FIC: It's Not All Black And White, Ray/Glen, LoM
Title: It’s Not All Black And White
Pairing: Ray/Glen
Rating: Blue ish for violence
Summary: Everyone knows Ray hates Glen.
Notes: Thanks to
billytaylor for looking over this for me. I wrote it ages ago, but something wasn’t right, so I didn’t post.
Another Note: 'Darkie Town' was a 1950s cartoon, which would probably now be seen as very racist. It was something akin to the Golliwog characters. In it, dark-skinned natives of Darkie town (including policemen) interacted in a friendly way with 'white' characters.
Glen stood, laying a steadying hand on Chris’s shoulder as he swayed a little.
“I’m off, lads,” he smiled. “See you all tomorrow.”
Ray was leaning on the bar, surveying the room, and he watched as Glen stood and fumbled to get his arms into his jacket, obviously a bit worse for wear.
Glen walked by the bar, nudging into Ray as he staggered, giving him a meaningful look.
Ray tried not to laugh, knowing that Glen had pushed against him on purpose. “Bloody wog,” he said, loudly enough for the few people near them to hear. “You ain’t in fuckin’ Darkie-town now.” He gave Glen a gentle shove toward the door, which Glen made far more dramatic by almost tripping over a bar-stool.
Ray ignored Sam’s look of disgust as he turned back to his drink.
A short time later Ray tipped back his glass, draining the last of the liquid from it. Then he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and stood, picking up his jacket in one fluid motion and clapping Chris on the back.
“You off?” Gene called.
Ray nodded. “Yeah. Things to do, y’know?”
Gene just raised his glass in answer as Ray called his good-byes to a few other people and left the pub.
The wind outside was bitingly cold, and Ray shrugged deeper into his jacket, feeling bad that he’d made Glen wait in the icy northerly - he’d intended to leave straight after the other man, but then Chris had started talking to him and he couldn’t escape. He rounded the corner, expecting to see Glen’s familiar form leaning against the wall. Instead there were a group of men, obviously giving someone a kicking. Ray broke into a run, knowing instinctively what was happening.
“You bastards!” he shouted, barrelling into them, knocking them aside. He saw Glen’s dark skin, at odds with his brightly coloured tank top. He wasn’t moving.
The initial shock of Ray’s attack wore off very quickly, and the men, realising Ray was alone, were moving back in. Ray stood over Glen, who was making small whimpering noises, and raised his fists.
The fight was vicious, but Ray wouldn’t give up, no matter how many fists found his face, or kicks drove into him, he wouldn’t give up on Glen. Even when he was on his knees he still grappled, his bleeding hands grabbing at whichever boot came his way next, toppling one man who was off balance. All the skill he had learnt as a boy learning to box was gone and it descended into a scrappy, dirty, streetfight and he inflicted pain any way he could.
Eventually his desperation paid off. He didn’t know why, but the men left - probably, he reasoned, thinking they’d done enough damage and to stick around was asking to get caught. He half collapsed, panting, his hands finding Glen, reaching for him. He slid his palm onto Glen’s chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart and he almost sobbed, bowing his head, watching as blood dripped from somewhere on him, adding to the garish knit of the jumper.
“’Ang on, jus’…’ang on,” he panted, shaking hard, squeezing his eyes shut as pain from his stomach threatened to overwhelm him. He clung to Glen, terrified of leaving him, praying someone would come, someone who could help. The tarmac of the road was biting into his knees as he leant over, gripping the lapels of Glen’s jacket, trying to shake him back to consciousness, determined that if he had to, he would carry the other man to safety.
He was so absorbed in his task he didn’t hear the two sets of approaching footsteps until they were on top of him.
He turned, bringing his arm up in defence, until he saw who it was.
“Boss - Guv,” he began, his voice desperate. He was cut off as a fist swung into his face, striking his already-bruised cheekbone and laying him out on the cold floor.
“You fucking bastard!” Sam screamed, punching Ray again. “You racist fucking bastard!”
Ray rolled onto his side, trying to protect himself, to get back to Glen.
Gene stared down at the two figures on the ground - Ray’s bloodied knuckles obvious even in the dim light as he scrabbled to get away from Sam. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing - he’d heard Ray in the pub, he knew all about the racist jibes - what he hadn’t heard himself Sam had ranted on about at length. In fact, Sam seemed to take a lot more offence than Glen ever did. But he could never have imagined that Ray would take it this far.
Sam was on his knees now, feeling for a pulse at Glen’s neck. Ray was clambering up, leaning on the wall, shooting nervous, worried looks toward them.
“Guv?” Ray asked, tentatively, not knowing if he’d be permitted to speak and not wanting to stall any help they could get Glen.
Gene felt something inside him snap. He took a couple of strides forward and grabbed Ray’s collar and arm, dragging him to his feet and slamming him into the wall.
“You’re finished, Carling - you’ll be off my team - off the force - before the bruises fade.”
Ray struggled, knowing they’d somehow got it all wrong. “But Guv…”
Gene grabbed Ray’s hair, forcing his face into the brickwork. “I don’t want to hear it,” he hissed.
Gene reached into his pocket and pulled out his handcuffs, snapping them around Ray’s wrists tightly, then he span him around and drove a fist into Ray’s stomach, robbing him of breath and any further protests.
Sam looked up. “He’ll be okay, I think - nothing seems to be broken, but he’s got a lump on the back of his head. Think he hit the wall or kerb when he went down.”
“Stay ‘ere, I’ll get some help,” Gene said, throwing Ray to the ground and heading back toward the pub.
Ray slumped at the bottom of the wall, looking at Sam. “Boss, I…” he started.
“I don’t want to hear it, Sergeant,” Sam cut in.
Ray shook his head. “I…will he be all right?”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “Why do you care?”
Ray hung his head. He supposed he deserved it. Everyone knew he was a bigot, intolerant of anyone who was different. He’d argue that he wasn’t - he didn’t trust anyone and didn’t like most people - he wasn’t picky, he didn’t put one race over another, but he’d learned early on that blind trust led to more hurt than happiness.
So when Glen had got word to transfer he’d been the one to point out they couldn’t be obvious. It wasn’t hard for either of them to remember the insults that had come Glen’s way in the past, so Ray just threw the odd line out at the right moment, in front of as many people as possible. In some way it was easier, sniping at Glen. At least it meant he could talk to him. And afterward he knew they could laugh about it - especially the more ridiculous lines that Ray came out with. And it gave Ray a perverse pleasure, watching Sam get his knickers in a twist over something that, for once, Ray knew he was wrong about. Now though, it wasn’t so funny.
Sam shrugged off his coat and wadded it up under Glen’s head. He would have demanded Ray give up his warm jacket and be subjected to the chill wind, had he not been handcuffed.
