Chapter 2 of my Adam-12 fan fiction story! You can find Chapter 1 here.

Out of the corner of his eye, Malloy saw Reed watching him. It had been a long morning, and the sun was just coming over the hill–about 6:30. Patrol had taken them down by the wharfs, and large warehouses lined the road on the left. Since it was Sunday, no one was working; they had the street to themselves.

The partners hadn’t talked much between calls. Malloy’s anger had diminished with the darkness, leaving an empty feeling in his chest. “Hey, Partner,” he said. “How do you feel about Seven?”

Reed was always enthusiastic for food. “Great! Where?”

“I don’t know. Wanna try The Brink?”

“Sure.” Reed picked up the microphone. “One-Adam-Twelve requesting Code Seven at Loughlin and Fillmore.”

After a couple of seconds, the response came. “One-Adam-Twelve…

An Adam-12 fan fiction story: A while back, I watched the whole series from the 1960’s-70’s. Great fun! Writing this story was an exercise in everything but characterization, since those were already given. A new chapter will come out every Tuesday. I hope you enjoy!

“What’s up, Mac?” Malloy stepped into the Watch Commander’s office and let the door swing shut behind him.

Mac looked up from skimming a report and gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit down, Pete.” Malloy took the chair, and Mac set his papers aside. “You may have noticed we’re stretched thin lately…” His voice trailed off, and he started again. “I guess there’s no easy way to ask this.” He squinted. “Do you think Reed could handle a beat?”

Malloy blinked. “Without me?”

Mac nodded, and his strange, blue eyes bored into the other officer’s.

Malloy sat back in…

It was 3 AM, and she was awake. Again.

She had tried everything: warm milk, herbal teas, medicine – natural and pharmaceutical, staying off her phone and computer, a new pillow, calming music, cold baths, hot baths. Despite everything, it was 3 AM and she was awake again.

She sighed and sat up in bed, running a hand through her short hair. She knew that in an hour or so she would likely be asleep again. What did one do for an hour in the middle of the night?

She could work — there was always more work to do — but that might stimulate her brain and keep her awake longer. She had the same worries about reading or watching anything. She didn’t want to be awake. She wanted every one of her few hours of unconsciousness. She thought enough as it was, she didn’t need to be thinking…

“What do you read?”

The reverie was broken. Nicodemus blinked. The piercing brightness of the desert valley became the cool brightness of the morning through the colonnade. The written word–which had translated seamlessly from the scroll in his hand to the image in his mind–became the spoken word. The voice of the Lord became the voice of the boy standing before him.

Nicodemus returned to the world where the people of the Lord were yet dead. They lay in tombs of exhausted hope, the earth in which they were buried cracked for lack of living water.

The Temple was filled with the motion of the people, but for many days, it had seemed still and airless to him. He couldn’t even bring himself to come every day anymore. Tears gathered in his eyes. He pressed his lips together and breathed in the lifeless air.

The boy smiled. He asked again…