Fic: Neutral Men, Part 2
Part 2 of the Ashes to Ashes fic 'Neutral Men'. Beware SPOILERS for the finale!
Part 1 is here.
2: The Devil Wears a Smile
The devil is and always has been a gentleman
Diane LaVey
Previously in 'Neutral Men':
Keats’ smile was serpentine. “Because my superior intends to transfer the folks at Fenchurch East to his department. All of them.” Dark, dancing eyes met Gene’s. “He's coming, Hunt, and this time, he wants you.”
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“Well, he can't bloody have me.” Gene poured himself another drink, then, as an afterthought, one for Keats as well. Didn't do to be petty, and his guest obviously wasn't going anywhere until Gene picked him up by the scruff of the neck and tossed him through the window. Let him have a drink first.
Keats grabbed the whisky, sucking it down like an old dame getting dead spiders off the ceiling with her hoover pipe.
“Thirsty?”
“You've no idea.”
Gene inspected the items on his desk for a bit. He studied his whisky bottle, the well-thumbed owner's manual for his Merc, a newly-won darts trophy. Jim was sitting very still and silent; after a few minutes, when Gene looked up to check the man hadn't died, he found Keats staring at him fixedly through his lopsided specs.
“I get the feeling,” Gene began, conversationally, “that you're here to offer me some sort of deal, Jimbo. Let it be known that Gene Hunt doesn't bargain with sneaky little villains like you.”
“Gene Hunt doesn't have a choice,” Keats stated.
“Go on then. What's this great and bountiful gift you're offering me? If it's an expenses-paid holiday in the Costa Brava, I don't bloody want it.”
“Imagine how warm it is on the Costa Brava,” Keats murmured, a dreamy look coming into his eyes.
Gene slammed a hand down on the desk. “Oi. Get your brain in gear and your head out of your arse, or I'll put you out in the rain like the ruddy skulking feline you are. You've got one minute to give me a reason not to chuck you out of the window.”
Keats appeared to have marshalled his thoughts. He was calmer, more in control. Perhaps the whisky had helped. “It's simple, Hunt. My boss is coming to make things difficult for you and your department. I'm not exactly in his good books myself at the moment, but if you ensure he lets me run the investigation at this end, I'll do everything I can to help you.”
Gene thought about it. He really did. For all of ten seconds. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't trust you. Because you've made it clear that your mission is to destroy me. And because you're the single most disgusting piece of sub-human shit I've ever met in my life.”
“Oh, yes, let's resort to the playground insults. What am I suppose to say to that - 'I know you are'? Look, Gene,” he leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk. Gene leaned back, taking his whisky out of range. “You have no idea what you're dealing with here. I do.”
“And what do you get out of it? Am I supposed to believe you're making this charitable offer out of the kindness of your black, withered heart?”
Keats let out a sigh of frustration. He pinched the bridge of his nose, adjusted his glasses, attempted ineffectually to smooth down his hair. Gene waited, expressionless.
“Ok. All right. I'll level with you.”
“There's a first.”
“When I started working for my boss...”
“This would be Assistant Chief Commissioner Beelzebub?” Gene interpolated, innocently.
Keats looked at him as if wondering whether he was supposed to read something beyond casual insult into that remark. “I normally call him Nick,” he murmured. “Just shut up and listen to me. Nick made me a lot of promises. He offered me a department of my own, as long as I could find suitable officers to staff it. Understand?”
“So you tried to poach my team?”
“You should be flattered. Nick only wanted the best.”
“He didn't want me, though, apparently. Not very flattering, is it?”
“That's what I'm trying to tell you,” Keats sighed again. “He thinks now that he made a miscalculation. That he should have gone right to the source. Thing is, there's nothing he can offer you that you don't already have. You've got everything you want.”
“Wouldn't say no to Elizabeth Taylor.”
“That's a bit beyond even his abilities, at present,” came the dry response. “I don't know what his plan is - what tricks he might try to play on you. He doesn't confide that sort of information in me any more, I'm afraid. But I do know how his mind works, and chances are, I'll be able to figure out what it is he's up to a lot more quickly than you will. I have an advantage you don't.”
