Fic
Title - Signals and Codes
Rating - PG13ish I guess
AN - Set during Salsa and technically it follows Loosely Translated. As per sgate_2001’s suggestion it is a Scribbs piece (even though it’s much easier for me to write Ash). On watching I wasn’t sure if the girl’s name was Zandra or Sandra but imdb says Sandra, so we’re going with Sandra. As per usual, abysmal proof reading skills have been utilised.
Signals and Codes
The clothes feel strange and tight and not in a good way. They are tight in a buttoned-up ‘my chastity belt is underneath this’ kind of way instead of being tight in an ‘any tighter and I would be in danger of being picked up of solicitation’ kind of way. Not only are they tight, they are itchy. She can feel a scowl forming on her face and she hasn’t even braved looking in the mirror yet, she is starting to lose faith in her plan before she has even had a chance to put it into action. This had all seemed so plausible when the image consultant had suggested it, there had been diagrams and pieces of fabric and it appeared foolproof.
She closes her eyes as she steps in front of the mirror and when she finally manages to open them she feels that her scrunched nose matches her outfit perfectly. She looks drab, everything about her looks drab. The clothes seemed to have sucked the life out of her eyes. There is not a cell in her body that isn’t trying to revolt against the outfit that she has forced it into, it is almost as though the natural order of things has been altered but she supposes that was kind of the point of the exercise. Her usual attire has not been successful in achieving her goals, she can pull in her normal clothes but she can’t pull anyone that she can sustain a relationship with, she is like colourful bauble that is festive and amusing for a time but then gets put away at the end of the holiday period, and so the time has come for drastic measures.
There is nothing remotely appealing about the image before her but she has to put her faith in the plan, for all she knows this is exactly the sort of thing that someone who attended Snob School would be attracted to - not that she has any hope of attracting Ash, there has never been anything that has given her hope that she is Ash’s type. She has flirted and she has probed and Ash has remained impervious to her less than subtle advances. Her new plan is to attract someone like Ash. She needs to find someone organised and repressed who also has long dark hair, piercing eyes and sharp wit or failing that she needs to find someone who will help her forget that she is in love with her immediate superior. She has tried one night stands and short flings but they have done nothing to diminish her interest in Ash, she needs to find something more permanent, someone more stable. Still, she wouldn’t be at all upset if her little scheme happened to make Ash notice what has been right in front of her, whatever the outcome, the plan is to try and find someone who wants her for life and not just the holiday season.
She doesn’t want to let Ash in on the plan but she finds herself on shaky ground as she has to explain to Ash how the new wardrobe came about, “They look at your hair and skin tone and decide what colour your clothes should be.”
“So what did they say about you?”
“That I was an autumn, that I look best wearing subdued tones.”
“Subdued?” Ash sounds incredulous.
“Tones,” she clarifies. “Apparently bright colours don’t suit me, the mistake I made was dressing as a summer, which is why I’ve been attracting the wrong kind of men.”
“So you’re saying the right kind of man’s attracted to a woman in a mushroom brown outfit?” Ash has sidestepped from incredulous to sceptical and Scribbs is beginning to think that perhaps she should have been honest with the consultant about the exact nature of the person that she was trying to attract; maybe the colour scheme is different if you are trying to attract a woman.
“Do you think I look a bit…..”
“No Scribbs, you look fine, you look absolutely fine,” Ash touches her arm in a reassuring gesture.
“Honest?” She wills herself to keep walking and not to melt into a puddle because Ash touched her.
Ash catches up with her and grabs her arm again, “Well actually, truth?” Scribbs nods, she is barely able to think with Ash holding her arm and finding the co-ordination to move her head is nothing short of a minor miracle. “You look like a fungus,” it was a short lived miracle and one that didn’t protect her from having her heart broken. In fact her heart breaks twice - once in response to Ash’s words and again when Ash lets go of her arm. She looks down, trying to convince herself that it is a dream but unfortunately it is real, she really is wearing that outfit and she really is living this nightmare
Her own life in tatters she shifts her focus to the case. Dismissing someone as a viable suspect because he seems nice isn’t exactly crack police work but she happens to share Ash’s assessment of the situation. There was something about his distress that seemed real, he seemed lost without his wife and Scribbs couldn’t help but feel jealous; there is no-one in her life that feels that way about her and she is starting to think that no-one ever will.
They try to put their reasoning forward to Sullivan but he seems to believe that their approach to being detectives lies in the realm of crystal balls and female intuition. Sullivan doesn’t just offer disparaging remarks about their investigative skills, he makes a comment about her wardrobe, it’s not effusive but she decides to take it as a sign that her plan is working. She doesn’t dwell on that, he is far from forgiven so she concentrates on the negative aspects of his personality instead. Naturally she waits until he has left the room before commenting, “Demanding.”
“Which is surprisingly very, very sexy.”
“Hmmmmmm,” she is sure that she can pull off demanding if she tries, in fact she doesn’t think she will have to try all that hard.
She steps out of the car, having spent the entire trip thinking about ways in which to be demanding, feeling slightly odd and out of place in her grey coat. Ash is in lilac, it’s not a bright colour but it seems incredibly vibrant when compared with Scribbs’ dreary attire. Something feels very wrong about the whole situation, as though their positions are being reversed.
