russell and Lydia revealed nothing but reserved compassion. Jorge’s face was a mask of studied blankness, while there was hopeful speculation on Cesar’s. John saw pity from Laurie which hit him like a slap, almost making him burst by his Boot. Ben refused to move. He stood his ground, looking up at his partner while quietly speaking words of encouragement, pleading with John to stay, at least for a while.

But it was the expression on Dewey’s face that turned the tide. It was smug, as if to say, ‘How do you like it, Buddy?’ John longed to punch the infinitesimal smile off his face, but refused to give his ‘former’ friend the satisfaction.

With an air of defiance, Officer Cooper finally sank into the padded chair next to the man who introduced himself as Dr. Anders.

“Your friends and family have all gathered here for this intervention because they think you are addicted to painkillers and they want to help you, get you into some kind of treatment.”

John scoffed dismissively at this declaration, willing his mind to shut out what was going on. These disloyal people were not his friends. And Jorge was neither friend nor family.

Dr Anders continued, “This is uncomfortable for them, too. But they need you to recognize what you’re doing. Everyone here has prepared a statement to tell you how much they care, and how they want to see you restored to your former self.

The testimonies began with the detectives, who recalled John’s character and impeccable service record up until his most recent injury. Russell declared that he knew how difficult admitting weakness was. He described how he almost let a murderer go free due to his impaired observational skills after his shooting: “I knew I wasn’t giving 100% and I couldn’t risk missing another killer. That’s why I had to leave, until I could get my shit together again.”

Dewey told about his long descent into alcoholism, its affect on his partner – whose hand he squeezed contritely – and how terrible his job performance was at the end. He said he was extremely grateful to Chickie for forcing him to get the help he needed. Dewey again specifically apologized both to Chickie, and to Ben, for putting him in such an untenable position his first day on the Job, and generally to anyone whose life he may have put in danger.

After Dewey finished, it was Chickie’s turn. She read her letter with shaking hands, telling how angry she was with John for refusing to see in himself what he wanted Chickie to see in her own partner. How he turned his self-loathing on her, belittling her skills as an officer, making her think she was less than she was. Tears streamed down her face when she had finished.

Refusing to meet Chickie’s eyes, John stared hard at the floor, his face impassive and his shoulders hunched protectively.

In the only lighter moment, Jorge explained that he was offered immunity from prosecution for dealing if he participated. In street terms, he detailed the extent of John’s recent narcotic usage. “I seen bad before, but this hombre, he’s gettin’ into a really, really dark place.”

John glared for half a second before remembering that he wasn’t supposed to be listening…or caring. He dropped his head back down to study a speck of lint on the carpet, keeping it down even when he heard his ex-wife’s voice.

Laurie spoke from the heart, without glancing at her notes. She told of the loving, devoted man she had married, and how she had watched him change, unable to think about anything or anyone else when he needed another pill. She was most sorry that she had allowed herself to become an enabler. “You not only put your life in danger, and those of everyone you came into contact with on the job, but I could have been fired for providing you with drugs. I didn’t deserve this, John. Not after all the things I tolerated and forgave.” Laurie hugged herself with trembling arms when she had said all that she needed to.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore, man.” Cesar was wringing his hands, shoulders drooped, his whole body language forlorn. “You never smile unless you’re about to go off on someone. There’s no tenderness anymore. You’re thoughtless and selfish. Unless you do something about this…we’re through, Man….”

A brief flaring of his nostrils was the only indication of how Cooper had received those words before he again tamped down on his emotions. His shoes became the most interesting objects in the world to him at that moment.

Officer Sands announced that she was only there to corroborate the effect John’s addiction was having on Officer Sherman. She did this succinctly and dispassionately before reaching for Ben’s hand to offer him support when he spoke.

Last was Ben. He fixed his eyes on his sheet of paper for a long moment, started to speak once, and then stopped. He grimaced, then painfully began. “Look, I know you hate this. I know you don’t think there even is a problem. But you’re not the same man I met a year ago. That Officer Cooper was observant and quick to respond correctly to every situation. He was compassionate but handled himself with authority. He had respect for people just trying to live their lives. I couldn’t have had a better Training Officer.

But lately, there’s been an edge to you. You’ve been missing things….calling the wrong codes….even been slow to react when things start to go sideways. Everything and everyone around you is a target for your sarcasm and your verbal abuse.”

A muscle jumped in Cooper’s jaw, his clenched teeth belying his disinterest.
“And look at you, John…when was your last pill? You’re sweating and jittery.” That was a surprise to John. He thought he had been sitting like a statue. He tried to drown out his Boot’s voice, but Ben’s words found him anyway.

“I can only repeat what a very wise man once told me: If your partner is in trouble, you do everything you can to help him….or get him the help he needs. Please John…” Ben let the sentence go unfinished, knowing there was nothing more he could say.

Keeping his head aimed at the floor, John raised his eyes only enough to catch Ben absently massaging the spot where he was shot. Feeling the knife twist in his heart, John silently studied his hands. Minutes stretched out, with the only sound the creaking of chairs as those present shifted position.

Finally, Dr. Anders asked, “Now that everyone has said their piece, is there anything you’d like to tell them, John?”

With only a slight sneer betraying the fact that he had been listening, John huffed out a derisive breath of air. Dr. Anders waited a moment, then continued.

“You’ve said your back is fine, but you’ve heard your colleagues confront you that you’re still taking the pain medication. Why is that, John?”

Coop’s head snapped up, eyes narrowed to slits. His hands were balled tightly in his lap. “Because they can’t fucking mind their own business?” he spat.

Chickie’s sigh was audible. Laurie shook her head sadly. Jorge had to restrain Cesar from leaving. Ben sucked his upper lip between his teeth and gazed at the ceiling.

Attempting to make eye contact with John and failing, Dr Anders fanned an assortment of brochures detailing treatment plan options in the hostile man’s direction. Others were on the empty chair next to Coop.

“We’ve done all of this today, John, so that you could hear how much all of these people care about your well being, and are worried about you. How do you feel about that? And what can you say to them in response?”

There was a moment of silence. John’s sense of betrayal permeated the air. He slapped his palms on his thighs before slowly rising. John glowered at each person present, one by one, fixing each of them with a withering glare. In a quiet voice, fraught with contempt, he growled, “Fuck you all to Hell!”

Pivoting suddenly, John kicked out at the chair blocking his way, scattering the brochures to the floor. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving a circle of stunned participants in his wake.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

A/N: I’m leaving this story right here for now, not sure whether I’ll continue. That will all depend upon what TPTB make of John’s addiction in the first few episodes of S3. The way it was left last spring, John was in severe pain, probably heavily self-medicating, with his supplier there at his house. If they sweep this under the rug and everything is all hunky-dory, I may have to finish this my own way. And if it IS addressed, I need to see how before considering another chapter. I was given a fabulous suggestion by snowprince, and should I continue, it will be a great opening.

SPN

60schic — Sat, 09 Oct 2010 03:10:35 GMT

So is it just me or has Supernatural jumped the shark?

I was happy to see that Castiel was back...though, is Mischa okay? His voice is way too gravely to be healthy. Kat - tell me what's up with this.

I was not loving Dean-as-a-family-man. They seemed to fixed that quickly.

Now we have the brothers' maternal fam in the mix...yeah, not buying this.

