#c: ruy narvaez | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thatjustmakesyouabetacuck · 3 years ago

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Vignettes from The Department of Emergency Services

Jordan’s shoulders slumped when he heard a knock on the door. A familiar voice asked, “Hey, this is the proctologist’s office, right?”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh, thank Christ. I was starting to wonder what a guy had to do, to who, to get a finger up his ass around here.” Ben LaVoie strode into the room, lab coat slung over his shoulder, and leaned against the edge of the desk with his hands in his pockets. He took the room in, cramped and cluttered with papers and binders though it was, and whistled. “Look at you with your big important office. I see you and Desai have the same flair for interior decorating, eh?”

He grabbed a box of surgical gloves off a nearby shelf and nudged Jordan with it.

Jordan shrugged him off and ran a hand over his face. He groused, “I’ve had the job a day and I’m already fucking sick of the paperwork. You know chief residents set the schedules? I’ve had second years popping in all night, bugging me about some ‘can I get the weekend off’ shit.”

“Oof.”

“If I’m giving anybody the weekend off, it’s gonna be me. I’ll need it more than they will. People are already calling in favours, ‘Oh, remember six months back when I covered for you on-’”

“Disgusting,” Ben glanced down at the sheet Jordan had in front of him. “Exploiting generosity and personal connection for the sake of base, selfish… What the fuck? You’ve got me doing a thirty-six next week?”

“Johnson needed friday off. I needed somebody trustworthy covering for him, and you’re slightly less of a moron than the rest of our peers, so you’re it.”

“Fuck Johnson. I’m a newlywed. I wanna go home and hang out with my wife.”

“He’s going to his uncle’s funeral.”

Ben rolled his eyes skyward. He grumbled, “Oh fine. Fuck, osti de cris de tabarnak, certains putains de gens ont une excuse pour– Fine. Okay. I’ll work the overnight.”

Jordan clucked his tongue patronizingly. “Aw, aren’t you just an angel? If they don’t drown me in requests, I’ll get on nominating you for that Nobel Peace Prize.”

“...I liked you better before you were my boss.”

***

“What’d you do to my car?”

That had been the story of Rocky Kolar’s afternoon - Officer Castle had been circling around the Ford Vic, questioning him on every chip in the paint and dent on the bumper. His specialty was fixing emergency vehicles, and that vocation took him all around the city and introduced him to all different sorts. And of those sorts, Castle was amongst his least favorite.

“I did exactly what I’m paid to do: I fixed it.”

It seemed like Castle fucked up his squad car some way or other every other month, and Rocky always ended up being the one to fix it. And then every time he did, Castle insisted on inspecting every inch of it, and critiquing the ways in which Rocky had fallen short of the standard of service that was expected.

But the fact was, Rocky hadn’t been paid to repaint it, or buff out dents. The brakes needed work, so he’d worked on the brakes. The stain was the first thing he’d found that hadn’t been there when he’d dropped it off.

“You messed with it some way. I can just feel it.” Castle shouldered past him. “Pop the hood again.”

Rocky obliged him. Castle stuck his head inside, grumbling to himself as he looked around. It took another couple minutes before he found his next objection; “And what do you call this?”

Rocky circled around him. “What do I call what?”

Castle whacked at a metal circle behind the grill with the wrench he’d picked up. “This fucking thing.”

“...What do you think it is?”

Castle straightened up and looked directly at him. “I think you’re just the kind of crazy redneck fuck that would try and kill a cop for bragging rights.”

Rocky didn’t budge. “That a formal accusation, officer?”

Castle braced his hands against the sides of the car. “Not if you tell me what this thing is.”

“Show me again.”

Rocky waited for Castle to lean back in, then reached through the driver’s side window and slapped down on the car horn. It blared out loud enough that Castle jumped, and hit his head on the hood.

“Satisfied?”

“GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING COCKSUCKING SON OF A B-!”

Castle was hopping around the room, his hands over his ears, cursing at the top of his lungs. “YOU’RE A FUCKING DEAD MAN WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, YOU MOTHERFUCKING HICK PIECE OF SHIT!”

