Copped

“Grant, this is so exciting.”

“Annie…”

“I can’t believe they’re actually letting us do this.”

“Annie…”

“Like, seriously? We’re the only married couple in the department-“

“Annie!” Bright green eyes turned to glare daggers at his wife. She only grinned at him, slinking down farther into her hiding spot.

“But you have to admit it’s fun, right?”

Behind half-rimmed glasses, Detective Grant Morrison rolled his eyes. It was highly surprising that the two were married, let alone the fact that they were cops. Grant was quiet, reserved. He was a man of few words and thought on a completely different level from his coworkers. Meanwhile, Annie, who worked in vice, was loud, was a bit naïve, and usually consulted her husband for help on the field. Internal affairs fought their relationship every step of the way, but they ended up married anyway. Of course, they had to sign a contract saying that they’d keep it professional, but that was no issue.

Currently, they were crouched in the bushes, waiting. They had received an anonymous tip from a toll phone, saying that a drug deal was going to go down here between the town’s two biggest gangs. As such, cops were shoved into every nook and cranny where they’d be hidden from sight, even though some were much more obvious than others. Unusually, IA didn’t throw a fit when they found out that the two married officers were going to be working together, much to their enjoyment. They decided to milk the opportunity, and actually spend some time with each other. Well, near each other. They couldn’t really talk, considering they were in a stake out, but it was much better than being on opposite sides of the police station.

“How long’s this going to take?” Annie grumbled, fiddling with the safety on her gun. Grant gave her a look, knitting his eyebrows together.

“Don’t play with your gun. And this deal could just be some asshole trying to throw off the police department,” Grant replied offhandedly, looking back to the empty lot they were camped out around.

“So…what are we doing here?” Annie clicked her safety back on, holstering it in her belt and peering over the edge of the bush. “Shouldn’t we be trying to find them?”

“We don’t even know what’s supposed to happen, Annie.” Grant’s hand absently floated to his gun, sitting quietly in its shoulder holster. “We just know that it’s the only lead we’ve got on this case.”

“That’s right,” Annie said, sounding mockingly mystified. “This is your case, you fancy lead detective.” She punched him playfully in the arm. “Look at you, getting things done.” Grant shot her a sideways glance, not even dignifying that with a response.

Annie noticed that in the lightning, his pale blonde hair turned an almost white. Curious, she asked out of nowhere, “What color is my hair?”

Grant’s eyes were narrow when he turned to look at her. They ran up and down her figure once, and his head turned back towards the lot. “It’s kinda greenish.”

Annie pulled her lips into sort of a pout, but before she could even comment, there was movement in the lot. Grant immediately crouched down further, and Annie followed, peering through a gap in the bushes. A line of five people emerged from each side, walking in step. They were all solemn. A person on each end carried a bag, and the person in the middle was snapping.

“What is this, West Side Story?” Annie whispered beneath her breath, but Grant heard, and elbowed her in the side. All eyes were turned on the 10. The people on the ends set their bags down.

“So I take it that you’ve got it?” the man in the middle on the right side asked, taking out a cigarette. Annie automatically assumed this was the head honcho of that gang, herein referred to as ‘Right Head Honcho’. The man of the corresponding position on the left side (herein referred to as ‘Left Head Honcho’) nodded slowly. “Open it,”

Left Head Honcho put his arm out to the side. Grant narrowed his eyes. The people on the ends of the left side picked up the bags again and opened it, flashing the contents to the other side.

“Cocaine,” Grant whispered. Annie looked at him, curiously.

“How do you know?”

Grant motioned vaguely to the reflector attached to the building they were in front of. “I can see it.”

“So when do we spring?” his wife whispered, pulling out her gun as quietly as possible. The bags were slid across the asphalt at the same time.

“Now.” Grant ripped his gun from his holster and jumped up from his position, followed mere milliseconds after by his fellow officers. “Freeze!”

Out of nowhere, people flooded from the shadows. But it wasn’t just cops; gang members also came out, wielding crowbars and pistols and other various weapons. Grant swallowed hard, raising his gun to the level Right Head Honcho’s head was on.

“Is this going to have to get messy?” Grant asked, and for once, Annie was glad he wore glasses. The glare from the lights made it hard for the people in the lot to see his eyes. “There’s an easier way to do this, I hope you know.”

“Nah, we’re not going out quietly, Detective,” Right Head Honcho answered casually. He pulled a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open, caressing it casually. “You should know us well enough by now.”

Annie looked at her husband, trying to scrutinize what he was feeling by now. Did he know this scumbag…? Before anything else could happen, one of the gang members standing to the side let out a war cry, and charged at a nearby officer.

The battle wasn’t pretty. Officers managed to arrest many of the gang members and confiscate the drugs, but both of the Head Honchos slipped off during the combat. Grant and Annie sat side by side in an ambulance; her nursing a split lip, black eye, and a badly sprained ankle, and him trying to stop his nose from bleeding while also trying to figure out why the back of his head was bleeding. His knuckles were torn to shreds, and Annie used all the ammo she had brought with her, but they had still somehow missed the leaders of the gangs.

“Damn.” Grant looked down at his bleeding knuckles. “I still haven’t caught them.”

“It’s okay, Grant,” Annie murmured, leaning against his shoulder. “You’re a fine detective; you’ll catch those bastards eventually. Plus, you got most of their gangs…you’ll be fine.”

At the hospital, Grant’s head was patched up. It only required three stitches, which was surprising, considering that a bit of pipe had nearly torn his head open. Annie had her lip cleaned up and was taken in for an x-ray of her ankle.

Her husband sat quietly in the waiting room, eyeing tabloids and avoiding looking at the others in the room. His head was throbbing, and he had pretty much just lost his biggest case. Fantastic.

“Mr. Morrison?” a nurse called. Grant bolted to his feet, which was probably a bad choice – the whiplash hit him immediately. “We’ve…got some news for you.” The nurse led him down the hall and into an examination room, where his wife sat, looking nervous, on the table.

“Is it broken?” he asked, using all of his self restraint not to scratch the back of his head. Those stitches would be very bothersome. The doctor opened his mouth to say something, but Annie exploded out with the news before he could.

“I’m pregnant!”