Chapter Text
The Old West was far from Bad Cop’s least favorite shift in the world. The cowboys were irritating, obnoxious and somewhat thick, but it made dealing with the crime fairly simple. Mostly it just entailed throwing rowdy bar fighters in a cell to stew for the night, then rapping them on the knuckles and sending them on their way the next morning. Certainly not a town of criminal masterminds.
He was still adjusting to booking shoplifters in the city one day and on the lookout for pirates the next. “You’re the best officer the force has got,” Business had insisted. “I want you out there giving the world a taste of some justice, baby! I know I can count on you. Plus, you need a vacation.”
Bad Cop found it wholly unprofessional to consider being on the beat in a certain area as a ‘vacation’ - everywhere deserved equally careful police monitoring - place or 'time period’ shouldn’t factor in just application of the law. But in the end, accepting the shifts had meant having to spend less time around Business, which he needed. The president had made plenty of personal attempts to apologise for how he’d treated him, which, considering how far shoved up his own arse the man’s head was, Bad Cop could almost appreciate. But it was frankly uncomfortable for him to even look Business in the eye. It seemed he was genuinely trying to make good, but Bad Cop had resigned that he never wanted to be anyone’s personal puppet again. Business had held too much over him in the past and having to be around him again meant the risk of losing what self-respect he’d regained. A risk he had no interest in taking.
Still, it had to be said, the man was doing a good job of putting everything back together. Emmet’s success in reforming Business meant a new regime free of oppression, but retaining the practicality and organisation of the old one. There was congress again, which was certainly an improvement. The old cabinet members had been the first 'test subjects’ for the Kragle, which had essentially been the key to Business gaining complete domain over the world. Thankfully, they seemed to be the forgive and forget type, and were happy to call it quits in exchange for getting their jobs back. Bad Cop found that a little ridiculous, but then he wasn’t exactly one to talk considering he’d come crawling back to his old job just as they had, caving in after Business had contacted him for the sixth time, this time offering not just the job and his apologies, but a promotion to Chief of the BPD and a pretty decent boost to his parents’ pensions. It was more than enough to keep his family afloat, and sitting around had done nothing but make him antsy and miserable. Plus, this would be different, he’d told himself. He’d be a real officer, enforcing laws put in place to keep people safe, not just acting as Business’ private mercenary stroke lapdog and arresting whoever the bastard wanted rubbed out. It’s what Good would have wanted.
What he wouldn’t give to have him back. The catching crooks part couldn’t have been going better, but the more community relations-orientated aspects had never exactly been Bad Cop’s forte. Still, he hoped he was getting better. He was certainly trying. Most people were still scared shitless of him, but that old woman who lived Downtown with a horrifying amount of cats had seemed happy enough when he’d rescued one of them from the rooftops. And he was fairly sure he hadn’t sounded too aggressive when he’d reminded her that such a situation was more up the fire department’s street. Either way, she hadn’t had her hearing aid in, so no real damage had been done.
The sky was a deep shade of indigo in the absence of the sun, evening stars scattered across the wide expanse of purple like tiny bursts of light through little pinpricks in a vast, dark cloth. In spite of the scorching heat of the region in the day, the nights were cold, and Bad Cop found himself pulling his neckscarf up over his nose and mouth to retain what little heat was there. That was the other advantage. The clothes. One of the earlier changes in the new system had been the suggestion that visitors to realms other than their own adopt the clothing and lifestyle of those living in that realm. It wasn’t compulsory, but it had actually ended up being a big hit. People saw it as some kind of cross between a vacation and a costume party, and as much fun as the two combined.
He preferred his uniform for the Bricksburg shift, but practically anything beat hauling a full suit of armour through Middle Zealand, so he wasn’t overly fussed. He wasn’t a fan of the cowboy hat, but the black jacket was similar enough to the standard issue ones back in Bricksburg, and the scarf helped when the wind decided the arid desert sand shouldn’t be allowed to stay on the ground anymore.
By the time the moon was at its highest point, casting a silvery glow on the red mountains that dotted the skyline, Bad Cop had arrived where he’d been called out to. Old Chuck’s Saloon was something of a decrepit little joint, but it seemed to be a favourite among the locals. Which instantly made it a less-than-favourite of the police. In the short amount of time he’d been working the Old West, Bad Cop had broken up more than a fair few fights in here, as well as seen a particularly malicious band of tequila thieves clapped in irons. Thankfully, today’s disturbance was apparently just some drunk who’d been there all day refusing to leave - nothing too serious.
“'Bout time one of you boys showed up! I swear to you, if I weren’t a man o'the law, I woulda throttled that son of a gun four hours ago an’ been done with it!”