Both men looked up as voices were audible and Gene re-appeared with Chris, Annie and Trevor.
“Ambulance is on the way,” Gene said curtly. “You and Annie stick here,” he gestured to Trevor. “We’ll deal with him,” he pointed to Ray.
The look Chris gave him made Ray realise that it had never even crossed anyone’s mind that he could be innocent. It was a look of disgust and contempt that shook Ray to the core. Chris, so mild mannered and easy going, now obviously thought Ray was the scum of the Earth, and the only person who could argue otherwise was unconscious on the floor - and everyone thought Ray had been the one to put him there.
“I didn’t…” he began, but Gene was on him in a flash, towering over him.
“Take him away,” Gene ordered. “Put him in the car.”
As hands reached down to drag him to his feet Ray fought against them. “I didn’t do it! I was tryin’ to help him - ”
He knew he had to stay with Glen - see if he was all right, to see if those bastards had hurt him, to be there and comfort him.
Sam turned to him. “That’s why we found you standing over him, is it? Covered in blood?”
“It wasn’t me! It were…”
Gene didn’t hesitate to drive his fist into Ray’s jaw. “Take him away, ‘fore I lose my temper,” he ordered, unable to even look at his sergeant.
Ray gave up his struggles about halfway up the street, realising it was useless. He was bundled into the back of the Cortina, Chris climbing in after him, not looking at him.
“I didn’t do anything, Chris,” Ray said quietly, through his fat split lips. He hoped he could get Chris - his best friend - to believe him.
“Tell it to the Guv,” Chris mumbled. He didn’t want to think Ray could do such a terrible thing, but the Guv and the Boss had seen him. He knew Ray was cruel to Glen, with his insults and sniping, but he didn’t want to think that Ray would actually hurt Glen - or anyone on their side. Chris couldn’t understand why everyone couldn’t just be friends and ignore all the stupid differences that made no odds to anything anyway.
Ray could feel blood congealing on his face and his knuckles were stiffened as they swelled. All he could think about was Glen, but the Boss had said he was going to be all right, and the Boss knew about things like that. And just as soon as Glen was conscious, everything would be sorted out, Glen would tell everyone what had really happened.
He sat in silence as they headed for the station, although he could sense the anger coming off Gene and Sam in waves. He didn’t struggle as Chris and Sam led him to the cells, not wanting to become guilty of a crime he was currently innocent of by hurting one of them. Ray sat on the edge of the hard bench, rubbing his sore wrists as the door slammed shut. He knew he just had to keep calm and wait it out - fighting and raging wasn’t helping anyone. Besides, he knew he couldn’t have waited at the hospital or seen Glen even if he were free to do so.
Gene was pacing and smoking. He didn’t like disruption in his team, and he’d been afraid of trouble ever since Glen had arrived. He had never believed it would escalate to this though. He knew Ray had a violent streak - he had always been handy with his fists. It was a fact Gene had used to his advantage many times. But he had cultivated it carefully, keeping Ray on a tight leash. He let Ray get worked up in the interrogation room, because he knew he could let that energy and tension build until you could feel it in the air. Then he would set Ray on their quarry, letting the full force be unleashed on whatever bastard deserved it. He had never expected that sort of fury to be directed at his team, though - and Ray should have known better. To hurt one of Gene’s team was to hurt Gene himself. The DCI allowed himself to fume quietly, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head telling him he was at fault to, for not reigning Ray in earlier - for cultivating that wild violence in the man, but never being truly sure he was in control of all of it.
The curtain beside Gene twitched open and a doctor stepped out, immediately closing the curtain again, not allowing Gene or Sam even a glimpse of their colleague.
“Most of Mr Fletcher’s injuries are superficial - cuts and bruises in the main. The head injury, however, is more severe. He hasn’t regained consciousness yet, and I’m afraid we have no real way of knowing when he will. But rest assured, you’ll be informed just as soon as he does.”
“But he’ll be okay, won’t he?” Sam pushed. He didn’t want to think about the consequences of Glen not making it - not only in terms of the emotional toll it would take on everyone, but what it would do to his own life, in the future.
“We can’t make any promises at such an early stage. As with all injuries to the brain, there is a small chance something could go wrong. We’ll keep him under close observation though, rest assured.”
Sam hadn’t thought Gene’s expression could get much darker, but now he glowered at the doctor as if he might just rip the man’s head off. Instead he abruptly turned and strode out of the hospital, leaving Sam jogging to catch up.
Ray looked up as he heard a key in the lock and stood, easing out his stiff muscles.
Gene walked into the small cell, Sam stepping in behind him and pulling the door closed.
Normally Sam abhorred the kind of violence Gene used, he hated that here it was okay to beat a confession out of someone, but this time he made no protest. He knew what he’d seen - Ray Carling, knuckles bloodied and bruised, looming over Glen’s body, hands still gripping the lapels of his jacket as if there was yet more violence to come if Glen would wake up and take it. He hadn’t heard what Ray had been saying, but he could imagine the sorts of insults and threats that would have been spilling out of his mouth.
It had given Sam a small amount of satisfaction to see Ray hadn’t got away untouched - Glen had obviously fought back hard, leaving Ray’s lips split and bleeding - his eye swollen. But Ray was bigger, heavier, his punches would have won out in the end, Glen had been fighting a losing battle from the start.
So Sam dropped his gaze to the floor and let Gene dish out what Glen could not. He tried not to hear Ray’s protests of innocence, ignored the grunts of pain. The only thing that surprised him was that Ray didn’t fight back - never once did he lift a fist to Gene, just defended himself. Sam supposed the power Gene held over his men was this far-reaching, even when it was obvious Ray would lose everything, he still wouldn’t harm his Guv’nor.
Gene could feel the tension in his muscles grow as he struck Ray. He was so blinded by rage that he didn’t care what Ray was trying to tell him - he didn’t want to listen to pathetic excuses. He wanted a fight, he wanted blood to be spilt.
“Fight, you bastard,” he shouted at Ray’s cowering form.
Ray shook his head, so Gene hit him again.
“Man enough to attack Fletcher, weren’t you? What’s wrong now? Is it because I’m hitting back? Because I can have you sacked? Or just because you’re a spineless fuckin’ bully?”
Ray dared to look up. The fist that greeted him told him it had been a rhetorical question.
Eventually Gene gave up. It was obvious Ray wasn’t going to give him the fight he wanted. He swept through the station, watching as people cowered away from him. It pleased him. He was still in control.
He threw himself into his office chair and poured a hefty slug of scotch into a handy mug.
Sam sat silently, watching Gene. He thought he’d feel good, as if he’d done something for Glen, but instead he felt empty. The office was silent, the team broken, blood spilt. Everything felt so wrong.