Ash reveals a surprising titbit as they approach the club, “I used to go salsa dancing,” which solves the mystery of how Ash knew the location of Salsa Sensations.
“When?” she can’t keep the jealousy out of her voice but Ash doesn’t seem to notice.
“Well do you remember DS Garcia from Regional Crime?”
“He was horrible,” and yet Ash had wanted him.
“Yes I know,” that makes her feel so much better than it should, “but the Salsa was fantastic. Just close your eyes Scribbs,” she can’t do that because Ash has just grabbed hold of her arm and she needs her eyes open to know that it is real, “and imagine that you’re dancing. You’re dancing through the empty mansions of Havana.”
She will not have impure thoughts about Ash, she will not have impure thoughts about Ash - her mantra is about as effective as her new wardrobe seems to be and so she tries to focus on something else, “Does Havana have mansions?”
“Just the streets of Spanish Harlem, in the arms of an adoring and utterly gorgeous Che Guevara.”
It was a perfect fantasy until Ash went and spoiled the moment by bringing a man into it, “Ewww, I hate men with beards.” Ash makes a noise of disgust, as though she thinks Scribbs is impossible and Scribbs wonders what kind of noise Ash would have made if she had have known that throughout the exchange the only person Scribbs was thinking about dancing with was her.
The idea of being overseas dancing with Ash is still firmly in her mind when she allows herself to get caught up in the moment and wack Ash on the arse. Ash doesn’t seem to mind, clearly she doesn’t know what the gesture really means. It’s probably best that she doesn’t, Scribbs has a feeling that if Ash knew the truth she would amputate Scribbs hand as punishment.
There is a small, plastic, peroxided man mincing around Salsa Sensations, she’s not sure that he is a viable suspect or even a credible witness but she certainly enjoys his flamboyant responses to their question. The interview with Jez fruitful, in more ways than one, and the poor man’s Julian Clary gives then a lead.
Ash is still talking about dancing when they arrive to interview their next witness, “Would you sack your dance partner three days before a competition?”
“Oh, I’m not ruthless enough for the world of salsa.” Scribbs decides that she is not onboard with the world of Salsa, she doesn’t like to think about this world where Ash has been and hasn’t taken her. “Unlike, Jez Hughes, he looked like he had something to hide.”
“Scribbs all people with fake tans have something to hide.”
The door is opened by a crazy woman who seems to think that she doesn’t need them there in ordered to be interviewed and is determined not to let them get a word in edgewise. Scribbs does find herself amused when the woman identifies Ash as the aggressive type, it’s the kind of thing that she can only dream of Ash being but hearing someone else say it out loud adds helpful fuel to her fantasy. Crazy doesn’t win Scribbs over entirely because she becomes a whole lot less endearing when she tells them about the Italian Stallion. Ash seems a little too interested in the swarthy bastard causing Scribbs to pray for the interview to be over. In the end she terminates her involvement in the interview in an unorthodox and unplanned way, cracking up at Crazy’s melodramatic re-enactment isn’t the most professional thing that she has ever done but if she is going to lose control of her emotions it is better that it be because of this than because of her jealousy over Ash’s apparent interest in the dance instructor. For a second she thought that her little outburst would at least let her put some distance between Ash and herself but Ash follows her outside.
“I got the giggles, I’m sorry,” she does her best to play the moment off as insignificant and can only hope that Ash buys her performance.
“She’s looking,” Ash hisses. “You’re absolutely hopeless,” and with those kind words, Scribbs finds herself with something else that she has to worry about losing emotional control over.
“What’s the matter?”
“The clock,” she is impressed with her own ability to cover up the true cause of her concern.
“Sorry?”
“Alright this isn’t conclusive but Felicity said she came straight back from the club. Which means she’d be home by six o’clock at the latest.”
“So?”
It feels quite good to have noticed something that Ash hasn’t, “Well when she wrecked her sitting room she smashed the clock, it says quarter to seven, which is forty-five minutes later, which might mean that she didn’t come straight back but followed Sandra home.”
She’s impressed with her rationale and with the fact that she remembered slutty dead girl’s name but Ash doesn’t seems to be swayed by either of those things, “But the clock could have been fast, or broken already, or the small hand could have been knocked when she broke it.”
“Alright, I said it was inclusive.” She doesn’t think she’ll ever impress Ash, she will always be the inadequate underling the system has forced upon her.
“Very observant though, not so hopeless.” It’s not exactly the glowing accolades and confirmation of her intelligence that she was hoping for but for some reason Scribbs suddenly feels ten foot tall and bullet proof. Despite her new found super powers, it would seem that she is not yet Sullivan proof and she could kill him for suggesting that they go and visit the Italian Stallion, especially when she hears Ash say that he is apparently one of the most gorgeous men alive. She does her best to act cheerful but she is definitely going to make a voodoo doll of Sullivan when she gets home, she wonders how he’ll feel about being a blind cripple. In the mean time she will find other ways to berate and belittle him, even if she can only do this in his absence, “The boss dancing.”