And at the end, we have the chasm between the brothers. It all feels wrong to me. But it could really just be me. YMMV

Not-So-Divine Intervention ~ Part 3

60schic — Tue, 05 Oct 2010 19:01:26 GMT

The following chapter is brought to you by the letters 'c', as in chazper, and 's' as in snowprince, without both of whose help, this would have been impossible. All errors remaining are all mine.

Click the tag for previous chapters.

Part 3

~ * six months later * ~

John Cooper returned to active duty swearing he was better than ever.

Officer Sherman was happy to be paired again with his T/O. They fell back into an easy working relationship. And it seemed to Ben that John had a refreshed attitude, as opposed to the excessively jaded one he had before he took his IOD leave. He definitely had more patience for the garbage calls they continued to receive.

Ben scrutinized his partner carefully during those first weeks. He could find no evidence that John was using any pills other than Ibuprofen. His eyes were clear and there was no sheen of sweat that his illegal substance usage had caused. If Cooper moved a bit gingerly at times, Sherman chalked it up to preventative caretaking. Ben began to relax and regard his time in the patrol car as a learning experience again.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

John felt good. No, he felt damn good. Better than he had in years. He not only went to PT, but used the gym once his back could bear it. If he wanted to, John could toss the back brace in the trash. He sort of wanted to keep it around as a reminder.

And, really, he only took a pain pill once in a blue moon. Only if he felt a twinge in his back. Or if he’d had a particularly rough day. Or if he was really, really down and maybe his hands started to shake. But hardly ever. Really.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Over beers one night, the subject of Dewey came up. John repeated the story Chickie had already heard about their visit to rehab and just how much Dewey had been drinking towards the end.

“He still calls me once in awhile. Always apologizing, enough to make me want to puke.”

Chickie’s face was devoid of expression, which Ben found peculiar.

John continued, “Keeps asking me why you won’t return his calls. Why is that Chickie?”

The woman shrugged in response and John’s eyes narrowed. “When you gonna forgive the asshole? He needs to make amends.”

Chickie said nothing at first. Then, in carefully thought out speech, she said, “It seems to me that with all that’s gone under the bridge, Dewey isn’t the only one who needs to make amends.”

John glared in response and Ben picked up an undertone from both officers. He started to ask, “What do you mean…..” and was instantly cut off by Cooper’s “So, did anyone watch the Angels game last night?” It left Ben glancing uncomfortably between his two colleagues.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“If you run, you’ll only go to jail tired. And my partner there? Runs like a cheetah. You’d never get past him.”

Ben was becoming accustomed to these kinds of comments from John, but he thought Cooper said it lightly.

“You have the right to remain silent. Or stupid. If you can’t afford a lawyer, we’ll find ya one, cheap.”

It all sounded innocent enough but it disturbed Ben that John didn’t even bother to watch the guy’s head as he pushed him into the car. The young officer’s antennae were up, but he couldn’t decipher any of the signals yet.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Ben thought that a run on the beach might clear his head. But after forty minutes, the nagging doubts he had felt neither disappeared nor became clearer. With a sigh, Ben chugged on his water bottle and headed for his bike.

Officer Michelle Sands stood next to it, leaning on her car, a wry smile on her lips and very low-slung shorts on her hips.

“Hey.” Ben let his eyes travel down her well-built frame.

“Hey yourself. Feel any better?”

“Do I …huh?”

“Real intelligent response, Sherman. You were….shall we say, distracted?” When he still made no answer, Michelle prodded, “Last night?”

“Oh. Last night. I thought last night went pretty well,” he grinned smugly.

“You were proficient enough, that’s true.” She flushed slightly at Ben’s snort. “Okay, more than once, even. But you obviously had something on your mind. Was it work related?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yeah. It’s just something I need to work out on my own.” Noticing that Michelle visibly relaxed upon hearing it had nothing to do with her, Ben stepped closer to her, kissing her warmly. She responded in kind and then leaned back to search his eyes.

“Okay then. By the way, I’d much rather find you on the pillow next to me in the morning instead of a note and a banana. So not my idea of breakfast in bed.”

Ben smiled, letting his arms slid more tightly around her back. Michelle allowed a few more tonsil-searching kisses before reluctantly pushing him away.

“You’re all sweaty. And you really need a shower.”

“You could come with and join me in that shower.” He tilted his head, one eyebrow lifted, and gave his best beseeching look.

“Tempting offer…but no, I’m due on shift soon. I just came to say good morning and good bye.” Indulging in one last kiss, she reached for her door handle. “Later?”

After Daisy, Ben had been very cautious about dating, rarely making it to a third one with the same woman, though sometimes getting lucky with a hook up right from the start. This *thing* with Sands was already two months old and though neither of them wanted to define it, they ended up together more nights than not. Usually at his place since it was bigger, nicer and in a safer neighborhood.

They had met at the Academy but didn’t cross paths again until recently. Being a fellow cop, Michelle understood what a typical, or more importantly, a difficult shift could do to his mood. And she knew when not to ask questions. It was easy being with her. She was also quite adventurous in bed, the memories of which had Ben grinning ear to ear.

“Definitely.” Ben watched her drive away. He knew she would have understood partner issues, but he still couldn’t put his finger on what it was that bothered him about the new-and-not-so-improved Officer Cooper.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

‘You got somethin’ to say, asswipe?’

Johnnie opened his mouth but no sound came out. He turned to conceal his actions instead.

“The fuck? You callin’ the cops on me now, Boy-O? That’s not smart, Johnnie, not smart at all.” The voice oozed menacing evil.

The boy was grabbed from behind in a head lock. His vision became spotted with pinpricks of light. As the edges of his consciousness began to go gray and fuzzy, he wasn’t sure if it was the ringing in his ears or sirens he was hearing.

John awoke with a gasp. It was still dark and though it was cool in the room, he was sweating profusely. He was startled by movement next to him in the bed – a bed not his own.

“Hey hombre…you okay?”

“Just dandy.” John searched his memory to figure out how he got where he was. He had been at a bar. Something about a T shirt with a nasty logo. Lots of beer….nope, he had nothing after that. Giving up, he asked, “What’s your name again?”

“Nice, John. Glad to know I made such an impression on you.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you needed to be wooed even after we fucked.” John was just guessing about that, but he knew his usual pattern of behavior.

The man, who still hadn’t given Cooper a clue as to who he was, expelled an aggrieved sigh. “I’m going back to sleep. Stay, go, I really don’t care.”

If this had been the first time this had happened, John wouldn’t give a rat’s ass. But this was starting to be a regular occurrence. He was always meticulously careful with condoms, but this particular promiscuous streak was actually starting to bother him. Not enough to stop; just enough to weigh on his mind.

Squinting at the clock radio, John figured there wasn’t enough time for more sleep as he had to be at the station in just a few hours. He moved gingerly from the bed, sweeping the floor with his feet for his clothes. Coop was patting all his pockets when the voice from the bed said, “You left the bottle in the bathroom. You’ve got quite the habit, don’t you?”

‘Shut the fuck up,’ John muttered under his breath, leaving without so much as a goodbye.

~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~

John Cooper was definitely out of sorts. It was the kind of mood that Ben realized was happening with greater frequency. Ben usually knew enough to keep his mouth shut. Anything he might say would be twisted and thrown back at him. He tried to observe his partner surreptitiously but couldn’t contain a snort when John lost his patience at a traffic light.

“Move it, asshole,” he bellowed out the window. “Lights don’t get any greener than this!” He pounded the heel of his hand on the horn.

Ben shifted in his seat, fixing John with a withering glare.

