fic: a copper's instinct
This is one of the last two finished fics we'll have up and ready for you guys, but it's lovely to see the community waking up again.
This is a sequel to Danny Butterman meets the Wolfman, if anybody remembers that ancient fic. It's a little bit less fluffy with an extra helping of angst, and delves into the doubts Nicholas holds about his not-so-clandestine relationship with one of his subordinates.
Title: A Copper's Instinct
Fandom: Hot Fuzz
Characters/Pairings: Nicholas/Danny, Nicholas/OC, Doris, Bob, Andes, Saxon, Turners, OC
Rating: PG-15
Authors: marshwiggledyke, waffleguppies
Author's Note: The OC of this story bears more than a passing resemblance to this guy (if it were a real-life film or miniseries episode, anyway), so don't be scared off because it's an OC. Enjoy!
Something made Nicholas start awake around three in the morning, jerk his head towards his window, listening. Nothing. Not being in London anymore meant a lot of comparative nothing, but it was still a long while before he was able to go back to sleep, trying to convince himself he hadn't heard anything unusual. Because there was the sort of unusual which was your contractual obligation to investigate for the good of the community, and then there was...
He thought, for a moment, he'd heard a howl.
*
Nicholas was something of an early riser in comparison to most people, but there were limits.
Especially when one of your co-workers is still occupying most of your bed when you're already showered, shaven, and dressed, and currently stuffing your face with jam and toast. Nicholas was going to go to hell for that first detail, but...
He touched the short black-brown hair with an un-toast-occupied hand, caught himself about to fluff it. "Danny, you're going to be late. You've only got about twenty minutes to get to the station."
“Whuzoff,” mumbled Danny, wound up in the duvet, batting at the air in a manner that suggested he had some personal grievance against it. He was not, in comparison, a morning person. “Fi'mints.”
"Up," insisted Nicholas, trying to pull the blanket off Danny and failing. "I'm your superior officer. I'll... have to deduct pay."
Danny groaned and rolled over, evading his partner's efforts with the blanket and pulling a pillow over his own head.
“Notsoupoffer,” said the pillow. “Ye'. Norrin uniform. S'there.”
Nicholas rolled his eyes. "Fine, then. As a friend; I won't go to the Crown tonight."
Fumbling movement, then a large cuddly monkey hit him bonelessly in the side of the head. “Nic'las...”
Nicholas clawed the animal off, then bent and hissed into the lump under the sheets closest to approximating where Danny's head -and therefore, ear- was. "I won't go down on you for a week."
“Nurf.” Moving with surprising speed, Danny turned over again and curled a heavy arm around his neck, ruffling his hair up from the back and pulling him into a drowsy kiss. His skin felt hot against Nicholas's cheek, almost feverish, from the cave of the blankets. Then he let go, pawed the oversized khaki t-shirt he'd slept in over his head with a resigned air, and started looking for his socks.
Nicholas grinned in satisfaction at the morning's quota of goal achievement, savoring the lingering sour-morning taste of Danny's mouth. "I made a mug of coffee for you. It's sitting on the counter."
*
Danny was really only five minutes late that morning, quarter of an hour behind Nicholas. Ten to nine was late by Nicholas's standards, a strange system of temporal blurring which meant that he could consider himself running behind even when he was actually still early. Considering this, Danny parked up and wandered across the station's small forecourt, squinting against the fine curtain of April drizzle.
Someone had opened a window, presumably so the Andes could lean casually out of it for a smoke and not get wet or bitched at by Nicholas.
From inside, Nicholas sounded like he was pitching a fit. His voice was cracking, a little.
Danny pushed through the double-doors and nearly ran into Evan, who looked as if he was only too glad to be leaving for the day.
“What's goin' on?”
"Someone didn't file the new guy's transfer papers right," said Evan, wide-eyed, pushing the doors open, aiming to escape. "So nobody knew 'e was coming. Chief's reaming everybody out in front of him, now." He smiled, sunnily. "G' luck!"
“New guy?” Danny repeated, as the doors flapped damply shut behind Evan's rapidly-retreating back. Owen's chair was empty, which indicated that Nicholas was so furious that not even the representative Turner twin had been spared. Nicholas usually liked to make sure that the front desk was properly staffed at all times, even in emergencies, so this was not a good sign.
Danny shrugged to himself, scribbled on his time-sheet- seven minutes late, not bad at all, really- and let himself into the main station, as quietly and unobtrusively as he possibly could.
"That's why I'm asking you, Andrew!" Nicholas was shouting. "I go through the stack in my inbox daily to make sure I'm not missing anything before I go on my beat. There's no way I could have missed something as important as that if it had actually been handed to me. There's things in your department's inbox that're over two weeks old! It's your sodding CID, isn't it? Take some responsibility!"
The Andes were looking downright mutinous, Danny thought, stopping in the main office's doorway, half-hidden behind Tony and Bob. Cartwright, who wasn't at that moment in the direct line of fire, was fiddling with an unlit cigarette with a black frown which suggested he dearly wished it was either lit or a primed grenade. Wainwright was returning Nicholas's glare with an extra sidespin of squint, his hands stuffed in his pockets and the wire outgoing tray that belonged to his pigeonhole stuffed under one arm, haemorrhaging papers.
“'Ere, there's a thought, maybe we wouldn't be missin' things if we didn't spend half our time poncin' off to London with you-know-who like Dick fuckin' Whittington an' his chimp! Fuck. Doris, I ain't got any change.”
“Right y'are, love.”
Clink.
"That was time off!" spluttered Nicholas, upper cheekbones flushing. "In which case, Tony should have been the one to get the memo. Does no one remember getting paperwork for this man?"
“What?” said Tony, glancing guiltily towards his computer. The concept of having a computer on his desk had been a welcome one back in the days when all he'd ever used the thing for was Solitaire and making it look to a casual observer like he was actually doing something semi-important. Computer-literacy was coming to the world of Sergeant Fisher, but it was being painfully slow about it, and in the meantime the seemingly innocent machine on his desk had become his nemesis, a malevolent cross between HAL 9000 and Damien Thorn, voracious in its appetite for consuming utterly and beyond any hope of retrieval any piece of useful data he might optimistically try to put into it.
“If... I could just stick my oar in for a sec?” This was a voice Danny didn't know, although it was just as lacking in the Sandford sound as Nicholas's. Danny peered over Bob's shoulder and finally spotted its owner, a short, dark-haired man in plain clothes, standing to Nicholas's right. His narrow, good-humoured face displayed the determined, embarrassed cheer common to anyone who has ever inadvertently found themselves in the middle of an administrative World War III.