“Which is?” Gene was willing to humour him for another minute or two. Then it was window time.
“Objectivity. When it comes to your kingdom, I'm on the outside looking in. You can't deny that it might be useful.”
When Gene remained silent, thinking, Keats got up and began to pace. “We don't have much time!” he cried. “Look, it's so simple even you should be able to understand it. I've got no love for you, Hunt, and you have none for me. You think I've been out to get you in the past and honestly, you're not wrong. But my superior's worse. Worse than you can possibly imagine. You need my help if you're going to survive.”
Gene shook his head. It didn't add up. Last he'd heard, Keats didn't want him to survive - quite the opposite. “You still haven't explained what you get,” he said, meeting the other man's gaze. He tried to see past the posturing, the smooth-talking, the sales pitch, and thought he'd succeeded when he spotted something in Keats' eyes he only remembered seeing once before.
Fear.
“I get...” Keats was saying. He glanced nervously at his watch, frowned in exasperation for some reason, then checked the clock on Gene's wall. “He'll be here in a minute. What I get is a chance. He'll never give me what he promised, I know that now. Maybe you can.”
“Me?!”
“All I ask is that you invite me to stay when all this is over.”
“There's no need for that, Jim. I can't seem to get bloody rid of you.”
“You don't understand. But you will. He's coming!” Keats' eyes widened, his face becoming quite frantic as he talked very fast. “It's your decision. I can't force you. Whatever you choose, just don't mention we had this conversation. Please. If he finds out I've been talking to you like this he could dismiss me from the force. There's no turning back after that, Gene. This job is all I have left - the same as you.”
He stopped dead, apparently on the verge of appealing to Gene's compassion for a fellow officer. Pity Gene didn't rate Keats as a fellow human being, let alone a fellow officer.
“He's here,” Keats said, quietly. He gave Gene a significant look before slinking out of the office.
A deathly silence had replaced CID's usual chaotic hubbub. Gene got up, went to the window, whisky in hand. He saw an unfamiliar man, tallish, average build, thick iron-grey hair neatly cut and swept back from his forehead. He was talking to one of the sergeants, sharing a joke. The man laughed uncertainly in response, breaking the spell that had settled over the room. Gene's men started talking again, coming forward to greet the newcomer, shaking hands, receiving smiles and patted backs. Only Connor hung back, watching narrowly.
Jim Keats, for his part, hovered behind the new arrival like a nervous butler waiting to report that Lady Wotsit's kid had just thrown up all over the expensive rug in the drawing room. He caught Gene's eye and pointed urgently - This is him!
Gene could have guessed that for himself. He hitched up his belt, drew himself up to his full height, and strode out to meet what Jim Keats claimed was his new nemesis.
Before he could say a word, the newcomer turned to him. Gene saw a face that could have been anything between fifty and seventy, bright blue eyes that crinkled kindly, a warm, open smile.
“Chief Inspector Hunt! I believe Jim told you to expect me?” He flashed his fatherly smile at Keats, skulking nearby. Keats quirked a pained half-smile in return; he looked as though he was having a tooth pulled by a friendly dentist.
“Deputy Assistant Commissioner Nick Callaghan,” the older man introduced himself, holding out his hand to Gene as he flicked an amused glance in Keats' direction. “I must say, it's a pleasure to finally meet the notorious Sheriff of Fenchurch East.”
“Thank you, sir.” Gene shook hands. Callaghan's grip was firm, but not as firm as Gene's own. No attempt to assert his authority. He did, however, get right down to business.
“I realise this is a frightful bore, Gene, but you know how it is - public relations have become the bane of the police force. I've been charged with the task of ensuring that all our stations can pass muster even under the public's most careful scrutiny - and believe me, that scrutiny is very careful indeed. Shall we go into your office?”
He put a friendly hand on Gene's back, steering him away from the others. Keats followed at a distance. Shooing Gene into his own office, Callaghan waited indulgently for his pet pencil-pusher to sidle in after them before closing the door and pulling down the blind.