“The fuck’s wrong with you, Boot?”

Not mincing words, Sherman snapped, “You touch the steering wheel again while I’m driving and I’ll kick you to the curb.”

The shock on his superior officer’s face was worth the reaming out he knew was coming.

“Pretty mouthy today, aren’t you, Gertrude?”

Not getting the expected reaction, Ben pressed forward recklessly, probing for the truth. “You not feeling well, John? Need a little pick me up, do you?”

The expression of pure malice aimed in his direction let Ben know he’d hit home. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, dontcha, you little pissant? You don’t know shit.”

“I know your fuse is getting shorter and shorter,” Sherman muttered before clamming up.

Cooper was getting sloppy, there was no denying it any longer. Both professionally and personally. Ben was pretty sure John showed up one day hung over. Just yesterday Ben swore John arrived at work in the clothes he had gone home in, though much more rumpled.

This looseness carried over to the squad car in that John wouldn’t respond to a call if it was too close to the end of their shift. Ben thought his timing was off, too. It made him want to call for back up any time a call sounded even slightly dicey. This was no way to live.

With a heavy sigh, Sherman resolved to talk to Chickie about this latest development before the day was done.

He never got the chance.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The call came in at 2:05 PM. “Any North Hollywood unit 415 man with gun, 6300 Clybourn. Suspect Male white harassing neighbors with unknown caliber handgun. No shots fired. Code 3, incident 1079. Unit to handle identify?" Cooper was riding shotgun again and grabbed the radio.

“15A43; show us responding.” He lit them up as Sherman sped off. “’Bout time we got a legitimate call,” he huffed, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The scene was as unstable as they come. Civilians all over the place, the suspect weaving and bobbing, a 9mm loosely held in his hand, waving haphazardly at a woman shaking in fear nearby.

John edged out of the car before it had come to a full stop, unsnapping his service weapon while keeping the car door between him and a potential bullet. Ben spoke into the radio before joining his partner. The suspect seemed calm…too calm, a sneer on his face as he taunted first the woman in question and then the cops.

It seemed as if Cooper had the situation under control as he spoke to the man, whose eyes were unfocused and jittery. “Come on, we’ve all had bad days….what, did you have a fight with your girlfriend?” The man had lowered the gun, lower lip quivering. And if Coop had just left it at that, things might not have gone south. “Or was it your boyfriend?” he added. Totally spooked, the guy suddenly bolted as if stung.

“Shit!” As usual, Sherman was off and running. He assumed Cooper was right behind him as he closed the distance to the gunman. The road turned several times, causing Ben to lose sight of his prey and then, at a dead end there was a chain link fence. The man was already halfway up and Ben would only have needed a few more strides to be able to reach up and yank him down. But instead of continuing the climb, the man turned abruptly.

The bullet knocked Sherman backwards. He looked down as pain radiated from a wound already streaming blood. Ben was becoming woozy when he heard the distant wailing of sirens from backup….but not the expected clatter of running footsteps from his partner.

~ * TBC * ~

60schic — Thu, 30 Sep 2010 21:05:06 GMT

Don't want to forget....

HAPPY BIRTHDAY FIFIMOM ! ! !

60schic — Fri, 10 Sep 2010 20:27:25 GMT

I'm getting in here on time this side of the Pond, though I fear you may be fairly snockered by now, my love. (Should have posted late last night like I wanted to......)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY DEAR ELZED ! ! !

2 in one day - wow

60schic — Sat, 21 Aug 2010 03:16:29 GMT

I'm going away - in like 6 hours. Sleep, you say? Bah! There are birthday wishes to be wished.

I already wished personal happy happys to braglet but more happys to you, Sweetie!!!!

Also too to a good buddy in Wisconsin.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZBYSZKO ! ! !

This was as teal as I had....

60schic — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 15:01:33 GMT

It's someone's special day-----

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JASSYLOU ! ! !

Hope it's spectacular, and that you're feeling well.

60schic — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 14:58:42 GMT

To my dear LJ friend and faithful beta: I hope you have the most wonderful day!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHAZPER!!!

WTF

60schic — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 04:19:43 GMT

Dear lj,

I so did not appreciate that when I clicked on "Surprise me", it went to a porn journal......

(Explanation - on my home page, it asked "Feeling adventurous? Try a random journal!")

Really poor judgment there, lj. What the hell has Frank been smoking?

No love,
Me

Writer's Block: Ten minutes in heaven

60schic — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 23:09:04 GMT

*points to icon*

FNL

60schic — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 02:41:56 GMT

I just watched last week's epi and I was in tears......

OMG - this show just keeps getting to me and keeps getting better and better... I think the title of the epi was *I Can't*, but really? It should have been called *Parents and Their Children*. Because it was about:

~ Mostly Becky and her mom, Cheryl (Alicia Witt, whom I have loved forever...k, yes - she was in flick w/ a certain BMcK)

How Becky was afraid to tell her that she was pregnant. I'll get back to this whole topic later b/c it was the one that resonated with me the most.......

~ Vince and his mom - OMG, breaks my heart that he has to take care of her when he is so trying to make something of himself...and then, due to GodDamn $, he goes to 'The Gangsta' who now owns him...shit shit shit

~ Jess and her dad Vernon (the esteemed Steve Harris, whom I have loved since The Practice) How she wants him to be proud of her, which? Why wouldn't he be? I think I may have missed something here. Did the mother bail on all of them and that's why he's so hard on her? But anyways, Jess gets him back into *life* both with his own boys playing football, and to connect w/ Coach and his former East Dillon pals.

~ Luke and his parents. He wants to do right by Becky, and uh-oh, his very, very Christian parents are going to be a problem for Tami next time, but she did what she was supposed to do as a *counselor* - nevermind that Becky isn't even in her school - I don't want to go here b/c so much of this is based on religion....

~ And always...always, back to Tami and Jules and Tami/Eric/Jules How wonderful was the discussion Tami had with Becky? And always in her mind is her daughter - I can so relate. That she wakes Eric up in the middle of the night, worried about Jules getting pregnant - Christ, I have so been there. And how they treated Jules and her older, Habitat-Guy-Friend. That was so right on - that he's more experienced, and WILL be moving on - though I think they may be setting us up for Julie not going to college and instead *doing good*. The whole college tour thing made us wonder if Julie wanted to go away, or go to college at all right away---and there's nothing wrong with deferring for a year.

~ Riggins....look at how he has grown. If anyone should have found himself w/ a pregnant GF you'd have thought it was Tim. And yet.....no. and WTF does he do? He tells Becky she should talk to her Mom. Several times. Tim, whose mom is...where? Tim, who has only Billy - oh yeah, great role model these days. God, I love you Tim.

ALL of the conversations rang so true and clear to me.

And now back to Becky. I don't want you to think I have ever faced this situation myself, either with me or with my daughter. But I certainly thought alot about it. I always thought, as a teenager, that abortion was a no-brainer (again, let's just set anyone's religious beliefs aside here in this discussion) I thought that would be the way to go if there was an *oops*. A slam/dunk, if you will.

Cheryl clearly wanted Becky to abort, sadly b/c of her own experience having Becky. I hope we have a little bit of Becky's misgivings for reality purposes. I know it cannot be an easy decision.

Fortunately, I never had that decision to make. Now, as a 'Mom', I wonder more about the after effects, the guilt, etc. There are 3 clear choices in my mind, once the pregnancy is a given: 1)have the baby and raise it, 2) have the baby and give it up for adoption and 3)abortion.