He cleared his throat. “You know, it's just as possible that the balls-up was on my end. Someone back in Chichester, pressed the wrong key, ticked the wrong box... it happens.”
"You're not at fault, here," growled Nicholas, still glowering at the rest of his team. "I'm just embarrassed we don't have a desk immediately available for you. It reeks of unprofessionalism. On behalf of my station and my employees and myself, I apologize, Mr..?"
“Kinnell. DC Alex Kinnell,” said DC Alex Kinnell, breezily, offering Nicholas the hand which hadn't just magically flicked an ID stating the same out of his jacket. He gave the rest of the team a friendly nod. “I'm sure I'll be able to squeeze in somewhere, sir.”
"Inspector Nicholas Angel," said Nicholas, shaking it. "You'll be under DS Andrew Wainwright there, with DC Andrew Cartwright," he waved his free hand at each Andy in turn, "who'll show you as much of the ropes as they know, and I'll show you the rest."
Not letting the Andes get a word in over that little snub, he continued. "Over there is PC Doris Thatcher, Sergeant Tony Fisher, Sergeant Owen Turner, who works the day shift at the Inquiries Desk, and PC Bob Walker, our dog handler. And he is Sergeant Danny Butterman, who is late."
Nicholas was in a rotten mood, and he was letting them all know it, loud and clear.
Cartwright smirked and muttered something to his partner, whose own semi-murderous expression twitched a bit.
“Yes, I've heard a lot about all of you,” said Kinnell, unabashed, as everyone looked at him. He glanced at Danny with some interest, grinned. “Though, ha, sure you're sick to the back teeth of all that by now.”
"I think the papers covered the incident pretty well," said Angel, dryly. "We've settled back into quiet normality, since then." He gave the whole team another sweeping glare, then burrowed his face into his morning teamug, muttering, "Perhaps a little too much." Slorp. "Any questions, in the meantime?"
“Oh, none I can think of right now, sir,” said Kinnell. He tucked his badge away. “I'll know where to come if I do. As and when.”
"Very good," said Nicholas. He was now staring hard at Danny. "Sergeant Butterman, if you could see me in my office."
See Kinnell watching Nicholas, watching Danny. See him watch them leave. Still with that open, thoughtful smile, filing it all away as neatly as his trick with the badge, now you see it, now you don't.
“Chief's a bit of a live wire, isn't he?” he remarked to Andy Wainwright, who had just dumped the contents of his out-tray out across a protesting Tony's desk.
Andy snorted. “You don't know the half of it.”
“Not yet,” agreed Kinnell, cheerfully, and followed the detectives into their office.
*
"I thought I told you to get up!" Nicholas was furious at being ignored, furious for the unwelcome surprise of a man in his office that morning without any warning at all, furious at the numerous little displays of incompetence among his officers, furious at himself for being involved with a direct subordinate, furious for it being an open secret. All in all, furious.
“I did!” protested Danny. “Seven minutes, thas' all! Couldn't find my car keys!”
"I don't care! I don't care if we're friends, or, or more than that, or about eff-arr-aie-ess-bee-ee-ee Nights! I can't play favorites, here! Especially not in front of outsiders. I'm not your dad, Danny. How else am I supposed to juggle this situation?"
“V'I ever asked you to play favourites? When've I ever asked you for any favours? S'the other way round if it's anythin', ever since we... I don't see you ever tearin' anyone else a new arsehole for bein' five minutes late.”
Nicholas breathed. "That's because most of them learned after the third time. It still feels like I'm house-training the Andes, sometimes."
“I jus' got a problem with punctuality,” said Danny. “I've always had a problem with punctuality. You look at any school report I ever got. It's one of them problem areas you're always goin' on about. I'm workin' on it, alright?”
Nicholas put his head down on his desk and tried working the knots out of his shoulders. The explosive anger had run its course, and now he was going through his nerve-calming routines, because, really, being angry at Danny was like being angry at a mirror. In the end, all you ever saw were your own flaws, reflected back at you, and seven years of guilt. "Remind me why I'm with you, again?"
“That'd be on account of my mysterious, mind-controllin' mutant powers,” Danny told him, seriously. “Left the wheelchair at home today, though, I was in too much of a rush.”
"Mmm." Nicholas smiled a little, into the desk. "So you're the one who keeps sending distracting little thoughts through my head all day. Didn't used to have those."
Danny grinned, but swallowed his reply unspoken. He knew better than to flirt with Nicholas in the office, although it was hard to keep it back, sometimes. Nicholas had acclimatised a little since those first few days last autumn, when he'd almost run for the hills, but he was still touchy, so touchy, about it, paranoid at work whether they were alone or not, unwilling to set any kind of precedent, freezing up whenever anyone implied it wasn't exactly the world's best-guarded secret... Danny sometimes thought that their relationship and the... other thing had become too entangled, that the deadly-seriousness Nicholas attached to the one was rubbing off on the other, as much as he tried to deal with both.
“So who d'you reckon figured we needed another DC?” he asked.
"I've no idea," said Nicholas. "Get an Andrew right on that, will you?" He raised his head to show that it was a half-joke, smiling tiredly.
Nicholas sometimes wished the Absolutely-No-Fraternizing-In-The-Work-Area Rule would take a five-minute coffee break. Now was one of those times. Just a hug, even. Danny was good at hugs.
But he wouldn't let it be broken. Because it was a short step between a close hug and a kiss and an in-depth investigation.
“Prob'ly just as well,” observed Danny, half-out the door. “We got more senior officers than constables, now.”
"Well done you for that," said Nicholas fondly, going through his drawers for the formal complaint form.
Danny hesitated, then stepped back in, holding the door shut behind him. “Nicholas... you don't think they'd ever think it was a good idea t'send me off somewhere else, do you? I mean... what with movin' you here without it bein' your choice, an' now this bloke shows up without so much as a by-your-leave, they don't seem to bother much about where we want to end up, do they?”
It was perhaps understandable that Danny, as a small-town police officer, had a very shaky idea of the motivations of 'they.' Although he'd attended a couple of conferences with Nicholas, seen and shaken hands with people who were supposedly even further up the food chain, the pyramid of power in his mind still didn't go any much higher than Nicholas. It was a throwback to the days when the supreme power of the Service had seemed to begin and end with his dad, and really, as far as Sandford was concerned, that hadn't been far from the truth. All Danny really understood in this case was that 'they' seemed to have a predilection for shunting people around like chess pieces, and, considering his recent promotion, that was enough to be seriously worrying.
