You Could Have Been Killed: Miami Vice Fanfic

Untitled Part 1

He wasn't getting away this time! Tubbs was hell-bent on getting the arrest. The slimy weasel had slipped through Vices' grasps on one occasion too many. Against her better judgment, she climbs out of Sonny's car and begins to pursue the felonious philanderer across on-coming traffic on the MacArthur Causeway.

Tubbs narrowly avoids becoming a flattened pancake in her relentless chase. Much to the bitter admonishments of several inconvenienced rush-hour drivers. The noise of which, failed to meet her ears under the chorus of wailing horns.

At the highest point of the bridge, the suspect seemed to run out of steam. His movements slowed to a nearly grating but leisurely jog. Now, here is when Ricki's instinct should have declared something was extremely WRONG and then common sense should have kicked in. Yet, with her temper blazing as hot as the present summer sun, she ignores every single red flag in order to allow her emotions to propel her forward.

The criminal draws nearer to the edge and she lunges to grab him. All too late, Tubbs comes to the rude realization that her sense of spatial reasoning had briefly abandoned her. The extra foot of space she had thought was there quickly vanishes into thin air. Over the ledge and past the towering concrete pylons they both haplessly tumble.

Colors race by her at nauseating speeds as Ricki does her best to brace for the impact while still clinging on to her quarry. There is azure from the skies, red and yellow from brakes being slammed, a drab gravel grayish brown from the bridge, and the emerald waters below. It is a continually changing Kaleidoscope at best. At worst, a three-year-old's art project.

The plunge itself seemed to take the span of a lifetime as gravity drags her towards the choppy waters of Biscayne Bay. Regret rightfully perches upon her shoulders upon the terrible impact. Every muscle and tendon ached horribly as if, she had done a ten-story belly-flop on the sidewalk. But she didn't have time to dwell upon the pain for a towering wall of water consumes her. It is everywhere-up her nose, in her mouth, and seeping into every inch of her authentic Armani suit. The material becomes heavy like an anchor cast roundabout her body. Tubbs is keenly aware that she is drowning. Survival instincts set in and her hands relinquish their hold upon the suspect in order to relieve herself of the weighted jacket and pants tugging her further under. A series of fitful shrugs and kicks free her of the designer's deathtraps.

With the last spell of energy she had not utilized, Tubbs pulls herself back up to the surface. After several sputtering coughs, some saltwater is finally expelled from her airways. Although, some feels as though, it has settled deep within her lungs. A trembling hand removes a tangle of hair from her face with a single sloppy swipe making it easier to breathe.

Ricki's slender body drifts at the will of the harsh current. Her head bobbing up and down in a miserable cross between the act of sinking and swimming. It takes Tubbs an inordinate amount of time to right her senses and recollect why it was she had ended up in the water in the first place! Stinging coffee and evergreen hues seek out the suspect. Yet, to her complete dismay, it seemed he had once more vanished. Giving up on her search, her mind then turns to Crockett and staying afloat until help arrived.

It had been hours of nothing but treading water till a small Coast Guard Patrol Boat arrived with her partner on board. (A potential exaggeration when it comes to the length of time. But well, it certainly felt like hours.) Never had she been happier to see a ship other than the teal, navy, and pink scarab Sonny often piloted. She was even more delighted to see Crockett standing pensively on the deck. A few tears of jubilation spill unbidden from her long lashes as she embraces him.

The relieved smile is soon banished by Sonny's stern words. "You could have been killed!"

The tough-as-nails survivor crinkles up her nose in distaste for she knows that fall SHOULD have killed her. "H...hell of a g...greeting, partner." She sputters in a gravely sotto voce- her throat aching too much to put any degree of attitude or accusation in the words. After a moment's pause to pull a blanket around her violently quaking shoulders, she continues between deep breaths and sputtering. "I...I w...was kinda h...hoping you'd j..j..just ask something l...like - how was t..the swim?" Its a poor attempt at humor in an effort to stave off any kind of lecture Crockett may be thinking to produce. Would it be successful? She doesn't out-rightly know. All Tubbs really wants to do is cling to him, the way she had to life.

As an afterthought, Ricki confides, "h..he got a...away a...again."