I'm not so sure abortion-as-a-means-of-birth-control works for me any more - and please understand; anyone who has chosen this route, I absolutely do not judge you. Every woman has to make the choice that is best for them and for their own circumstance. I just don't think now, knowing what I know, I could have either had the child and given it away, or aborted it. And yet, OMG, raising a child as a teen or an unmarried mom - that makes your life SOOOOOOOOOOOO much harder. And I know so many adoptees and adoptive parents whose lives are richer by far than what *could* have been....................

So..........thoughts?

I am still so affected by this episode. The realism on this show is beyond description. I so very much hope they win at least 1 or 2 Emmys..............what a marvelous family show this is.

Talk to me ---I miss you guys!

fic: Not-So-Divine Intervention Part 2

60schic — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 04:42:29 GMT

A long, long time ago, I started writing this story. It's been so long, you may need to refresh your memory, because miracles do happen; here's the next chapter.

Thanks again to beta chazper - you'll recognize some of your own words here.

More thanks to snowprince for the technical language that keeps me from sounding like a jerk. Hopefully.

Part 2

The next day, John was only marginally improved. He had a long soak in his hot tub and found that if he was very careful, he could get out of a chair with a minimum of pain. He had slept fairly well despite the horrific memories of his old man that haunted his dreams.

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, John decided he could again forego a shave. He rubbed his hand over his jaw thinking the stubble at least made him look more sturdy than he felt.

John gently kneaded his back as he turned from the room, his thoughts wandering to the night he reinjured it. He knew he had reacted instinctively, just as he trained his boots to do, but why oh why couldn’t he have found himself at the other end of that car, pushing down instead of lifting up. John knew he had fucked up the second it happened. There was a popping sound followed instantly by searing pain as he tried to stand.

In truth, John hadn’t experienced an ache-free day since he had first been injured, the day a suspect came at him before he had properly braced himself. The hulk of a man had barreled into him, taking him off his feet. Hulk then landed atop of Cooper. He got the catch, but at what cost? John had taken a sixty day leave, done some physical therapy, and had convinced himself that he felt good enough to be back on the street. Especially after Laurie had taken pity on him and gotten him some of those blessed pills. He told himself he’d been doing just fine, as long as he wore his back brace, moved carefully, and kept taking the pills.

Cooper stopped short when he saw a solitary figure standing in his living room. His eyes narrowed when he recognized Chickie.

“What are you doing here? The door was locked.”

A piece of metal gleamed in her hand. “You are one stupid cop, Cooper. The key was in the second place I looked. The flower pot, John? Seriously?” Chickie slapped it onto the table. “I’ll replant it for you on my way out, if you want.”

John chuckled, then gestured to the papers in Chickie’s other hand. “You bring me some light reading? Or do you think I’m too stupid to read, too?”

Chickie refused to rise to the diversionary bait. “What’s stupid is using up your accrued sick time. These are statements from Ben and me saying that we witnessed the incident that reinjured your back, while we were all on the clock. I had my dad look it over and he thinks even with the time you’ve taken off so far, you should have no problem getting treatment paid by the Job. Take it as IOD time.

“Jesus Christ – you told your dad, Chickie?” Lou Brown was a well respected retired LA police captain, whom John revered. He was tough but fair and made everyone he worked with want to be better.

“Who’s he gonna tell, John? The doctors who refused to recertify him for the field all those years ago? No, he’s in your corner…he knows what you’re going through. No matter how good he was at his job, he hated being off the streets like that at the end of his career. Besides which,” she added while shaking the papers in her hand, “everything in here is true.”

She held them out to Cooper, but when he didn’t make any attempt to take the pages, Chickie placed them on the table next to the key. She looked back up at John with a challenge but his steely gaze didn’t waver and she was the first to look away. Chickie sucked in a deep breath, wondering when it was that she started to let John Cooper get to her like this.

“You’d better think about this, John. It’s the only way to go, because you sure as hell can’t go back on duty like this. And if you try to, and Ben doesn’t have the cajones to report you, then I’ll go straight to the Captain myself.”

She clenched her teeth and turned to leave as John snapped, “Thanks…friend!”

Chickie spun around, nostrils flaring. “Friend? When was the last time you were my friend, John? When you kept pushing me to turn in Dewey? And when I did, you kept tearing me down. Telling me how I used to be a great cop and now I’m crap….great pep talk that was! Love how you helped my career.” Her voice broke up slightly. John searched for a biting retort but Chickie didn’t give him a chance. Recovering quickly, she muttered, “I may as well put in for traffic duty. And look at you now; too dumb or too proud to ask for help. We won’t even get into the rest of it now,” she gestured angrily at the pill bottle.

“I bet you had a few choice things to say to your trainee when I was going through all that shit. Well, just remember John; what goes around, comes around. And if you don’t do something, I’ll be giving that exact same advice to Ben. You’re no good to him or anybody else right now.”

Her anger now spent, Chickie pointed to the crisp white papers. “Take care of it, John.” She whirled again, striding to the door.

“Chickie!” John finally found his voice.

She stopped and glared over her shoulder, to see that Coop held the key in his hand. “Weren’t you going to do some ‘planting’? There was a slight twinkle in his otherwise grim eyes.

Nodding humorlessly, Chickie took the necessary steps toward him. When she reached to take the key, John clasped onto her wrist. Glancing first at his grip, Chickie then slowly scanned upwards until she stared hard into his eyes.

“That was a nice bust you made last week; a really nice one. I knew if I just kept pushing your buttons, one of them would work.” He winked, astonishing the woman. She continued to stare, taking in John’s protective stoop and the new worry lines around his mouth and eyes. Chickie’s face softened and impulsively, she rose up on her toes to bestow a swift peck to his cheek. She was out the door before it even registered on Coop, but kept it ajar enough that he could see her wedge the key deep into the loose soil of the planter, with a smirk on her face.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It had been a typical shift, garbage calls interspersed with a few solid moments of police work; catching a purse-snatcher, returning a lost puppy to a happy family and driving a truant kid to his school………

Ben was tired but satisfied. He allowed his eyes to stray from the road long enough to catch Chickie staring at him.

“What?”

“I was right; you are a damn fine cop.” Chickie and Ben had been partnered temporarily. Just until John returned, they both protested to the W/C. Having the opportunity to observe Ben’s skills up close, Chickie had a new appreciation for John’s ability as a T/O.

Feeling her still staring, Ben raised an eyebrow. “And….?”

“And, if John doesn’t do the right thing very soon, you’re going to have to take action.”

Sighing deeply, Ben wondered how, as a boot, he found himself surrounded by this much controversy. He felt a loyalty to Cooper, but Chickie’s recent experience with Dewey colored his thoughts. Wanting desperately to believe things would work themselves out before he had to act, he decided he’d give John a few more days. Ben nodded to himself, gripping the steering wheel more tightly.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

When John opened the door, his first impression was that the two women were Jehovah’s Witnesses. But that couldn’t be right as one was holding a pail and mop and the other a vacuum cleaner. One of the women attempted to explain their presence in rapid, broken English while John just as rapidly tried to turn them away. “Go now. Please. Vamoose ¡” Out of the corner of his eye, Cooper saw a motorcycle pull up to the curb as he gestured towards a well used van “Yo, Sherman! You speak their language – tell them that whatever they’re selling, I don’t want!”

Ben chuckled in amusement as he sauntered up the walk. “They aren’t selling anything except their cleaning services.”

