FIC: Previous Convictions 8/26, Brown Cortina, Gene and Ray, R/C
Title: Previous Convictions
Word Count: This part 2,991. Total 70,000
Spoilers: None, really. I suppose if you’ve never seen Life on Mars there might be one or two…but it won’t make sense, either!
Pairings: None to begin with, Ray/Chris eventually.
Rating: Brown Cortina
Disclaimer: The only things which belong to me are the mistakes.
Summary: It’s a long and winding road. A bit of backstory, pre-1973.
A/N: Thanks go to xCazzie and Dakfinv for beta-dom. All remaining mistakes are mine alone.
Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five, Chapter six, Chapter seven
1967
Ray stood in the middle of the room, grimacing. There was blood everywhere, and the mangled body of a man lying near one of the windows. At a guess Ray would say he’d been beaten to death, but without moving the body he was well aware there could be other wounds hidden too. He picked his way through the blood smears and crouched down by the body, pressing two fingers into the man’s neck. The skin was cold, and he didn’t try too hard to find a pulse, knowing it was futile. He turned around to the young constable who was still standing by the door, eyes wide.
“Yeah, he’s dead,” he said, wiping his fingers on the man’s clothing.
The young copper turned and left the building, hand clamped over his mouth. Ray followed, standing back until the man had thrown up his breakfast, then pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and tapped the box, offering one to the constable, who was white as a ghost.
“So you just noticed the door an’ thought you should check it out, did you?” Ray asked, lighting the cigarette that was now held in the man’s shaking hand.
He nodded. “It weren’t open yesterday - or…I di’n’t notice it. An’…people sleep rough…so…” he swallowed hard.
“Yeah, reckon he were homeless. Ain’t dressed in work gear, anyway.” Ray lit his own cigarette. “All right now?”
The man nodded.
“Wha’s your name?”
“PC Skelton, sir. Chris Skelton.”
Ray nodded. “New?”
“Been a constable for…almost a year,” Chris answered, looking shy. “You’re…DC Carling, aren’t you?”
Ray nodded, glad that his reputation had permeated even the plod. “First dead body?” he asked.
Chris nodded, looking ashamed. “First what’s all…murdered, like.”
“Don’t worry, the first’s the worst,” Ray said.
Chris eyes opened wide. “I don’t want there to be a second!” he said seriously.
Ray smiled, noticing that Chris’s eyes didn’t match - one green and one blue. “Ain’t your choice, mate,” he said, laughing. “We don’t pick an’ choose where they turn up.”
Chris didn’t look like he thought Ray was helping.
Ray pulled out his hip flask and took a swig, then offered it to Chris. “I threw up too, my first,” he confided.
“Really?” Chris took a sip from the flask and coughed immediately as the whisky joined the bile that was already burning in his throat.
Ray nodded. He hadn’t, but that didn’t matter - what mattered was that Chris was now looking less like a startled rabbit and more like a confident young copper.
“You should probably get yourself back to the station when the others get ‘ere,” Ray said. “We’ll need you to write down what ‘appened an’ all.”
Chris nodded. Then he glanced back in through the window he was standing by. “Will you…be the one what looks for the murderer?”
Ray shrugged and took a long drag on his cigarette. “Maybe.”
“I don’t like…thinkin’ that someone who can do that…can jus’ be walkin’ about, with the rest of us.”
“He won’t be, not for long,” Ray said with a touch of bravado.
***
It was a couple of days later that Ray next saw Chris, sitting on his own in the canteen. Ray had only intended to grab something and head back to his desk, but he hesitated, then walked over to Chris.
“Mind if I join you?”
Chris jumped and looked up. “Oh, no,” he smiled.
“Cheers for the report…it were very…thorough,” Ray said, for lack of anything better.
Chris gave a small self-conscious smile. “I did me best.”
Ray nodded, not really knowing what else to say. He watched as Chris pushed his fringe out of his eyes and carried on eating, and Ray guessed his refs were only half an hour. He glanced around and saw a few other people were looking over at them - it was rare for CID and uniform to mix. One girl queuing up to get her food seemed to be paying them a bit more attention than most. One of the other lads had been talking about her the other day, well, about her tits, anyway. He couldn’t remember the name though.
“Seem to be gettin’ a lot of attention from that plonk,” he said.
Chris looked up. “Oh - I said I’d ‘ave me lunch with ‘er, like,” Chris answered, looking slightly embarrassed.
