SWAT Ed: Fox & Bull (Nothing Special 8)

“I must not have heard you.” God yanked off his knee-length coat and tossed it onto the hood of the truck and came towards him. “Maybe you should try saying it again.”

“God. Calm down. Shit,” Hart grumbled, clutching God by his big bicep. “Let me talk to him.”

“I don’t have time for this, and you know it. You should’ve handled this shit a long time ago, Hart, and we wouldn’t be coming down to the damn wire,” God fussed in Hart’s face.

“I know, God! You told me how you felt the entire fuckin’ way over here, all right. Now, I said I’ll talk to him.” Their standoff looked scary, but Hart was one of God’s best friends. Fussing and maybe a little good-natured grappling was the most their fights amounted to.

“Then talk!” God thundered. “Because I have a high-risk warrant that’s time-sensitive as a motherfucker, thanks to him.” God pointed in Fox’s direction. “Now I can’t serve it without my damn SWAT unit, but you won’t fuckin’ mobilize ’em until your lieutenant’s back… so get him the fuck back!”

Fox saw Hart’s chest deflate beneath his bulletproof vest. His captain cast a look his way that he interpreted easily. Fox had been reading and comprehending his friend’s expressions for years. And this time was no different.

He had to go.

“Now either you get his ass in one of these damn trucks, or I will.”

Both teams were dressed in full gear, and Fox realized this wasn’t going to go at all as he’d planned. He assumed God would come with Hart, Carlos, maybe even Free, to give a good tug on his heartstrings and guilt him into coming back. And Fox had been prepared with a response for it.

But instead, God had come another way. He’d come with a mission, an assignment. Fox had taken an oath, and until he turned in his badge and service weapon, he had a duty to honor it. God’s cases weren’t about ordinary criminals. They often involved life-threatening situations, which meant that somewhere in the heart of Atlanta, the head of a snake needed to be severed… or innocent people would suffer. There was no one better equipped to do that than them.

Fox’s conscience was telling him to get moving, but his heart kept his feet planted at Bull’s side. His captain approached him slowly, and Syn—God’s sergeant—fell in step beside him. When they reached him, Hart embraced him roughly, pounding him hard on his back. “It’s good to see you, Fox. You look… happy…” Hart grinned.

Fox smirked. He was in love and getting well fucked by a stud on a regular basis. He was well aware of how he looked.

Bull reached out to shake Hart’s and then Syn’s hand. “Are you the ghost that was on the other line?”

“A ghost is invisible,” Syn rumbled, hitching up one side of his mouth, which was as close to a smile as anyone would get from him.

“Fox,” Hart began, not wasting any more time on pleasantries, his voice turning somber. “I need you to come with us. Now. We have a ten-thirty-five, and it’s closing as we speak.”

“What’s that?” Bull asked.

Fox’s mind was moving fast as he answered. “It’s a small window of opportunity to serve a high-risk warrant. The least deadly time.”

“It took a lot for the task force to secure this warrant, and God’s not going to wait any longer.” Hart’s expression turned grim. “And I agree with him. We have a job to do, Fox. And I promise you, whatever decision you make after this, I’ll back you up, brother, one hundred percent. But as of right now…” Hart nodded towards Bull’s front door. “I need you to suit up and bring your violins.”

Fox reached for Bull’s hand and linked their fingers together.

“I can handle God for you if you’re really done with this gig, Fox,” Syn added, his voice gritty from rarely ever talking, “after we serve the warrant and shut down this meth lab. Two teens overdosed at a house party last night in that same neighborhood.”

Hart glanced away as if he felt guilty.

Syn filled in the missing pieces. “God and Day took a pretty bad beating from the chief this morning since we’ve had the warrant for thirty-one hours… and counting. More than enough time to have shut that dealer down.”

“Damnit.” Fox shook his head. Of course he’d go. He didn’t want to be the cause of any more young deaths.

God must’ve mistaken Fox’s gestures as defiance because he slammed his hands on the hood of the truck and resumed cursing up a storm.

“Calm down,” Day said, while gesturing for Fox to hurry. “He’s coming.”

“We got less than two hours while he’s standing there pondering!” God broke away from his husband and charged forward.

Bull jerked his hat off and shoved it into Fox’s chest. He just gripped the wide brim before it hit the dirt, because Bull’s long legs were already tearing up the ground and closing the distance between him and God.