"Still Together (Still Going Strong)" (Lynley/Havers, G)
I think I was the first to see it happening. After all, I did see them every day.
Now understand, by the time I met them they’d been partnered for a few years already. I heard tales, though - tales of how they’d fight so loud the entire building could hear. And then, always, they’d come up with some brilliant solution and save the day.
It makes a man feel slightly unnecessary, truth be told.
Anyway, long before I ended up on their team, I heard about them. I heard about the Sergeant getting shot and the resulting nuclear explosion from the Inspector; I’d heard how the Inspector’s loyalty to his partner had quite literally kept her on the force, at the risk of his own career. Not that she wouldn’t go on to more than prove herself, but that early on - well, she was vulnerable, and didn’t have the record of eccentric brilliance behind her that he did. Once she was partnered with him, though - well, there was nothing to stop her. And of course, I was there when he was accused of excessive violence, and watched the Sergeant stomp around snarling at everyone - temporary partners, beat constables, random passersby, chairs, you-name-it - without the one man whose brilliance as a police officer was a perfect complement to her own.
And let me tell you, Barbara Lynne Havers is scary when she’s forcibly kept away from the Inspector.
But really, all it took was the first time I heard him say, “My sergeant.” There was such pride, such possessiveness, in his tone, it’s a wonder he hadn’t yet come to his senses about her. He said it like - like he’d kill anyone who so much as thought of taking her away from him. I think he knew - how could he not know? - that her leaving him was just about as likely as Scully ever leaving Mulder. Less, with the way they were around each other - she never had to ask “how high?” because he never had to ask her to jump, she’d just do it. And she... well, Barbie was the only person I ever saw what could get the Inspector out of one of his berserking rages. Just a “sir” in that tone she had, that “Come back to me, yeah? It’s all fine now,” way she said it. When it was her voice, he’d listen.
That was the thing about them, see? They listened to each other. Barbie got on all right with that DI Knight, but even then, she was bull-headed and stubborn. They balanced each other, see? They listened. And what’s more, they trusted each other. Not in the early days, I heard, but by the time I got there, well - all she had to do was say, “This is what I think,” and he’d be all, “All right then, Havers, let’s chase it down.” Any one of us, he all but wanted forms signed in triplicate that we had evidence to back it up. We learned pretty quick to sound the Sergeant out first, and if she thought we were right, she’d take it to DI Lynley. If she didn’t, though, well she wouldn’t even bring the subject up. It woulda been totally unfair, except they were pretty much always right - and we all learned that right quick, too.
And then when Mrs. Lynley died, well - she fought for him, see? Fought for him the way he fought for her back then, even when he was trying so hard to push her away. She stuck. That was the thing about her. She stuck. And it hurt her, I could tell, hurt her real badly to have him pushing her away so hard. And even more, I think, to see him sleeping with someone else, when he hadn’t so much as spoken a kind word to her in months. I think that was what finally opened her eyes, how bad it hurt her. And all the worse because she just wanted him to be happy even if it wasn’t with her. So it was a three-pronged strike, yeah? He wasn’t happy because Helen was gone, he wasn’t letting her help and he didn’t feel about her that way - or at least she thought he didn’t. I knew better, even when they didn’t, and after the bridge, his first case back - well, I think she knew too, and that was really the case when he started to act like he cared about her that way, even if he didn’t know it yet, the way she had been for awhile by then. He started leaning on her more, letting her in, letting her help - and I could see half the strain gone from her eyes, after that case. She was still worried about him, but the strain of being able to do nothing for the most important person in her life - the centre of her world really - was gone.
But they didn’t do anything about it, not for months - two years after his wife died, or thereabouts, and I think it was a good thing, too. He was still hurting over his wife - she was one of his closest friends, if nothing else - and the sergeant had enough to do anchoring him that first year after he got sober, when he’d slip into those black moods, without adding the guilt he would sure have felt if they’d let themselves acknowledge it. But she became his anchor, his North Star. It was like working with her - hell, just being with her - was the only reason he could get up, most days. And so even if they didn’t let themselves know it, they were already together by then, more than married far as I could see. I know a dozen men or more who don’t even trust their wives the way he trusted her, the way he leaned on her. They weren’t apart much at all, morning till night. And I knew she was just waiting and hoping he’d wake up one day; part of her, she told me once, never believing it would happen and a much smaller part dead certain he would.