Nicholas coughed. "Unless you were aiming to be promoted again, or you were an 'embarrassment' to your department like I was, probably not. Considering I'm technically the one held culpable if this... between us goes wrong, or sours the department, I'd probably be the one ending up getting transferred without warning. I could be abusing my power to make you do things you don't want to do, just to keep your job, after all."
“But, you're not,” said Danny. He sounded a little hurt.
"Of course I'm not." Nicholas scrubbed at his eyes. "That's just what it'd look like, is all." He smiled, wanly. "Don't worry. I'm not moving away if I can help it."
Danny smiled back. For a moment, all he wanted to do was to shut the door properly, go over and sit down at Nicholas's desk and try to have this out with him, how much they really needed to worry, what it was doing to them, what they could do about it. It was in his nature to just want to sort things out, to hate leaving things hanging.
But he looked at Nicholas and knew that this wasn't the time, or the place. So he closed the door and went out, and put it aside, and buried the bit that knew that the longer things were like this, the harder it was getting for Danny to tell what Nicholas wanted, or even if he had it to give.
*
Despite the enforced ban, it was taking a suspiciously long time for the ingrained smell of several months worth of cigarettes to clear from the CID office. This may or may not have been connected with the can of air freshener currently serving as a doorstop.
Kinnell hadn't brought much with him, a few pieces of stationery and some papers in a cardboard printer-paper box. He propped it on the edge of the Andes' desk, looking for a place to leave it for the moment.
Andy Cartwright grunted and used his empty outgoing tray to shove aside a few stacks of papers to make room for the box.
"'Least there's one good thing about you showin' up with no warning."
"What's that, then?" Kinnell's nostrils flared as he bent over his box, but if he had any aversion to the lingering smoky taint to the air, he didn't voice it.
Andy C. grinned. "New nickname. Ain't a pile of fuckin' rocks anymore, are we And?"
Andy W. rolled his eyes. "They'd just call us Triple-A, or the Three-Flying-Arseholes-Club."
Kinnell laughed. “Personally, anything's better than 'Battersea.”
The Detectives Formerly Known As Andes stared at him. "How the blue 'ell'd you manage that?"
“Kinnell,” said Kinnell, shrugging, and in his softer accent the 'i' really did sound like an 'e'. “Hey, I thought it was pretty funny too. The first ten times.”
"Mmm." Andy W. cocked his head, squinting at his new subordinate. "You are gonna have to do one thing before you're really one of us, though. I'm gonna have to insist."
“Yes, sir?”
Andy W. grinned and tapped out his next cigarette. "Grow a damn 'stache, man."
"You ain't nuthin' if you can't fur up that babyface of yours. It's signature Sandford."
Kinnell rubbed his chin, thoughtfully, as he seemed to think it over. “I'll see what I can do.”
*
Afterhours Pub Time was pretty much considered as much an expected social facet of the job as anything else. The only reasons permissible to miss it were if:
A. You'd found a girl earlier.
B. Unless you were Doris, in which case it was most likely a man.
C. Saxon needed a wee.
D. A new action film had just hit Buford Abbey.
E. You were now being held in a criminal psychiatric unit.
F. Deathly illness.
G. You were that miserable cunt Nicholas Angel.
Angel was there that night, however, drinking a pint casually against one of the bullet-studded Georgian bar supports, on the edge but not quite joining in on the unplumbable depths of his team's dirty jokes.
Considering that it was his first day, Kinnell seemed to be fitting in reasonably well. He had turned up with the Andes, a little late from a case that had taken them right over to a farm on the far side of the village, and appeared quite happy to stand with them, chatting a little, but mostly listening.
When Andy W. nipped to the loo, a couple of pints in, he turned to his fellow DC and said something- inaudible under the white noise of the busy pub- which made Cartwright snigger into his glass.
“All right?” said Danny, appearing suddenly at Nicholas's side, having managed to work his way through the throng while keeping his own pint intact.
"Amazing he seems to be actually doing alright with them," said Nicholas, putting a hand on Danny's shoulder and sneaking in a squeeze. He smiled, looking quite a bit less like someone had just trampled his bagged lunch and any chance of sleep in the foreseeable future into the ground. "How're you doing?"
“Ran th' car in for some brake work,” said Danny, watching Kinnell idly as he drank. “MOT's coming up, an' it gets harder t'pass every year. Course, you didn't exactly help,” he added, grinning.
"Police vehicles ought to be able to handle ought to be able to handle what we need them to dish out," said Nicholas, mock-seriously, the corners of his mouth turning up.
“Police vehicles, yeah. Not my poor ol' Jetta.” Danny leaned against the hand on his shoulder with all the confidence of two pints and counting. “It's Vorsprung Durch Technik, not Terminator.”
"I dunno. You seemed to be treating it pretty roughly when I got here," said Nicholas, wanting to curl his head against Danny's neck and quashing the impulse. "Nearly ran me over, you did."
“Moment'ry lapse of judgement,” murmured Danny. “You remember those, right?”
"Still all too well," smiled Nicholas. "Don't be having any tonight, or I'll be sending you to go sleep in cell number four."
“They ent all bad. Depends on the company, really.” Danny wheedled, gently, under his breath. He picked a bit of fluff off Nicholas's sweatervest, the one which always made him look as if he was about to give a lecture at Cambridge, only lacking the padded jacket elbows.
“Or is that sorta thing reserved for park benches only?”
Nicholas buried his blush in his pint. "I needed that. A few quiet minutes in the loo was not cutting it that day."
"Y'know, it doesnt have to be so..." Danny began, but then he trailed off. This time, it wasn't because he thought better of it. It was because he happened to glance up and notice that the new DC was looking in their direction. The Andes (optimisic theories aside, they were still a long way from shaking that nickname) had gravitated away towards Doris, and when he saw Danny had spotted him, he lifted his glass and his eyebrows in the equivalent of a wave, and started to pick his way over.
"Incoming," said Danny, resignedly, into his own pint. "Two o'clock."
"Erm, cheers," said Nicholas, raising his own glass, and rather hoping nobody would notice flushed skin in the dim light. "You look like you're taking it all in stride, then?"
“Oh, everyone's being very helpful,” said Kinnell, shrugging brightly. “We've waved goodbye to the days when you could expect to walk one beat in one place 'til retirement, haven't we? Get the hang of things as quick as you can, that's what I say, you could be packed off somewhere else tomorrow.”