“I didn’t call for this and I sure as hell ain’t paying for it!”

“Calm down, John. I hired them and I’m paying for it.”

The women shifted uneasily as Cooper’s expression changed to one of incredibility. “You what? This was your idea, Daddy Warbucks?”

The smile slowly faded from Ben’s face. “John, your house as been getting pretty rank the last few days and I knew you couldn’t manage it by yourself, so I just thought…”

John cut him off. “Oh, so now my living conditions offend your delicate sensibilities, do they? You’ve got some nerve, Boot!”

As John blustered his face reddened. The women were speaking animatedly to each other in Spanish as they slowly edged away from the porch. Ben held up a hand to stop them.

“Por favor, Maria,” he said while reaching for his wallet. He explained that he was wrong; their services wouldn’t be needed, as he pulled out a wad of twenties. Ben heard John tsk in disgust.

“Oh, so these are your cleaning ladies, Sport?”

“Yes, they are. Honest, hard working women, John,” Ben growled, his tone warning.

“Yeah, and they’re probably Illegals as well.”

Ben glanced up sharply. “Oh and I’m sure that offends your delicate sensibilities.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind. I’ll get them out of your hair.”

Sucking in a huge breathe, John reconsidered. “Well, since they’re here anyway, maybe I’ll let them come in….for an hour…on your dime, Sherman. But they’d better not move anything of mine.”

A faint gleam of satisfaction flickered in Ben’s eyes as he described to the ladies what their chores would be, he ushered them back up the steps and into the house, telling them that ‘Senor Juan’s’ bark was worse than his bite. At least, he hoped so. Ben brushed past John on his way out.

“So, I guess you’re leaving now.” Cooper tsked again, dismissively.

“You’re in good hands, John. Just make sure they take out the garbage that’s stinking up the place.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” he said with a mocking sweep of his arm.

A slight smile returned to Ben’s face as he headed back to his bike, muttering as he went, “And you’re welcome, John.”

“Fuck you, Sherman.”

Ben’s smile widened.

An hour later, John stood in the center of his living room hands on hips, surveying the place. He had to acknowledge that his house hadn’t looked this clean in ages, and it did smell a lot better, though he’d never give Ben the satisfaction of admitting it. He thought the two ladies had done such a good job in the short amount of time allotted that John had even broken down and given them an extra tip, though they protested something to the effect that ‘Senor Ben’ had already paid them well. ‘I’ll just bet the little fucker did,’ Cooper thought wryly.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He stumbled into the room, eyes adjusting to the darkness. A large figure was crouched over a smaller, inert one on the floor. The man’s head turned in slow motion. John saw what could only be described as a malevolent grin on his father’s face. The woman lay still, her clothing in disarray. There was an unnatural purple ring around her neck, forming a grotesque necklace.

The man rose, turning to the boy, one powerful hand reaching out……….

John woke with a start, and was rewarded with the consequences of such an abrupt action. Wincing, he eyed the nearly empty pill container next to his chair. John felt his frustration rising with his discomfort. Swiping his hand across his sweat slicked face, Coop reached out carefully for his cell phone. A moment latter, he let the phone drop back to the table. It seemed Jorge was not returning John’s calls, letting all his messages go directly to voicemail.

Even though he had barely moved, after a few hours, John was drenched in sweat and becoming agitated. He took one of the two remaining pills. Knowing he didn’t even have any Advil left, John weighed his options and when he couldn’t come up with a better idea, he reluctantly called his ex wife.

“Hey Laurie….I really need your help. Just a few pills to see me through the next day or so. And, could you drop them off here?” John cringed at the plaintive tone in his voice.

There was a pause – a very long, tension-fraught pause.

“You there?”

John heard a drawn out sigh before the woman spoke. “ ‘Hi Laurie. How are you? How are things going?’ Oh wait; this is my self-centered ex I’m talking to. The one who I’ve been enabling for the past year. The one who, after all the misguided support I’ve given, when I make one request of, shoots me down and then shuts the door in my face.” Laurie’s voice hardened. “Not gonna happen, John. I’m sorry you’re in pain and I’m sorry that your career is in jeopardy. And I’m sure as Hell sorry that I’ve been a party to your denial, but do not call me again unless it’s for a ride to the doctor.”

The soft click ending the call shocked the man. Rage building, John almost chucked the phone against the wall but managed to barely control his anger, fearing that he would lose what little touch he had with the outside world.

John wracked his brain, trying to remember who else could get him what he needed. He rummaged haphazardly through several drawers before finding a slip of paper with a phone number written in a shaky scrawl. Fairly certain this was who he wanted, John made the call. He knew this was unwise but he was beyond caring.

After another two hours of anxious waiting, the doorbell finally rang. John was relieved to recognize the face of the man at the door. He paid an exorbitant amount for this service, not caring that the transaction was taking place right on his front steps. It was worth it to avoid seeing the smug expression on Jorge’s face. And it bought him another few days. Coop didn’t pause to explore the concept that this was how his life was shaping up; an unending cycle of pain, pills and repressed guilt. He dry swallowed two pills, waiting for that loose, foggy feeling to overtake him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Once his old man had moved towards him, John saw a flash of red….a skirt scrunched up to a waist….a glint of a gold barrette in blond hair. No, it couldn’t be! The boy he was took a step back, bile attempting to force its way into his throat. No! They were supposed to go out to the movies later. What was she doing here now? So still. So pale. Except for the glaring purple bruise, indelible fingerprints on her slender neck.

Shaking as he was, John hadn’t noticed that the figure had shifted. Head now turned to him, a hand rose slightly toward him. The lips moved, but the eyes….the eyes were dead.

“Johnnie…where were you? Why didn’t you help me? I needed you and you weren’t here. You didn’t save me….”

Her mouth was still forming words, but the boy’s world had gone dark.

The groan from his own throat woke John from this nightmare, though slowly enough that he managed not to wrench his back.

Jesus fucking Christ! Why was his subconscious dredging up all this ancient history? John stood carefully, needing some fresh air to clear his head. He didn’t know how many days it had been since he’d left his house. Too many? Cautiously navigating the back steps, Cooper turned his head towards the sun’s warming rays, thinking that a tan was better than the sallow image he’d been seeing in the mirror lately.

He was doing just fine, John told himself. And he really was easing up on the pills. He was trying to prolong the intervals between them, only swallowing one when he’d begun sweating profusely. He told himself he was perspiring so much from the exertion, and surely the shaking was due to all the stress.

John worked his way towards the closest chair on the patio. It was in full shadow, as were the other three. Sighing in resignation, he put is cell phone on the glass table. If he could just move the chair a few feet more…..

‘Yep, just fine. I can do this,’ he thought. He tugged until one of the legs caught on an uneven flagstone, stopping the chair dead. But the large man pitched forward, unable to right himself soon enough. He bit back a shriek of agony that he felt down to his toes as he grabbed wildly and found purchase on the edge of the table.

‘Shit, shit, shit!’ This was fucking bad. Why’d he have to go and do that? He lowered himself to the seat, breathing deeply, forcing himself into total stillness until his muscles stopped screaming at him. The remembered biofeedback from his previous injury remarkably seemed to help. After a good five minutes, John planned his next move. Standing took all his energy and he had to wait, taking deep breaths in and blowing them out, until he could put one foot in front of the other. Picking up his phone took another minute and then began the slow trek to his back door. The steps were a problem, requiring patience and fortitude.