Well, obviously, he did, and I remember the day it happened, too. It was that crazy case at Paddington, when someone dumped a body on the tracks. And they walked in, and I swear to God, I could see the happiness radiating off them like light, and I knew. It was in the way his eyes sparkled like they hadn’t for three years, the way her smile was just a little bit brighter when she looked at him, the way he took any excuse to touch her, the way anytime their eyes locked the rest of the world seemed to vanish as far as they were concerned.
Oh, they were masters of discretion. They never did anything that couldn’t be explained with, “Well, sir, they’ve been partners for ten years,” or, “They’ve been through a lot together, and they’re very close.” But oh, I could tell, and I was glad for them.
And then came the bombshell, about three months after they’d started glowing like fireflies around each other. I should have seen it coming; the Inspector and Barbie spend all of lunch in a heated discussion where Barbie chokes on her tea, they spend the rest of the day trembling every time they touch and then he vanishes into Hillier’s office without her? I really should have seen that something was up.
Well, I found out just what I didn’t see was up the next day. Right before we broke for lunch, the Inspector tugged his very red-faced sergeant up in front of the room, cleared his throat and, in a ‘This is uncomfortable for me because it has to do with my personal life, but I’m going to tell you anyway’ sort of tone I’d rarely heard him use before, said, “Ah, Sergeant Havers and I have an announcement to make.”
Her smile went supernova, and she was grinning fit to burst when she said, “I’m not going to be Sergeant Havers much longer. We’re, ah, we’re getting married.”
I swear to God I heard a squad room full of jaws hit the floor - all except for mine, ‘cause all I could do, watching them and knowing they’d just got everything they ever wanted, was smile so hard my face ached.
And those two? Well, they were glowing in a way I’d never seen them glow before. And the Sergeant, she looked up at him, and he - well, he bent his head and kissed her. It wasn’t that kind of kiss you see in the movies, where the girl’s bent back and the guy’s snogging on her like it’s going out of style. No, it wasn’t anything like that - Barbie’s too shy and the Inspector too private to do that in front of people. No, it was the tenderest thing I’d ever seen - he had his hands cupping her face, and she was cupping his, like he was telling her with his lips and hands how much he loved her and respected her, needed her and relied on her, and she - she was giving it back to him, all of it, telling him she’d follow him anywhere and sacrifice everything for him.
All without saying a word.
That was always the thing about them, yeah? They could say so much without ever saying a word at all. Like Mulder and Scully, or those two detectives - who were they again - oh yeah, Goren and Eames from that American show, Criminal Intent or something. That was how they were, you know? They weren’t complete without each other. Still aren’t. And they’re still the best team I’ve ever worked with.
The wedding was - well, it was perfect. Barbie was simply radiant; didn’t have fuss or feathers, just a plain, creamy, long-sleeved satin gown that suited her so perfectly it took my breath away. I near about cried walking her down the aisle. I knew as I handed her over that she was marrying the one man in the world who could possibly deserve her, and if I ever had any doubts - which I didn’t - they would have vanished when I saw the way he was looking at her, like it was every dream he’d ever had coming true as she walked toward him. And the hell of it is, he still looks at her that way.
I remember the first time he tried to keep her safe, to order her out of the line of fire. I've never heard anyone swear the way she did at that - just swore a blue streak and ranted that she was his partner and if he was going somewhere then so was she, and if he thought otherwise she was having him committed. He never won a single one of those arguments - not ever. And it was just as well, with the way they worked together. I've said it before and I'll say it again - there's never been a team like them, and they keep on proving it every day.
They gave up future promotions for each other, you know - Hillier called them in, just a couple weeks after they got married, and told them he’d promised they could stay together and he wasn’t backing out, but - well, he'd promote her to Inspector because she'd earned it, and keep them together, but after that they'd both have to stay where they were. And I wasn’t there, but I’d bet a week’s pay they just looked at each other and said they wanted to stay together, no matter what. Hillier was obviously relieved - they’re the best team of the past few decades, sure as shooting, and nobody’ll say different except them.
He did promote her, a few months after that - six or so months after they got married, I think, and Inspector Lynley was all but bursting with pride for her. Things got a mite confusing around the station after that, until it finally worked out that he was 'Inspector Lynley' and she was 'DI Lynley' unless they had to go out of town, and then she was just 'Inspector Havers'.