Glen awoke to a pounding headache and a bright light blazing above him. He lifted his arm to block out the glare and squinted around. His abused body protested, and he began remembering what had happened - the four men who had set upon him. He had shouted for help, but either no one heard or no one chose to hear. He had known that Ray would be following him out though - their subtle signals in the pub would have gone unnoticed by everyone else, but Glen knew that Ray would wait a few minutes before making his own excuses to leave. If he could just hang on, keep fighting, then Ray would come to his rescue. But he didn’t, and Glen knew he couldn’t hold out for much longer. A particularly hard blow sent him staggering, tripping on the kerb and hitting the wall as he fell.
And then Ray was there, and no one was hurting him anymore. He had watched Ray standing over him, fighting like a man possessed, landing punch after punch and taking some himself. Glen had tried to get up, to help, but his limbs were like lead. He felt the world begin to fade and then there was nothing.
He pushed himself up to sitting, looking around, hoping to see Ray, but at the same time knowing it was highly unlikely.
A nurse hurried up to him, holding her hands out. “Please, sir, you should be resting,” she said.
“Was…anyone brought in with me?” Glen asked.
“No, sir. Some officers were here in the night, but they left some time ago.”
Glen nodded, noticing the milky light at the windows and realising it was past dawn now. He wondered if Ray was still out, searching for the culprits - or maybe had them back at the station and was breaking his hands on them.
Glen hadn’t known what to expect when he first met Gene Hunt. It was obvious that Ray had the utmost respect for his DCI - but Glen was the one who saw Ray after the interrogation sessions, the one who had learned to keep ice in the freezer for his lover’s bruised knuckles, the one who watched Ray drink himself unconscious when he’d had a bad day. Somehow, despite not knowing what to expect, Gene had been just how Glen had thought he would be, both the good and bad points.
“We promised to call your colleagues when you were awake, and I’ll fetch the doctor too, sir.”
Glen nodded, screwing his eyes up against his headache.
By the time Chris arrived to pick him up, Glen was dressed and waiting. He’d convinced the doctor that he was okay and had dutifully agreed to return if he felt any worse.
Chris looked at his colleague, taking in the swelling and bruises and he felt awful - Ray was his friend, his best friend, and Chris felt a deep-seated loyalty toward him, but looking at Glen he knew he couldn’t condone anything Ray had done. Chris didn’t know what to do, but he knew it was inevitable he would lose at least one friend over the situation.
“You all right then?” he asked Glen.
“Yeah, I’ll mend,” Glen answered, standing and walking with Chris down the corridor. He desperately wanted to ask after Ray, but even though he knew Chris was one of the least-judgemental people he’d met, he couldn’t risk it, just in case he raised Chris’s suspicions more than they already must be, after Ray’s out-of-character defence of him - he imagined that everyone would have been shocked by that. Besides, he knew it was only a short time before he’d be back at the station and able to see Ray for himself.
As they walked into CID no one looked happy, people staring at his battered face for too long before turning away or lowering their gaze. Glen frowned, but let it pass, scanning the room for Ray. Then Sam called him over.
“Glen, you okay?” he started.
Glen nodded.
“The Guv wanted a word. Chris, you too.”
“Sit down,” Gene said, trying to bank down the smouldering anger within himself. “Don’t know what you’ve heard, but Ray’s downstairs. We’ll need a statement from you, then we can go ahead with charges.”
Glen felt his eyes widen. “You caught ‘em? I mean…great, yeah, I’ll do the statement.”
Gene’s eyes narrowed. “Them?”
Glen realised that everyone was staring at him. “Uh…who…who’ve you got, downstairs?” he asked, wondering if he’d just put his foot in it or gone against something Ray had said already.
“Ray,” Chris said in a small voice.
Glen waited for him to continue; until suddenly it dawned on him that the one word was the answer. He got up and ran.
It took a split second for anyone else to move, but when they did they fell over themselves as they followed Glen through the office and down the stairs two at a time.
Glen snatched the keys from Phyllis as she opened her mouth to ask what was going on and slammed each of the inspection hatches down until he saw Ray, recognising his figure without needing to see his face.
“Ray!” Glen shoved the key in the door and unlocked it, pulling the heavy door and coming face to face with his lover. He stopped and stared.
“Jesus…” he suddenly didn’t care who saw him, or what the consequences were. Ray looked as if he were barely able to stand, his shirt bloodied, his face battered. Glen stood in front of Ray, frozen. He couldn’t believe that anyone would suffer for him like Ray had.
Footsteps sounded outside in the corridor as Gene, Sam and Chris arrived outside the door. Sam began to step forward to get between the two men when Glen raised his hand, but then stopped as, instead of a punch, Glen slid his palm down Ray’s cheek, gently swiping his thumb over Ray’s bottom lip, smearing the blood from the split over his chin.
“They did this to you…for defending me?” Glen asked, his voice cracking slightly.
Ray looked over Glen’s shoulder, directly at Gene, whose face was a caricature of shock.
“Yeah,” he gave a small nod. “Somethin’ like that.”
Gene felt his stomach fall into his boots. The look on Ray’s face wasn’t the anger or hatred that Gene expected, it was hurt, and Gene felt as if he’d probably just punched almost twenty years of friendship and loyalty away. He hadn’t listened to his friend, he had assumed and he’d acted without evidence.
Glen turned to the doorway and looked at his DCI, trying to work out what was going on. “He got beaten up like this, trying to save me. He…an’ you locked ‘im up?” Glen also wore a look of hurt and confusion.
Gene shot a look at Sam. Chris studied the floor. Phyllis returned to the desk. No one spoke.
Glen turned to Ray, reaching for his hand. “I’m takin’ you ‘ome.”
Ray levelled his gaze at Gene, but spoke to Glen. “You said you never wanted anyone to know, ‘bout us.”
“I don’t care, I won’t hide any more. I won’t let us hide anymore, not if this is what it leads to. If we’d been honest, from the start, none of this would ‘ave happened.”
Ray shook his head. “Wouldn’t ‘ave happened because we wouldn’t be ‘ere. A pair of poofs for coppers? An’ one of them black?”
“It shouldn’t make a difference,” Glen said forcibly.
Sam could hear the Glen Fletcher he knew, from the future, and suddenly realised that he was witnessing the change from the Glen who’d go along with the jokes, who’d make fun of his colour before anyone else got a chance, to a man who would stand up for himself and for equality. Sam had just never expected Ray to be one of the reasons - or at least, not in this way.
“I know,” Ray said quietly.
Gene stepped away, moving until his back was against the wall. He rubbed a hand over his face, knowing he had made a mistake so terrible that he wasn’t sure he could undo it. He looked back into the cell, watching as Glen’s hands ghosted over Ray’s face like shadows. He felt almost betrayed that the two men were so obviously deeply involved, but had never let on. And then he saw the scuffmarks on his own knuckles and knew exactly why they had never told a soul.