Leaning back on the bar, he watched the rest of the pub, the noise and bustle and throngs of chatting Sandfordians, apparently oblivious to the worried glance that Danny couldn't help sneaking at Nicholas at this point. Evidently, the topic happened to remind Sandford's newest Sergeant all too clearly of their discussion earlier that day.
“Anyway, it's a nice place. I can see why you like it here, chief.”
Nicholas grinned, but it was awkward, as if someone had just presented him with an award, only to find out that it was an award for backhanded compliments. Or for breaching the Local Authorities Model Code of Conduct so very thoroughly, breaking paragraphs left and right in the Employment Equality Regulations, and would probably make the folks in Equality and Human Rights Commission drop their jaws.
"Well, I didn't, originally." He dropped the arm from Danny's shoulder. "I used to hate not having enough to do, going from arresting perps and drug addicts to traffic control and giving talks to school children. I still don't like being behind my desk for more than an hour or two a day. But it kind of, uh, grew on me."
“It's definitely a change of pace,” Kinnell agreed. He looked over at the Andes. “We spent most of the day trying to get to the bottom of an argument over a leylandi. Have to say, when it comes to minor felonies, people round here don't seem to do anything by halves. Poison pen letters, verbal harassment, prank calls, the whole package.”
Wainwright looked up, saw him, and rapped his knuckles meaningfully on his empty glass. Kinnell grinned.
“Looks like I'm getting this one- what can I get you two?”
“Pint of lager'll do me,” Danny told him, cheering up noticeably, willing to suspend any uncertainties for the prospect of a free pint.
"I think I've had enough," said Angel, putting his empty glass down on the bar. "And I think you've had enough too," he said to Danny. "Unless you want to be too pissed to make me watch your new godawful Transporter flick that came in the mail."
Danny caught on- after a couple of puzzled blinks, anyway- and shrugged, draining his glass. “Yeah... 'Nother time, 'ey?”
He clapped Kinnell on the shoulder as he headed past in the direction of the loo. “'Jus' a sec, Nic'las.”
Nicholas had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from smiling at the fond abbreviation. "Three things Sergeant Butterman could not live without; lager, Cornettos, and a steady diet of terrible action films."
"Nice of you to watch 'em with him," observed Kinnell, trying to get the bartender's attention. "Doubt I could manage."
"He is my best friend," pointed out Nicholas, a little annoyed- as he tended to get whenever someone underestimated Danny or his abilities. Danny had had enough of that his whole life, especially with his father clamping him to his side and treating him like a child, even when Danny was well into his late twenties. "Besides, they're sort of amusing to watch, in a masochistic way."
“I just meant the films,” said Kinnell, mildly. “Not a big fan, myself. Of bad movies or masochism. See you tomorrow, chief. Yes, hello,” he added, having finally managed to snag the bartender, “can I get three pints of the Old Peculiar, a Kingsland, aaand a Sex With An Alligator, if that's actually something you sell, and not an invention of the charming lady currently laughing her arse off at me over by the dartboard?”
Danny, catching this last as he arrived back at Nicholas's side, jacket on, coughed a suspiciously giggly cough into his hand.
Nicholas was covering his mouth with one hand. "Uh-hum. Yes. Do not play Smack The Walrus with Doris, by the way. It will go very badly for you. G'night, DC Kinnell."
These days, Danny tended to leave his car at the station if he knew he was going to have more than a couple of pints. Partners or not, Nicholas Did Not Approve of driving under the influence, and although he was an extremely reliable designated driver, he wasn't a very enjoyable one. Nothing quite takes the fun out of getting seriously pissed like the person who you are depending upon to get you home sitting right next to you all evening, shooting you darkling looks over the top of their cranberry juice.
The night was fresh and crisp, and there were a few stars out. Danny stopped by the bulletin board outside the Crown, fumbling through his pockets for his phone.
"Here," said Nicholas, pressing the flip-mobile into Danny's hands, and sneaking in a quick kiss out in the open air, confident that everyone not in their houses this late would be in the pub, and anyone in the pub couldn't see them in the blindspot to the side. "You left it back on the table."
Danny grinned and kissed him back, then speedily flipped the phone and framed Nicholas with the tiny lens.
“'Ey, 'ey, here's one that won't end up on Flickr. Let's have a proper smile.”
"I'd rather we kept doing this," murmured Nicholas, going after Danny's earlobe with his teeth. "'Sides, you keep losing the damn thing. What if some poor schoolkid picks it up? Nnm."
“Educational,” said Danny, nuzzling his neck. “You said yourself, it's 'portant t'let kids have an open dialogue with the... pol... eeeh...”
Nicholas tongued the inside of Danny's ear, grinning at the distracted way his partner's voice trailed off. "Not when I have to explain to the children who go to school around the corner from my house what exactly I'm doing on your mobile, and then again to their parents as to why their children have your mobile." He slipped his hands under Danny's jacket and hugged the man around his podge. "God, I've been wanting this all day."
“Y'shouldn't get so... worried about it,” said Danny plaintively, to the shadowy nose which was really all he could see of Nicholas's face in his periphery. He hugged the arms that were folded around his stomach closer to him, protectively. “You're wearin' yourself out. Y'know no-one minds us.”
"Mmm," said Nicholas, leaning forwards into Danny's larger frame, and changed the subject. "A bit slow on the uptake back there, weren't you?"
“Bit,” agreed Danny, one hand creeping slowly earwards. “M'a sergeant, not Miss Marple.”
"Probably should go somewhere else for this," said Nicholas. "Your place or mahhhyiiiyiine! Christ!"
Danny grinned wolfishly. The ear thing never got old. “Y'wanna turn it up a bit, I don't think they all heard you over'n Gloucester. Mm... mine.”
"W-well, you just try having two nerve clusters on either side of your head with someone else around who won't leave them alone in public, because while it's socially unacceptable to stick your hand down some else's pants, fondling their ears just makes you weird." Nicholas mock-glared, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and cocked his head away from the pub. "C'mon. I wanna hear you say 'This is me,' like you did that first time."
As Nicholas and Danny set off into the night, a third figure stepped quietly out of the small alleyway beside the pub.
It was Kinnell. He tugged his shirt straight, ruffled from the work of a few moments it had taken to nip out the back into the small yard and half-climb, half-hurdle the wall into the alley, and it certainly would have surprised anyone who had met him that day, to see him move so fast and so skillfully. Kinnell usually moved as if there was no particular rush to get anywhere, but for those few scrambling seconds there had been quicksilver in his spine.
He watched the two of them move off, leaning thoughtfully against the wall, and he didn't make a move until they had passed out of sight. Then he padded away, quite silent on the cobbles, in the other direction.