Rocky didn’t even flinch. He just stood and watched the officer kick over an empty can, his arms folded over his chest, trying to fight off a shit-eating grin. “You asked what it did.”

***

Thwack.

Thump.

Thwack.

Thump.

Thwack.

Thump.

For Ruy Narvaez, the novelty of sliding down a pole in his underpants to go use the bathroom when he was doing overnights at the firehouse hadn’t quite worn off yet. He’d been there for over a year now, but he still always got a kick out of it.

Thwack.

Thump.

Thwack.

Thump.

He’d went to go take a piss, then he’d made himself a sandwich in the kitchenette. From there, he could see a small group gathered around the pool table while Rafe and Eric viciously rallied the ball back and forth.

Thwack.

Thump.

Thwack.

Thump.

Ruy wrapped up his sandwich, came closer, and vaulted over the back of the couch. He landed next to Lieutenant Brennan and settled in. “How long have they been playing for, boss?”

Thwack.

Thump.

Thwack.

“Rally’s been going for seven minutes straight.” Brennan grabbed for half of the sandwich, but Ruy twisted away. “I bet AJ it’d go the full ten.”

Ruy snorted, his mouth full of sandwich. “Nuwer.”

“What?”

Ruy swallowed. “No way. Somebody’s arm’s gonna get tired.”

“You looking to get in on the action, probie?”

“Okay. Five bucks on nine minutes.”

Thump.

Thwack.

Thump.

“Five bucks? C’mon now. Go big or go home.”

“Five’s big enough.”

Thwack.

Thump.

“What about you, Secord? You got some thoughts?”

Thwack.

Thump.

Josh was sitting upside down in an armchair. Legs dangling over the back and his hands on his stomach. He shook his head. “I’m set.”

Thwack.

Thump.

“What about you, cap?”

Theo was leaning against a column, thumbing through a magazine. “Fuck it. Twenty bucks on eight minu-”

Ross glanced down at his phone. “We’re at eight.”

“...I mean, twenty bucks on nine and a half minutes.”

“I heard eight.”

“You heard wrong, lieutenant. Nine and a half.”

Suddenly, with a flourish, Rafe smashed the ball with his paddle and sent it driving into the corner of the table. Eric’s paddle skimmed just over it, and the ball bounced harmlessly against the floor. Eric threw it down in disgust, and Rafe raised his hands in the air. “I AM THE FUCKING PING-PONG GOD!”

Ross groaned. “Come on! I believed in you guys.”

“Fuck you,” Eric laughed. “Lucky shot.”

“The ping-pong God makes his own luck.”

“The ping-pong God’s about to get a fucking paddle upside the head.”

Rafe whirled around to face his assembled coworkers. “Who said ten minutes?” His hands were on his hips. “Show of hands, who thought it’d even take me ten minutes to put this sorry motherfucker away?”

Eric protested, “Hey, you gonna keep talking or we gonna finish our set?”

“Who won? Because by my count, they just won like fifty bucks.” Rafe rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Way I’m feeling, I might get that bill laminated, so they can frame it and pray to it when they think they can’t beat the odds.”

Eric slapped his hands down on the table, “Are we finishing the game?”

“I’m hard as fuck right now,” Rafe laughed. “I can’t even focus. I’m feeling myself too much right now. I’m gonna go grab a slice of cake and celebrate.” He stepped up onto the couch, reached down, and snatched away the half of Ruy’s sandwich that he’d already taken a bite out of.

“Hey!”

Rafe hopped over the back, and waved the sandwich in the air. “Fuck you, probie! To the victor goes the spoils!”

Ruy jumped up. “Give me back my sandwich!”

“Ifishyursammich,” Rafe managed, around a big bite of it. “Whymiedinit?”

Ruy stalked after him, as the others laughed. “Dude, this isn’t funny! Give me back my sandwich!”

#emergency services au #brotp: ben x jordan #c: rafael guerrero #c: eric bell #c: rocky kolar #c: ruy narvaez

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