By the time he reached his lounger, John felt like he’d just climbed Mt Everest. When he turned his head, his nearly empty pill bottle mocked him. Coop retaliated by swallowing one; then after more consideration, he took one more.

This? Was no way to fucking live. John was alone. No one had been by in days, at least it seemed that way in his drug addled mind. He thought Sherman called him every day, probably only to be sure John was still alive so that Ben didn’t have to put in for a new partner. Damn kid. Damn young kid, with a strong friggin back. Fuck him!

John sensed that he was starting to lose it. From the corner of his eye, he spied the papers Chickie had left him. What the fuck? How much worse could his world be? Sliding the top page closer, John grasped it and called Medical Liaison Division. He had a friend there who owed him for letting his kid off with a verbal warning last year. John knew he’d still have to submit a 15.7 to his W/C, along with those from Ben and Chickie, but at least this would get the ball rolling.

A half hour later, with an appointment set up for two days hence, John swallowed what was left of his pride and made one more call.

“Laurie? I’m… I’m ready for that ride now…please…if you can see your way clear….”

~ * TBC * ~

FNL - I Love Ya

60schic — Sat, 29 May 2010 01:56:39 GMT

I love this show more with every episode I watch. There is just something so *real* about it. The high school angst, the racial issues, the family issues; it's all done with honesty and clarity.

At the core of it all is the moral center of Coach Taylor. Without him there is no show. Doesn't matter if he is taking a very good team like the Panthers and bringing them to the pinnacle. Or whether he is taking a has-been team like the Lions and giving them purpose, focus and a reason to come out ahead.

Tami holds the family together in trying times. No one has her back anymore at West Dillon. And yet she tries to do the right thing.

Julie is a typical teen in the Bible Belt, where many religious folks aren't so much. She's a good girl coming of age, with a very sweet BF.

And then there's the World-at-Large intruding it's angry head into Matt's life.

I never thought this show could be better than S1. I was wrong.

60schic — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 17:47:51 GMT

To a lovely Flister who never fails to be upbeat, even under the most dire of circumstances:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY OVERNIGHTER ! ! !

SouthLAnd fic

60schic — Wed, 21 Apr 2010 21:00:15 GMT

I'm slowly going nuts waiting for word on SouthLAnd's fate. It just has to be renewed! But in the meantime, I'm continuing the storyline on my own (!) from right where TPTB left off.

Title: Not-So-Divine Intervention
Author: 60schic
Rating: PG 13 for language
Beta: chazper, who is encouraging me greatly with this.

Graditude also to snowprince who is acting as technical advisor on all things police-related on this fic. If anything is still wrong, it's not the fault of either of them.

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, and nothing of TNT's. Wouldn't want to own anything of NBC's.

Not-So-Divine Intervention - Part 1

Pain sliced through the small of his back. Merely turning his head to the side had John seeing stars. This was so not good. John had to pee, badly. And he most definitely needed another pain pill. Or three. He tried to roll onto his side but shooting pains prevented him from completing that simple task.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice weak.

“Hey!” this time louder, though he felt the vibration run down his spinal cord. John didn’t know if anyone else was even in his house. He was relieved when Jorge appeared in the doorway. There was a pitying set to his face.

John closed his eyes. “Get me my pills,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“What? No ‘Good morning.’ No ‘Thanks for staying’. Just orders?”

“Pills first, then attitude.”

Jorge opened the bottle, tapping out one small tablet. He took the water bottle from the nightstand, holding it out to the prostrate man.

“A little help here…...please?” John raised his arm and Jorge got him sitting, noting the strain it took. “I’m gonna need more than one.”

“You have a serious problem here, Dude,” he said, watching John swallow two pills with difficulty.

“You’re my pusher, not my mother, Dude.”

“Yes, and you pay for that privilege. But I don’t need to be calling 911 on you. Cops frown on this sort of thing.”

John snorted. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.” He had to search his memory to see if he’d ever told Jorge he was a cop. The sight of his uniform in a dry cleaning bag hanging over his closet door answered that question.

“You’re going to need help,” Jorge stated as he supported John on his slow journey into the bathroom.

“Why? I have you.” There was a sardonic twist to John’s mouth.

“I have a living to make, hombre. I’m not your babysitter.”

“Then get the fuck out of here, why don’t you! Now would be good.”

Jorge shook his head. This was not going to end well. “There’s breakfast on the kitchen table. You have enough drugs to last you through tomorrow. Call me after that.”

John’s eyes flashed menacingly at Jorge’s retreating back.

With extreme care, John made his way first to the kitchen, then to his easy chair, armed with food, meds….. and a bottle of Jack. He switched on the TV, taking a slug of the amber liquid as he channel surfed.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He was in a light sleep when the insistent knocking on his door woke him. Without thinking, he attempted to rise, being instantly reminded of his circumstances. John took a chance, bellowing out “It’s open!” and was both relieved and annoyed that it was.

His boot cautiously entered the house, needing a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness within.

“Why aren’t you on the job?” ‘A good offense was always the best defense,’ John thought dryly.

Ben blinked, stepping closer. “I’m on my way. You call out again today?”

John nodded, taking a gulp from the bottle. Ben’s eyes widened but he said nothing.

“You checking up on me?”

“I just….wanted to see if you’re alright. Are you?”

“I can take care of myself.”

Sherman scanned his T/O critically; he was bent at the waist and had one fist pressed into his back. “Clearly,” he scoffed. “You look like shit, John. Listen, you need a doctor. Some physical therapy…a lot of p.t.,” he amended. “And legal drugs.” He eyed the orange container with concern.

Sighing, Cooper responded quietly, “I just need a few days to get straightened out.”

“You mean from this pretzel you’ve become?” There was unexpected anger in Ben’s voice. “You can take an IOD leave, on the Job’s dime.”

John turned his head away, grimacing with the sudden movement. It did not escape Ben’s notice.

“So you’d rather the brass find out you’re practically crippled? How’s that gonna help your cause?”

“Who’d you tell?” John demanded.

“Nobody. I read through my employment materials, specifically the health plan. Chickie and I witnessed the injury so we can state it was on the job.”

“Yeah, well…I’ll look into it. Maybe.” After a pause, “Did you want something else?” It was meant to sound dismissive.

Ben eyed the plate with congealed egg and toast crusts, and the empty water bottle. He took them, and the half empty liquor bottle, into the kitchen.

“Hey! Bring that back, damn it!”

“Make me,” Ben challenged childishly, spinning around. Watching the pain flash across John’s face as he struggled to stand softened his tone. “You’re mixing booze and drugs. Nice, John. You really want us to find you suffocating on your own vomit?” He didn’t wait for a response.

Rummaging in the refrigerator, Ben found a take out carton. He sniffed it before nuking the leftover Chinese food. He brought a dish and a new water bottle in to John, setting them within his reach.

“Thanks,” John mumbled grudgingly.

Ben shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “Did you hear, Chickie caught the Canyon Rapist last night? Singlehandedly.”

“Is that so?” John tried to hide his surprise. “Told you it would be a patrol cop who did it.”

Nodding, Ben added, “Turns out to be some security guard, fired off his last 3 jobs.”

“Good. Glad the scum bag is off the streets.”

The conversation seemed to die there. After another minute of silence, John angled his head towards the door. “Go to work, Ben,” he gently ordered.

“You need anything else before I leave?”

“Not unless you’ve got a spare back in your pocket.”