Chapter 2
This is a sequel to Danny Butterman meets the Wolfman, if anybody remembers that ancient fic. It's a little bit less fluffy with an extra helping of angst, and delves into the doubts Nicholas holds about his not-so-clandestine relationship with one of his subordinates.
Title: A Copper's Instinct
Fandom: Hot Fuzz
Characters/Pairings: Nicholas/Danny, Nicholas/OC, Doris, Bob, Andes, Saxon, Turners, OC
Rating: PG-15
Authors: marshwiggledyke, waffleguppies
Author's Note: The OC of this story bears more than a passing resemblance to this guy (if it were a real-life film or miniseries episode, anyway), so don't be scared off because it's an OC. Enjoy!
Something made Nicholas start awake around three in the morning, jerk his head towards his window, listening. Nothing. Not being in London anymore meant a lot of comparative nothing, but it was still a long while before he was able to go back to sleep, trying to convince himself he hadn't heard anything unusual. Because there was the sort of unusual which was your contractual obligation to investigate for the good of the community, and then there was...
He thought, for a moment, he'd heard a howl.
*
Nicholas was something of an early riser in comparison to most people, but there were limits.
Especially when one of your co-workers is still occupying most of your bed when you're already showered, shaven, and dressed, and currently stuffing your face with jam and toast. Nicholas was going to go to hell for that first detail, but...
He touched the short black-brown hair with an un-toast-occupied hand, caught himself about to fluff it. "Danny, you're going to be late. You've only got about twenty minutes to get to the station."
“Whuzoff,” mumbled Danny, wound up in the duvet, batting at the air in a manner that suggested he had some personal grievance against it. He was not, in comparison, a morning person. “Fi'mints.”
"Up," insisted Nicholas, trying to pull the blanket off Danny and failing. "I'm your superior officer. I'll... have to deduct pay."
Danny groaned and rolled over, evading his partner's efforts with the blanket and pulling a pillow over his own head.
“Notsoupoffer,” said the pillow. “Ye'. Norrin uniform. S'there.”
Nicholas rolled his eyes. "Fine, then. As a friend; I won't go to the Crown tonight."
Fumbling movement, then a large cuddly monkey hit him bonelessly in the side of the head. “Nic'las...”
Nicholas clawed the animal off, then bent and hissed into the lump under the sheets closest to approximating where Danny's head -and therefore, ear- was. "I won't go down on you for a week."
“Nurf.” Moving with surprising speed, Danny turned over again and curled a heavy arm around his neck, ruffling his hair up from the back and pulling him into a drowsy kiss. His skin felt hot against Nicholas's cheek, almost feverish, from the cave of the blankets. Then he let go, pawed the oversized khaki t-shirt he'd slept in over his head with a resigned air, and started looking for his socks.
Nicholas grinned in satisfaction at the morning's quota of goal achievement, savoring the lingering sour-morning taste of Danny's mouth. "I made a mug of coffee for you. It's sitting on the counter."
*
Danny was really only five minutes late that morning, quarter of an hour behind Nicholas. Ten to nine was late by Nicholas's standards, a strange system of temporal blurring which meant that he could consider himself running behind even when he was actually still early. Considering this, Danny parked up and wandered across the station's small forecourt, squinting against the fine curtain of April drizzle.
Someone had opened a window, presumably so the Andes could lean casually out of it for a smoke and not get wet or bitched at by Nicholas.
From inside, Nicholas sounded like he was pitching a fit. His voice was cracking, a little.
Danny pushed through the double-doors and nearly ran into Evan, who looked as if he was only too glad to be leaving for the day.
“What's goin' on?”
"Someone didn't file the new guy's transfer papers right," said Evan, wide-eyed, pushing the doors open, aiming to escape. "So nobody knew 'e was coming. Chief's reaming everybody out in front of him, now." He smiled, sunnily. "G' luck!"
“New guy?” Danny repeated, as the doors flapped damply shut behind Evan's rapidly-retreating back. Owen's chair was empty, which indicated that Nicholas was so furious that not even the representative Turner twin had been spared. Nicholas usually liked to make sure that the front desk was properly staffed at all times, even in emergencies, so this was not a good sign.
Danny shrugged to himself, scribbled on his time-sheet- seven minutes late, not bad at all, really- and let himself into the main station, as quietly and unobtrusively as he possibly could.
"That's why I'm asking you, Andrew!" Nicholas was shouting. "I go through the stack in my inbox daily to make sure I'm not missing anything before I go on my beat. There's no way I could have missed something as important as that if it had actually been handed to me. There's things in your department's inbox that're over two weeks old! It's your sodding CID, isn't it? Take some responsibility!"
The Andes were looking downright mutinous, Danny thought, stopping in the main office's doorway, half-hidden behind Tony and Bob. Cartwright, who wasn't at that moment in the direct line of fire, was fiddling with an unlit cigarette with a black frown which suggested he dearly wished it was either lit or a primed grenade. Wainwright was returning Nicholas's glare with an extra sidespin of squint, his hands stuffed in his pockets and the wire outgoing tray that belonged to his pigeonhole stuffed under one arm, haemorrhaging papers.
“'Ere, there's a thought, maybe we wouldn't be missin' things if we didn't spend half our time poncin' off to London with you-know-who like Dick fuckin' Whittington an' his chimp! Fuck. Doris, I ain't got any change.”
“Right y'are, love.”
Clink.
"That was time off!" spluttered Nicholas, upper cheekbones flushing. "In which case, Tony should have been the one to get the memo. Does no one remember getting paperwork for this man?"
“What?” said Tony, glancing guiltily towards his computer. The concept of having a computer on his desk had been a welcome one back in the days when all he'd ever used the thing for was Solitaire and making it look to a casual observer like he was actually doing something semi-important. Computer-literacy was coming to the world of Sergeant Fisher, but it was being painfully slow about it, and in the meantime the seemingly innocent machine on his desk had become his nemesis, a malevolent cross between HAL 9000 and Damien Thorn, voracious in its appetite for consuming utterly and beyond any hope of retrieval any piece of useful data he might optimistically try to put into it.
“If... I could just stick my oar in for a sec?” This was a voice Danny didn't know, although it was just as lacking in the Sandford sound as Nicholas's. Danny peered over Bob's shoulder and finally spotted its owner, a short, dark-haired man in plain clothes, standing to Nicholas's right. His narrow, good-humoured face displayed the determined, embarrassed cheer common to anyone who has ever inadvertently found themselves in the middle of an administrative World War III.