“Well it’s a good thing you are, then,” Bad Cop replied flatly, the surge of irritation that suddenly coursed through him reminding him just how much he hated cowboys. He could hear Old Chuck grumbling under his breath as he dismounted his horse, but he elected to ignore the man as he tethered the stallion to a stake outside before nodding at the saloon door.
“He inside?”
“Well he’s not on the darn roof!”
“Keep your spurs on, cowboy.”
Not wanting to spend a moment longer with the insufferable barkeep, Bad Cop briefly patted down his belt to ensure he had both his gun and his cuffs before cautiously nudging the door open.
Inside, the air was heavy with stale smoke and the fiery stench of liquor. Everyone had evidently long since departed, save for the figure slumped in a booth donning a garish poncho and a really stupid hat. The man looked up, startled by the noise, and Bad Cop faltered momentarily, eyes widening behind his shades. That wasn’t just anyone sitting there. It was the Special.
“Brickowski? What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded, unable to keep the shock from his voice. It was certainly a far cry from the overconfident drunken cowboy he’d been expecting, to say the least.
Emmet mumbled something into his glass, far too quiet to hear, and Bad Cop rolled his eyes. Special or not, he had little patience for dithering.
“Speak up, man, what’s the matter with you?”
“It’s Lucy, she… she broke up with me,” Emmet whispered, eyes brimming as he looked up at the police officer.
“Oh. Oh, well that’s a pity,” Bad Cop replied, shifting awkwardly on his feet as he surveyed the blubbering mess of a construction worker sobbing all over the table. Kids. They always acted like this sort of thing was the be-all and end-all. He sighed and took off his hat - a trick Good had always used with the helmet to seem more approachable - before sliding into the booth opposite Emmet.
“Listen, lad, I’d like nothing more than to offer you a shoulder to cry on -” a blatant lie - “but right now I’m on duty and I’ve been asked to get you out, so that’s what I’m going to do whether you like it or not -” shit, too aggressive, tone it down - “so I’m hoping you’ll do us both a favour and make it nice and easy for everyone involved.”
By God, being patient was horrible. A year ago, he’d have thrown any blithering drunk on the table, cuffed him, and had the lout down the station within fifteen minutes. He didn’t know how Good had done it. People were bloody stupid.
“You’re a policeman, right?” Emmet sniffled, turning his cup in his fingers nervously. “That means your job is to help people.”
“Police officer, and yes, you’re correct, but there’s a police officer and there’s an Agony Aunt - one of which I am, and one of which I’m not. Come on, Brickowski, up you get. If you come quietly, I’ll have you home in under an hour and you’ll sleep in your bed instead of some piss-soaked cell in cowboy jail.”
The amount of work it took to keep his voice soft was almost excruciating. He’d hoped his efforts had at least been worthwhile, but from the wobbly little noise that Emmet made in place of a discernible response, it quickly became clear to Bad Cop that a change of tactic would be necessary.
“C'mon, kiddo,” he reassured in what he hoped was a gentle tone, although he was pretty sure he heard a growl sneak its way in there at some point. He coughed quietly in an attempt to chase it away and continued, businesslike: “Plenty more fish in the sea and all that. You’ll spend a while moping but in a few months you’ll pick yourself up and be ready for someone new. What you’re doing right now, on the other hand, isn’t going to solve any of your problems. In fact, all it’s really doing is pissing off Old Chuck,” he stated, giving an indicative point over his shoulder at the barkeep who bared his rotten teeth and gave a shake of his fist for emphasis.
“But you don’t get it,” Emmet wailed, and let his head plop dejectedly onto the table. “You don’t get what it’s like to lose someone you love, like, a whole lot!”
“Oh, you think so, do you?” Bad Cop snapped, pointing up at the side of his face that was twisted and marred with scarring. It certainly killed Emmet’s petulant whining, but the heavy silence that consequently hung in the air was hardly preferable.
“Sorry.” Bad Cop made the move to speak first, lest they sit there all night. “But even if that… whole mess hadn’t happened, you’re, what, twenty five, maybe? I’ve been there, everyone’s been there, and you’re far from the end of your romantic life.”
“You’re right,” Emmet interjected before Bad Cop could continue. Which was probably for the best seeing as he was hardly a bank of kindness, and his supply of comforting things to say was running somewhat dry - not to mention the fact that he sounded like he was reading the whole thing off cue cards. “You’re right. I’m being selfish. I mean heck, you practically lost a brother. Gosh, I’m so sorry.”