“I know, I can’t see it.”
“I bet he’s crap,” it seemed like the right thing to say but the moment that she utters it she worries that it might encourage Ash to try and find out for herself.
“God, yeah. Two left feet” Ash sounds distant, like she might actually be thinking about what it would be like to dance with Sullivan and Scribbs has to contemplate suicide.
“What’s that?” distraction is becoming her constant companion and firm friend.
“It’s the financial report for Foy’s travel business and according to my considered financial analysis, he’s screwed.” She does her best not to giggle but she does find something very amusing about Ash swearing. “So I suggest that you go and see him and try and find out what he was hiding and whether he knew his wife was having an affair.”
“And what are you going to do?” she asks as the words ‘Please don’t go and see the Italian Stallion, please don’t go and see the Italian Stallion’ run through her head.
“I’m going to go and see the dance coach.” The words in her head are replaced by ‘Fuck it’ and she is beginning to wonder if she should start wishing for the opposite of what she wants to happen because that is what fate seems determined to give her.
“Actually why don’t you go and visit the husband and I’ll visit the dance coach.” She likes that plan much better, she likes any plan that doesn’t have her thinking about Ash in the arms of some muscly foreigner.
“Scribbs, at this point in time, when it comes to men, you’re all over the place. This business with your clothes.”
She wants to scream at Ash, to tell her that she did this for her but she can’t do that and on the positive side it means that Ash has definitely noticed what she is wearing. “You’re the one with the weakness for Latin hunks. Latin hunks with abundant chest hair.” It’s easier to tease Ash than to think about how much the idea of her dating a monkey man hurts, “DS Garcia?”
“I didn’t go out with DS Garcia because he has abundant chest hair. I went out with him because he made me laugh.”
“You went out with him because he made you warm.” That sounded good in her head but she suddenly realises that it has a double meaning and it’s amazing that she is able to get the car started because all she can think about are things that might make Ash warm and how she very much wants to be one of them.
When she arrives at the Foy’s she has a whole new reason to be resentful that she is not the one with the dance teacher. Dead bodies don’t worry her, they are the bread and butter of her job but she isn’t usually first on the scene, by the time she gets to the body there are lights and tapes and people milling everywhere. It is a crime scene and as such somehow loses some of its significance, the body becomes an object, a victim, it no longer seems like a person. If being the first person to discover a body is anything like coming upon the unconscious form of David Foy, she wants no part of it because apparently she doesn’t need a crime scene to stop seeing bodies as people and that thought is unsettling. She registers what she sees and recognises the seriousness of the situation but her immediate thought is that she gets to ring Ash and take her away from the Latin lothario. Scribbs isn’t a bad person but she has been desensitised to death and she feels she should be given some kind of medal in recognition of the fact that she manages to control herself and call the ambulance before she calls Ash. She doesn’t find herself adorned with gold, silver or even bronze, she isn’t rewarded at all, Ash stays right where she is, telling Scribbs that she will call her later. Ash never does call but the universe isn’t completely against her because Ash shows up at her place unannounced. “What’s the news on the husband?”
“He’s conscious, stable but not fit to be interviewed but the paramedics said that….,” she loses her train of thought as Ash sweeps her eyes over her body, it’s hardly the sort of thing that she is going to let go unnoticed, “what?”
“How much did you pay for this image consultancy?”
“It’s working, I’ve been getting comments.”
“Scribbs, you’ve been getting comments because people at work look at what you’re wearing and think you’re depressed or grieving.” Not exactly the response that she was hoping for, it’s getting harder to convince herself that there is anything remotely favourable about Ash’s response to her new image. “So what’s this?” Ash waves the item at her.
“It’s my swatch of permitted colours,” she doesn’t feel comfortable about Ash seeing the swatch, the consultant didn’t say as much but she fears that the colours may lose their power if Ash sees them all in advance.
“Oh. So you can wear sludge green, a very nice sludge grey, basically sludge.”
She can not listen to this, Ash isn’t being deliberately cruel, behind her mockery Ash is looking out for her but it’s still painful to learn that you have spent time, effort and money trying to attract someone and that the only result is to have made yourself look like pond scum, “Do you want to hear about John Foy or not?”
“Yes.” Things go back to business from that moment on, which is probably for the best because she has enough to deal with in having to suppress the part of her that is trying to find a way to gave Ash a friendly good night kiss.
The next day, she finds herself cooped up in a darkened room next to Ash as they glue their eyes to a tiny screen watching and rewatching grainy CCTV images. Despite the tediousness of the task she would be tempted to think of the moment as romantic if Sullivan wasn’t there ruining the atmosphere. Sullivan does manage to gain some of the ground that he lost when he sent Ash into the arms of the Italian Stallion by seeming surprised that people find dance boy attractive, it sounds so much less petty coming from him than it would have if she’d have been the one to point it out. She shouldn’t be quite so excited by footage of a man kissing the victim, she probably has some sort of disorder but it means that the greasy little longhaired git is a sleaze and a liar and so she asks to see the footage again. She doesn’t think they missed anything the first time around but she is not going to forgo the opportunity to stress the guy’s untrustworthiness to Ash, or to place her hand on Ash’s arm as she does so.