“You two should…go home,” he finally managed, his voice not sounding as if it belonged to him. “Come in tomorrow…we’ll talk.”
Glen took Ray’s hand and led him past their colleagues, looking each one in the eyes as they passed, except Gene, who kept his head down.
Sam followed Gene up to the office, both of them silent with shock. They sat, across the desk from each other, but not making eye contact. Both of them turned over the events of the past twelve hours in their minds.
“I didn’t listen to him,” Gene finally said. “He said over an’ over it weren’t him, and I didn’t listen.”
Sam shook his head. “It seemed, though…when we found them…it looked like…”
“Evidence,” Gene answered. “You’re always on about the evidence, an’ I didn’t fuckin’ listen an’ now…”
“But I didn’t this time. Because…it was so obvious it was Ray, and…I wanted him to be punished. And if Glen couldn’t hurt him I wanted you to do it. I thought he deserved it and I stood back.”
“He’s one of us. My team. I always told myself havin’ Fletcher here would cause trouble, so when I saw…I blamed Ray, for being so stupid, but I blamed me too, for not sorting out the situation sooner, we’d watched Ray and his little comments, little digs, and I didn’t ever say anything to him about it. Now it seems like all that were an act, because my team couldn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”
“He tried to tell us.” Sam looked up at Gene, finally. “What will happen?”
Gene sat in silence for a long time. “I’ve got to make things right. I’ve trusted Ray with my life - he’s trusted me with his more times than I care to count. He’s put himself on the line for this team time and again, and this is what…we have to make this right. Them two’ll have a hard enough time once the gossips get going, we ‘ave to show we’ll stick with them and make up for our mistakes.”
Sam nodded. “How, though?”
Glen almost dragged Ray out of the station, but didn’t say another word until they were at home, in the privacy of their small flat, when he wrapped his arms around Ray and held onto him as tightly as he dared, blinking back the tears.
Ray gently slid his hand up and down Glen’s back, closing his eyes and relaxing into the hold. Everything hurt, but to know Glen was okay was all he needed for his hurts to pale into insignificance.
Finally Glen pulled away.
“Need to get you cleaned up,” he said, putting on a smile although he didn’t feel like it. “Get some ice. Your eyes are as black as my arse.”
Ray nodded, but didn’t move. He was terrified that by trying to protect everyone he had instead lied to them all. He felt as if he’d let everyone down. He rubbed his hands over his face and sat heavily on one of the chairs by their dining table.
“What ‘appened?” Glen asked, pulling out the biscuit tin he kept the medical supplies in and pouring a slug of scotch into a tumbler.
“They found me standin’ over you. Jumped to conclusions - you were beat up, I was beat up, there were no one else around. Obvious that I was the bastard that did it, weren’t it?”
“And…you didn’t want to give us away?” Glen pulled the other chair up in front of Ray and pulled a face as he assessed the damage.
Ray didn’t answer, still fighting the internal battle over whether he should tell Glen the whole truth or not.
“What did the docs say about you?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Bang on the ‘ead, that’s all. Be right as rain after a couple of aspirin and some proper sleep.”
Ray nodded. He’d immediately recognised that Glen was okay back at the station - apart from a fat split lip and a graze under his eye he looked well. Angry, but well.
“You look like you’ve gone ten rounds with Ali,” Glen smiled, fetching some water in a bowl and a flannel from the bathroom. He gently dabbed at Ray’s face - both cheekbones were swollen and bruised and one of his eyebrows had a deep cut in it. Glen washed the corner of the flannel and rubbed more of the blood away. Ray flinched as the cloth dragged over one of the deeper gashes and Glen cupped Ray’s other cheek, holding him still.
“They certainly give you a thorough goin’ over, di’n’t they?” he murmured.
Ray looked into Glen’s eyes - dark pools of concern - and he knew he couldn’t hide the truth.
“It were the Guv,” he said.
Glen looked up and locked his gaze with Ray’s. “What was?”
“When he thought I’d ‘urt you, him and the Boss, they decided to stand up for you. An’…part of me was glad, cos…they should - I mean, there’s plenty who wouldn’t, still, but they did.”
“You should have told ‘em! Christ, you…DCI ‘Unt did this an’ you didn’t say? I didn’t want this, I’d never have wanted this , not for you to be ‘urt because of me.”
“Gene wouldn’t listen - ‘sides, you don’t need the hassle. You shouldn’t have let ‘em all see us at the station.” Ray felt ashamed for saying it, but he knew he was right.
“Bollocks to ‘em. It don’t matter, you matter. I’ll still ‘ave me job in the morning.”
Ray shook his head. “You shouldn’t ‘ave to fight any more than you already do.”
“I don’t mind, why would I care about that stuff when I come home to you every night. What else matters?”
“I bloody mind! You’re a DC - you should be a DS, an Inspector - you know you should, and now…Christ knows where either of us’ll get to.”
Glen shrugged. “I don’t care if I end up sweepin’ the streets.”
Ray didn’t answer, but he knew Glen was lying. They’d both worked hard to earn their positions, and being a copper wasn’t something you gave up overnight. It wasn’t a job; it was a way of life. The last thing he wanted was for Glen to grow to resent him because of what had happened.
That night Glen allowed Ray to hold him, one strong arm wrapped around his waist. He felt safe with Ray, secure in the knowledge that Ray really would do anything in the world for him. He had proven that many times. Just occasionally, though, Glen found it scared him to realise just how much he meant to Ray. The fact that his lover’s body was now a multi-coloured patchwork of bruises and abrasions simply because Glen hadn’t wanted anyone to now about them was testament to that. Ray had been stoic and quiet all day and Glen could tell there was anger bubbling under the surface, but he didn’t think he wanted to know who it was directed at.
He traced his fingers over Ray’s skin, sleep proving elusive.
The next morning Glen watched Ray carefully. He was hard to read, and it worried Glen to think that the next few hours could change both their lives profoundly. He imagined that Ray was thinking the same thing - except Ray had been part of the squad for years. The men there were his friends, people who’d been there for him, people he knew better than he had ever known his own family. Glen felt guilt eating away inside him that he might be the cause of Ray losing all of that.
As they walked through the station Ray was aware that every pair of eyes was on them. He reached for Glen’s hand once they were in the privacy of the lift and gave it a squeeze. Glen looked at Ray and nodded, smiling.
As they walked down the corridor Ray felt the soft worn leather of his warrant card, rubbing his finger over the metal badge that had symbolised his life for so long. He gave Glen a final glance, a final chance to change his mind, to say something, to stop him.