He cleared his throat. “You know, it's just as possible that the balls-up was on my end. Someone back in Chichester, pressed the wrong key, ticked the wrong box... it happens.”
"You're not at fault, here," growled Nicholas, still glowering at the rest of his team. "I'm just embarrassed we don't have a desk immediately available for you. It reeks of unprofessionalism. On behalf of my station and my employees and myself, I apologize, Mr..?"
“Kinnell. DC Alex Kinnell,” said DC Alex Kinnell, breezily, offering Nicholas the hand which hadn't just magically flicked an ID stating the same out of his jacket. He gave the rest of the team a friendly nod. “I'm sure I'll be able to squeeze in somewhere, sir.”
"Inspector Nicholas Angel," said Nicholas, shaking it. "You'll be under DS Andrew Wainwright there, with DC Andrew Cartwright," he waved his free hand at each Andy in turn, "who'll show you as much of the ropes as they know, and I'll show you the rest."
Not letting the Andes get a word in over that little snub, he continued. "Over there is PC Doris Thatcher, Sergeant Tony Fisher, Sergeant Owen Turner, who works the day shift at the Inquiries Desk, and PC Bob Walker, our dog handler. And he is Sergeant Danny Butterman, who is late."
Nicholas was in a rotten mood, and he was letting them all know it, loud and clear.
Cartwright smirked and muttered something to his partner, whose own semi-murderous expression twitched a bit.
“Yes, I've heard a lot about all of you,” said Kinnell, unabashed, as everyone looked at him. He glanced at Danny with some interest, grinned. “Though, ha, sure you're sick to the back teeth of all that by now.”
"I think the papers covered the incident pretty well," said Angel, dryly. "We've settled back into quiet normality, since then." He gave the whole team another sweeping glare, then burrowed his face into his morning teamug, muttering, "Perhaps a little too much." Slorp. "Any questions, in the meantime?"
“Oh, none I can think of right now, sir,” said Kinnell. He tucked his badge away. “I'll know where to come if I do. As and when.”
"Very good," said Nicholas. He was now staring hard at Danny. "Sergeant Butterman, if you could see me in my office."
See Kinnell watching Nicholas, watching Danny. See him watch them leave. Still with that open, thoughtful smile, filing it all away as neatly as his trick with the badge, now you see it, now you don't.
“Chief's a bit of a live wire, isn't he?” he remarked to Andy Wainwright, who had just dumped the contents of his out-tray out across a protesting Tony's desk.
Andy snorted. “You don't know the half of it.”
“Not yet,” agreed Kinnell, cheerfully, and followed the detectives into their office.
*
"I thought I told you to get up!" Nicholas was furious at being ignored, furious for the unwelcome surprise of a man in his office that morning without any warning at all, furious at the numerous little displays of incompetence among his officers, furious at himself for being involved with a direct subordinate, furious for it being an open secret. All in all, furious.
“I did!” protested Danny. “Seven minutes, thas' all! Couldn't find my car keys!”
"I don't care! I don't care if we're friends, or, or more than that, or about eff-arr-aie-ess-bee-ee-ee Nights! I can't play favorites, here! Especially not in front of outsiders. I'm not your dad, Danny. How else am I supposed to juggle this situation?"
“V'I ever asked you to play favourites? When've I ever asked you for any favours? S'the other way round if it's anythin', ever since we... I don't see you ever tearin' anyone else a new arsehole for bein' five minutes late.”
Nicholas breathed. "That's because most of them learned after the third time. It still feels like I'm house-training the Andes, sometimes."
“I jus' got a problem with punctuality,” said Danny. “I've always had a problem with punctuality. You look at any school report I ever got. It's one of them problem areas you're always goin' on about. I'm workin' on it, alright?”
Nicholas put his head down on his desk and tried working the knots out of his shoulders. The explosive anger had run its course, and now he was going through his nerve-calming routines, because, really, being angry at Danny was like being angry at a mirror. In the end, all you ever saw were your own flaws, reflected back at you, and seven years of guilt. "Remind me why I'm with you, again?"
“That'd be on account of my mysterious, mind-controllin' mutant powers,” Danny told him, seriously. “Left the wheelchair at home today, though, I was in too much of a rush.”
"Mmm." Nicholas smiled a little, into the desk. "So you're the one who keeps sending distracting little thoughts through my head all day. Didn't used to have those."
Danny grinned, but swallowed his reply unspoken. He knew better than to flirt with Nicholas in the office, although it was hard to keep it back, sometimes. Nicholas had acclimatised a little since those first few days last autumn, when he'd almost run for the hills, but he was still touchy, so touchy, about it, paranoid at work whether they were alone or not, unwilling to set any kind of precedent, freezing up whenever anyone implied it wasn't exactly the world's best-guarded secret... Danny sometimes thought that their relationship and the... other thing had become too entangled, that the deadly-seriousness Nicholas attached to the one was rubbing off on the other, as much as he tried to deal with both.
“So who d'you reckon figured we needed another DC?” he asked.
"I've no idea," said Nicholas. "Get an Andrew right on that, will you?" He raised his head to show that it was a half-joke, smiling tiredly.
Nicholas sometimes wished the Absolutely-No-Fraternizing-In-The-Work-Area Rule would take a five-minute coffee break. Now was one of those times. Just a hug, even. Danny was good at hugs.
But he wouldn't let it be broken. Because it was a short step between a close hug and a kiss and an in-depth investigation.
“Prob'ly just as well,” observed Danny, half-out the door. “We got more senior officers than constables, now.”
"Well done you for that," said Nicholas fondly, going through his drawers for the formal complaint form.
Danny hesitated, then stepped back in, holding the door shut behind him. “Nicholas... you don't think they'd ever think it was a good idea t'send me off somewhere else, do you? I mean... what with movin' you here without it bein' your choice, an' now this bloke shows up without so much as a by-your-leave, they don't seem to bother much about where we want to end up, do they?”
It was perhaps understandable that Danny, as a small-town police officer, had a very shaky idea of the motivations of 'they.' Although he'd attended a couple of conferences with Nicholas, seen and shaken hands with people who were supposedly even further up the food chain, the pyramid of power in his mind still didn't go any much higher than Nicholas. It was a throwback to the days when the supreme power of the Service had seemed to begin and end with his dad, and really, as far as Sandford was concerned, that hadn't been far from the truth. All Danny really understood in this case was that 'they' seemed to have a predilection for shunting people around like chess pieces, and, considering his recent promotion, that was enough to be seriously worrying.