Ray felt a small, stupid, pang of jealousy. “I won’t stand in yer way if yer onto a good thing then,” he said, gathering up his cigarettes, sandwich and mug of tea.
“Oh, it’s not like that,” Chris flushed pink. “Annie’s…I mean, WPC Cartwright just…she’s new, see, an’ Sergeant Dobbs said I should show ‘er round and that.”
“Well…I’ll let you get on,” Ray said, standing up.
Chris hurriedly swallowed his mouthful and nodded. “Yeah, Sir.”
“An’, Chris…I’m only a DC. You don’t ‘ave to call me sir. ‘S Ray, right?”
Over the next weeks and months Ray found that he noticed Chris around - when he was in the canteen, or the custody area or heading out to his beat. There was something about the man that just captivated him.
He was sorting out some files one day and happened to glance out of the window, noticing Chris was in the car park playing football, his shirt sleeves rolled up, with other PCs. Ray looked at his watch and saw it was half an hour before their shift would start. He lit a cigarette, leaning on the drawer of the filing cabinet, transfixed by the men below. He watched as the game turned into something more akin to a wrestling match as Chris tried to defend the ball, grabbing onto one of his friends and trying to push him away. He could feel jealousy building inside him, so he turned away, pushing his hand through his hair, knowing that his infatuation with the younger man had to stop - he was just frustrating himself. They were coppers, and what he wanted to do with Chris wasn’t even legal.
He tried to wipe Chris from his mind, tried to ignore him at the station, got drunk enough most nights that he could sleep a dreamless sleep. But there were still dark nights, alone in his bed, when Ray found his hand wrapping around his cock and Chris appearing in his fantasies.
***
Gene looked around the van, all the faces looking back at him were wide eyed, ready and waiting.
“Right, first priority, stop anyone leavin’, however you need to. Once we’ve rounded ‘em up then we can start searching the crates - we know they’ve got knock off stuff in there. Okay?”
Ray nodded, hefting the baton he was holding. He was keeping his gaze firmly fixed on Gene, because he knew a few places back Chris was sitting, earnestly listening to every word. The raid had been carefully planned, but they knew there would be a number of people in the warehouse, and the chances of them being armed were high. The gang had been responsible for any number of raids on various warehouses across the city, always violent, always expensive goods. Ray touched his jacket, feeling the reassuring weight of his pistol inside. He was looking forward to the fight.
On the signal they all bundled out of the van, spilling out across the street. Two PCs with sledgehammers made short work of the wooden doors, and then they were inside. The other team were making rapid progress on the back door and the gang were panicking. Ray picked a target and ran for the man, baton over his shoulder ready to strike. The fight was dirty, and Ray was well aware that he had to watch his back as well as his opponent. He finally got the man on the floor after a hard blow to the back of the knees, but as he bent over to handcuff him he saw something out of the corner of his eye and flinched away. A punch smacked into his face, the blow glancing off him. He staggered, his nose exploding in pain, and turned on his attacker, driving into him with his shoulder. Then someone else came to help, throwing the man to the floor. Ray turned back to his first collar, snapping the handcuffs onto his wrists and half noticing the blood that was dripping down onto the man. He saw that it was Chris - now minus his helmet - who had his knee in the other man’s back and was pulling his hands behind him, cuffing them tightly. Ray also saw the glinting brass knuckles the man was wearing. He swiped at his face, hissing as the cuts stung at his touch, not wanting to know any more about the damage.
He squeezed Chris’s shoulder, “Thanks, mate.” Then threw himself back into the fray, leaving the two men on the floor in Chris’s care.
Once everyone was rounded up and the prisoners were all secured in the backs of the vans, everyone began assessing the damage to themselves. There were plenty of bloody noses, black eyes and bruised fists, but the mood was jubilant. Ray helped search some of the room before realising that the world was beginning to spin slightly. He rested back against the wall, holding his handkerchief against his face. He had a sneaking suspicion that he should probably get someone to check him over, but he didn’t say anything.
“Raymondo, you okay?” Gene asked, seeing the blood-soaked cloth held up to his friend’s face.
“Yeah, Boss. Just need a minute.”
Gene pulled Ray’s hand away from his face, looking at the two cuts - one on Ray’s eyebrow and then the continuation across the bridge of his nose.
“Oi, you,” Gene grabbed one of the PCs. “Grab a car, run him up to the hospital. Right?”