“You're aware,” he went on, gesturing that Gene should sit down, relax, “that the last D&C investigation of your department was something of a bust, if I may put it that way.” His eyes flicked briefly, again, to Keats, standing otherwise ignored in the corner. “As Inspector Keats' report was unfortunately inadequate for the purpose - through no fault of his own, of course - I am compelled to start again from scratch. I assure you,” he held up a hand as Gene opened his mouth to protest, “that it is merely a formality. You get results, Gene. Nobody can argue with that. I simply want to be confident in my own mind that nobody even further up the ladder - or lower down -” another glance at Keats - “is able to take it upon themselves to use - might we call it 'gaps in the paperwork'? - to interfere with the running of your department in the future. I want to help you turn your leaky boat into a rock-solid, unassailable ship of the line.”
He sat down opposite Gene, smiling. “You see, there's no reason for us to lock horns over this. The whole affair will be swift, painless, and involve a minimum of disruption to your day to day activities. I've been watching you for a long time, Gene, and I have to say I like what I see. There are positions opening up upstairs, you know. Big opportunities for a man of passion and integrity like yourself.”
By the time Gene had the chance to get a word in, it took a moment for him to realise that the man had actually stopped talking. “Right. Well. Thank you, sir,” he replied, with gruff neutrality. “You can be sure I'll give you my full cooperation.”
The expression on Callaghan's face was one of unflattering surprise, but he corrected it swiftly, beaming at Gene in a fatherly way, as though he'd known he was a good boy all along.
“On one condition,” Gene added.
Callaghan's smile faltered a little. “Oh? And that is?” He didn't seem to take it much amiss that a subordinate was giving him ultimatums.
Gene pointed at Keats, still lurking sulkily over by the filing cabinet. “I want DI Keats to manage the investigation.”
Callaghan's eyebrows rose. “Really? You surprise me. I'm not sure I can allow that, Gene. Not after the, er - fiasco that resulted last time.”
Keats spoke for the first time in an uncharacteristically long while. “I'm sorry, sir. If you'll give me another chance, I won't disappoint you.”
“Jim, Jim...don't be so formal. My name is still Nick,” Callaghan smiled. “And listen - I don't blame you. You were under a great deal of pressure.” He turned back to Gene. “Tragic, when a promising young officer suffers such a dreadful psychological setback. I had to send the poor fellow on a little holiday to recover his strength. Nervous breakdown, don't you know.” He shook his head sadly. “Strange, almost wild behaviour - paranoid delusions - delusions of grandeur, too, I shouldn't wonder. Believing all sorts of extraordinary things...really, I don't know if it's a good idea to send him back to work so soon.” He spared Keats another kind, paternal glance. “I would never forgive myself if you suffered another such setback, Jim. Why, this time you might not recover at all.” His tone was light, his smile very wide.
Keats said, quietly, “I'm better now.”
“An unfortunate situation,” Callaghan declared, as though he hadn't spoken. “Became a little too attached, didn't you, Jim? Lost your objectivity somewhat, perhaps? Easily done.”
“That won't happen this time.”
“Why, Jim? Because Alex Drake is no longer here?”
Gene started. Callaghan's friendly blue eyes never left Keats' pale, harried face. Keats himself was staring back, mouth open but nothing coming out, apparently at a loss. Gene decided enough was enough. He cut in, speaking a little more loudly than necessary, forcing Callaghan to look at him.
“I've got to insist, sir. I trust DI Keats to carry out his duties as befits the situation. Besides, I'm used to the way he operates. I'll find it easier to work with him than a new officer.”
Callaghan chuckled, the laughter lines around his eyes deepening. “Better the devil you know, eh, Gene?”
“Something like that, sir.”
Keats was licking his lips, switching his gaze between Gene and Callaghan. After a moment, Callaghan smiled. “All right. If you want him, you can have him, with my blessing.” His gaze sharpened as he looked at Keats, though his tone remained jovial. “I'll be keeping a very close eye on you this time, Jim, d'you hear? I'll expect full, detailed reports. If you do well, we can see about restoring your previous rank. And then - who knows?” He got up to clap Keats on the back. “In my department, the sky's the limit. You disappointed me before, my boy, but I'm all for letting you have your shot at redemption. See you don't waste it.”
“I won't let you down, Nick,” Keats said, shaking his boss's proffered hand. But it was Gene's narrow gaze he met as he added, “thank you.”
xxx
On to Part 3
Part 1 is here.
