A Copper's Instinct: Chapter 3
Title: A Copper's Instinct
Fandom: Hot Fuzz
Characters/Pairings: Nicholas/Danny, Nicholas/OC, Doris, Bob, Andes, Saxon, Turners, OC
Rating: PG-15
Chapter 2
“Anyone near High Street?” Doris was on dispatch today; they had barely parked up next to the old horse trough when her voice came crackling out of the radio. The day had been pretty uneventful so far; some vandalism at the school, managing traffic at a breakdown on a nasty bend a little way out of the village.
Danny, in the passenger seat, had a mouthful of sausage roll, not that that stopped him from grabbing at the mic. “Whugh?” he managed, then choked.
“Sorry, didn't catch that, over?”
"Go ahead, Doris," said Nicholas, clapping his partner on the back. "Need a heimlich, Danny?"
“Nurf,” coughed Danny, waving him off and brushing bits of pastry off the dashboard.
“Got a report of a couple of blokes acting suspicious. They've been in Currys an' the jewellers so far, heading towards Baxters Antiques. Late twenties, one's got a green check shirt on. Could use you to keep an eye on 'em, Chief. Sergeant Butterman, too, when he ain't got a mouthful,” said Doris, in her entirely innocent and neutral dispatcher's voice, which was somehow worse than her normal one, because it made you feel like the innuendo was all in your own mind. “Over.”
"It's a sausage roll," protested Nicholas, before he could process that this might be protesting a bit too much. "We'll be right on it."
He turned the key and felt the engine turn over and purr into activity, then threw the gearshift into first.
Baxters Antiques was quite a small shop, black-painted and gold-lettered, sandwiched between the estate agents' and a Paperchase. According to the sign it Bought and Sold Antiques, Jewellery and Curios, Appraisals Given. There was a little rack outside the door, piled with secondhand books, and as Nicholas and Danny got out of the car a couple of women wandered up and started flicking through them, blocking up the doorway.
When the alarm went off a few seconds later, a cheap but ear-splittingly shrill panic-button, by the sound of it, they scattered like hens.
They wouldn't have internal locking systems, Nicholas reminded himself. They won't be trapped inside.
He slammed through the front door, mind already mapping the route they'd take out of the back, because nobody would be that stupid to take on the Sandford Police Service headon after last summer.
"Stop! Police!"
Danny was right behind him. Inside the shop was cool and smelt like ancient leather and mildewed, perfumed lace, a scent common to every antique shop anywhere, even the ones that sold nothing but vases or clocks. The owner, a stout woman with an apricot perm, was still trying to struggle up from behind the glass-strewn counter, where it looked like she'd been shoved over into a stack of boxes.
“Out the back!” she gasped at them. A door to the left counter was open, the one flimsy chain on it hanging loose, victim of a hasty kick. “Bastards got my whole Regency jewellery display!”
There had always been a bit of an alarmingly instinctive comfort in chasing people down for Nicholas, especially the ones in need of punitive measures. He was good at it. Like he'd been born for it. And it was very nearly like hunting; staying back with your pack to keep your head from being smashed in, or running ahead to make the killing blow- arrest, arrest.
It was what made frisbees so endlessly entertaining. And you can't kill a frisbee.
He ran out the indicated door, leapt across the tipped bins they'd shoved behind them to trip him up, caught himself against a stone wall, pushed off, and continued streaking off down the backalley in the direction of the sound of their pounding feet.
They'd cut through the first opening they could, into a wider residential road that ran parallel with High Street for a little way. Their plan seemed to be to change direction as quickly and as many times as possible, dodging across the road and out of sight. They'd reckoned without the children drawing on the pavement on the corner, though, and several chalk-smeared, pointing fingers greeted Nicholas as he emerged from the alley, indicating a lane full of garages on the right-hand side.
"Good kids!" said Nicholas, sucking in a fresh lungful of air and launching himself down this much smaller alley without a backwards thought as to how far behind his partner was.