Chris nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
Ray almost groaned. “’M fine, Boss. I’ll get back to the station an’ sort it out.”
“Looks like you need a couple of stitches. Don’t argue.”
“Um…do you want to…” Chris gestured nervously toward the door.
Ray knew he didn’t have a choice, so led the way outside and waited until Chris appeared, dangling the keys to one of the panda cars on his finger.
“Get you fixed up then, shall we, sir?” he asked, trying to be friendly.
Ray just grunted, cursing the fate that had thrown him together with Chris again.
Once at the hospital Ray knew it wasn’t really necessary for Chris to guide him by holding onto his arm, but somehow he couldn’t shake off the hand. And when Chris explained to the nurse what had happened he could have told Chris to get back to work and explained himself, but he didn’t. He definitely didn’t need Chris leaning up against the wall talking to him as he sat on the edge of the bed waiting for the doctor, but he didn’t say anything.
Chris grimaced as the four stitches were put in above Ray’s eyebrow, watching as the needle punctured the skin and pulled through, pinching the edges of the cut together. He knew Ray was lucky - the blow had only glanced off his face instead of catching him full on. The knuckle dusters splitting the skin instead of smashing into the bone. He had felt the anger explode inside him at the thought of someone hurting Ray and had punched the man a few more times than needed, then landed his knee in the man’s back hard before handcuffing him. He didn’t know quite why it had bothered him so much - but Ray had been one of the few people who’d been kind to him, despite the fact he was new and still got things wrong. Most of CID didn’t have any time for uniform at all, so Chris was proud that Ray - one of the best coppers in the station - had even noticed him.
***
Once Ray was at home he spent part of the evening soaking his shirt in a basin of cold water, trying to remove the bloodstains. He wished there was a way he could remove the image of Chris, tie removed and top shirt buttons undone, leaning on the wall at the hospital, fringe falling in front of his mismatched eyes, from his mind. But there wasn’t, and when he closed his eyes that night Chris still wouldn’t go away. Instead he shrugged out of his uniform jacket, undid a few more buttons on his shirt and walked toward Ray. When he took his shirt off he revealed a slim body, creamy skin that begged to be kissed, and when he straddled Ray’s hips the pressure on Ray’s cock was exquisite.
1968
The party spilled out of CID when every bottle of whisky had been drunk - even the extra ones that Woolf had bought in especially for the occasion. Ray supported Gene as they staggered toward The Railway Arms, everyone was in high spirits, with every reason to celebrate - a promotion, a tough case cracked and Gallagher’s wife had given birth to a baby girl the night before.
As they crashed into the pub Ray abandoned Gene and staggered to the bar, leaning on it heavily. “Nelson! Make sure everyone’s got a drink - first round’s my shout, right?”
Nelson smiled widely and nodded. “Sure thing, Mr ‘Unt.”
Once everyone had a drink in their hand Ray shouted for quiet, then raised his pint glass high in the air. “To scum off the streets, to Bernie’s missus and little one…and to our new Guv’nor!”
The cheer that went up was deafening and beer cascaded out of glasses as they were held aloft.
Ray sank down next to Gene on one of the long settles and lifted his glass, knocking it against Gene’s. “You did well, Guv,” he grinned.
Gene smiled back. “Goin’ to take some getting’ used to…every time someone calls me ‘Guv’ I look ‘round for ‘Arry.”
Ray nodded. “You earned it, though. You’re a sound copper. Every man in ‘ere’s proud t’be A division, an’ ‘s you and the Guv…uh…Superintendent Woolf, ‘s done that.”
Gene took a long swallow of his beer. He’d been hoping to be picked as the DCI, but he knew there were no guarantees - another officer could have been brought in, someone from another station or even a different force. It gave him pride, as he scanned the pub and saw his team, to know that he had been chosen to lead the best squad in the city. He finished his pint and looked around, trying to decide who was going to buy him his next.
***
Ray made it into the office and headed straight for the kettle. The painkillers he’d taken when he got up were just starting to take the edge off the pounding in his head, but the world still swam around him, making him feel sick.
He ignored the noises of other people coming into the office, assuming they were all in as bad a state as he was.
Finally Gene entered the room, dropping into the chair behind his desk. Ray had anticipated his arrival and walked over, dumping a cup of strong sweet coffee in front of his new Guv’nor. Gene grunted in thanks, but didn’t lift his head from his hands.