As excited as she was by the footage and the opportunity to touch Ash the moment loses its lustre when she realises that it brings them straight back to Salsa Sensations. Scribbs doesn’t want anything to do with Salsa dancing, the music is loud and infectious and it makes her smile too brightly at Ash and bump her in playful ways. It is far too dangerous a place, even if you discount that fact that it houses the chiselled dance teacher - the sooner the case is over, the better. Once again she loses the argument about who should be interviewing slimy salsa boy because it’s hard to fight the logic that Ash should follow-up with him for the sake of continuity and so she finds herself alone with the peroxided mincing machine. She really hopes that Jez isn’t the killer because if she wasn’t busy freaking out about Ash being off with the unscrupulous philanderer, she would actually be having fun talking to him. Not as much fun as Ash has been having though, she wonders what Ash and the Stallion spoke about in order to provoke Ash to ask, “Have you ever slept with a man out of charity?” and she just knows that the thought is going to be running through her head for days, bringing with it images of tight clinches and rolling hips. She officially hates Salsa dancing and is thinking about starting a petition to have it outlawed.
“You mean mercy sex?” She is slightly more comfortable with this topic than she is with the idea of Ash in the embrace of the steroid junkie but it’s not really a concept that she can put together with Ash in her head. She thinks of Ash as being fair too rigid and calculating to do something like that and imagines that Ash thinks that sex, like fun, is something that should be scheduled into her diary well in advance.
“Yeah.”
“Probably,” if by probably she means definitely, “you?”
“Once, when I was a student, I slept with a boy because his bike had been stolen.”
“To cheer him up?” she wonders, all the while thinking about buying herself a new bicycle and being lackadaisical about chaining it up.
“I think so.”
It is a strange world when a cemetery offers her comfort but arriving at their destination brings the conversation to the end and she is grateful for that but not so grateful that she is impervious to Mary Soukis’ grief. She doesn’t make a habit of feeling sympathy for people involved in the cases that she works on but as she watches the widow tend to her husband’s grave she definitely feels pity for the woman. First the near bonding moment with Jez and now this, she really isn’t herself right now, maybe the new wardrobe is taking over her life or maybe Mary’s plight speaks to her because she understands what it’s like to pretend to be happy but to be numb inside because you can’t be with the one that you love. Watching Mary, Scribbs realises that she really should consider herself lucky because at least Ash is alive and well but then she starts to think that maybe that is the greater of the evils, maybe seeing someone every day and not being able to be with them, not being able to tell them how you feel, is worse than them dying. This is clearly a thought that she should not have had because the universe decides to put it to the test, well not literally but having gun pointed at them, pointed at Ash, is close enough.
Scribbs is livid with the entire force right now and seriously considering applying for some sort of compensation for her trauma - it’s bad enough that no-one took them seriously and that they were forced to the ground but lying next to Ash, even under these circumstances, was like exquisite torture. Scribbs is sure that DI Ashurst was as insulted as she was by the way they were treated but Ash doesn’t show any signs that having to lie down in close proximity to Scribbs was any problem for her.
Ash brushes off being held at gun point in the same way that she brushes of the fact that her ‘nice’ guy turns out to be a money launderer for the mob and Scribbs wishes she knew for sure whether the confirmation that Ash has crap taste in men was a good or a bad thing. What she does know is that Ash isn’t capable of letting everything wash over her and that learning that the Organised Crime guys are taking over the case really, really pisses Ash off. That is just fine with Scribbs because Ash is incredibly beautiful when she’s angry. It’s a pity that Sullivan takes that moment to place the final nail in the coffin with regard to the success of her makeover because it prevents her from enjoying the sight of angry Ash in full flight but she is not so despondent that she is incapable of noticing something on the CCTV tape that breaks the case wide open. She seems to have these moments of inspiration when she is trying to impress Ash and she would probably be a much better detective if she could use all of her cases as a way of making Ash happy, maybe it’s not entirely a disastrous career choice to be in love with your DI.
The solution to the case isn’t very satisfying. These weren’t bad people, these were victims, damaged and angry. Scribbs doesn’t feel a great sense of achievement in arresting them, it doesn’t seem like justice has been served. Some days the world doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to her but if the situation has taught her anything, it’s that it is important to try and grab happiness where you can and given that dressing in mute colours has not brought her any joy, it is most definitely time to put an end to the plan. It’s silly but she feels a little giddy after her shopping spree, even the look she attracts as she walks into the building seems like a sign that she has done the right thing. She floats down the hallway in a bubble of happiness that bursts the moment she sees Ash dancing with Sullivan. She knows that Ash likes men, she doesn’t need to be reminded of the fact and having to witness an audiovisual demonstration just seems needlessly cruel. Ash attempts to hide her embarrassment and carry on as though nothing has happened but Scribbs can’t do that because seeing Ash with their boss has forced her to admit that she has no future with Ash and she doesn’t think that will change even if she acts on the homicidal urges that she is currently experiencing. The best that she can hope for is to be Ash’s friend, she tries to tell herself that it’s something but she fears that it may actually be worse than nothing at all.