Then they pushed open the doors to the CID office together, heads held high.
~fin
Pairing: Ray/Glen
Rating: Blue ish for violence
Summary: Everyone knows Ray hates Glen.
Notes: Thanks to
billytaylor for looking over this for me. I wrote it ages ago, but something wasn’t right, so I didn’t post.
Another Note: 'Darkie Town' was a 1950s cartoon, which would probably now be seen as very racist. It was something akin to the Golliwog characters. In it, dark-skinned natives of Darkie town (including policemen) interacted in a friendly way with 'white' characters.
Glen stood, laying a steadying hand on Chris’s shoulder as he swayed a little.
“I’m off, lads,” he smiled. “See you all tomorrow.”
Ray was leaning on the bar, surveying the room, and he watched as Glen stood and fumbled to get his arms into his jacket, obviously a bit worse for wear.
Glen walked by the bar, nudging into Ray as he staggered, giving him a meaningful look.
Ray tried not to laugh, knowing that Glen had pushed against him on purpose. “Bloody wog,” he said, loudly enough for the few people near them to hear. “You ain’t in fuckin’ Darkie-town now.” He gave Glen a gentle shove toward the door, which Glen made far more dramatic by almost tripping over a bar-stool.
Ray ignored Sam’s look of disgust as he turned back to his drink.
A short time later Ray tipped back his glass, draining the last of the liquid from it. Then he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and stood, picking up his jacket in one fluid motion and clapping Chris on the back.
“You off?” Gene called.
Ray nodded. “Yeah. Things to do, y’know?”
Gene just raised his glass in answer as Ray called his good-byes to a few other people and left the pub.
The wind outside was bitingly cold, and Ray shrugged deeper into his jacket, feeling bad that he’d made Glen wait in the icy northerly - he’d intended to leave straight after the other man, but then Chris had started talking to him and he couldn’t escape. He rounded the corner, expecting to see Glen’s familiar form leaning against the wall. Instead there were a group of men, obviously giving someone a kicking. Ray broke into a run, knowing instinctively what was happening.
“You bastards!” he shouted, barrelling into them, knocking them aside. He saw Glen’s dark skin, at odds with his brightly coloured tank top. He wasn’t moving.
The initial shock of Ray’s attack wore off very quickly, and the men, realising Ray was alone, were moving back in. Ray stood over Glen, who was making small whimpering noises, and raised his fists.
The fight was vicious, but Ray wouldn’t give up, no matter how many fists found his face, or kicks drove into him, he wouldn’t give up on Glen. Even when he was on his knees he still grappled, his bleeding hands grabbing at whichever boot came his way next, toppling one man who was off balance. All the skill he had learnt as a boy learning to box was gone and it descended into a scrappy, dirty, streetfight and he inflicted pain any way he could.
Eventually his desperation paid off. He didn’t know why, but the men left - probably, he reasoned, thinking they’d done enough damage and to stick around was asking to get caught. He half collapsed, panting, his hands finding Glen, reaching for him. He slid his palm onto Glen’s chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart and he almost sobbed, bowing his head, watching as blood dripped from somewhere on him, adding to the garish knit of the jumper.
“’Ang on, jus’…’ang on,” he panted, shaking hard, squeezing his eyes shut as pain from his stomach threatened to overwhelm him. He clung to Glen, terrified of leaving him, praying someone would come, someone who could help. The tarmac of the road was biting into his knees as he leant over, gripping the lapels of Glen’s jacket, trying to shake him back to consciousness, determined that if he had to, he would carry the other man to safety.
He was so absorbed in his task he didn’t hear the two sets of approaching footsteps until they were on top of him.
He turned, bringing his arm up in defence, until he saw who it was.
“Boss - Guv,” he began, his voice desperate. He was cut off as a fist swung into his face, striking his already-bruised cheekbone and laying him out on the cold floor.
“You fucking bastard!” Sam screamed, punching Ray again. “You racist fucking bastard!”
Ray rolled onto his side, trying to protect himself, to get back to Glen.
Gene stared down at the two figures on the ground - Ray’s bloodied knuckles obvious even in the dim light as he scrabbled to get away from Sam. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing - he’d heard Ray in the pub, he knew all about the racist jibes - what he hadn’t heard himself Sam had ranted on about at length. In fact, Sam seemed to take a lot more offence than Glen ever did. But he could never have imagined that Ray would take it this far.
Sam was on his knees now, feeling for a pulse at Glen’s neck. Ray was clambering up, leaning on the wall, shooting nervous, worried looks toward them.
“Guv?” Ray asked, tentatively, not knowing if he’d be permitted to speak and not wanting to stall any help they could get Glen.
Gene felt something inside him snap. He took a couple of strides forward and grabbed Ray’s collar and arm, dragging him to his feet and slamming him into the wall.
“You’re finished, Carling - you’ll be off my team - off the force - before the bruises fade.”
Ray struggled, knowing they’d somehow got it all wrong. “But Guv…”
Gene grabbed Ray’s hair, forcing his face into the brickwork. “I don’t want to hear it,” he hissed.
Gene reached into his pocket and pulled out his handcuffs, snapping them around Ray’s wrists tightly, then he span him around and drove a fist into Ray’s stomach, robbing him of breath and any further protests.
Sam looked up. “He’ll be okay, I think - nothing seems to be broken, but he’s got a lump on the back of his head. Think he hit the wall or kerb when he went down.”
“Stay ‘ere, I’ll get some help,” Gene said, throwing Ray to the ground and heading back toward the pub.
Ray slumped at the bottom of the wall, looking at Sam. “Boss, I…” he started.
“I don’t want to hear it, Sergeant,” Sam cut in.
Ray shook his head. “I…will he be all right?”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “Why do you care?”
Ray hung his head. He supposed he deserved it. Everyone knew he was a bigot, intolerant of anyone who was different. He’d argue that he wasn’t - he didn’t trust anyone and didn’t like most people - he wasn’t picky, he didn’t put one race over another, but he’d learned early on that blind trust led to more hurt than happiness.
So when Glen had got word to transfer he’d been the one to point out they couldn’t be obvious. It wasn’t hard for either of them to remember the insults that had come Glen’s way in the past, so Ray just threw the odd line out at the right moment, in front of as many people as possible. In some way it was easier, sniping at Glen. At least it meant he could talk to him. And afterward he knew they could laugh about it - especially the more ridiculous lines that Ray came out with. And it gave Ray a perverse pleasure, watching Sam get his knickers in a twist over something that, for once, Ray knew he was wrong about. Now though, it wasn’t so funny.
Sam shrugged off his coat and wadded it up under Glen’s head. He would have demanded Ray give up his warm jacket and be subjected to the chill wind, had he not been handcuffed.