After a few hours Gene finally decided he could face standing again and jerked his thumb at Ray. “C’mon, Carling, wi’ me.”
Ray followed him out of the office, hoping they were going to end up somewhere with fresh air and no paperwork - reading was difficult when none of the ink would stay still on the page.
Gene drove a short distance, pulling up outside one of his favourite greasy spoons. “C’mon, I’m buying,” he said, seeing Ray’s frown.
Once they were both sitting at the formica table, full English breakfasts swimming in grease in front of them, Gene smiled. “Can’t tell anyone else this - ‘kay? Not for a week or so, anyway.”
Ray nodded, leaning forward.
“Soon as I can get it sorted, I’m bumping Bernie up to DI - he’s a sound copper, everyone gets along with ‘im, and he could probably do with the extra reddies, too, with the kid.”
Ray nodded. He liked Bernie Gallagher, got along with him well, and he knew other people would agree with the choice - it was always important for a new DCI to make decisions that were approved of by his squad. “Good call, Bo…Guv.”
“Yeah, I thought so,” Gene said, immodestly, scooping up some beans and a piece of sausage. “’Ere, you still livin’ in that shit-hole?”
Ray gave a grin at the description of his flat and nodded.
“How d’you expect to keep a decent bird when you take ‘er home there?” Gene asked, shaking his head.
Ray shrugged, not about to tell Gene that he had no intention of keeping a bird, decent or not. “Ain’t the décor they’re interested in, not once I got ‘em that far,” he smirked, knowing he had to keep up appearances.
Gene laughed. “Don’t s’pose it is - still, first week of your sergeant’s wages, I want you lookin’ for somewhere better, right? I won’t ‘ave my officers livin’ in digs worse than the scum we scrape off the streets.”
Ray smiled, then realised what Gene had just said. He widened his eyes, grin spreading across his face. “My…you’re makin’ me DS?”
Gene nodded. “You know me, know how I work. I can trust you. I know you won’t let me down.”
Ray nodded silently. Then decided a speech like that probably warranted a reply. “I won’t, Guv. An’ thank you.”
Gene waved his fork to dismiss the thanks. “Just don’t tell anyone, not yet. Not least because I don’t think some of the boys could handle another night on the tiles jus’ yet.”
Ray nodded, smiling. He wasn’t entirely sure he could either.
TBC...
Word Count: This part 2,991. Total 70,000
Spoilers: None, really. I suppose if you’ve never seen Life on Mars there might be one or two…but it won’t make sense, either!
Pairings: None to begin with, Ray/Chris eventually.
Rating: Brown Cortina
Disclaimer: The only things which belong to me are the mistakes.
Summary: It’s a long and winding road. A bit of backstory, pre-1973.
A/N: Thanks go to xCazzie and Dakfinv for beta-dom. All remaining mistakes are mine alone.
Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five, Chapter six, Chapter seven
1967
Ray stood in the middle of the room, grimacing. There was blood everywhere, and the mangled body of a man lying near one of the windows. At a guess Ray would say he’d been beaten to death, but without moving the body he was well aware there could be other wounds hidden too. He picked his way through the blood smears and crouched down by the body, pressing two fingers into the man’s neck. The skin was cold, and he didn’t try too hard to find a pulse, knowing it was futile. He turned around to the young constable who was still standing by the door, eyes wide.
“Yeah, he’s dead,” he said, wiping his fingers on the man’s clothing.
The young copper turned and left the building, hand clamped over his mouth. Ray followed, standing back until the man had thrown up his breakfast, then pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and tapped the box, offering one to the constable, who was white as a ghost.
“So you just noticed the door an’ thought you should check it out, did you?” Ray asked, lighting the cigarette that was now held in the man’s shaking hand.
He nodded. “It weren’t open yesterday - or…I di’n’t notice it. An’…people sleep rough…so…” he swallowed hard.
“Yeah, reckon he were homeless. Ain’t dressed in work gear, anyway.” Ray lit his own cigarette. “All right now?”
The man nodded.
“Wha’s your name?”
“PC Skelton, sir. Chris Skelton.”
Ray nodded. “New?”
“Been a constable for…almost a year,” Chris answered, looking shy. “You’re…DC Carling, aren’t you?”
Ray nodded, glad that his reputation had permeated even the plod. “First dead body?” he asked.
Chris nodded, looking ashamed. “First what’s all…murdered, like.”
“Don’t worry, the first’s the worst,” Ray said.