2: The Devil Wears a Smile
The devil is and always has been a gentleman
Diane LaVey
Previously in 'Neutral Men':
Keats’ smile was serpentine. “Because my superior intends to transfer the folks at Fenchurch East to his department. All of them.” Dark, dancing eyes met Gene’s. “He's coming, Hunt, and this time, he wants you.”
xxxxxxxx
“Well, he can't bloody have me.” Gene poured himself another drink, then, as an afterthought, one for Keats as well. Didn't do to be petty, and his guest obviously wasn't going anywhere until Gene picked him up by the scruff of the neck and tossed him through the window. Let him have a drink first.
Keats grabbed the whisky, sucking it down like an old dame getting dead spiders off the ceiling with her hoover pipe.
“Thirsty?”
“You've no idea.”
Gene inspected the items on his desk for a bit. He studied his whisky bottle, the well-thumbed owner's manual for his Merc, a newly-won darts trophy. Jim was sitting very still and silent; after a few minutes, when Gene looked up to check the man hadn't died, he found Keats staring at him fixedly through his lopsided specs.
“I get the feeling,” Gene began, conversationally, “that you're here to offer me some sort of deal, Jimbo. Let it be known that Gene Hunt doesn't bargain with sneaky little villains like you.”
“Gene Hunt doesn't have a choice,” Keats stated.
“Go on then. What's this great and bountiful gift you're offering me? If it's an expenses-paid holiday in the Costa Brava, I don't bloody want it.”
“Imagine how warm it is on the Costa Brava,” Keats murmured, a dreamy look coming into his eyes.
Gene slammed a hand down on the desk. “Oi. Get your brain in gear and your head out of your arse, or I'll put you out in the rain like the ruddy skulking feline you are. You've got one minute to give me a reason not to chuck you out of the window.”
Keats appeared to have marshalled his thoughts. He was calmer, more in control. Perhaps the whisky had helped. “It's simple, Hunt. My boss is coming to make things difficult for you and your department. I'm not exactly in his good books myself at the moment, but if you ensure he lets me run the investigation at this end, I'll do everything I can to help you.”
Gene thought about it. He really did. For all of ten seconds. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't trust you. Because you've made it clear that your mission is to destroy me. And because you're the single most disgusting piece of sub-human shit I've ever met in my life.”
“Oh, yes, let's resort to the playground insults. What am I suppose to say to that - 'I know you are'? Look, Gene,” he leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk. Gene leaned back, taking his whisky out of range. “You have no idea what you're dealing with here. I do.”
“And what do you get out of it? Am I supposed to believe you're making this charitable offer out of the kindness of your black, withered heart?”
Keats let out a sigh of frustration. He pinched the bridge of his nose, adjusted his glasses, attempted ineffectually to smooth down his hair. Gene waited, expressionless.
“Ok. All right. I'll level with you.”
“There's a first.”
“When I started working for my boss...”
“This would be Assistant Chief Commissioner Beelzebub?” Gene interpolated, innocently.
Keats looked at him as if wondering whether he was supposed to read something beyond casual insult into that remark. “I normally call him Nick,” he murmured. “Just shut up and listen to me. Nick made me a lot of promises. He offered me a department of my own, as long as I could find suitable officers to staff it. Understand?”
“So you tried to poach my team?”
“You should be flattered. Nick only wanted the best.”
“He didn't want me, though, apparently. Not very flattering, is it?”
“That's what I'm trying to tell you,” Keats sighed again. “He thinks now that he made a miscalculation. That he should have gone right to the source. Thing is, there's nothing he can offer you that you don't already have. You've got everything you want.”
“Wouldn't say no to Elizabeth Taylor.”
“That's a bit beyond even his abilities, at present,” came the dry response. “I don't know what his plan is - what tricks he might try to play on you. He doesn't confide that sort of information in me any more, I'm afraid. But I do know how his mind works, and chances are, I'll be able to figure out what it is he's up to a lot more quickly than you will. I have an advantage you don't.”
“Which is?” Gene was willing to humour him for another minute or two. Then it was window time.