Danny pounded across the street and headed through after him, grabbing his own lapel to yell into his radio. “Doris, we got a 10-27, get out an APB on those two suspects! We're in foot pursuit, Pembry Lane headin' up the waterworks, get anyone 'round here over here now!”
“Roger that, Danny.”
Nicholas could hear them- hell, he could almost smell them- up ahead and around the corner of this last stretch of Sandfordian mazework. It didn't take a pair of rotating ears to pick up the sound of the two thieves swearing under their breath and jingling chainlink and the sound of most of Mrs. Rose Stone's Regency display clattering and pinging off the kerb as they hurried; just as it didn't take a genius to figure out what they were doing.
And of course nobody thinks barbed wire is suitable for using anywhere that isn't on a farm, like the stuff is decoration.
Nicholas slammed into the fence as the felons dropped down the other side, grinning, and raced off.
They probably didn't reckon on the tenacious, furious little man being able to climb like a monkey, though.
Danny reached the fence just in time to see Nicholas swing himself over the top and land in a crouch, up and running in an instant. Without hesitating, he grabbed a double handful of chainlink and pulled himself up, only to discover that a) the fence was slacker than he'd anticipated and b) the diamond-shaped gaps in the wire weren't large enough for his feet. The fence swayed towards him with a shivering clash, and he was forced to let go before it could dump him on his arse on the concrete.
Before he could try again, running footsteps out of nowhere, the scrape of a long, powerful jump, and Kinnell hit the fence halfway up, one foot braced against the wire, hauling himself swiftly to the top- heave- and over, perfect landing.
“Try 'round the side,” Danny heard him call as he sprinted away. “Bound to be a big gap somewhere.”
Nicholas caught the leg of one of perps, sending one the longer-haired and -limbed men crashing into the gravel, scattering the last of whatever jewelry he'd still managed to hold onto- the other was running, leaving his partner in the dust without a backward glance- he was going to get away, because Nicholas couldn't cuff this one and be after the next fast enough-
Kinnell raced past him, flailed an arm out and grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck, hauling him up short. This wasn't well-received.
“Getoff! Get the fuck off me, man!”
The would-be thief turned, still trying to run, and took a swing at his apprehender, who caught his wrist neatly in his free hand and, twisting, yanked it up behind his back, then coupled it with a precise foot into the back of his knees. The man produced a howl of pain that was swiftly muffled by the gravel, pressed face-down with Kinnell kneeling on his back, groping for cuffs and reciting the caution with staccato speed.
Nicholas gaped openly at Alex, absently cuffing his man with the back of his mind still able to run the stuttering Police Inspector program. He hadn't seen anyone able to run that fast since... himself.
"Training for the Olympics, Detective Constable?"
“Bit of luck,” said Kinnell, still kneeling heavily on his belligerent, thrashing captive, who didn't appear to know when to quit. “We were literally in the next street. Come on,” he added, quite unconcerned, in response to another scream, “settle down.”
Nicholas hauled his own captive up onto his feet. "Good Christ, Kinnell. Anything else you're holding out on me?"
Kinnell blinked up at him, nailed his knee into the small of the other thief's back, stilling him for the moment. Behind him, Andy Cartwright was straggling into view, followed by Wainwright, followed by Danny.
“I... don't like tuna? I play chess? Give me something a bit more specific to go on, chief.”
Nicholas blinked, stupidly. "You... play chess?"
The new DC shrugged, pulling the complaining thief upright into the waiting hands of Andy W, who was wheezing like- well, like a lifelong smoker who had just been forced to go for a short run. “Bit rusty, probably. It's hard to find good clubs, especially for speed chess.”
"I haven't played anyone decent since Hendon."
“I think I can match 'decent,'” said Kinnell, grinning. “We should have a game sometime.”
"After we get off work, then?" It was almost pathetic, the Inspectory bit logging everything in the back of his mind, how eager he sounded. And just in time for Danny to pull up.
“Sounds good to me, chief.” Kinnell pulled out an evidence baggie and used it to scoop up a couple of necklaces that had scattered from the thief's pockets, then pushed it into Danny's hands as he joined them. Danny took it automatically, still trying to get his breath back, looking from Kinnell to Nicholas with none-too-happy confusion.