Nicholas coughed. "Unless you were aiming to be promoted again, or you were an 'embarrassment' to your department like I was, probably not. Considering I'm technically the one held culpable if this... between us goes wrong, or sours the department, I'd probably be the one ending up getting transferred without warning. I could be abusing my power to make you do things you don't want to do, just to keep your job, after all."
“But, you're not,” said Danny. He sounded a little hurt.
"Of course I'm not." Nicholas scrubbed at his eyes. "That's just what it'd look like, is all." He smiled, wanly. "Don't worry. I'm not moving away if I can help it."
Danny smiled back. For a moment, all he wanted to do was to shut the door properly, go over and sit down at Nicholas's desk and try to have this out with him, how much they really needed to worry, what it was doing to them, what they could do about it. It was in his nature to just want to sort things out, to hate leaving things hanging.
But he looked at Nicholas and knew that this wasn't the time, or the place. So he closed the door and went out, and put it aside, and buried the bit that knew that the longer things were like this, the harder it was getting for Danny to tell what Nicholas wanted, or even if he had it to give.
*
Despite the enforced ban, it was taking a suspiciously long time for the ingrained smell of several months worth of cigarettes to clear from the CID office. This may or may not have been connected with the can of air freshener currently serving as a doorstop.
Kinnell hadn't brought much with him, a few pieces of stationery and some papers in a cardboard printer-paper box. He propped it on the edge of the Andes' desk, looking for a place to leave it for the moment.
Andy Cartwright grunted and used his empty outgoing tray to shove aside a few stacks of papers to make room for the box.
"'Least there's one good thing about you showin' up with no warning."
"What's that, then?" Kinnell's nostrils flared as he bent over his box, but if he had any aversion to the lingering smoky taint to the air, he didn't voice it.
Andy C. grinned. "New nickname. Ain't a pile of fuckin' rocks anymore, are we And?"
Andy W. rolled his eyes. "They'd just call us Triple-A, or the Three-Flying-Arseholes-Club."
Kinnell laughed. “Personally, anything's better than 'Battersea.”
The Detectives Formerly Known As Andes stared at him. "How the blue 'ell'd you manage that?"
“Kinnell,” said Kinnell, shrugging, and in his softer accent the 'i' really did sound like an 'e'. “Hey, I thought it was pretty funny too. The first ten times.”
"Mmm." Andy W. cocked his head, squinting at his new subordinate. "You are gonna have to do one thing before you're really one of us, though. I'm gonna have to insist."
“Yes, sir?”
Andy W. grinned and tapped out his next cigarette. "Grow a damn 'stache, man."
"You ain't nuthin' if you can't fur up that babyface of yours. It's signature Sandford."
Kinnell rubbed his chin, thoughtfully, as he seemed to think it over. “I'll see what I can do.”
*
Afterhours Pub Time was pretty much considered as much an expected social facet of the job as anything else. The only reasons permissible to miss it were if:
A. You'd found a girl earlier.
B. Unless you were Doris, in which case it was most likely a man.
C. Saxon needed a wee.
D. A new action film had just hit Buford Abbey.
E. You were now being held in a criminal psychiatric unit.
F. Deathly illness.
G. You were that miserable cunt Nicholas Angel.
Angel was there that night, however, drinking a pint casually against one of the bullet-studded Georgian bar supports, on the edge but not quite joining in on the unplumbable depths of his team's dirty jokes.
Considering that it was his first day, Kinnell seemed to be fitting in reasonably well. He had turned up with the Andes, a little late from a case that had taken them right over to a farm on the far side of the village, and appeared quite happy to stand with them, chatting a little, but mostly listening.
When Andy W. nipped to the loo, a couple of pints in, he turned to his fellow DC and said something- inaudible under the white noise of the busy pub- which made Cartwright snigger into his glass.
“All right?” said Danny, appearing suddenly at Nicholas's side, having managed to work his way through the throng while keeping his own pint intact.
"Amazing he seems to be actually doing alright with them," said Nicholas, putting a hand on Danny's shoulder and sneaking in a squeeze. He smiled, looking quite a bit less like someone had just trampled his bagged lunch and any chance of sleep in the foreseeable future into the ground. "How're you doing?"
“Ran th' car in for some brake work,” said Danny, watching Kinnell idly as he drank. “MOT's coming up, an' it gets harder t'pass every year. Course, you didn't exactly help,” he added, grinning.
"Police vehicles ought to be able to handle ought to be able to handle what we need them to dish out," said Nicholas, mock-seriously, the corners of his mouth turning up.
“Police vehicles, yeah. Not my poor ol' Jetta.” Danny leaned against the hand on his shoulder with all the confidence of two pints and counting. “It's Vorsprung Durch Technik, not Terminator.”
"I dunno. You seemed to be treating it pretty roughly when I got here," said Nicholas, wanting to curl his head against Danny's neck and quashing the impulse. "Nearly ran me over, you did."
“Moment'ry lapse of judgement,” murmured Danny. “You remember those, right?”
"Still all too well," smiled Nicholas. "Don't be having any tonight, or I'll be sending you to go sleep in cell number four."
“They ent all bad. Depends on the company, really.” Danny wheedled, gently, under his breath. He picked a bit of fluff off Nicholas's sweatervest, the one which always made him look as if he was about to give a lecture at Cambridge, only lacking the padded jacket elbows.
“Or is that sorta thing reserved for park benches only?”
Nicholas buried his blush in his pint. "I needed that. A few quiet minutes in the loo was not cutting it that day."
"Y'know, it doesnt have to be so..." Danny began, but then he trailed off. This time, it wasn't because he thought better of it. It was because he happened to glance up and notice that the new DC was looking in their direction. The Andes (optimisic theories aside, they were still a long way from shaking that nickname) had gravitated away towards Doris, and when he saw Danny had spotted him, he lifted his glass and his eyebrows in the equivalent of a wave, and started to pick his way over.
"Incoming," said Danny, resignedly, into his own pint. "Two o'clock."
"Erm, cheers," said Nicholas, raising his own glass, and rather hoping nobody would notice flushed skin in the dim light. "You look like you're taking it all in stride, then?"
“Oh, everyone's being very helpful,” said Kinnell, shrugging brightly. “We've waved goodbye to the days when you could expect to walk one beat in one place 'til retirement, haven't we? Get the hang of things as quick as you can, that's what I say, you could be packed off somewhere else tomorrow.”
Leaning back on the bar, he watched the rest of the pub, the noise and bustle and throngs of chatting Sandfordians, apparently oblivious to the worried glance that Danny couldn't help sneaking at Nicholas at this point. Evidently, the topic happened to remind Sandford's newest Sergeant all too clearly of their discussion earlier that day.
