N to the Power of O by alyse [ - ]
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Category: CI5: The New Professionals > Slash
Characters: Chris Keel
Rating: G
Genres: Humour
Warnings: None

Summary: Ficlet, written for Rod.

"Which part of 'no' do you not understand? The N or the O?"

Chris flinches as the sarcasm has the expected, and probably desired, result of a fist driven into Sam's stomach, doubling his partner up so that he hangs limply from the ropes tying him to the pipe work above.

When they get out of here - and they *are* going to get out of here - he's going to have serious words with his partner about which one of them is supposed to be the hot-headed, smart-mouthed one. Words that are probably going to start off with, "You idiot!" and end with something considerably less coherent.

Hey, whatever it took to get them through this, right? And the thought of Sam sweaty and naked beneath him has gotten him through considerably nastier situations than the one they find themselves in with these fucking amateurs.

They didn't even search them properly, and Chris can still feel the weight of the small concealed knife he carries pressing against the inside of his thigh. It may come in useful, if Backup and the cavalry don't arrive soon. Might even turn out to be worth the jokes that Sam makes about 'little blades,' and, 'Are you sure that's six inches? I think someone's been lying to you, mate.'

No. It's never going to be worth that, at least not without actually saving their lives and things are not that serious, not yet.

Definitely not now Goon Number 2, or Old Halitosis Breath as Chris has privately dubbed him, appears to have gone for a bathroom break. Like he said. Fucking amateurs. And if that wasn't enough of a give away, you only had to look at how the asshole who just hit his partner in the stomach has just turned his back on Chris and is standing too fucking close.

It's almost insultingly easy. He's not too close, just close enough for Chris to raise his legs and wrap them around the asshole's neck. He presses his thigh across the guy's throat, efficiently cutting off his air supply and ignoring the desperate fingers scrabbling at the fabric of his jeans.

He stops just short of killing him, but waits until the fingers stop moving and the body becomes a limp weight, held up only by his grip. He has no idea whether he stopped short of causing brain damage, and can't find it in him to care. He doubts it would make much difference to the ape's cognitive functions anyway. All he's really interested in is avoiding another lecture from Malone about the use of excessive force, when he knows that all Malone is interested in is the potential bad publicity, and maybe getting their hands on someone who probably really doesn't understand the meaning of the word 'no', at least not when the questions are aimed at him.

He lets the guy fall with a thump and meets Sam's eyes again. Sam's face is white and sweaty - the punch must have been harder than he thought and for a second he wishes he hadn't let go so soon - but Sam's eyes gleam sardonically.

"You've seen too many Bond films."

"Hey," he shoots back. "Famke Janssen. What's not to like?"

Sam snorts, shifting in his bonds uncomfortably, but there's a little more colour in his face. "Now what?"

He shrugs as well as he can when his arms are tied above his head. "Wait for Backup to come with... backup?"

Sam's eyebrow raises a fraction of an inch and his mouth curls in that tiny smile that Chris knows spells trouble.

"And if she doesn't?"

He shrugs again, twisting slightly to ease the ache in his shoulders. "I've still got that little knife..."

Sam's smile widens, becomes a full-blown smirk and the gleam in his eyes becomes positively evil. "You know, Chris, if I were you I wouldn't go around telling people that."