Bad Cop couldn’t help but admire the size of the kid’s heart. What had happened to Good was hardly relevant to the situation - he’d gotten frustrated and used it as an example, sure, but the idea wasn’t to guilt Emmet into not feeling upset about his own problems anymore. The sudden surge of sympathy was making Bad Cop awkward, and the last thing he wanted was an emotionally compromised Emmet blubbering over things he didn’t understand. He shook his head and held up one hand in a pacifying gesture.
“It’s fine. Wasn’t my intention t'guilt trip you. You got a right to be upset. I’d just suggest being upset at home so this poor sod can finally shut up shop, yeah?”
“Yeah, I… that sounds fair,” Emmet finally conceded, wiping his eyes on that daft poncho and getting shakily to his feet.
“Steady there,” Bad Cop muttered, quickly jamming his hat back on and diving in to keep Emmet upright before he went and fell on his face or something similarly stupid. “There we go, good man.”
“Thank you, Old Chuck,” Emmet slurred, waving at the furious barkeep as he was lead towards the door. Bad Cop quickly stepped up their pace before Old Chuck could sock him one, with a hushed mutter of “Don’t think he wants to be seeing you right now, Brickowski.”
Outside, the moon had nestled itself behind a blanket of pale clouds and the scrubland was entirely deserted, a peace disturbed only by the clumps of tumbleweed swirling around their feet in an invisible whirlpool.
“Do me a favor and hold yourself up for twenty seconds,” Bad Cop muttered, gingerly letting go of Emmet long enough to undo the tether on his horse. As Bad Cop made a soft clicking noise with his tongue and began to lead the horse over, Emmet felt a vague sense of foreboding settle in his stomach. The horse was huge, and more than a little scary looking, in his opinion. More concerning still was the fact that the horse’s rather high terror factor seemed to fly completely over Bad Cop’s head. The man looked entirely unfazed – even somewhat content around the beast. He turned his attention briefly from the horse to look at Emmet expectantly. When the construction worker merely stared in response, he let out a sharp puff of air and elaborated.
“Put your foot in the stirrup and use the front of the saddle to pull yourself up.”
“Um… I don’t think I can do that,” Emmet conceded, looking up at the area in question and feeling a fresh wave of nausea wash over him.
“Fine. Forget the stirrup, give me your foot and I’ll give you a leg up. Happy? Or would you like me to build you a stepladder?” Bad Cop’s tone was biting, and suddenly Emmet felt inclined to speed up. He tentatively raised his left leg a little off the floor, bending at the knee.
“Like, uh, like thi—whoa!!”
Emmet barely had time to grab the saddle before Bad Cop had grabbed his foot and all but propelled him into the air. He scrabbled wildly for a moment, hoping he wouldn’t hit the ground head first or something, before belatedly realizing that he was quite comfortably sat in the saddle. He wasn’t quite sure how that realization had escaped him, but at least he was alive, even if he did feel more like he was tight-roping across hundred story buildings than sitting on a horse. He chanced a quick peek downwards to see Bad Cop muttering something to the horse whilst scratching its snout.
“Wow. I didn’t really see you as an animal-loving kinda guy, but you’re really good with them.”
Bad Cop grunted in response, shrugging dismissively as he patted his steed’s neck.
“Been trained to handle 'em. All police officers are.”
Emmet squinted for a moment before shaking his head with a dopey smile.
“Nah, I think it’s more than that. You seem to really like this guy,” he chuckled, pointing insistently at the stallion.
“Eh. S'pose I do. Animals don’t expect a conversation out of you, which is always a plus in my books. Now lean back if you don’t want a kick in the face.”
Emmet only just registered the command on time, bracing himself against the back of the saddle as Bad Cop’s leg whipped past his head close enough to ruffle the flyaway hairs that stood tall in unruly protest at the back of his parting, and in the blink of an eye, the cop was sat in front of him, gathering up the reins.
“Wow. You’re flexible!” Emmet marvelled, to which Bad Cop merely made another vague grunting noise.
“Just hold onto me if you don’t want to end up face-first in a sand dune.”
On the ride back, they talked about whatever Emmet was able to in his current state of inebriation, which had been relaxing in an odd sort of a way. Simple, at least. And aside from a quick pit stop in the tunnel between the two realms for Emmet to throw up (Bad Cop blamed the horrendously gaudy colour schemes of those infernal things), the journey had pretty much gone off without a hitch. They’d taken a brief detour to the police station to swap out Bad Cop’s horse for a patrol car – which had fortunately doubled as an opportunity to lose the ridiculous cowboy hat – and were a few minutes from Emmet’s apartment when the construction worker cut the silence with the sudden question:
"Do you miss him?”
It was uttered quietly, and Bad Cop found himself questioning whether he’d even heard Emmet right.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Good Cop, I mean,” he clarified softly, pensively. “Do you miss him?”
