Comments: A short, sweet fic of how *I* believe Jake and Chance got their calsigns. May in the end be a scene filler in a fanfic in progress. However, do keep in mind that I may want to improve it. If you have any ideas or suggestions, just poke me (not too hard).

Thanks to Kristen Sharpe for the proofreading! What could I do without her poking me when sentences don't make sense? Ah yes! Wreck havok by confusing people! Mua haha!!!!

-------------------------------

"That's it. From now on, I drive in heavy traffic." Jake tossed his jacket onto the nearest chair. "And, on long car trips."

"You? My grandma could drive faster than you can. Besides, it wasn't my fault that jerk was blasting his radio that loud." Chance rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Not to mention that it was my right of way."

"Well, we're gonna see that one in the morning." Jake sank onto the couch, distractedly searching for the remote. He hardly felt Chance sit beside him, but gladly accepted the can of milk he'd been offered.

The duo sat in silence, merely listening to the melee of noise as Jake channel surfed. There was old news, a few movies, even Scardey Kat was on. But, tonight, neither was in the mood to duke it out over what they were going to watch.

Chance's small sigh broke the noiseless environment, his green eyes now away from the television and towards the closed garage door. He wondered how many cars they'd have in the morning to handle. He wondered when they were going to attempt that joyride in the Turbokat again without getting caught by the Enforcers. He wondered when he and Jake could take into the skies again. He wondered when he was going to fly again.

Abruptly, his thoughts were broken by the sound of soft snickering. Turning, he noticed Jake's mouth curling into a smile.

"What?"

Jake continued snickering, then burst out in a fit of laughter, his puzzled friend watching him curiously. Finally managing to regain enough sobriety to speak, he turned to Chance.

"You *t-boned* Steele's car."

Chance arched a brow. "I know that, Mr. Razor-Sharp Mind. What's so funny about that?"

Jake grinned. "I think I just found the perfect calsign for you, buddy."

"Huh?" Chance's gaze continued to be puzzled. What was Jake....? He paused, realizing the previous sentence.

"And, I mean in terms of what the dictionary defines as 'forced entry or impact'," Jake continued with a smug look on his face. "Admit it, buddy. Basically every one of your fighting tactics were... a forced impact."

He couldn't laugh any longer. Chance already had him in a good headlock, unable to escape the inevitable noogie he received.

"HEY!"

"If that's your idea of a good name, then I do feel sorry for your kittens. What next? Hambone?" Chance shot back with a grin and a friendly tone indicating that he was joking. "Did that razor-sharp mind of yours figure that out on its own?"

"Yes! And, I'm proud of my razor-sharp mind!" Jake retorted, trying to squirm out of Chance's grasp. With much effort, he escaped. That is, until he was welcomed with a couch pillow to the face.

"Then, I dub thee 'RAZOR!'" Chance shouted, whacking Jake on the head.

"And, from henceforth, thou shalt be refered to as 'T-Bone!'" Jake returned fire.

Soon, the laughter of those now known as Chance "T-Bone" Furlong and Jake "Razor" Clawson filled the solitary garage, the duo carrying on the mock pillow fight for a good half hour.