Hillier’s about to retire now, and I’m a DS with a different team to work with. But when the murder’s big enough, they’ll call us in, and then I’m just plain old DC Nkata, following their lead as always, ‘cause they’re still the very, very best.
It’s been nearly fifteen years since they were first partnered, and they’re still as gung-ho as ever; I don’t think they’re anywhere close to slowing down. Even after that case a few years back where she went down in the line of fire - and oh, he was a mess after that, only held himself together because his mum came racing up from Cornwall to stay and keep him from throwing himself off London Bridge, or something, and told him the Sergeant - Inspector by then, actually - would be well and truly furious if he did anything foolish - he still trusts her to fight for him and guard his back. And it’s not like he has any room to talk, not after that one time with the knife-wielding maniac in Whitechapel.
The plain fact is there’s never been another team like them, not in the history of Scotland Yard. They call it ‘synergy’ - “We are far more together than we could ever be apart,” they always say when asked about their extraordinary partnership, and although they caution that what they did wouldn’t work for just anyone, it’s turned out amazing for them. They say that it’s because they had so many years together as partners before they acknowledged any romantic feelings, so once they did finally acknowledge those feelings, there was no change in the way they acted on the job - whether they were involved or not, they’d still take bullets for each other, go to the wire for each other, risk it all for each other. That’s just how they are. Hillier always said that if the Met wanted to split them up before their feelings about each other started affecting them on the job, it should have been done in that first year, because after that those horses were long out of the barn. Even before they truly fell in love with each other, they were closer than most partners ever get in a career. Their chemistry was - is - that unbelievable and that right.
I don’t know if they’ll ever stop chasing criminals. I don’t think so, not unless they’re forced to. It’s as much a part of them as they are of each other. But no matter what, they’ve shaped the very future of the Met. They’re the standard, and they don’t care. They do what they do because they couldn’t do anything else, couldn’t do it with anyone else now they’ve worked together. Theirs isn’t a success story, not first. It’s a love story, a real life fairy tale.
They danced at their wedding the way they live their lives - as though they are two halves of a whole.
And they are. They were, and they are, and they always will be.
Now understand, by the time I met them they’d been partnered for a few years already. I heard tales, though - tales of how they’d fight so loud the entire building could hear. And then, always, they’d come up with some brilliant solution and save the day.
It makes a man feel slightly unnecessary, truth be told.
Anyway, long before I ended up on their team, I heard about them. I heard about the Sergeant getting shot and the resulting nuclear explosion from the Inspector; I’d heard how the Inspector’s loyalty to his partner had quite literally kept her on the force, at the risk of his own career. Not that she wouldn’t go on to more than prove herself, but that early on - well, she was vulnerable, and didn’t have the record of eccentric brilliance behind her that he did. Once she was partnered with him, though - well, there was nothing to stop her. And of course, I was there when he was accused of excessive violence, and watched the Sergeant stomp around snarling at everyone - temporary partners, beat constables, random passersby, chairs, you-name-it - without the one man whose brilliance as a police officer was a perfect complement to her own.
And let me tell you, Barbara Lynne Havers is scary when she’s forcibly kept away from the Inspector.
But really, all it took was the first time I heard him say, “My sergeant.” There was such pride, such possessiveness, in his tone, it’s a wonder he hadn’t yet come to his senses about her. He said it like - like he’d kill anyone who so much as thought of taking her away from him. I think he knew - how could he not know? - that her leaving him was just about as likely as Scully ever leaving Mulder. Less, with the way they were around each other - she never had to ask “how high?” because he never had to ask her to jump, she’d just do it. And she... well, Barbie was the only person I ever saw what could get the Inspector out of one of his berserking rages. Just a “sir” in that tone she had, that “Come back to me, yeah? It’s all fine now,” way she said it. When it was her voice, he’d listen.
That was the thing about them, see? They listened to each other. Barbie got on all right with that DI Knight, but even then, she was bull-headed and stubborn. They balanced each other, see? They listened. And what’s more, they trusted each other. Not in the early days, I heard, but by the time I got there, well - all she had to do was say, “This is what I think,” and he’d be all, “All right then, Havers, let’s chase it down.” Any one of us, he all but wanted forms signed in triplicate that we had evidence to back it up. We learned pretty quick to sound the Sergeant out first, and if she thought we were right, she’d take it to DI Lynley. If she didn’t, though, well she wouldn’t even bring the subject up. It woulda been totally unfair, except they were pretty much always right - and we all learned that right quick, too.