Rating - PG13ish I guess
AN - Set during Salsa and technically it follows Loosely Translated. As per sgate_2001’s suggestion it is a Scribbs piece (even though it’s much easier for me to write Ash). On watching I wasn’t sure if the girl’s name was Zandra or Sandra but imdb says Sandra, so we’re going with Sandra. As per usual, abysmal proof reading skills have been utilised.
Signals and Codes
The clothes feel strange and tight and not in a good way. They are tight in a buttoned-up ‘my chastity belt is underneath this’ kind of way instead of being tight in an ‘any tighter and I would be in danger of being picked up of solicitation’ kind of way. Not only are they tight, they are itchy. She can feel a scowl forming on her face and she hasn’t even braved looking in the mirror yet, she is starting to lose faith in her plan before she has even had a chance to put it into action. This had all seemed so plausible when the image consultant had suggested it, there had been diagrams and pieces of fabric and it appeared foolproof.
She closes her eyes as she steps in front of the mirror and when she finally manages to open them she feels that her scrunched nose matches her outfit perfectly. She looks drab, everything about her looks drab. The clothes seemed to have sucked the life out of her eyes. There is not a cell in her body that isn’t trying to revolt against the outfit that she has forced it into, it is almost as though the natural order of things has been altered but she supposes that was kind of the point of the exercise. Her usual attire has not been successful in achieving her goals, she can pull in her normal clothes but she can’t pull anyone that she can sustain a relationship with, she is like colourful bauble that is festive and amusing for a time but then gets put away at the end of the holiday period, and so the time has come for drastic measures.
There is nothing remotely appealing about the image before her but she has to put her faith in the plan, for all she knows this is exactly the sort of thing that someone who attended Snob School would be attracted to - not that she has any hope of attracting Ash, there has never been anything that has given her hope that she is Ash’s type. She has flirted and she has probed and Ash has remained impervious to her less than subtle advances. Her new plan is to attract someone like Ash. She needs to find someone organised and repressed who also has long dark hair, piercing eyes and sharp wit or failing that she needs to find someone who will help her forget that she is in love with her immediate superior. She has tried one night stands and short flings but they have done nothing to diminish her interest in Ash, she needs to find something more permanent, someone more stable. Still, she wouldn’t be at all upset if her little scheme happened to make Ash notice what has been right in front of her, whatever the outcome, the plan is to try and find someone who wants her for life and not just the holiday season.
She doesn’t want to let Ash in on the plan but she finds herself on shaky ground as she has to explain to Ash how the new wardrobe came about, “They look at your hair and skin tone and decide what colour your clothes should be.”
“So what did they say about you?”
“That I was an autumn, that I look best wearing subdued tones.”
“Subdued?” Ash sounds incredulous.
“Tones,” she clarifies. “Apparently bright colours don’t suit me, the mistake I made was dressing as a summer, which is why I’ve been attracting the wrong kind of men.”
“So you’re saying the right kind of man’s attracted to a woman in a mushroom brown outfit?” Ash has sidestepped from incredulous to sceptical and Scribbs is beginning to think that perhaps she should have been honest with the consultant about the exact nature of the person that she was trying to attract; maybe the colour scheme is different if you are trying to attract a woman.
“Do you think I look a bit…..”
“No Scribbs, you look fine, you look absolutely fine,” Ash touches her arm in a reassuring gesture.
“Honest?” She wills herself to keep walking and not to melt into a puddle because Ash touched her.
Ash catches up with her and grabs her arm again, “Well actually, truth?” Scribbs nods, she is barely able to think with Ash holding her arm and finding the co-ordination to move her head is nothing short of a minor miracle. “You look like a fungus,” it was a short lived miracle and one that didn’t protect her from having her heart broken. In fact her heart breaks twice - once in response to Ash’s words and again when Ash lets go of her arm. She looks down, trying to convince herself that it is a dream but unfortunately it is real, she really is wearing that outfit and she really is living this nightmare
Her own life in tatters she shifts her focus to the case. Dismissing someone as a viable suspect because he seems nice isn’t exactly crack police work but she happens to share Ash’s assessment of the situation. There was something about his distress that seemed real, he seemed lost without his wife and Scribbs couldn’t help but feel jealous; there is no-one in her life that feels that way about her and she is starting to think that no-one ever will.
They try to put their reasoning forward to Sullivan but he seems to believe that their approach to being detectives lies in the realm of crystal balls and female intuition. Sullivan doesn’t just offer disparaging remarks about their investigative skills, he makes a comment about her wardrobe, it’s not effusive but she decides to take it as a sign that her plan is working. She doesn’t dwell on that, he is far from forgiven so she concentrates on the negative aspects of his personality instead. Naturally she waits until he has left the room before commenting, “Demanding.”
“Which is surprisingly very, very sexy.”
“Hmmmmmm,” she is sure that she can pull off demanding if she tries, in fact she doesn’t think she will have to try all that hard.
She steps out of the car, having spent the entire trip thinking about ways in which to be demanding, feeling slightly odd and out of place in her grey coat. Ash is in lilac, it’s not a bright colour but it seems incredibly vibrant when compared with Scribbs’ dreary attire. Something feels very wrong about the whole situation, as though their positions are being reversed.