Chris eyes opened wide. “I don’t want there to be a second!” he said seriously.
Ray smiled, noticing that Chris’s eyes didn’t match - one green and one blue. “Ain’t your choice, mate,” he said, laughing. “We don’t pick an’ choose where they turn up.”
Chris didn’t look like he thought Ray was helping.
Ray pulled out his hip flask and took a swig, then offered it to Chris. “I threw up too, my first,” he confided.
“Really?” Chris took a sip from the flask and coughed immediately as the whisky joined the bile that was already burning in his throat.
Ray nodded. He hadn’t, but that didn’t matter - what mattered was that Chris was now looking less like a startled rabbit and more like a confident young copper.
“You should probably get yourself back to the station when the others get ‘ere,” Ray said. “We’ll need you to write down what ‘appened an’ all.”
Chris nodded. Then he glanced back in through the window he was standing by. “Will you…be the one what looks for the murderer?”
Ray shrugged and took a long drag on his cigarette. “Maybe.”
“I don’t like…thinkin’ that someone who can do that…can jus’ be walkin’ about, with the rest of us.”
“He won’t be, not for long,” Ray said with a touch of bravado.
***
It was a couple of days later that Ray next saw Chris, sitting on his own in the canteen. Ray had only intended to grab something and head back to his desk, but he hesitated, then walked over to Chris.
“Mind if I join you?”
Chris jumped and looked up. “Oh, no,” he smiled.
“Cheers for the report…it were very…thorough,” Ray said, for lack of anything better.
Chris gave a small self-conscious smile. “I did me best.”
Ray nodded, not really knowing what else to say. He watched as Chris pushed his fringe out of his eyes and carried on eating, and Ray guessed his refs were only half an hour. He glanced around and saw a few other people were looking over at them - it was rare for CID and uniform to mix. One girl queuing up to get her food seemed to be paying them a bit more attention than most. One of the other lads had been talking about her the other day, well, about her tits, anyway. He couldn’t remember the name though.
“Seem to be gettin’ a lot of attention from that plonk,” he said.
Chris looked up. “Oh - I said I’d ‘ave me lunch with ‘er, like,” Chris answered, looking slightly embarrassed.
Ray felt a small, stupid, pang of jealousy. “I won’t stand in yer way if yer onto a good thing then,” he said, gathering up his cigarettes, sandwich and mug of tea.
“Oh, it’s not like that,” Chris flushed pink. “Annie’s…I mean, WPC Cartwright just…she’s new, see, an’ Sergeant Dobbs said I should show ‘er round and that.”
“Well…I’ll let you get on,” Ray said, standing up.
Chris hurriedly swallowed his mouthful and nodded. “Yeah, Sir.”
“An’, Chris…I’m only a DC. You don’t ‘ave to call me sir. ‘S Ray, right?”
Over the next weeks and months Ray found that he noticed Chris around - when he was in the canteen, or the custody area or heading out to his beat. There was something about the man that just captivated him.
He was sorting out some files one day and happened to glance out of the window, noticing Chris was in the car park playing football, his shirt sleeves rolled up, with other PCs. Ray looked at his watch and saw it was half an hour before their shift would start. He lit a cigarette, leaning on the drawer of the filing cabinet, transfixed by the men below. He watched as the game turned into something more akin to a wrestling match as Chris tried to defend the ball, grabbing onto one of his friends and trying to push him away. He could feel jealousy building inside him, so he turned away, pushing his hand through his hair, knowing that his infatuation with the younger man had to stop - he was just frustrating himself. They were coppers, and what he wanted to do with Chris wasn’t even legal.
He tried to wipe Chris from his mind, tried to ignore him at the station, got drunk enough most nights that he could sleep a dreamless sleep. But there were still dark nights, alone in his bed, when Ray found his hand wrapping around his cock and Chris appearing in his fantasies.
***
Gene looked around the van, all the faces looking back at him were wide eyed, ready and waiting.
“Right, first priority, stop anyone leavin’, however you need to. Once we’ve rounded ‘em up then we can start searching the crates - we know they’ve got knock off stuff in there. Okay?”
Ray nodded, hefting the baton he was holding. He was keeping his gaze firmly fixed on Gene, because he knew a few places back Chris was sitting, earnestly listening to every word. The raid had been carefully planned, but they knew there would be a number of people in the warehouse, and the chances of them being armed were high. The gang had been responsible for any number of raids on various warehouses across the city, always violent, always expensive goods. Ray touched his jacket, feeling the reassuring weight of his pistol inside. He was looking forward to the fight.