Both men looked up as voices were audible and Gene re-appeared with Chris, Annie and Trevor.
“Ambulance is on the way,” Gene said curtly. “You and Annie stick here,” he gestured to Trevor. “We’ll deal with him,” he pointed to Ray.
The look Chris gave him made Ray realise that it had never even crossed anyone’s mind that he could be innocent. It was a look of disgust and contempt that shook Ray to the core. Chris, so mild mannered and easy going, now obviously thought Ray was the scum of the Earth, and the only person who could argue otherwise was unconscious on the floor - and everyone thought Ray had been the one to put him there.
“I didn’t…” he began, but Gene was on him in a flash, towering over him.
“Take him away,” Gene ordered. “Put him in the car.”
As hands reached down to drag him to his feet Ray fought against them. “I didn’t do it! I was tryin’ to help him - ”
He knew he had to stay with Glen - see if he was all right, to see if those bastards had hurt him, to be there and comfort him.
Sam turned to him. “That’s why we found you standing over him, is it? Covered in blood?”
“It wasn’t me! It were…”
Gene didn’t hesitate to drive his fist into Ray’s jaw. “Take him away, ‘fore I lose my temper,” he ordered, unable to even look at his sergeant.
Ray gave up his struggles about halfway up the street, realising it was useless. He was bundled into the back of the Cortina, Chris climbing in after him, not looking at him.
“I didn’t do anything, Chris,” Ray said quietly, through his fat split lips. He hoped he could get Chris - his best friend - to believe him.
“Tell it to the Guv,” Chris mumbled. He didn’t want to think Ray could do such a terrible thing, but the Guv and the Boss had seen him. He knew Ray was cruel to Glen, with his insults and sniping, but he didn’t want to think that Ray would actually hurt Glen - or anyone on their side. Chris couldn’t understand why everyone couldn’t just be friends and ignore all the stupid differences that made no odds to anything anyway.
Ray could feel blood congealing on his face and his knuckles were stiffened as they swelled. All he could think about was Glen, but the Boss had said he was going to be all right, and the Boss knew about things like that. And just as soon as Glen was conscious, everything would be sorted out, Glen would tell everyone what had really happened.
He sat in silence as they headed for the station, although he could sense the anger coming off Gene and Sam in waves. He didn’t struggle as Chris and Sam led him to the cells, not wanting to become guilty of a crime he was currently innocent of by hurting one of them. Ray sat on the edge of the hard bench, rubbing his sore wrists as the door slammed shut. He knew he just had to keep calm and wait it out - fighting and raging wasn’t helping anyone. Besides, he knew he couldn’t have waited at the hospital or seen Glen even if he were free to do so.
Gene was pacing and smoking. He didn’t like disruption in his team, and he’d been afraid of trouble ever since Glen had arrived. He had never believed it would escalate to this though. He knew Ray had a violent streak - he had always been handy with his fists. It was a fact Gene had used to his advantage many times. But he had cultivated it carefully, keeping Ray on a tight leash. He let Ray get worked up in the interrogation room, because he knew he could let that energy and tension build until you could feel it in the air. Then he would set Ray on their quarry, letting the full force be unleashed on whatever bastard deserved it. He had never expected that sort of fury to be directed at his team, though - and Ray should have known better. To hurt one of Gene’s team was to hurt Gene himself. The DCI allowed himself to fume quietly, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head telling him he was at fault to, for not reigning Ray in earlier - for cultivating that wild violence in the man, but never being truly sure he was in control of all of it.
The curtain beside Gene twitched open and a doctor stepped out, immediately closing the curtain again, not allowing Gene or Sam even a glimpse of their colleague.
“Most of Mr Fletcher’s injuries are superficial - cuts and bruises in the main. The head injury, however, is more severe. He hasn’t regained consciousness yet, and I’m afraid we have no real way of knowing when he will. But rest assured, you’ll be informed just as soon as he does.”
“But he’ll be okay, won’t he?” Sam pushed. He didn’t want to think about the consequences of Glen not making it - not only in terms of the emotional toll it would take on everyone, but what it would do to his own life, in the future.
“We can’t make any promises at such an early stage. As with all injuries to the brain, there is a small chance something could go wrong. We’ll keep him under close observation though, rest assured.”
Sam hadn’t thought Gene’s expression could get much darker, but now he glowered at the doctor as if he might just rip the man’s head off. Instead he abruptly turned and strode out of the hospital, leaving Sam jogging to catch up.
Ray looked up as he heard a key in the lock and stood, easing out his stiff muscles.
Gene walked into the small cell, Sam stepping in behind him and pulling the door closed.
Normally Sam abhorred the kind of violence Gene used, he hated that here it was okay to beat a confession out of someone, but this time he made no protest. He knew what he’d seen - Ray Carling, knuckles bloodied and bruised, looming over Glen’s body, hands still gripping the lapels of his jacket as if there was yet more violence to come if Glen would wake up and take it. He hadn’t heard what Ray had been saying, but he could imagine the sorts of insults and threats that would have been spilling out of his mouth.
It had given Sam a small amount of satisfaction to see Ray hadn’t got away untouched - Glen had obviously fought back hard, leaving Ray’s lips split and bleeding - his eye swollen. But Ray was bigger, heavier, his punches would have won out in the end, Glen had been fighting a losing battle from the start.
So Sam dropped his gaze to the floor and let Gene dish out what Glen could not. He tried not to hear Ray’s protests of innocence, ignored the grunts of pain. The only thing that surprised him was that Ray didn’t fight back - never once did he lift a fist to Gene, just defended himself. Sam supposed the power Gene held over his men was this far-reaching, even when it was obvious Ray would lose everything, he still wouldn’t harm his Guv’nor.
Gene could feel the tension in his muscles grow as he struck Ray. He was so blinded by rage that he didn’t care what Ray was trying to tell him - he didn’t want to listen to pathetic excuses. He wanted a fight, he wanted blood to be spilt.
“Fight, you bastard,” he shouted at Ray’s cowering form.
Ray shook his head, so Gene hit him again.
“Man enough to attack Fletcher, weren’t you? What’s wrong now? Is it because I’m hitting back? Because I can have you sacked? Or just because you’re a spineless fuckin’ bully?”
Ray dared to look up. The fist that greeted him told him it had been a rhetorical question.
Eventually Gene gave up. It was obvious Ray wasn’t going to give him the fight he wanted. He swept through the station, watching as people cowered away from him. It pleased him. He was still in control.
He threw himself into his office chair and poured a hefty slug of scotch into a handy mug.
Sam sat silently, watching Gene. He thought he’d feel good, as if he’d done something for Glen, but instead he felt empty. The office was silent, the team broken, blood spilt. Everything felt so wrong.