“Objectivity. When it comes to your kingdom, I'm on the outside looking in. You can't deny that it might be useful.”
When Gene remained silent, thinking, Keats got up and began to pace. “We don't have much time!” he cried. “Look, it's so simple even you should be able to understand it. I've got no love for you, Hunt, and you have none for me. You think I've been out to get you in the past and honestly, you're not wrong. But my superior's worse. Worse than you can possibly imagine. You need my help if you're going to survive.”
Gene shook his head. It didn't add up. Last he'd heard, Keats didn't want him to survive - quite the opposite. “You still haven't explained what you get,” he said, meeting the other man's gaze. He tried to see past the posturing, the smooth-talking, the sales pitch, and thought he'd succeeded when he spotted something in Keats' eyes he only remembered seeing once before.
Fear.
“I get...” Keats was saying. He glanced nervously at his watch, frowned in exasperation for some reason, then checked the clock on Gene's wall. “He'll be here in a minute. What I get is a chance. He'll never give me what he promised, I know that now. Maybe you can.”
“Me?!”
“All I ask is that you invite me to stay when all this is over.”
“There's no need for that, Jim. I can't seem to get bloody rid of you.”
“You don't understand. But you will. He's coming!” Keats' eyes widened, his face becoming quite frantic as he talked very fast. “It's your decision. I can't force you. Whatever you choose, just don't mention we had this conversation. Please. If he finds out I've been talking to you like this he could dismiss me from the force. There's no turning back after that, Gene. This job is all I have left - the same as you.”
He stopped dead, apparently on the verge of appealing to Gene's compassion for a fellow officer. Pity Gene didn't rate Keats as a fellow human being, let alone a fellow officer.
“He's here,” Keats said, quietly. He gave Gene a significant look before slinking out of the office.
A deathly silence had replaced CID's usual chaotic hubbub. Gene got up, went to the window, whisky in hand. He saw an unfamiliar man, tallish, average build, thick iron-grey hair neatly cut and swept back from his forehead. He was talking to one of the sergeants, sharing a joke. The man laughed uncertainly in response, breaking the spell that had settled over the room. Gene's men started talking again, coming forward to greet the newcomer, shaking hands, receiving smiles and patted backs. Only Connor hung back, watching narrowly.
Jim Keats, for his part, hovered behind the new arrival like a nervous butler waiting to report that Lady Wotsit's kid had just thrown up all over the expensive rug in the drawing room. He caught Gene's eye and pointed urgently - This is him!
Gene could have guessed that for himself. He hitched up his belt, drew himself up to his full height, and strode out to meet what Jim Keats claimed was his new nemesis.
Before he could say a word, the newcomer turned to him. Gene saw a face that could have been anything between fifty and seventy, bright blue eyes that crinkled kindly, a warm, open smile.
“Chief Inspector Hunt! I believe Jim told you to expect me?” He flashed his fatherly smile at Keats, skulking nearby. Keats quirked a pained half-smile in return; he looked as though he was having a tooth pulled by a friendly dentist.
“Deputy Assistant Commissioner Nick Callaghan,” the older man introduced himself, holding out his hand to Gene as he flicked an amused glance in Keats' direction. “I must say, it's a pleasure to finally meet the notorious Sheriff of Fenchurch East.”
“Thank you, sir.” Gene shook hands. Callaghan's grip was firm, but not as firm as Gene's own. No attempt to assert his authority. He did, however, get right down to business.
“I realise this is a frightful bore, Gene, but you know how it is - public relations have become the bane of the police force. I've been charged with the task of ensuring that all our stations can pass muster even under the public's most careful scrutiny - and believe me, that scrutiny is very careful indeed. Shall we go into your office?”
He put a friendly hand on Gene's back, steering him away from the others. Keats followed at a distance. Shooing Gene into his own office, Callaghan waited indulgently for his pet pencil-pusher to sidle in after them before closing the door and pulling down the blind.