"I'll- I'll just go get the board, then," said Nicholas, grinning widely, and his gaze shifted over to Danny, still grinning, not having quite realized his scheduling conflict.
Here was a little signal for him, a subtle hint, just like the ones he was so fond of. It was the grin which Danny gave him in return, the one which- unlike almost any other Danny-grin ever- did not quite reach his eyes.
“Gonna take ages t'get... all this cleared up,” moaned Andy Cartwright, still very out of breath himself and regarding the trail of evidence leading all the way back towards the fence with dismay. “We're gonna need a camera an' bloody everythin'.”
What'd he done wrong? Nicholas's smile faded a little, and in need of having something else to distract him, focused on Cartwright. "Well, better go and cordon off the scene and start all that, if you're going to get out of the office before pub closing."
The Andes grumbled, but complied. Alex gave Danny a cheerful, raised-eyebrows smile and followed Nicholas back towards the fence, following the trail of necklaces.
The Andes grumbled, but complied, heading off to get the SOCO kit from their car, passing Tony, who had just turned up in the van and was wandering uncertainly towards Nicholas and his handcuffed thief, ready to assume custody- well, as far as Tony was ever 'ready' to do anything.
Kinnell gave Danny a cheerful, raised-eyebrows smile and hoisted the man he'd caught off towards the van by himself, leaving them to it.
“Board?” asked Danny, as soon as Kinnell was out of earshot.
*
Three hours later, having finished processing the man he'd tackled, and Nicholas was still feeling thoroughly annoyed. Danny ought to be happy he'd found something approaching an intellectual equal in the department, in the whole of Sandford, really. Perhaps even a new friend. He'd been champion of the chess club in Hendon, but after he'd graduated, without the enforced honor in the official standings, fellow graduates had found excuses to avoid playing him, and after a while he'd realized that it was because most people weren't like him. In the face of defeat in one area or another, he'd learn new skills, and put in hard work to become better. Most ordinary people hated the idea of having to lose over and over.
So he'd forgotten about the arrangement he'd proposed this morning. Was it his fault he'd forgotten it when Danny had so thoroughly distracted him less than two minutes later, and after the stunning diversion of Alex's extremely athletic legs?
The Andes sulked past the processing room, finally off on their way to the Crown. Or at least, Cartwright sulked. Wainwright was in mid-harangue.
“...done hours ago if you'd got off your arse an' done some work for a change. Me an' him 'ad the whole lot writ up while you was still pissin' about with your fuckin' crayons.”
This was a sore point. The subordinate Andrew had an entire desk drawer full of coloured Magic Markers, and if he ever got uptight about anything, it was anyone interfering with or even alluding to them.
He muttered something indistinct and surly, but Wainwright was having none of it.
“Don't fuckin' give me that bullshit, And. I'm that sick of runnin' my arse off pickin' up the slack for you. Jus' don't you forget who's supposed to be in charge round 'ere, alright?”
Cartwright started shouting, which was odd, because what he usually did when he was trying to get under people's skin was go soft and stupidly sarcastic. Maybe it didn't work on another Andy, though- too used to the strategy, perhaps. "Why don't you go off an' get soddin' married to 'im, then? He only been here ten whole minutes an' you o'viously p'fer him under you an' all."
Wainwright stopped halfway down the corridor and angled his face into his partner's, sneering. “From what I saw, mate, you'd pr'fer 'im more'n under you. I saw you in the Crown last night, you was nearly chewin' on 'is earhole. That what you like, is it? Pretty smile an' a bit of fancy talk, an' you're worse'n fuckin' Butterball.”
Cartwright sputtered. He wasn't very good at arguing with his formerly best mate, and it showed. "Wh-well, at least he's not a complete twat like some benders I could mention."
“Oh, yeah, that's jus' brilliant, that. How you think up all these genius comebacks of yours, I'll never know. Write 'em in your spare time, do you? Oh, that's right, you must do, 'cause it's not like you ever do any fuckin' WORK!”