Ben snorted, shaking his head, but made no comment as he let the door close behind him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Ben slid into the passenger seat of Chickie’s car, his face a grim mask.

“How is he?”

“Not good.”

With her hand on the door handle, Chickie started, “Maybe I should go….”

“No,” Ben interrupted. “Let’s leave him be a few days, see what he does.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

After scarfing down the much needed food, John needed to use the bathroom. It took him several minutes to get out of the chair. He tried to gauge how many steps it would be to the hallway and how long it would take him. With a snicker, John hoped he’d make it, but he wouldn’t bet on it.

Sweat covered his brow and when he looked in the mirror, John didn’t like what he saw. The kid was right; he did look like shit. John knew he had been tough on Sherman but he was in agony, for Christ’s sake. Maybe a shower would fix him up.

More concentrated effort was required to get out of his clothes. Then he spent the first five minutes just letting the hot water cascade over his back, moving experimentally to see where the pain began and ended. Just when he thought it wasn’t so bad, John dropped the soap and watched it skid towards the drain.

“Shit!” His attempt to drag the bar back with his foot caused a twinge to surge down his leg. John fired off a barrage of expletives while pounding his fists against the tile in frustration. When his rage was spent, he finished his shower lathering himself with the shampoo instead.

Once dried and dressed, with considerable effort and more sweating, John ambled cautiously toward the kitchen. His refrigerator revealed meager offerings; half a head of lettuce, brown around the edges, some dried out slices of cheese, a variety of condiments – olives were from the vegetable group, weren’t they? – and on the bottom shelf, a couple of six packs of beer. There was a God. Not sure he wanted to bend just yet, John remembered the confiscated bottle of Jack. He scanned the room, finding nothing on the counters or in the lower cabinets. He saw one door was ajar, over his head, and spied the telltale black and white label, the bottle being shoved back from the edge. “That little fucker!” he spat. “The beer’ll have to do.”

Getting the easy-twist cap off proved to be more of a challenge than reaching the bottom shelf. With a bottle in one hand and the carton in the other, John shuffled back into the living room, sinking gratefully and wearily into his chair. He changed channels and took another pill, polishing half of the second beer off as a chaser. After the third bottle, his vision blurred and John had difficulty following even something as lame as Judge Judy, not that it was any great loss. He muted the sound and closed his eyes, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

A fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Johnnie.

Don’t call me that.

I’ll call you whatever I want, asswipe. Now what are you gonna do, Boy-O?

I’ll be just fine.

Oh really?

I’ll take care of it, on my own, just like I always have.

You wanna be nicer to those in a position to help you, Johnnie.

Or what?

Or you’ll be alone in a grave…or a jail cell.

Like you?

Apples and trees, Johnnie…apples and trees………

He woke with a start, wrenching his back in the process. Jesus fucking Christ. He reached for another bottle. It felt warm and he wondered how long he’d been asleep. He could barely see the digital time display on the TV. He kicked out at the cardboard carton at his feet, as he sat up, alone in the gathering gloom of his house.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It had been three days since Ben had seen Cooper, as John had taken a day off on either side of his regular time off. Ben rapped his knuckles lightly on the door, then knocked again, harder. Thinking that he might have heard a groan and a soft thud, he tried the knob, releasing his breath in relief when it turned easily.

Worry instantly creased his face, until he heard soft snores coming from Cooper’s throat. Ben inched closer, not wanting to disturb John if he was truly in a sound sleep. But he froze upon seeing the object on the floor. It was John’s service revolver. He relaxed only slightly when he saw that the safety was on. Ben shifted the bag he was carrying to his left arm while bending to pick up the gun, placing it on a shelf out of John’s reach.

Satisfied that all was well for the time being, Ben occupied himself by putting away the groceries he had brought; prepared meals, fruits and veggies, crackers and cheese, and soda.

He returned to the living room, plunking an opened can of Coke down onto the table. John awoke with only a twitch this time, his mind finally grasping his body’s dire situation. Blue eyes, bloodshot and dull, darted from the floor up to his lap, then to the young man’s face, to the table, and finally back to the floor. John then followed Ben’s line of sight to the bookshelf.

“Not gonna do me much good way over there, son.”

“Not gonna do you that much more good on your lap, unless you intend to shoot off your balls.”

Coop chuckled. “Still checking up on me?” It was a considerably kinder tone than the last time.

“You haven’t answered your phone in two days. I wanted to see if I was gonna have to find a new partner, or make funeral arrangements.”

John cracked a grin. “No such luck for either one of us, buddy…………why do you care so much?” he asked softly. “And why are you in uniform?”

“You told me partners looked out for each other. And I’m on a Code 7.” John’s eyebrows shot up, knowing Sherman was way out of his division for dinner. Ben ducked his head, sheepishly adding, “I may have been in your driveway when I called it in.” His eyes went to a presumably new pill bottle, then sharply back to John. “You are one sorry mess, John Cooper,” he stated with obvious concern.

“And you are one insubordinate son of a bitch, Ben Sherman.”

“Trust me; I’ve had lots of practice. So, uh, I brought you my copy of the health insurance plan. It’s on the kitchen counter, open to what I thought applies to you.” John glared but Ben continued, “You’re going to need to do something sooner or later. You can’t keep calling out and you can’t come back like this. It’s not a sin to need or ask for help, John.”

Cooper nodded, remaining non committal. “Well, since you’re here, help me up…..please.”

Ben complied while informing John, “You’re not gonna find the bourbon.”

“I’m actually thinking food for once…..” he began while shuffling toward the kitchen. John had barely finished this thought when Ben’s radio crackled telling him to call the W/C once he was clear. Not wanting to push his luck, Ben offered to return after his shift but Coop waved him off. He had the refrigerator open and noticed the restocked food supply. He was unaccustomedly grateful. Ben said goodbye with a lopsided smile, and left John still staring into his fridge.

His pleasure quickly turned into a howl of rage when he discovered that the second carton of beer was gone.

~ * TBC * ~

60schic — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 17:24:39 GMT

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DANIMARIE82 ! ! !

Hope thoughts of *coming home* get you through the rest of the year.

SNL

60schic — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 05:03:30 GMT

Ok, it's official: I'm too old. What in the hell is the deal with Justin Bieber?

16? Are you sure about that?

Felt like I was watching Nickelodeon.

Bicky!!

60schic — Thu, 25 Mar 2010 02:56:11 GMT

Damn---did I miss it? I wanted to wish you a most HAPPY BIRTHDAY, darling!

Southland fic

60schic — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 19:55:21 GMT

This won't be getting any better with more tweaking so I may as well post. I'm still trying to find my voice, and theirs, in this fandom, so be kind.

Title: Ride With Me, Pardner.
Rating: R-ish?
Beta: chazper, who I have lured into this fandom for my sole editing needs. The good news is I may convince her to write here as well. The bad news is, no matter what she says, she's a much better writer than I.

Also, HUGE thanks go to snowprince for his advice on police procedure/protocol/terminology. If anything is incorrect, that's my fault.

Disclaimer: I own nothing from Southland, either. Rats.

Ride With Me, Pardner

“You thought we only gave a warning to pretty ladies? You’re right; we do……you have the right to remain silent………….”

Sherman fought to keep the smile from his lips. He had heard Cooper give a variation of this line before, and this girl was nowhere near pretty anymore, as strung out and worn out as she was. Cooper maneuvered the girl into the car with authority and yet there was a gentleness about it.

“What are you smiling at, Boot? When you can come up with your own lines, then you can smile.”