And then when Mrs. Lynley died, well - she fought for him, see? Fought for him the way he fought for her back then, even when he was trying so hard to push her away. She stuck. That was the thing about her. She stuck. And it hurt her, I could tell, hurt her real badly to have him pushing her away so hard. And even more, I think, to see him sleeping with someone else, when he hadn’t so much as spoken a kind word to her in months. I think that was what finally opened her eyes, how bad it hurt her. And all the worse because she just wanted him to be happy even if it wasn’t with her. So it was a three-pronged strike, yeah? He wasn’t happy because Helen was gone, he wasn’t letting her help and he didn’t feel about her that way - or at least she thought he didn’t. I knew better, even when they didn’t, and after the bridge, his first case back - well, I think she knew too, and that was really the case when he started to act like he cared about her that way, even if he didn’t know it yet, the way she had been for awhile by then. He started leaning on her more, letting her in, letting her help - and I could see half the strain gone from her eyes, after that case. She was still worried about him, but the strain of being able to do nothing for the most important person in her life - the centre of her world really - was gone.
But they didn’t do anything about it, not for months - two years after his wife died, or thereabouts, and I think it was a good thing, too. He was still hurting over his wife - she was one of his closest friends, if nothing else - and the sergeant had enough to do anchoring him that first year after he got sober, when he’d slip into those black moods, without adding the guilt he would sure have felt if they’d let themselves acknowledge it. But she became his anchor, his North Star. It was like working with her - hell, just being with her - was the only reason he could get up, most days. And so even if they didn’t let themselves know it, they were already together by then, more than married far as I could see. I know a dozen men or more who don’t even trust their wives the way he trusted her, the way he leaned on her. They weren’t apart much at all, morning till night. And I knew she was just waiting and hoping he’d wake up one day; part of her, she told me once, never believing it would happen and a much smaller part dead certain he would.
Well, obviously, he did, and I remember the day it happened, too. It was that crazy case at Paddington, when someone dumped a body on the tracks. And they walked in, and I swear to God, I could see the happiness radiating off them like light, and I knew. It was in the way his eyes sparkled like they hadn’t for three years, the way her smile was just a little bit brighter when she looked at him, the way he took any excuse to touch her, the way anytime their eyes locked the rest of the world seemed to vanish as far as they were concerned.
Oh, they were masters of discretion. They never did anything that couldn’t be explained with, “Well, sir, they’ve been partners for ten years,” or, “They’ve been through a lot together, and they’re very close.” But oh, I could tell, and I was glad for them.
And then came the bombshell, about three months after they’d started glowing like fireflies around each other. I should have seen it coming; the Inspector and Barbie spend all of lunch in a heated discussion where Barbie chokes on her tea, they spend the rest of the day trembling every time they touch and then he vanishes into Hillier’s office without her? I really should have seen that something was up.
Well, I found out just what I didn’t see was up the next day. Right before we broke for lunch, the Inspector tugged his very red-faced sergeant up in front of the room, cleared his throat and, in a ‘This is uncomfortable for me because it has to do with my personal life, but I’m going to tell you anyway’ sort of tone I’d rarely heard him use before, said, “Ah, Sergeant Havers and I have an announcement to make.”
Her smile went supernova, and she was grinning fit to burst when she said, “I’m not going to be Sergeant Havers much longer. We’re, ah, we’re getting married.”
I swear to God I heard a squad room full of jaws hit the floor - all except for mine, ‘cause all I could do, watching them and knowing they’d just got everything they ever wanted, was smile so hard my face ached.
And those two? Well, they were glowing in a way I’d never seen them glow before. And the Sergeant, she looked up at him, and he - well, he bent his head and kissed her. It wasn’t that kind of kiss you see in the movies, where the girl’s bent back and the guy’s snogging on her like it’s going out of style. No, it wasn’t anything like that - Barbie’s too shy and the Inspector too private to do that in front of people. No, it was the tenderest thing I’d ever seen - he had his hands cupping her face, and she was cupping his, like he was telling her with his lips and hands how much he loved her and respected her, needed her and relied on her, and she - she was giving it back to him, all of it, telling him she’d follow him anywhere and sacrifice everything for him.
