"Remy, now, maybe it's just me and watching too much TV, but..."

"What Bobby? I'm kinda in the middle of counting thousands of dollars. Y' make me lose count an' I'll ma--"

"I don't think it's a good thing if a couple of cop cars are zipping through traffic to keep pace with us. Right?"

"What?! Where?!"

Bobby smirked in a bit of smugness at seeing the trouble before Remy did. "5-0! 5-0!"

"Shuddup and floor it, Drake."

Bobby goggled at him, almost clipping the Lexus he'd been passing. "Wh--what?"

"Welcome to y' first real-live car chase, Bobby," he grinned.

"You're gonna let me get us killed?!"

"Bobby! Have a lil' bit o' faith in y'self. Think of it as a trial-by-fire, 'kay?"

Because that made it all better, he thought as he gunned the engine and pushed to the fifth gear.

[...]

"You're kissing me *now*?!"

"y' too much, cher."

"god, i mean-- those're *cops* remy! this is for real!"

Bobby can't quite get the high squeak in his voice to come down, but he thinks this situation warrants him revisiting his 15 yr-old voice.

Remy settles back into the passenger seat, and surprisingly, buckles his seat belt. Bobby can't quite wrap his mind around the fact that his boyfriend --the international thief, currently covered head-to-toe in black spandex and still wearing the mic strap around his neck-- just strapped himself in to his seat. Like minding safety wasn't something criminals were in the habit of doing.

Bobby had been veering in and out of the middle two lanes of IH50 (wherever the fuck this is, it's gonna be by a big city) for a few minutes before he noticed Remy digging in the center console.

"What are you looking for?"

"M' phone."

"Your what?!"

"Bobby, I'm a responsible driver. If evah I'm in an accident, I'd like to be able to call for the paramedics."

Bobby just stared.

"Well, it's just good sense."

Bobby had to concede. It was good sense. He just didn't expect... well, he didn't expect a lot of things from Remy and the man kept surprising him. Best to just go with whatever. Might save a bit of his sanity.

"what?"

"Found the phone."

"And now you're gonna do... what with it exactly?"

"Call my girl, Kitty."

Bobby didn't even try and look at why that sentence was making him clench his teeth tight enough to make his jaw pop.

"Don't you think this isn't the best time for a social call?" he said as he threw a quick glance, only to see Remy holding the phone to his ear already.

"KitKat? Yeah, it's-- yeah. Gonna need your special brand o' lovin', chere," he crooned into the phone. Bobby's teeth started grinding.

"Yeah, we on the 50. Yes, I know we got two o' the po-po behind us, thank you very much." He shook his head to Bobby like it was par for the course for her to point out the obvious to berate him.

"We is Bobby and me, chere."

Bobby didn't quite know what was going on anymore, and rather than dwell on the phonecall to some hot chick who called herself 'Kitty', he decided that at least, he was going to try and get them out of trouble.

Bobby was also pointedly ignoring the fact that he'd been the one to get them into trouble in the first place, because at this point, that was a moot point as he was driving and Remy was... flirting.

"Exit 359? Y'sure?"

Bobby's ears perked up and his eyes went to the mile markers. Remy moved the phone away from his mouth and turned to Bobby.

"Bobby, y' gonna take the 359 exit into the city, 'kay?"

"Remy, that's the next exit."

"Yeah, I know, cher."

"Rem. I'm doing over a hundred."

Remy just looked at him blankly.

"You're telling me I've got to get off on a clover at 30 over the speed limit?!"

Remy cocked his head to the side, and then got his attention pulled back into the phone.

"Yeah, he's a little nervous. It's his first time."

The fuck was smirking. Bobby was about to shoot them off an exit ramp, and the fuck was making fun of him.

"Hol--hold on, chere," and Remy covered the phone with his left hand as he turned back to Bobby, who had started fidgeting in the driver's seat.

"Bobby."

Bobby clenched his teeth and kept looking straight ahead to the exit as he floated across lanes, the sirens still screaming annoyingly in the background.

"Bobby."

"What."

"I trust you."

Well, fuck.

Bobby jerked his head to Remy's and kissed him hard on the mouth, and then slammed the break for a few seconds as he took the sharp turn, his hands crossing over each other to keep the wheels turning fast enough as they raced down the ramp at about 75 miles per hour.

"Kitty says take this straight shot for three blocks then hang a left on White Road."

Bobby nodded and gunned the engine back up to 90, silently praying all the drivers around knew how to obey the laws he was so purposely breaking.

The tires squealed in protest as he rounded onto White Road, and he noted out of the corner of his eye that Remy had braced himself against the dashboard, but was otherwise calm and listening intently to the girl on the other end of the phone.

"Rem, check how many are still following."

As Remy shifted to throw his head around to look to the back, all Bobby could think was that he had to slow down.

"Rem, we're in the city now and--"

Remy was already nodding, having followed his train of thought. "Yeah, cher. More cops around to follow us. Slow it down to highway speed and Kitty here'll get us good and lost so ain' no one gonna find us."

Bobby nodded, and let up on the accelerator.

Six rights, ten lefts, and three U-ies later, Bobby was looking in the rearview when to his surprise, he didn't see anything in it. No flashing red and blue, nothing. He couldn't quite believe it, and turned to Remy to confirm what he thought he was maybe deluding himself into seeing.

"Does that mean what I think it does?"

"Turn the corner and go into the SBC parking garage," Remy pointed as he scanned the streets.

Bobby quickly obeyed, and didn't talk again until he'd parked between an Excursion and a Rio on the fourth level.

Pulling the key out of the ignition, Bobby gave a huge sigh of relief and finally let go of the steering wheel.

"Okay KitKat, we in the SBC garage. You be here in ten, right? Good, see ya cher. And merci."

With the snap of the phone closing, Remy also took a deep breath and fell back into the seat.

"Bobby, you get the gear out of the back, I'll wipe down the car, and then we'll carry the money and tools down to the basement level 2. [The Little Cat] will be there to pick us up and drop us off at my safehouse."

Bobby was still a bit too shocked to speak, so he just nodded and made the move to pop the trunk.

Bobby had unloaded everything from the trunk of the car as well as their junk in the glove compartment and console. The car was empty and Remy had gone over the entire car inside and out with what looked like nothing more than duct tape, before he'd proclaimed it 'clean'.

Bobby looked to Remy, who was still wearing his gear, and handed him a pair of jeans from his gym bag. Remy had the good grace to blush at forgetting to redress. (or, shit, that's an awkward sentence.)

As they were walking side by side down the stairs of the parking garage, Bobby took in the side view of Remy, dressed in his own tight maroon t-shirt and Bobby's loose faded jeans. He decided he wouldn't mind if Remy kept that pair since it gave him such a nice view of those hips. And the dimples at the small of his back. And his navel.

"--Bobby?"

"Wha? Hmm?"

Remy grinned broadly and puffed his chest out a bit, knowing he'd been ogled.

"I said, y' done damn good back there. Ain' nobody ever been so cool under pressure, that I've seen."

Bobby blushed red to the roots of his hair and ducked his head to hide the smile he couldn't stop.

"Ain' nothin' to hide, Bobby. Y' a bonefide getaway driver now!"

Bobby laughed out loud before he could help himself.

"Yeah, I guess I am, huh?"

Bobby Drake, Certified General Accountant and Accomplished Getaway Driver. He didn't think it would land him more money, but it couldn't hurt to put on his resume, right?