Ben wondered how much longer he’d have to put up with the ‘boot’ thing. The weeks had melded into months and yet he still felt that his T/O gave him no quarter.

The radio crackled, giving an address for a Domestic Dispute.

“Shit. Just another God damned name for Unknown Trouble…well go ahead, Junior…call it in…it’s right around the corner.”

With a frown, Ben keyed the mic. “A43; show us handling.”

Whoever said nobody gets involved must have meant before someone called the cops. Because when they got to the address, neighbors came out of the woodwork.

“…you couldn’t believe all the screamin’…”

“Where you been?”

“We’ve tried to get ya’ll here befo…”

“I swear they been killin’ that kid…”

Ben let his head meet the cold porcelain of the shower wall after he’d *relieved* his stress. His eyes closed, only to snap open again when visions appeared unbidden.

The supposed parents were strangely calm.

Ben went to lift the kid from where he lay crumpled in the corner, and though there was barely a flinch, he saw that the boy’s collarbone was either broken or dislocated. He’d been there. He knew the pain that it caused when manipulated cruelly. That his light touch elicited such a response worried him.

Cooper helped him to stabilize the kid, who Ben estimated to be about five years old. There was a tooth missing that shouldn’t have been, and circular red blisters up and down his arms.

“Cigarette burns,” John growled. As gentle as he’d been with the boy, he conversely treated the parents roughly, yanking the cuffs as tight as he could, no teasing in his voice, as had been the day before. “Too tight? Yeah well, they’re new. They’ll stretch after you wear them awhile,” he sneered.

After that call, John had taken him out to a cop bar, where a few beers turned into a few more. The gallows humor that surrounded him did much to shake off the gloom that had clung to Ben. The music was loud and he tapped his foot in time to the beat.

Looking around, Ben recognized a few female officers; the rest were mostly girlfriends of male colleagues. His gaze caught one particularly bodacious blond, making her way to the restrooms followed by her cop date. When the door closed, blocking his view, Ben turned to John to comment, and found him still staring. Following his line of sight, Ben thought it was fixed somewhere near the officer’s ass, but that couldn’t be right. His attention drifted again when the waitress in a tight, low cut top appeared with a new pitcher.

He had his first nightmare after falling into a restless sleep. Something about the boy on the floor, something wrong, familiar. The hair…it wasn’t dark, it was blond. The child’s head began to raise. Ben woke with a start before he could fully see the face.

Carrie Ann moved beneath him, urging him to thrust harder, faster. He got her off mere seconds before exploding into her. Sherman lay exhausted, both physically and mentally. This reaction was what he’d been hoping for.

It didn’t last long.

“Hey Rook! What the fuck’s wrong with you, leaving your door unlocked for any riff raff to walk in!”

‘Case in point,’ Ben grumbled while scrambling for his jeans on the floor. He was zipping up as he left the bedroom.

“Jesus, Sherman! It smells like sex in here!” Cooper’s eyes gleamed maliciously.

Ben pulled the door closed behind him, his blush an admission in itself. “What do you want, sir?” He figured it was safe to add the sarcastic tone to the last word, since his T/O had burst into his home uninvited.

“Get dressed. We’re going to the rail yards.”

“We’re going for a train ride?” Ben’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Not unless you want to inhale toxic fumes. Propane tanker derailed. The whole area’s being evacuated…….She anyone I know?” he asked, craning to catch a glimpse as Ben reentered his bedroom.

“God, I hope not,” he muttered to the closing door.

“Well I wouldn’t have had to come for you, Sweet Cheeks, if you’d of left your phone on like I told you to.” Cooper’s voice had no problem carrying through the wooden barrier. “You never know when a teaching opportunity will present itself.”

John heard murmured voices as his eyes scanned his trainee’s house. Expensive. Tasteful. Minimal, like the kid himself. Sherman was still an enigma to him. Well, John would soon find out if the kid had what it takes.

He nodded approvingly when Ben’s uniform, clean and pressed, passed inspection. “Lock the door this time, would you?” Cooper said as they prepared to leave. It wasn’t a request.

He was developing a thicker skin. Cooper said he had to, or he’d let what he saw eat him up from the inside. His mother told him he was becoming cold; distant.

Cooper told him it was essential that he thought with his instincts, and not his feelings. Wariness would keep him alive. His father thought he was a paranoid sellout to the system. Like that was a bad thing.

Ben began to notice that Cooper wasn’t always hard assed. Not when he dealt with kids, or the abused, or those discarded by society. Like the tranny his first week. Or the young hooker last week.

If Sherman thought he had Cooper figured out, he was wrong. He’d never have guessed, until the day that he, by pure chance, saw his training officer enter what he knew to be a gay bar. Huh! Ben stored the information for future reference, not that it mattered to him one way or the other. John was off duty, and who he chose to play with on his own time was his business.

He’d met Carrie Ann in the property room when John had taken him to see what’s what. The instant their eyes had met, he felt a connection. It wasn’t just their age – both young and fresh faced – it was more that they were both invisible members of the department. He made a mental note of her ID tag and then made it his business to find out how to get in touch with her.

He woke in a cold sweat. In the nightmare, the eyes staring at him from the mirror were blue, then morphed into black, like the boy’s. Shaking his head to clear the vestiges of disquiet, Ben thought of his childhood. Even after his old man had left, he knew he had grown up in relative privilege, but it would have taken only a few more wrong turns for things to have gone quite differently for him.

Another night in another cop bar. Cooper must know them all, Ben thought. An argument started to heat up; some guy pushing his girl around. Ben was about to move, when John grabbed him by the arm.

“Uh-uh, Sonny. You don’t interfere with a fellow officer, not unless you absolutely have to. And right now? You don’t have to.”

The set of Sherman’s jaw caused the muscle to jump, denying his acquiescence.

“That’s quite the hero complex you’ve got there, Boy Wonder. Who’d you have to save all the time? Your Mom?”

Ben shot murderous daggers at John. Telling him he’d hit the mark.

“Yeah, I guess you would.”

Carrie Ann sank to her knees in front of him. His head hit the wall with a solid thunk when she’d undone his belt and fly, grasping him firmly in her hands.

“Unnng,” was about the most intelligent thing he could say.

“Like this?” Another groan. “Yeah, I thought so.”

His mouth snapped shut, eyes rolling back in his head as her lips encompassed him. This was a much needed turn of events. His last thoughts were sardonic; she executed this maneuver superbly, earning her superior marks. At least she was no rookie.

In the end, it was the kid’s eyes…or rather, what wasn’t in his eyes that so disturbed Ben. There was no sign of life. They were dead eyes, like a shark. Those eyes haunted his subconscious thoughts, day and night.

“We do what we can. It helps…No it really does,” John responded to Ben’s scoffing laugh. “In small ways, which is sometimes all we can do. You can’t let the failures get to you or they’ll break you. You either man up or wash out. Which will it be with you, Bambi?”

Officer Ben Sherman looked in the mirror again. He saw only his own eyes staring back.

Olympics

60schic — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 04:35:09 GMT

How freakin cool is it that even the Olympics can remind us of OC S1 - k d lang is singing Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah !

Friday Night Bites

60schic — Sat, 16 Jan 2010 04:33:19 GMT

Hey, hi.............

So, totally, absolutely, random --- MrChic is so into Monsters Inc. He gets verclempt (sp?) when he sees that little girl. I think it's sweet, considering he is big into comic/hero shit.

Comments?