Glen awoke to a pounding headache and a bright light blazing above him. He lifted his arm to block out the glare and squinted around. His abused body protested, and he began remembering what had happened - the four men who had set upon him. He had shouted for help, but either no one heard or no one chose to hear. He had known that Ray would be following him out though - their subtle signals in the pub would have gone unnoticed by everyone else, but Glen knew that Ray would wait a few minutes before making his own excuses to leave. If he could just hang on, keep fighting, then Ray would come to his rescue. But he didn’t, and Glen knew he couldn’t hold out for much longer. A particularly hard blow sent him staggering, tripping on the kerb and hitting the wall as he fell.
And then Ray was there, and no one was hurting him anymore. He had watched Ray standing over him, fighting like a man possessed, landing punch after punch and taking some himself. Glen had tried to get up, to help, but his limbs were like lead. He felt the world begin to fade and then there was nothing.
He pushed himself up to sitting, looking around, hoping to see Ray, but at the same time knowing it was highly unlikely.
A nurse hurried up to him, holding her hands out. “Please, sir, you should be resting,” she said.
“Was…anyone brought in with me?” Glen asked.
“No, sir. Some officers were here in the night, but they left some time ago.”
Glen nodded, noticing the milky light at the windows and realising it was past dawn now. He wondered if Ray was still out, searching for the culprits - or maybe had them back at the station and was breaking his hands on them.
Glen hadn’t known what to expect when he first met Gene Hunt. It was obvious that Ray had the utmost respect for his DCI - but Glen was the one who saw Ray after the interrogation sessions, the one who had learned to keep ice in the freezer for his lover’s bruised knuckles, the one who watched Ray drink himself unconscious when he’d had a bad day. Somehow, despite not knowing what to expect, Gene had been just how Glen had thought he would be, both the good and bad points.
“We promised to call your colleagues when you were awake, and I’ll fetch the doctor too, sir.”
Glen nodded, screwing his eyes up against his headache.
By the time Chris arrived to pick him up, Glen was dressed and waiting. He’d convinced the doctor that he was okay and had dutifully agreed to return if he felt any worse.
Chris looked at his colleague, taking in the swelling and bruises and he felt awful - Ray was his friend, his best friend, and Chris felt a deep-seated loyalty toward him, but looking at Glen he knew he couldn’t condone anything Ray had done. Chris didn’t know what to do, but he knew it was inevitable he would lose at least one friend over the situation.
“You all right then?” he asked Glen.
“Yeah, I’ll mend,” Glen answered, standing and walking with Chris down the corridor. He desperately wanted to ask after Ray, but even though he knew Chris was one of the least-judgemental people he’d met, he couldn’t risk it, just in case he raised Chris’s suspicions more than they already must be, after Ray’s out-of-character defence of him - he imagined that everyone would have been shocked by that. Besides, he knew it was only a short time before he’d be back at the station and able to see Ray for himself.
As they walked into CID no one looked happy, people staring at his battered face for too long before turning away or lowering their gaze. Glen frowned, but let it pass, scanning the room for Ray. Then Sam called him over.
“Glen, you okay?” he started.
Glen nodded.
“The Guv wanted a word. Chris, you too.”
“Sit down,” Gene said, trying to bank down the smouldering anger within himself. “Don’t know what you’ve heard, but Ray’s downstairs. We’ll need a statement from you, then we can go ahead with charges.”
Glen felt his eyes widen. “You caught ‘em? I mean…great, yeah, I’ll do the statement.”
Gene’s eyes narrowed. “Them?”
Glen realised that everyone was staring at him. “Uh…who…who’ve you got, downstairs?” he asked, wondering if he’d just put his foot in it or gone against something Ray had said already.
“Ray,” Chris said in a small voice.
Glen waited for him to continue; until suddenly it dawned on him that the one word was the answer. He got up and ran.
It took a split second for anyone else to move, but when they did they fell over themselves as they followed Glen through the office and down the stairs two at a time.
Glen snatched the keys from Phyllis as she opened her mouth to ask what was going on and slammed each of the inspection hatches down until he saw Ray, recognising his figure without needing to see his face.
“Ray!” Glen shoved the key in the door and unlocked it, pulling the heavy door and coming face to face with his lover. He stopped and stared.
“Jesus…” he suddenly didn’t care who saw him, or what the consequences were. Ray looked as if he were barely able to stand, his shirt bloodied, his face battered. Glen stood in front of Ray, frozen. He couldn’t believe that anyone would suffer for him like Ray had.
Footsteps sounded outside in the corridor as Gene, Sam and Chris arrived outside the door. Sam began to step forward to get between the two men when Glen raised his hand, but then stopped as, instead of a punch, Glen slid his palm down Ray’s cheek, gently swiping his thumb over Ray’s bottom lip, smearing the blood from the split over his chin.
“They did this to you…for defending me?” Glen asked, his voice cracking slightly.
Ray looked over Glen’s shoulder, directly at Gene, whose face was a caricature of shock.
“Yeah,” he gave a small nod. “Somethin’ like that.”
Gene felt his stomach fall into his boots. The look on Ray’s face wasn’t the anger or hatred that Gene expected, it was hurt, and Gene felt as if he’d probably just punched almost twenty years of friendship and loyalty away. He hadn’t listened to his friend, he had assumed and he’d acted without evidence.
Glen turned to the doorway and looked at his DCI, trying to work out what was going on. “He got beaten up like this, trying to save me. He…an’ you locked ‘im up?” Glen also wore a look of hurt and confusion.
Gene shot a look at Sam. Chris studied the floor. Phyllis returned to the desk. No one spoke.
Glen turned to Ray, reaching for his hand. “I’m takin’ you ‘ome.”
Ray levelled his gaze at Gene, but spoke to Glen. “You said you never wanted anyone to know, ‘bout us.”
“I don’t care, I won’t hide any more. I won’t let us hide anymore, not if this is what it leads to. If we’d been honest, from the start, none of this would ‘ave happened.”
Ray shook his head. “Wouldn’t ‘ave happened because we wouldn’t be ‘ere. A pair of poofs for coppers? An’ one of them black?”
“It shouldn’t make a difference,” Glen said forcibly.
Sam could hear the Glen Fletcher he knew, from the future, and suddenly realised that he was witnessing the change from the Glen who’d go along with the jokes, who’d make fun of his colour before anyone else got a chance, to a man who would stand up for himself and for equality. Sam had just never expected Ray to be one of the reasons - or at least, not in this way.
“I know,” Ray said quietly.
Gene stepped away, moving until his back was against the wall. He rubbed a hand over his face, knowing he had made a mistake so terrible that he wasn’t sure he could undo it. He looked back into the cell, watching as Glen’s hands ghosted over Ray’s face like shadows. He felt almost betrayed that the two men were so obviously deeply involved, but had never let on. And then he saw the scuffmarks on his own knuckles and knew exactly why they had never told a soul.