Silence seized the pair again, breached only by the quiet hum of the patrol car’s engine until, after a while, Bad Cop let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. Emmet was tired and drunk - not like he’d remember anything Bad Cop was going to say. And there was something about the kid that just made you want to open up. It was a little disturbing.
“There’s nary a day when I don’t, kid,” he sighed, trying to focus most of his attention on driving. He grunted in irritation when the stiff gearstick refused to take them into 4th, and realised with no small amount of frustration and another sigh that Emmet was waiting for him to say something more. “Listen, Brickowski… in my line of work, bad things happen every day. People get messed up, people get hurt, and people die. People who don’t deserve it. Petty criminals. Friends. Colleagues. Innocents. Fact is, the second you start thinking on it too hard, caring too much– that’s when you start to lose it.”
“So… what do you do, then?”
“You move on. Learn from others’ mistakes. It’s a dog eat dog world, and sometimes picking up on someone else’s blunder can save your skin. Maybe even save someone else’s.”
Emmet nodded slowly. It took him an extra moment to process each word the cop said, but he got there nonetheless.
“I guess… in a way… I mean, that’s kinda what being a cop is about, huh? Using the things you’ve learnt from experience to help people and keep everyone safe and happy.”
Bad Cop hesitated a moment, tapping his fingers against the wheel in thought. It baffled him how much more positive Emmet was able to make the whole situation sound than he was.
“Yes and no. Being a cop is about enforcing the law, first and foremost. But if you can do those things along the way, you’ll be doing a pretty good job. And sometimes on quieter days, you will get a call to help someone with something personal. Stuck cats, lost kids… drunken louts that won’t leave bars when they’re told.”
Emmet burst out laughing at that, making Bad Cop start and nearly swerve into a lamp post.
“Christ, give me a bloody heart attack, why don’t you?”
“Sorry, sorry! That was just kinda funny! You’re kinda funny!”
Bad Cop felt his teeth grit together. The bloody cheek of it. He wasn’t funny. He was formidable.
“Glad you think so, I’ll be even funnier after the clowning classes I’m taking as this month’s extra-curricular activity,” he growled, but it only succeeded in making Emmet chuckle further.
“Well you are funny, even if you aren’t trying to be.” He paused for a moment, shooting Bad Cop a sidelong glance before leaning back in his seat with a smile. “And you know what? I think you’re getting to like helping people.”
“I’m just doing my job, Brickowski.”
Emmet evidently wasn’t satisfied with this answer, made clear by the drawn out 'hmmmm’ he made in response, but he didn’t press further, and Bad Cop was grateful for that as he pulled into the small driveway by Emmet’s apartment block.
“Welp, this is me,” the younger man declared, rapping his knuckles against the car window before opening the passenger door and stumbling to his feet, Bad Cop following suit. “I actually had a lot of fun, we should do this again sometime!”
Bad Cop couldn’t even comprehend how this kid had been able to survive into his twenties. Who the hell looked at having to be kicked out of a bar and taken home in a police car as 'fun’?
“Go on, lad, get yourself to bed. And for God’s sake, don’t go and drown in the toilet or something,” Bad Cop sighed, giving Emmet’s shoulder a quick pat before turning back towards the car. He paused briefly to make sure the twerp had gotten inside alright - he’d managed to muddle his way through unlocking the door and as Bad Cop watched him stumble into the hallway, he took a moment to tut at the somewhat pathetic sight before unlocking the car and getting back in.
“Thank you for taking me home, Bad Cop!” shouted Emmet’s head from the doorway, making the cop wince as the sudden volume cut through the stillness of the sleeping city.
“Keep it down, Brickowski, it’s one in the bloody morning,” he called back as quietly as he could. “Stay out of trouble, you twit.”
“Will do!” the construction worker stage whispered back, giving a thumbs up. He’d be alright. Bad Cop shook his head and started the engine. The kid was a pain, but it wasn’t the worst shift he’d had in his time.
But the thing is, when someone such as Bad Cop concedes that it 'wasn’t the worst shift he’d had in his time,’ it’s a far removed thing from someone such as Bad Cop wanting to see Emmet again anytime soon. Unfortunately for Bad Cop, he did see him soon. Very soon. The next day, in fact. So when the chief was faced with an eyeful of excited-looking Emmet the next morning upon walking into the station, suffice to say he wasn’t happy.
“What the hell are you doing here, Brickowski? I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.”
It was far too early, and Bad Cop hadn’t even had his coffee yet. He wasn’t in the mood. Unfortunately, the words that came from Emmet’s mouth next, delicately put, soured his mood a hundred times over.
“Oh no, I’m not in trouble! I’m here to sign up!”