Ash reveals a surprising titbit as they approach the club, “I used to go salsa dancing,” which solves the mystery of how Ash knew the location of Salsa Sensations.
“When?” she can’t keep the jealousy out of her voice but Ash doesn’t seem to notice.
“Well do you remember DS Garcia from Regional Crime?”
“He was horrible,” and yet Ash had wanted him.
“Yes I know,” that makes her feel so much better than it should, “but the Salsa was fantastic. Just close your eyes Scribbs,” she can’t do that because Ash has just grabbed hold of her arm and she needs her eyes open to know that it is real, “and imagine that you’re dancing. You’re dancing through the empty mansions of Havana.”
She will not have impure thoughts about Ash, she will not have impure thoughts about Ash - her mantra is about as effective as her new wardrobe seems to be and so she tries to focus on something else, “Does Havana have mansions?”
“Just the streets of Spanish Harlem, in the arms of an adoring and utterly gorgeous Che Guevara.”
It was a perfect fantasy until Ash went and spoiled the moment by bringing a man into it, “Ewww, I hate men with beards.” Ash makes a noise of disgust, as though she thinks Scribbs is impossible and Scribbs wonders what kind of noise Ash would have made if she had have known that throughout the exchange the only person Scribbs was thinking about dancing with was her.
The idea of being overseas dancing with Ash is still firmly in her mind when she allows herself to get caught up in the moment and wack Ash on the arse. Ash doesn’t seem to mind, clearly she doesn’t know what the gesture really means. It’s probably best that she doesn’t, Scribbs has a feeling that if Ash knew the truth she would amputate Scribbs hand as punishment.
There is a small, plastic, peroxided man mincing around Salsa Sensations, she’s not sure that he is a viable suspect or even a credible witness but she certainly enjoys his flamboyant responses to their question. The interview with Jez fruitful, in more ways than one, and the poor man’s Julian Clary gives then a lead.
Ash is still talking about dancing when they arrive to interview their next witness, “Would you sack your dance partner three days before a competition?”
“Oh, I’m not ruthless enough for the world of salsa.” Scribbs decides that she is not onboard with the world of Salsa, she doesn’t like to think about this world where Ash has been and hasn’t taken her. “Unlike, Jez Hughes, he looked like he had something to hide.”
“Scribbs all people with fake tans have something to hide.”
The door is opened by a crazy woman who seems to think that she doesn’t need them there in ordered to be interviewed and is determined not to let them get a word in edgewise. Scribbs does find herself amused when the woman identifies Ash as the aggressive type, it’s the kind of thing that she can only dream of Ash being but hearing someone else say it out loud adds helpful fuel to her fantasy. Crazy doesn’t win Scribbs over entirely because she becomes a whole lot less endearing when she tells them about the Italian Stallion. Ash seems a little too interested in the swarthy bastard causing Scribbs to pray for the interview to be over. In the end she terminates her involvement in the interview in an unorthodox and unplanned way, cracking up at Crazy’s melodramatic re-enactment isn’t the most professional thing that she has ever done but if she is going to lose control of her emotions it is better that it be because of this than because of her jealousy over Ash’s apparent interest in the dance instructor. For a second she thought that her little outburst would at least let her put some distance between Ash and herself but Ash follows her outside.
“I got the giggles, I’m sorry,” she does her best to play the moment off as insignificant and can only hope that Ash buys her performance.
“She’s looking,” Ash hisses. “You’re absolutely hopeless,” and with those kind words, Scribbs finds herself with something else that she has to worry about losing emotional control over.
“What’s the matter?”
“The clock,” she is impressed with her own ability to cover up the true cause of her concern.
“Sorry?”
“Alright this isn’t conclusive but Felicity said she came straight back from the club. Which means she’d be home by six o’clock at the latest.”
“So?”
It feels quite good to have noticed something that Ash hasn’t, “Well when she wrecked her sitting room she smashed the clock, it says quarter to seven, which is forty-five minutes later, which might mean that she didn’t come straight back but followed Sandra home.”
She’s impressed with her rationale and with the fact that she remembered slutty dead girl’s name but Ash doesn’t seems to be swayed by either of those things, “But the clock could have been fast, or broken already, or the small hand could have been knocked when she broke it.”
“Alright, I said it was inclusive.” She doesn’t think she’ll ever impress Ash, she will always be the inadequate underling the system has forced upon her.
“Very observant though, not so hopeless.” It’s not exactly the glowing accolades and confirmation of her intelligence that she was hoping for but for some reason Scribbs suddenly feels ten foot tall and bullet proof. Despite her new found super powers, it would seem that she is not yet Sullivan proof and she could kill him for suggesting that they go and visit the Italian Stallion, especially when she hears Ash say that he is apparently one of the most gorgeous men alive. She does her best to act cheerful but she is definitely going to make a voodoo doll of Sullivan when she gets home, she wonders how he’ll feel about being a blind cripple. In the mean time she will find other ways to berate and belittle him, even if she can only do this in his absence, “The boss dancing.”