“You're aware,” he went on, gesturing that Gene should sit down, relax, “that the last D&C investigation of your department was something of a bust, if I may put it that way.” His eyes flicked briefly, again, to Keats, standing otherwise ignored in the corner. “As Inspector Keats' report was unfortunately inadequate for the purpose - through no fault of his own, of course - I am compelled to start again from scratch. I assure you,” he held up a hand as Gene opened his mouth to protest, “that it is merely a formality. You get results, Gene. Nobody can argue with that. I simply want to be confident in my own mind that nobody even further up the ladder - or lower down -” another glance at Keats - “is able to take it upon themselves to use - might we call it 'gaps in the paperwork'? - to interfere with the running of your department in the future. I want to help you turn your leaky boat into a rock-solid, unassailable ship of the line.”
He sat down opposite Gene, smiling. “You see, there's no reason for us to lock horns over this. The whole affair will be swift, painless, and involve a minimum of disruption to your day to day activities. I've been watching you for a long time, Gene, and I have to say I like what I see. There are positions opening up upstairs, you know. Big opportunities for a man of passion and integrity like yourself.”
By the time Gene had the chance to get a word in, it took a moment for him to realise that the man had actually stopped talking. “Right. Well. Thank you, sir,” he replied, with gruff neutrality. “You can be sure I'll give you my full cooperation.”
The expression on Callaghan's face was one of unflattering surprise, but he corrected it swiftly, beaming at Gene in a fatherly way, as though he'd known he was a good boy all along.
“On one condition,” Gene added.
Callaghan's smile faltered a little. “Oh? And that is?” He didn't seem to take it much amiss that a subordinate was giving him ultimatums.
Gene pointed at Keats, still lurking sulkily over by the filing cabinet. “I want DI Keats to manage the investigation.”
Callaghan's eyebrows rose. “Really? You surprise me. I'm not sure I can allow that, Gene. Not after the, er - fiasco that resulted last time.”
Keats spoke for the first time in an uncharacteristically long while. “I'm sorry, sir. If you'll give me another chance, I won't disappoint you.”
“Jim, Jim...don't be so formal. My name is still Nick,” Callaghan smiled. “And listen - I don't blame you. You were under a great deal of pressure.” He turned back to Gene. “Tragic, when a promising young officer suffers such a dreadful psychological setback. I had to send the poor fellow on a little holiday to recover his strength. Nervous breakdown, don't you know.” He shook his head sadly. “Strange, almost wild behaviour - paranoid delusions - delusions of grandeur, too, I shouldn't wonder. Believing all sorts of extraordinary things...really, I don't know if it's a good idea to send him back to work so soon.” He spared Keats another kind, paternal glance. “I would never forgive myself if you suffered another such setback, Jim. Why, this time you might not recover at all.” His tone was light, his smile very wide.
Keats said, quietly, “I'm better now.”
“An unfortunate situation,” Callaghan declared, as though he hadn't spoken. “Became a little too attached, didn't you, Jim? Lost your objectivity somewhat, perhaps? Easily done.”
“That won't happen this time.”
“Why, Jim? Because Alex Drake is no longer here?”
Gene started. Callaghan's friendly blue eyes never left Keats' pale, harried face. Keats himself was staring back, mouth open but nothing coming out, apparently at a loss. Gene decided enough was enough. He cut in, speaking a little more loudly than necessary, forcing Callaghan to look at him.
“I've got to insist, sir. I trust DI Keats to carry out his duties as befits the situation. Besides, I'm used to the way he operates. I'll find it easier to work with him than a new officer.”
Callaghan chuckled, the laughter lines around his eyes deepening. “Better the devil you know, eh, Gene?”
“Something like that, sir.”
Keats was licking his lips, switching his gaze between Gene and Callaghan. After a moment, Callaghan smiled. “All right. If you want him, you can have him, with my blessing.” His gaze sharpened as he looked at Keats, though his tone remained jovial. “I'll be keeping a very close eye on you this time, Jim, d'you hear? I'll expect full, detailed reports. If you do well, we can see about restoring your previous rank. And then - who knows?” He got up to clap Keats on the back. “In my department, the sky's the limit. You disappointed me before, my boy, but I'm all for letting you have your shot at redemption. See you don't waste it.”
“I won't let you down, Nick,” Keats said, shaking his boss's proffered hand. But it was Gene's narrow gaze he met as he added, “thank you.”
xxx
On to Part 3