Canât Catch a Break - Ch. 1: Sleep Well
Three short drabbles that depicts a normal night/day in the lives of Good Cop and Bad Cop while working for President Business.
Other Chapters: Â [1] [2] [3]
Summary: Bad Cop has to send both of them to bed after a longer dayâs work than usual.
 Bad Copâs eyes felt heavy. He could hardly see straight driving down the road to his countryside home, hardly able keep them open. Bad Cop knew very well he shouldnât be driving home like this, but who else was supposed to take him? Good Cop certainly couldnât. Business had provided him with his own personal robot assistant (Good Cop named him Frank), but he had never required his assistance. He was a grown man, he could do things on his own. He didnât need Business treating him and Good like a child.  He slowly but surely pulled into his long driveway, tires kicking up dust and gravel behind him. He glanced over at the clock on their car radio. Ten minutes to midnight. Of course. Business practically worked him to the bone today, but he still expected the cop to show up at 6 AM sharp the next morning. Bad Cop didnât know how much more he could take. How long had he been working for him now? Capturing Master Builders, interrogations, all that. Six years now. The cop pulled the aviators off his face and rubbed at his eyes, gripping at the skin around them. It helped, but it didnât change how physically exhausted he felt. He turned into the section of his driveway close to his home and sighed. He mentally reached out to Good Cop, only to find he had fallen asleep first and showed no signs of waking up anytime soon. Mentally AND physically exhausted. Never a good combination. He turned off the ignition and stumbled out of his car, not bothering to take his aviators and helmet with him. Bad Cop slowly walked up the steps of his porch, fumbling with his keys for a few moments before unlocking his door and slamming it open, deepening the hole in the wall the doorknob had made many years ago. He didnât care at this point. He threw his keys practically across the living room onto the coffee table, only to have them slide right off.   He swung open the door to their bedroom. They had chose the master bedroom out of the two other rooms in the house. It was roomier, less cramped and both Bad Cop and Good Cop preferred this. The bed was larger than needed, though, a king size rather than the recommended twin size. Again, the two cops didnât mind. Bad Cop missed the sight of his bed today and all he wanted to do was collapse and pass out onto it, right then and there. The bed was cluttered, however. Covered in clothes needed to be folded, hangers, a basket. âHeâd get to it eventuallyâ he always told himself. Itâs been three weeks. He tossed everything into the basket and set it aside, accompanying all the other junk and trash cluttered around their room. Business practically had them working day and night, they could never clean their home when they needed. Bad Cop maneuvered around their room, nearly tripping over the clutter. He could barely see now, eyes refusing to stay open. The two cops had barely slept a full night in weeks.  The cop stared as much as he could at the bed in front of him. He was ready to fall forward onto it and pass out as is. He then realized, there was one matter to be taken care of first. His uniform. He would never sleep comfortably in a leather jacket, pants and boots. Undressing felt like it took forever, Bad Cop not knowing if it was because he was half asleep or not. He stood there in a black tank top and boxers before falling onto the bed, not even bothering to wrap himself up in a blanket. His head wasnât even on the pillow. He didnât care. At this point, he was too tired.  He slowly drifted off to sleep, faintly hearing a soft voice in the back of his head.
 'G'night⌠buddyâŚâ  âGood night.â