On the signal they all bundled out of the van, spilling out across the street. Two PCs with sledgehammers made short work of the wooden doors, and then they were inside. The other team were making rapid progress on the back door and the gang were panicking. Ray picked a target and ran for the man, baton over his shoulder ready to strike. The fight was dirty, and Ray was well aware that he had to watch his back as well as his opponent. He finally got the man on the floor after a hard blow to the back of the knees, but as he bent over to handcuff him he saw something out of the corner of his eye and flinched away. A punch smacked into his face, the blow glancing off him. He staggered, his nose exploding in pain, and turned on his attacker, driving into him with his shoulder. Then someone else came to help, throwing the man to the floor. Ray turned back to his first collar, snapping the handcuffs onto his wrists and half noticing the blood that was dripping down onto the man. He saw that it was Chris - now minus his helmet - who had his knee in the other man’s back and was pulling his hands behind him, cuffing them tightly. Ray also saw the glinting brass knuckles the man was wearing. He swiped at his face, hissing as the cuts stung at his touch, not wanting to know any more about the damage.
He squeezed Chris’s shoulder, “Thanks, mate.” Then threw himself back into the fray, leaving the two men on the floor in Chris’s care.
Once everyone was rounded up and the prisoners were all secured in the backs of the vans, everyone began assessing the damage to themselves. There were plenty of bloody noses, black eyes and bruised fists, but the mood was jubilant. Ray helped search some of the room before realising that the world was beginning to spin slightly. He rested back against the wall, holding his handkerchief against his face. He had a sneaking suspicion that he should probably get someone to check him over, but he didn’t say anything.
“Raymondo, you okay?” Gene asked, seeing the blood-soaked cloth held up to his friend’s face.
“Yeah, Boss. Just need a minute.”
Gene pulled Ray’s hand away from his face, looking at the two cuts - one on Ray’s eyebrow and then the continuation across the bridge of his nose.
“Oi, you,” Gene grabbed one of the PCs. “Grab a car, run him up to the hospital. Right?”
Chris nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
Ray almost groaned. “’M fine, Boss. I’ll get back to the station an’ sort it out.”
“Looks like you need a couple of stitches. Don’t argue.”
“Um…do you want to…” Chris gestured nervously toward the door.
Ray knew he didn’t have a choice, so led the way outside and waited until Chris appeared, dangling the keys to one of the panda cars on his finger.
“Get you fixed up then, shall we, sir?” he asked, trying to be friendly.
Ray just grunted, cursing the fate that had thrown him together with Chris again.
Once at the hospital Ray knew it wasn’t really necessary for Chris to guide him by holding onto his arm, but somehow he couldn’t shake off the hand. And when Chris explained to the nurse what had happened he could have told Chris to get back to work and explained himself, but he didn’t. He definitely didn’t need Chris leaning up against the wall talking to him as he sat on the edge of the bed waiting for the doctor, but he didn’t say anything.
Chris grimaced as the four stitches were put in above Ray’s eyebrow, watching as the needle punctured the skin and pulled through, pinching the edges of the cut together. He knew Ray was lucky - the blow had only glanced off his face instead of catching him full on. The knuckle dusters splitting the skin instead of smashing into the bone. He had felt the anger explode inside him at the thought of someone hurting Ray and had punched the man a few more times than needed, then landed his knee in the man’s back hard before handcuffing him. He didn’t know quite why it had bothered him so much - but Ray had been one of the few people who’d been kind to him, despite the fact he was new and still got things wrong. Most of CID didn’t have any time for uniform at all, so Chris was proud that Ray - one of the best coppers in the station - had even noticed him.
***
Once Ray was at home he spent part of the evening soaking his shirt in a basin of cold water, trying to remove the bloodstains. He wished there was a way he could remove the image of Chris, tie removed and top shirt buttons undone, leaning on the wall at the hospital, fringe falling in front of his mismatched eyes, from his mind. But there wasn’t, and when he closed his eyes that night Chris still wouldn’t go away. Instead he shrugged out of his uniform jacket, undid a few more buttons on his shirt and walked toward Ray. When he took his shirt off he revealed a slim body, creamy skin that begged to be kissed, and when he straddled Ray’s hips the pressure on Ray’s cock was exquisite.