“Anyway, it's a nice place. I can see why you like it here, chief.”
Nicholas grinned, but it was awkward, as if someone had just presented him with an award, only to find out that it was an award for backhanded compliments. Or for breaching the Local Authorities Model Code of Conduct so very thoroughly, breaking paragraphs left and right in the Employment Equality Regulations, and would probably make the folks in Equality and Human Rights Commission drop their jaws.
"Well, I didn't, originally." He dropped the arm from Danny's shoulder. "I used to hate not having enough to do, going from arresting perps and drug addicts to traffic control and giving talks to school children. I still don't like being behind my desk for more than an hour or two a day. But it kind of, uh, grew on me."
“It's definitely a change of pace,” Kinnell agreed. He looked over at the Andes. “We spent most of the day trying to get to the bottom of an argument over a leylandi. Have to say, when it comes to minor felonies, people round here don't seem to do anything by halves. Poison pen letters, verbal harassment, prank calls, the whole package.”
Wainwright looked up, saw him, and rapped his knuckles meaningfully on his empty glass. Kinnell grinned.
“Looks like I'm getting this one- what can I get you two?”
“Pint of lager'll do me,” Danny told him, cheering up noticeably, willing to suspend any uncertainties for the prospect of a free pint.
"I think I've had enough," said Angel, putting his empty glass down on the bar. "And I think you've had enough too," he said to Danny. "Unless you want to be too pissed to make me watch your new godawful Transporter flick that came in the mail."
Danny caught on- after a couple of puzzled blinks, anyway- and shrugged, draining his glass. “Yeah... 'Nother time, 'ey?”
He clapped Kinnell on the shoulder as he headed past in the direction of the loo. “'Jus' a sec, Nic'las.”
Nicholas had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from smiling at the fond abbreviation. "Three things Sergeant Butterman could not live without; lager, Cornettos, and a steady diet of terrible action films."
"Nice of you to watch 'em with him," observed Kinnell, trying to get the bartender's attention. "Doubt I could manage."
"He is my best friend," pointed out Nicholas, a little annoyed- as he tended to get whenever someone underestimated Danny or his abilities. Danny had had enough of that his whole life, especially with his father clamping him to his side and treating him like a child, even when Danny was well into his late twenties. "Besides, they're sort of amusing to watch, in a masochistic way."
“I just meant the films,” said Kinnell, mildly. “Not a big fan, myself. Of bad movies or masochism. See you tomorrow, chief. Yes, hello,” he added, having finally managed to snag the bartender, “can I get three pints of the Old Peculiar, a Kingsland, aaand a Sex With An Alligator, if that's actually something you sell, and not an invention of the charming lady currently laughing her arse off at me over by the dartboard?”
Danny, catching this last as he arrived back at Nicholas's side, jacket on, coughed a suspiciously giggly cough into his hand.
Nicholas was covering his mouth with one hand. "Uh-hum. Yes. Do not play Smack The Walrus with Doris, by the way. It will go very badly for you. G'night, DC Kinnell."
These days, Danny tended to leave his car at the station if he knew he was going to have more than a couple of pints. Partners or not, Nicholas Did Not Approve of driving under the influence, and although he was an extremely reliable designated driver, he wasn't a very enjoyable one. Nothing quite takes the fun out of getting seriously pissed like the person who you are depending upon to get you home sitting right next to you all evening, shooting you darkling looks over the top of their cranberry juice.
The night was fresh and crisp, and there were a few stars out. Danny stopped by the bulletin board outside the Crown, fumbling through his pockets for his phone.
"Here," said Nicholas, pressing the flip-mobile into Danny's hands, and sneaking in a quick kiss out in the open air, confident that everyone not in their houses this late would be in the pub, and anyone in the pub couldn't see them in the blindspot to the side. "You left it back on the table."
Danny grinned and kissed him back, then speedily flipped the phone and framed Nicholas with the tiny lens.
“'Ey, 'ey, here's one that won't end up on Flickr. Let's have a proper smile.”
"I'd rather we kept doing this," murmured Nicholas, going after Danny's earlobe with his teeth. "'Sides, you keep losing the damn thing. What if some poor schoolkid picks it up? Nnm."
“Educational,” said Danny, nuzzling his neck. “You said yourself, it's 'portant t'let kids have an open dialogue with the... pol... eeeh...”
Nicholas tongued the inside of Danny's ear, grinning at the distracted way his partner's voice trailed off. "Not when I have to explain to the children who go to school around the corner from my house what exactly I'm doing on your mobile, and then again to their parents as to why their children have your mobile." He slipped his hands under Danny's jacket and hugged the man around his podge. "God, I've been wanting this all day."
“Y'shouldn't get so... worried about it,” said Danny plaintively, to the shadowy nose which was really all he could see of Nicholas's face in his periphery. He hugged the arms that were folded around his stomach closer to him, protectively. “You're wearin' yourself out. Y'know no-one minds us.”
"Mmm," said Nicholas, leaning forwards into Danny's larger frame, and changed the subject. "A bit slow on the uptake back there, weren't you?"
“Bit,” agreed Danny, one hand creeping slowly earwards. “M'a sergeant, not Miss Marple.”
"Probably should go somewhere else for this," said Nicholas. "Your place or mahhhyiiiyiine! Christ!"
Danny grinned wolfishly. The ear thing never got old. “Y'wanna turn it up a bit, I don't think they all heard you over'n Gloucester. Mm... mine.”
"W-well, you just try having two nerve clusters on either side of your head with someone else around who won't leave them alone in public, because while it's socially unacceptable to stick your hand down some else's pants, fondling their ears just makes you weird." Nicholas mock-glared, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and cocked his head away from the pub. "C'mon. I wanna hear you say 'This is me,' like you did that first time."
As Nicholas and Danny set off into the night, a third figure stepped quietly out of the small alleyway beside the pub.
It was Kinnell. He tugged his shirt straight, ruffled from the work of a few moments it had taken to nip out the back into the small yard and half-climb, half-hurdle the wall into the alley, and it certainly would have surprised anyone who had met him that day, to see him move so fast and so skillfully. Kinnell usually moved as if there was no particular rush to get anywhere, but for those few scrambling seconds there had been quicksilver in his spine.
He watched the two of them move off, leaning thoughtfully against the wall, and he didn't make a move until they had passed out of sight. Then he padded away, quite silent on the cobbles, in the other direction.
Chapter 2