“This place is heaven, girl!”

I smiled. Somehow, in one twisted way or another, I was satisfied. God knows why I would give a damn if Blondie happened to love our latest hideout. I opened the backdoor of my CRV. “I know.”

Nick raised an eyebrow, staring weirdly at me as if a second nose had grown at the base of my neck. He walked slowly to the back of the car until he was standing directly in front of me. As if that wasn’t enough, he bent down to my eye level, trying to dig some serious shit out of my eyeballs. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

I felt like wrinkling my nose. And I did just that. What the hell? “Are you freaking alright, mister?” I inquired, raising an eyebrow in an attempt to appear skeptical. I refused to stare into those lethal baby blues a second longer. Instead, I pulled a really heavy duffel bag out. No point in glaring a death wish at the innocent leather, but it was at least something I could do to occupy my eyes. “I am not freaking doing this on purpose, retard.”

He started grinning some serious heavy case of cheesy grin. He winked and started to bat his eyelashes crazily. Who would have known a Backstreet Boy could be this pre-pubescent? “You want me all by yourself, don’t you? You fake all the kidnapping thingy so that you can get me in your pants. Am I right? Huh? Huh?”

I tried to narrow my eyes. Drew my overly-huge Elmer eyes into slits. Seethe. Whatever. Anything to look intimidating. Two seconds passed. I snorted and swatted his arm playfully. “You bet, when I drag you down to the bank tomorrow, honey.”

Nick started to crack again. I tried frantically to send ‘no-ass-cracking-jokes-in-my-territory’ aura to him but the signal was either being reflected somewhere in the Amazon or the satellites are simply too far away from Seattle. I sighed. I needed something to snap him off the irritating cheery mode. “Hold out your hands.” Even if it meant relocating our luggage.

Nick obliged, all in the while still laughing his ass off. I heaved his Tommy duffel from the trunk and placed it onto his outstretched hands. He swiveled back and forth and I bit back a laugh.

“Don’t look at me. You’re the one who decided to travel like a freaking girl.” I pulled out my lighter duffel and slammed the back door shut.

“They did invent those cart thingy for a reason, you know?” he whined and pouted, putting the fragments of all his puppy expressions into gear.

It was a wonder how my eyes weren’t already malfunctioned at the rate I kept rolling them. “Here’s a manual. First, wipe off the pout. Second, quit being a girl. Third, step into the house,” I instructed.

I tried to swallow my laughter at Nick’s vain attempt not to stamp his feet. A few mutters and a reckless exhale of breath. “I am not a girl,” he protested. I shrugged and swung the front door open carefully.

“No, I made a mistake, Nick.”

Nick’s face brightened, he almost put the Christmas tree to shame.

“You’re a woman.”

P/S: This version is written in the third-eye point-of-view. My head was kinda screwed and any personality-switching would drive me crazy. Sorry for the inconvenience!

“I do admire the great work of carving done to this chair, but is it really necessary to literally attach me to it?” Nick inquired. The hard wood was making a good job in making his butt numb.

CJ looked up from her cell. She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes to slits in works to appear thoughtful. “Yes, if I do say so myself,” she said simply before returning back to messaging Archie.

The screen displayed the sent message. Satisfied, CJ rose from the kitchen and walked into the kitchen. “Dinner time,” she announced. “What would you like for dinner, Nick?”

Nick’s ears perked up and he immediately lost count of the sheep. Being kidnapped is so cool. “You mean I can choose what I want for dinner?” he inquired excitedly, his eyes lighting up bright.

“Nah, it’s just ol’ Mac and Cheese. Just trying to make you feel more at home. I’m hospitable, you know?” CJ replied with careless wave of hand. “And yea, meatloaf.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Nick muttered. “I’m not exactly tied to a chair every time I’m home, you know?” he called. If she could as far go without gagging and tying up his feet, maybe a few doses of Carter charms would eventually let his hands free too.

A muffled reply came from the kitchen. “You’re just a few points away from being gagged, mister,” she said, appearing from the kitchen. “What did they do to you in showbiz? Send you to law school? Maybe you should consider being a counselor if your album stinks or something.”

“Hey, just a thought,: he replied, shrugging. He eyed the plate in CJ’s hand curiously. “I would like to get another point across regarding my eating disability in my current condition….”

“Shut up and open your mouth.”

Nick obliged. Especially after he saw the glint of the silver gun tucked safely at CJ’s waist belt. CJ fed him a spoonful of Mac and cheese. “This isn’t bad at all. Doesn’t take like anything from the frozen crap.”

CJ scraped the plate and spooned more Macs. “I can’t tolerate frozen food no matter how improvised they are. More?”

Nick nodded and was fed with another spoonful. “And you should consider being a chef if this kidnapping thingy doesn’t work either,” he reasoned, grinning.

“Tell me again the part where I have to laugh because I totally missed the last one,” she replied dryly. “Meatloaf?”

Nick raised a questioning brow. “Aren’t you like tired standing there spoon-feeding me? My lap is pretty comfy, you know,” he said, winking his eye playfully.

CJ smirked. “Save up your Brownie points, Carter. Gags and you don’t really go well together.”