All without saying a word.
That was always the thing about them, yeah? They could say so much without ever saying a word at all. Like Mulder and Scully, or those two detectives - who were they again - oh yeah, Goren and Eames from that American show, Criminal Intent or something. That was how they were, you know? They weren’t complete without each other. Still aren’t. And they’re still the best team I’ve ever worked with.
The wedding was - well, it was perfect. Barbie was simply radiant; didn’t have fuss or feathers, just a plain, creamy, long-sleeved satin gown that suited her so perfectly it took my breath away. I near about cried walking her down the aisle. I knew as I handed her over that she was marrying the one man in the world who could possibly deserve her, and if I ever had any doubts - which I didn’t - they would have vanished when I saw the way he was looking at her, like it was every dream he’d ever had coming true as she walked toward him. And the hell of it is, he still looks at her that way.
I remember the first time he tried to keep her safe, to order her out of the line of fire. I've never heard anyone swear the way she did at that - just swore a blue streak and ranted that she was his partner and if he was going somewhere then so was she, and if he thought otherwise she was having him committed. He never won a single one of those arguments - not ever. And it was just as well, with the way they worked together. I've said it before and I'll say it again - there's never been a team like them, and they keep on proving it every day.
They gave up future promotions for each other, you know - Hillier called them in, just a couple weeks after they got married, and told them he’d promised they could stay together and he wasn’t backing out, but - well, he'd promote her to Inspector because she'd earned it, and keep them together, but after that they'd both have to stay where they were. And I wasn’t there, but I’d bet a week’s pay they just looked at each other and said they wanted to stay together, no matter what. Hillier was obviously relieved - they’re the best team of the past few decades, sure as shooting, and nobody’ll say different except them.
He did promote her, a few months after that - six or so months after they got married, I think, and Inspector Lynley was all but bursting with pride for her. Things got a mite confusing around the station after that, until it finally worked out that he was 'Inspector Lynley' and she was 'DI Lynley' unless they had to go out of town, and then she was just 'Inspector Havers'.
Hillier’s about to retire now, and I’m a DS with a different team to work with. But when the murder’s big enough, they’ll call us in, and then I’m just plain old DC Nkata, following their lead as always, ‘cause they’re still the very, very best.
It’s been nearly fifteen years since they were first partnered, and they’re still as gung-ho as ever; I don’t think they’re anywhere close to slowing down. Even after that case a few years back where she went down in the line of fire - and oh, he was a mess after that, only held himself together because his mum came racing up from Cornwall to stay and keep him from throwing himself off London Bridge, or something, and told him the Sergeant - Inspector by then, actually - would be well and truly furious if he did anything foolish - he still trusts her to fight for him and guard his back. And it’s not like he has any room to talk, not after that one time with the knife-wielding maniac in Whitechapel.
The plain fact is there’s never been another team like them, not in the history of Scotland Yard. They call it ‘synergy’ - “We are far more together than we could ever be apart,” they always say when asked about their extraordinary partnership, and although they caution that what they did wouldn’t work for just anyone, it’s turned out amazing for them. They say that it’s because they had so many years together as partners before they acknowledged any romantic feelings, so once they did finally acknowledge those feelings, there was no change in the way they acted on the job - whether they were involved or not, they’d still take bullets for each other, go to the wire for each other, risk it all for each other. That’s just how they are. Hillier always said that if the Met wanted to split them up before their feelings about each other started affecting them on the job, it should have been done in that first year, because after that those horses were long out of the barn. Even before they truly fell in love with each other, they were closer than most partners ever get in a career. Their chemistry was - is - that unbelievable and that right.
I don’t know if they’ll ever stop chasing criminals. I don’t think so, not unless they’re forced to. It’s as much a part of them as they are of each other. But no matter what, they’ve shaped the very future of the Met. They’re the standard, and they don’t care. They do what they do because they couldn’t do anything else, couldn’t do it with anyone else now they’ve worked together. Theirs isn’t a success story, not first. It’s a love story, a real life fairy tale.
They danced at their wedding the way they live their lives - as though they are two halves of a whole.
And they are. They were, and they are, and they always will be.