“You two should…go home,” he finally managed, his voice not sounding as if it belonged to him. “Come in tomorrow…we’ll talk.”
Glen took Ray’s hand and led him past their colleagues, looking each one in the eyes as they passed, except Gene, who kept his head down.
Sam followed Gene up to the office, both of them silent with shock. They sat, across the desk from each other, but not making eye contact. Both of them turned over the events of the past twelve hours in their minds.
“I didn’t listen to him,” Gene finally said. “He said over an’ over it weren’t him, and I didn’t listen.”
Sam shook his head. “It seemed, though…when we found them…it looked like…”
“Evidence,” Gene answered. “You’re always on about the evidence, an’ I didn’t fuckin’ listen an’ now…”
“But I didn’t this time. Because…it was so obvious it was Ray, and…I wanted him to be punished. And if Glen couldn’t hurt him I wanted you to do it. I thought he deserved it and I stood back.”
“He’s one of us. My team. I always told myself havin’ Fletcher here would cause trouble, so when I saw…I blamed Ray, for being so stupid, but I blamed me too, for not sorting out the situation sooner, we’d watched Ray and his little comments, little digs, and I didn’t ever say anything to him about it. Now it seems like all that were an act, because my team couldn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”
“He tried to tell us.” Sam looked up at Gene, finally. “What will happen?”
Gene sat in silence for a long time. “I’ve got to make things right. I’ve trusted Ray with my life - he’s trusted me with his more times than I care to count. He’s put himself on the line for this team time and again, and this is what…we have to make this right. Them two’ll have a hard enough time once the gossips get going, we ‘ave to show we’ll stick with them and make up for our mistakes.”
Sam nodded. “How, though?”
Glen almost dragged Ray out of the station, but didn’t say another word until they were at home, in the privacy of their small flat, when he wrapped his arms around Ray and held onto him as tightly as he dared, blinking back the tears.
Ray gently slid his hand up and down Glen’s back, closing his eyes and relaxing into the hold. Everything hurt, but to know Glen was okay was all he needed for his hurts to pale into insignificance.
Finally Glen pulled away.
“Need to get you cleaned up,” he said, putting on a smile although he didn’t feel like it. “Get some ice. Your eyes are as black as my arse.”
Ray nodded, but didn’t move. He was terrified that by trying to protect everyone he had instead lied to them all. He felt as if he’d let everyone down. He rubbed his hands over his face and sat heavily on one of the chairs by their dining table.
“What ‘appened?” Glen asked, pulling out the biscuit tin he kept the medical supplies in and pouring a slug of scotch into a tumbler.
“They found me standin’ over you. Jumped to conclusions - you were beat up, I was beat up, there were no one else around. Obvious that I was the bastard that did it, weren’t it?”
“And…you didn’t want to give us away?” Glen pulled the other chair up in front of Ray and pulled a face as he assessed the damage.
Ray didn’t answer, still fighting the internal battle over whether he should tell Glen the whole truth or not.
“What did the docs say about you?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Bang on the ‘ead, that’s all. Be right as rain after a couple of aspirin and some proper sleep.”
Ray nodded. He’d immediately recognised that Glen was okay back at the station - apart from a fat split lip and a graze under his eye he looked well. Angry, but well.
“You look like you’ve gone ten rounds with Ali,” Glen smiled, fetching some water in a bowl and a flannel from the bathroom. He gently dabbed at Ray’s face - both cheekbones were swollen and bruised and one of his eyebrows had a deep cut in it. Glen washed the corner of the flannel and rubbed more of the blood away. Ray flinched as the cloth dragged over one of the deeper gashes and Glen cupped Ray’s other cheek, holding him still.
“They certainly give you a thorough goin’ over, di’n’t they?” he murmured.
Ray looked into Glen’s eyes - dark pools of concern - and he knew he couldn’t hide the truth.
“It were the Guv,” he said.
Glen looked up and locked his gaze with Ray’s. “What was?”
“When he thought I’d ‘urt you, him and the Boss, they decided to stand up for you. An’…part of me was glad, cos…they should - I mean, there’s plenty who wouldn’t, still, but they did.”
“You should have told ‘em! Christ, you…DCI ‘Unt did this an’ you didn’t say? I didn’t want this, I’d never have wanted this , not for you to be ‘urt because of me.”
“Gene wouldn’t listen - ‘sides, you don’t need the hassle. You shouldn’t have let ‘em all see us at the station.” Ray felt ashamed for saying it, but he knew he was right.
“Bollocks to ‘em. It don’t matter, you matter. I’ll still ‘ave me job in the morning.”
Ray shook his head. “You shouldn’t ‘ave to fight any more than you already do.”
“I don’t mind, why would I care about that stuff when I come home to you every night. What else matters?”
“I bloody mind! You’re a DC - you should be a DS, an Inspector - you know you should, and now…Christ knows where either of us’ll get to.”
Glen shrugged. “I don’t care if I end up sweepin’ the streets.”
Ray didn’t answer, but he knew Glen was lying. They’d both worked hard to earn their positions, and being a copper wasn’t something you gave up overnight. It wasn’t a job; it was a way of life. The last thing he wanted was for Glen to grow to resent him because of what had happened.
That night Glen allowed Ray to hold him, one strong arm wrapped around his waist. He felt safe with Ray, secure in the knowledge that Ray really would do anything in the world for him. He had proven that many times. Just occasionally, though, Glen found it scared him to realise just how much he meant to Ray. The fact that his lover’s body was now a multi-coloured patchwork of bruises and abrasions simply because Glen hadn’t wanted anyone to now about them was testament to that. Ray had been stoic and quiet all day and Glen could tell there was anger bubbling under the surface, but he didn’t think he wanted to know who it was directed at.
He traced his fingers over Ray’s skin, sleep proving elusive.
The next morning Glen watched Ray carefully. He was hard to read, and it worried Glen to think that the next few hours could change both their lives profoundly. He imagined that Ray was thinking the same thing - except Ray had been part of the squad for years. The men there were his friends, people who’d been there for him, people he knew better than he had ever known his own family. Glen felt guilt eating away inside him that he might be the cause of Ray losing all of that.
As they walked through the station Ray was aware that every pair of eyes was on them. He reached for Glen’s hand once they were in the privacy of the lift and gave it a squeeze. Glen looked at Ray and nodded, smiling.
As they walked down the corridor Ray felt the soft worn leather of his warrant card, rubbing his finger over the metal badge that had symbolised his life for so long. He gave Glen a final glance, a final chance to change his mind, to say something, to stop him.
Then they pushed open the doors to the CID office together, heads held high.
~fin