“I know, I can’t see it.”
“I bet he’s crap,” it seemed like the right thing to say but the moment that she utters it she worries that it might encourage Ash to try and find out for herself.
“God, yeah. Two left feet” Ash sounds distant, like she might actually be thinking about what it would be like to dance with Sullivan and Scribbs has to contemplate suicide.
“What’s that?” distraction is becoming her constant companion and firm friend.
“It’s the financial report for Foy’s travel business and according to my considered financial analysis, he’s screwed.” She does her best not to giggle but she does find something very amusing about Ash swearing. “So I suggest that you go and see him and try and find out what he was hiding and whether he knew his wife was having an affair.”
“And what are you going to do?” she asks as the words ‘Please don’t go and see the Italian Stallion, please don’t go and see the Italian Stallion’ run through her head.
“I’m going to go and see the dance coach.” The words in her head are replaced by ‘Fuck it’ and she is beginning to wonder if she should start wishing for the opposite of what she wants to happen because that is what fate seems determined to give her.
“Actually why don’t you go and visit the husband and I’ll visit the dance coach.” She likes that plan much better, she likes any plan that doesn’t have her thinking about Ash in the arms of some muscly foreigner.
“Scribbs, at this point in time, when it comes to men, you’re all over the place. This business with your clothes.”
She wants to scream at Ash, to tell her that she did this for her but she can’t do that and on the positive side it means that Ash has definitely noticed what she is wearing. “You’re the one with the weakness for Latin hunks. Latin hunks with abundant chest hair.” It’s easier to tease Ash than to think about how much the idea of her dating a monkey man hurts, “DS Garcia?”
“I didn’t go out with DS Garcia because he has abundant chest hair. I went out with him because he made me laugh.”
“You went out with him because he made you warm.” That sounded good in her head but she suddenly realises that it has a double meaning and it’s amazing that she is able to get the car started because all she can think about are things that might make Ash warm and how she very much wants to be one of them.
When she arrives at the Foy’s she has a whole new reason to be resentful that she is not the one with the dance teacher. Dead bodies don’t worry her, they are the bread and butter of her job but she isn’t usually first on the scene, by the time she gets to the body there are lights and tapes and people milling everywhere. It is a crime scene and as such somehow loses some of its significance, the body becomes an object, a victim, it no longer seems like a person. If being the first person to discover a body is anything like coming upon the unconscious form of David Foy, she wants no part of it because apparently she doesn’t need a crime scene to stop seeing bodies as people and that thought is unsettling. She registers what she sees and recognises the seriousness of the situation but her immediate thought is that she gets to ring Ash and take her away from the Latin lothario. Scribbs isn’t a bad person but she has been desensitised to death and she feels she should be given some kind of medal in recognition of the fact that she manages to control herself and call the ambulance before she calls Ash. She doesn’t find herself adorned with gold, silver or even bronze, she isn’t rewarded at all, Ash stays right where she is, telling Scribbs that she will call her later. Ash never does call but the universe isn’t completely against her because Ash shows up at her place unannounced. “What’s the news on the husband?”
“He’s conscious, stable but not fit to be interviewed but the paramedics said that….,” she loses her train of thought as Ash sweeps her eyes over her body, it’s hardly the sort of thing that she is going to let go unnoticed, “what?”
“How much did you pay for this image consultancy?”
“It’s working, I’ve been getting comments.”
“Scribbs, you’ve been getting comments because people at work look at what you’re wearing and think you’re depressed or grieving.” Not exactly the response that she was hoping for, it’s getting harder to convince herself that there is anything remotely favourable about Ash’s response to her new image. “So what’s this?” Ash waves the item at her.
“It’s my swatch of permitted colours,” she doesn’t feel comfortable about Ash seeing the swatch, the consultant didn’t say as much but she fears that the colours may lose their power if Ash sees them all in advance.
“Oh. So you can wear sludge green, a very nice sludge grey, basically sludge.”
She can not listen to this, Ash isn’t being deliberately cruel, behind her mockery Ash is looking out for her but it’s still painful to learn that you have spent time, effort and money trying to attract someone and that the only result is to have made yourself look like pond scum, “Do you want to hear about John Foy or not?”
“Yes.” Things go back to business from that moment on, which is probably for the best because she has enough to deal with in having to suppress the part of her that is trying to find a way to gave Ash a friendly good night kiss.
The next day, she finds herself cooped up in a darkened room next to Ash as they glue their eyes to a tiny screen watching and rewatching grainy CCTV images. Despite the tediousness of the task she would be tempted to think of the moment as romantic if Sullivan wasn’t there ruining the atmosphere. Sullivan does manage to gain some of the ground that he lost when he sent Ash into the arms of the Italian Stallion by seeming surprised that people find dance boy attractive, it sounds so much less petty coming from him than it would have if she’d have been the one to point it out. She shouldn’t be quite so excited by footage of a man kissing the victim, she probably has some sort of disorder but it means that the greasy little longhaired git is a sleaze and a liar and so she asks to see the footage again. She doesn’t think they missed anything the first time around but she is not going to forgo the opportunity to stress the guy’s untrustworthiness to Ash, or to place her hand on Ash’s arm as she does so.