1968
The party spilled out of CID when every bottle of whisky had been drunk - even the extra ones that Woolf had bought in especially for the occasion. Ray supported Gene as they staggered toward The Railway Arms, everyone was in high spirits, with every reason to celebrate - a promotion, a tough case cracked and Gallagher’s wife had given birth to a baby girl the night before.
As they crashed into the pub Ray abandoned Gene and staggered to the bar, leaning on it heavily. “Nelson! Make sure everyone’s got a drink - first round’s my shout, right?”
Nelson smiled widely and nodded. “Sure thing, Mr ‘Unt.”
Once everyone had a drink in their hand Ray shouted for quiet, then raised his pint glass high in the air. “To scum off the streets, to Bernie’s missus and little one…and to our new Guv’nor!”
The cheer that went up was deafening and beer cascaded out of glasses as they were held aloft.
Ray sank down next to Gene on one of the long settles and lifted his glass, knocking it against Gene’s. “You did well, Guv,” he grinned.
Gene smiled back. “Goin’ to take some getting’ used to…every time someone calls me ‘Guv’ I look ‘round for ‘Arry.”
Ray nodded. “You earned it, though. You’re a sound copper. Every man in ‘ere’s proud t’be A division, an’ ‘s you and the Guv…uh…Superintendent Woolf, ‘s done that.”
Gene took a long swallow of his beer. He’d been hoping to be picked as the DCI, but he knew there were no guarantees - another officer could have been brought in, someone from another station or even a different force. It gave him pride, as he scanned the pub and saw his team, to know that he had been chosen to lead the best squad in the city. He finished his pint and looked around, trying to decide who was going to buy him his next.
***
Ray made it into the office and headed straight for the kettle. The painkillers he’d taken when he got up were just starting to take the edge off the pounding in his head, but the world still swam around him, making him feel sick.
He ignored the noises of other people coming into the office, assuming they were all in as bad a state as he was.
Finally Gene entered the room, dropping into the chair behind his desk. Ray had anticipated his arrival and walked over, dumping a cup of strong sweet coffee in front of his new Guv’nor. Gene grunted in thanks, but didn’t lift his head from his hands.
After a few hours Gene finally decided he could face standing again and jerked his thumb at Ray. “C’mon, Carling, wi’ me.”
Ray followed him out of the office, hoping they were going to end up somewhere with fresh air and no paperwork - reading was difficult when none of the ink would stay still on the page.
Gene drove a short distance, pulling up outside one of his favourite greasy spoons. “C’mon, I’m buying,” he said, seeing Ray’s frown.
Once they were both sitting at the formica table, full English breakfasts swimming in grease in front of them, Gene smiled. “Can’t tell anyone else this - ‘kay? Not for a week or so, anyway.”
Ray nodded, leaning forward.
“Soon as I can get it sorted, I’m bumping Bernie up to DI - he’s a sound copper, everyone gets along with ‘im, and he could probably do with the extra reddies, too, with the kid.”
Ray nodded. He liked Bernie Gallagher, got along with him well, and he knew other people would agree with the choice - it was always important for a new DCI to make decisions that were approved of by his squad. “Good call, Bo…Guv.”
“Yeah, I thought so,” Gene said, immodestly, scooping up some beans and a piece of sausage. “’Ere, you still livin’ in that shit-hole?”
Ray gave a grin at the description of his flat and nodded.
“How d’you expect to keep a decent bird when you take ‘er home there?” Gene asked, shaking his head.
Ray shrugged, not about to tell Gene that he had no intention of keeping a bird, decent or not. “Ain’t the décor they’re interested in, not once I got ‘em that far,” he smirked, knowing he had to keep up appearances.
Gene laughed. “Don’t s’pose it is - still, first week of your sergeant’s wages, I want you lookin’ for somewhere better, right? I won’t ‘ave my officers livin’ in digs worse than the scum we scrape off the streets.”
Ray smiled, then realised what Gene had just said. He widened his eyes, grin spreading across his face. “My…you’re makin’ me DS?”
Gene nodded. “You know me, know how I work. I can trust you. I know you won’t let me down.”
Ray nodded silently. Then decided a speech like that probably warranted a reply. “I won’t, Guv. An’ thank you.”
Gene waved his fork to dismiss the thanks. “Just don’t tell anyone, not yet. Not least because I don’t think some of the boys could handle another night on the tiles jus’ yet.”
Ray nodded, smiling. He wasn’t entirely sure he could either.
TBC...