"My Way"

by CritterKeeper

Rating: PG-13 for brief strong language

Spoilers: Title comes from The New Stuff, but spoilers don't go beyond that.

[For some reason FFnet doesn't seem to like keeping any placeholder/divider lines, like "*****", so I've had to improvise. Doesn't quite flow as well, but close enough!]

.

.

"Hey, partner, what's up? I, uh, was surprised you wanted me over here so early. You're usually an afternoon kinda guy on weekends."

"Yeah, well, I figured we'd need the time, if we want to get through the whole collection."

"Whole collection? Of what? What do you have up your sleeve, partner?"

"Just a stack of DVDs of The A-Team...plus two entire seasons of Starsky and Hutch..."

"Al-right! My friend, you really know how to plan a weekend!"

"I love it when a plan comes together. The fridge is stocked, there's munchies within easy reach, with any luck we won't have to move from this couch for more than five minutes at a time until Monday."

.

.

"Is that your phone ringing?"

"I guess so. It's my apartment."

"It's not stopping."

"Guess not."

"You gonna get it?"

"The machine should get it."

"If the machine were going to get it, wouldn't it have gotten it by now?"

"I dunno."

"You got some weird kinda machine that only picks up after eight, make that nine, rings?"

"No. I guess the machine isn't on."

"The machine isn't on?"

"Guess not."

"Why isn't the machine on?"

"I don't leave my machine on when I'm home, it's rude!"

"You don't screen your calls?"

"No, don't you think it's kinda rude?"

"What, rude, like letting your phone ring twelve times without answering it?"

"No, because if there's no answer obviously I'm not home."

"But you're home now."

*sigh* "It's not stopping, is it?"

"Guess it won't stop til you move your lazy ass and answer it."

"My lazy ass? Hey, I got up to get more beer!"

"That was two episodes ago!"

"So, I got up last time, why don't you get up?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. Why don't you get up?"

"Why don't I get up to answer *your* phone? Because that would be rude."

"What is that, twenty rings? I'd better get the phone."

"I'll bet it's the fat man!"

"I'll bet it's Eberts."

"Same thing."

"Yeah, who is it?"

"Darien, The Official would like to speak with you."

("I win.")

("Yeah, yeah, yeah.")

"Yeah, well, I don't want to speak to him, I'm busy."

"Fawkes, get in here."

"Excuse me?"

"We have a case."

"'Sir,' it is the weekend. I have plans. And besides, I don't feel like it. You don't own me any more, remember?"

"Fawkes, I am still your boss. I need you in here, pronto."

"Yeah, well, in this case, 'pronto' is gonna be on Monday. Bye!"

.

.

"That was good."

"That felt good."

"You're on my chips."

"Sorry...Here."

"Keep 'em."

"Cool."

.

.

"Is he really calling back right away? Doesn't he know how rude that is?"

"He doesn't care."

"You know what?"

"What?"

"Suddenly I feel like being rude."

"Sounds good to me."

"Hi, this is Darien. You know what to do." *beep*

"Fawkes, how dare you? I want you in here in -"

"Could you turn that thing down?"

"With pleasure."

"Hey, while you're up, could you get me another beer?"

"Corona?"

"That'll do it."

"Uh...we're out of Corona."

"We're out?"

"We're out."

"You didn't get enough Corona?"

"I got some other stuff."

"You bought other stuff instead of more Corona?"

"Hey, I'm on a government salary here! You wanna go buy some more Corona, be my guest."

"No, Mister GS-6, pass me what you got, I'm gonna drink you down to a GS-2, *then* I'll start buying!"

.

.

.

"Wanna start another?"

"Would that involve opening my eyes?"

"...Yes."

"No thanks."

"What is that annoying blinking."

"Uh...the machine."

"Could you turn it off?"

"Would that involve getting up?"

"...Yes."

"No."

"C'mon, man, that's so annoying."

"Pass me that pillow."

"This one?"

"Thanks."

.

"Nice shot."

.

.

.

"What are you doing?"

"Turning on the TV. We've got -"

"Shut that thing off. It's too loud."

"It's muted."

"Your point?"

"But we still have -"

"Shut it off!"

"Fine, it's off. Happy?"

"..."

"You gonna stay down there on the floor?"

"..."

"And you said *I* was an afternoon kind of guy on weekends."

.

.

.

"Feeling better?"

"Hey, I'm fine. It takes more than a few beers to take out Bobby Hobbes."

"Yeah, whatever. This isn't that great an episode anyway, but the next one's a classic."

"So why watch this one?"

"I was hoping you'd be up for the next one."

"Well isn't that nice? Thanks, partner."

"Hey, while you're up, could you pass me that pillow?"

"What, the one on the table here?"

"Yeah, I don't think we need to cover up that annoying light any more."

"You want me to hit erase?"

"Nah, might not all be from him. I'll check it later, we can get a good laugh at him sputtering."

"It's good to be free, isn't it?"

.

.

.

"Well, Fawkes, I think I'd better get going. We are still planning on coming in to work tomorrow morning, aren't we?"

"Yeah, unless you've got something better to do."

"I can think of a few things I could do, but I still like the job."

"That makes one of us..."

"C'mon, Fawkes, you gotta admit it has its good points, at least now that the whole Quicksilver Madness thing is all cleared up."

"Hey, I don't gotta admit nothing."

"Ah, but you're not denying it, either. A few months ago, you'd'a been denying it. But now you're not denying it."

"Just shut up and help me clean up this mess."

"Your apartment, your mess."

"I'm gonna remember that the next time we're over at your place."

"What was that click?"

"What, that? That's just the machine. Incoming call."

"I'll bet it's the Fat Man again."

"You don't think he's given up by now?"

"Turn it up and we'll see."

"...to turn on your television. Any station."

"Turn on the TV? Why would he want us to..."

"Just do it."

"...And I want you to note that it is now Sunday at 8pm, and I first called you Saturday at 9am, Fawkes."

"Turn off that DVD player so we can get a regular channel."

.

.

.

"Oh, crap."

"...currently at twenty-seven, but expected to climb when rescue crews..."

"That isn't..."

"...have claimed responsibility for..."

"You think that he...?"

"That maybe we...?"

"...considerable damage to surrounding buildings..."

"Dammit, he *knew*, and he let us sit here..."

"Why didn't he, I dunno, come get us? Or send Eberts?"

"...local hospitals report mainly burn injuries and shrapnel..."

"Would you have opened the door?"

"...no. Would you?"

"...no warning..."

"...guess not."

"No, we'd have laughed and turned up the volume. Damn!"

"...in the adjacent playground..."

"C'mon, let's go."

"Think there's anything we can do?"

"...no leads yet, but they won't be able to search the wreckage until..."

"Fat Man knew something, maybe we can help track down whoever..."

"Yeah. Yeah, let's try to close the barn door..."

"...police and paramedics..."

*click*

*door closing*