As excited as she was by the footage and the opportunity to touch Ash the moment loses its lustre when she realises that it brings them straight back to Salsa Sensations. Scribbs doesn’t want anything to do with Salsa dancing, the music is loud and infectious and it makes her smile too brightly at Ash and bump her in playful ways. It is far too dangerous a place, even if you discount that fact that it houses the chiselled dance teacher - the sooner the case is over, the better. Once again she loses the argument about who should be interviewing slimy salsa boy because it’s hard to fight the logic that Ash should follow-up with him for the sake of continuity and so she finds herself alone with the peroxided mincing machine. She really hopes that Jez isn’t the killer because if she wasn’t busy freaking out about Ash being off with the unscrupulous philanderer, she would actually be having fun talking to him. Not as much fun as Ash has been having though, she wonders what Ash and the Stallion spoke about in order to provoke Ash to ask, “Have you ever slept with a man out of charity?” and she just knows that the thought is going to be running through her head for days, bringing with it images of tight clinches and rolling hips. She officially hates Salsa dancing and is thinking about starting a petition to have it outlawed.
“You mean mercy sex?” She is slightly more comfortable with this topic than she is with the idea of Ash in the embrace of the steroid junkie but it’s not really a concept that she can put together with Ash in her head. She thinks of Ash as being fair too rigid and calculating to do something like that and imagines that Ash thinks that sex, like fun, is something that should be scheduled into her diary well in advance.
“Yeah.”
“Probably,” if by probably she means definitely, “you?”
“Once, when I was a student, I slept with a boy because his bike had been stolen.”
“To cheer him up?” she wonders, all the while thinking about buying herself a new bicycle and being lackadaisical about chaining it up.
“I think so.”
It is a strange world when a cemetery offers her comfort but arriving at their destination brings the conversation to the end and she is grateful for that but not so grateful that she is impervious to Mary Soukis’ grief. She doesn’t make a habit of feeling sympathy for people involved in the cases that she works on but as she watches the widow tend to her husband’s grave she definitely feels pity for the woman. First the near bonding moment with Jez and now this, she really isn’t herself right now, maybe the new wardrobe is taking over her life or maybe Mary’s plight speaks to her because she understands what it’s like to pretend to be happy but to be numb inside because you can’t be with the one that you love. Watching Mary, Scribbs realises that she really should consider herself lucky because at least Ash is alive and well but then she starts to think that maybe that is the greater of the evils, maybe seeing someone every day and not being able to be with them, not being able to tell them how you feel, is worse than them dying. This is clearly a thought that she should not have had because the universe decides to put it to the test, well not literally but having gun pointed at them, pointed at Ash, is close enough.
Scribbs is livid with the entire force right now and seriously considering applying for some sort of compensation for her trauma - it’s bad enough that no-one took them seriously and that they were forced to the ground but lying next to Ash, even under these circumstances, was like exquisite torture. Scribbs is sure that DI Ashurst was as insulted as she was by the way they were treated but Ash doesn’t show any signs that having to lie down in close proximity to Scribbs was any problem for her.
Ash brushes off being held at gun point in the same way that she brushes of the fact that her ‘nice’ guy turns out to be a money launderer for the mob and Scribbs wishes she knew for sure whether the confirmation that Ash has crap taste in men was a good or a bad thing. What she does know is that Ash isn’t capable of letting everything wash over her and that learning that the Organised Crime guys are taking over the case really, really pisses Ash off. That is just fine with Scribbs because Ash is incredibly beautiful when she’s angry. It’s a pity that Sullivan takes that moment to place the final nail in the coffin with regard to the success of her makeover because it prevents her from enjoying the sight of angry Ash in full flight but she is not so despondent that she is incapable of noticing something on the CCTV tape that breaks the case wide open. She seems to have these moments of inspiration when she is trying to impress Ash and she would probably be a much better detective if she could use all of her cases as a way of making Ash happy, maybe it’s not entirely a disastrous career choice to be in love with your DI.
The solution to the case isn’t very satisfying. These weren’t bad people, these were victims, damaged and angry. Scribbs doesn’t feel a great sense of achievement in arresting them, it doesn’t seem like justice has been served. Some days the world doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to her but if the situation has taught her anything, it’s that it is important to try and grab happiness where you can and given that dressing in mute colours has not brought her any joy, it is most definitely time to put an end to the plan. It’s silly but she feels a little giddy after her shopping spree, even the look she attracts as she walks into the building seems like a sign that she has done the right thing. She floats down the hallway in a bubble of happiness that bursts the moment she sees Ash dancing with Sullivan. She knows that Ash likes men, she doesn’t need to be reminded of the fact and having to witness an audiovisual demonstration just seems needlessly cruel. Ash attempts to hide her embarrassment and carry on as though nothing has happened but Scribbs can’t do that because seeing Ash with their boss has forced her to admit that she has no future with Ash and she doesn’t think that will change even if she acts on the homicidal urges that she is currently experiencing. The best that she can hope for is to be Ash’s friend, she tries to tell herself that it’s something but she fears that it may actually be worse than nothing at all.