At this juncture, Kinnell came out into the processing room from the small equipment closet behind Nicholas, where he'd been putting the assorted paraphernalia they'd used back in the right places. He closed the door quietly behind him, watching the furious argument between his direct superior and colleague through the blinds with a tense, concerned expression.
“They do this often?” he asked Nicholas, under his breath.
"Never," said Nicholas, who was a bit embarrassed. He hadn't thought he and Danny would be as obvious as to creep into casual conversation, let alone become an unspoken structure around which arguments in the workplace were based. This was precisely the sort of thing he was trying to avoid, because it was obviously impacting the work environment, and if it were disrupting others...
On the other hand, this was the Andes.
"They're not getting on your case, are they?"
“Hm?” Kinnell glanced at him. “No, no. Seemed perfectly all right a few minutes ago.” He kept watching through the blinds as the older Andy effectively curtailed the argument by slinging the stack of papers he'd been carrying at the ground between them, then turning and storming off in disgust while it acted like any collection of paper thrown hard in one direction will, scattering like a smoke bomb and drifting to the floor. From the furious set of Wainwright's shoulders, he intended to keep going like that until he hit some alcohol, come hell or high water.
Though he seemed oblivious to any of the implications that were bothering Nicholas, Kinnell was clearly worried. He drew in a breath through his teeth, squinted. “Thought we were getting on pretty well, actually. You've got a solid team here, chief, last thing I want to do is rock the boat.”
"You're not," insisted Nicholas. "You're enthusiastic, fit, and well-trained. If anything, you're setting a good example for everyone to follow." Because I'm clearly not that person anymore, sleeping with my employees and letting it tear that solid team apart.
Kinnell gave a pragmatic sigh, perked up a little. “Thanks, chief. I can't exactly say it's all my doing- well, you'd know, I suppose, isn't that long since you were the newcomer here yourself, is it? Everyone's been so friendly, it'd be harder not to fit in, really.”
He slung his jacket over his shoulder. “I'll just go and sign out.”
"You'd be surprised at exactly how good they are at excluding outsiders," said Nicholas, removing his cap and rubbing at the creases in his forehead. "You're either very lucky, or you've got a knack for it."
He hesitated, caught in the door of the cold processing room and tiles.
If he invited Alex over for chess, he'd most certainly have to deal with Danny and his sorry, kicked-puppy face, waiting there for him at the cottage to properly have it out. Nicholas wasn't ready to deal with that, and he certainly wasn't ready to have domestic arguments in front of guests- even if it was so screamingly obvious that the pair of them could cause practically-domestic arguments between the Andes- not by a long shot.
In fact, the longer he could avoid Danny right now, the better. Alex and his cheerful 'so it goes' perspective would be a welcome tension-breaker.
"I could set up in the break room, if that's alright with you."
*
The break room after hours was a quiet, strangely solemn place. During the day, it wasn't quite as much of a social hub as the main office, but it was rarely empty, between people making teas and coffees, trying to fathom out the less orthodox functions of the photocopier, and bickering about such vital topics as who ate the last Hobnob and why writing 'TONY' on things with marker did not protect them against Sudden Vanishing Syndrome when left in the fridge.
All that was left, as Nicholas and Kinnell sat down opposite each other, the board between them, was a lingering smell of instant coffee and half a diabetic flapjack, sitting sadly on an adjacent table in a crumple of packaging on which only the 'NY' was intact.
"When was the last time you played?" asked Nicholas, who hadn't had time to remove his shirt and tie, but didn't particularly care. Most of the time his uniform felt more suited to him than anything he tried wearing after hours, anyway. He offered the side of the white to his opponent, eagerly.
“A person? Must be a year, at least.” Alex looked down at the board for a moment, then moved a pawn. “I've got this thing, one of the old twenty-one-five-ohs. Talks like Knight Rider crossed with Stephen Hawking. But it's not quite the same. You?”
"Not since Hendon, actually." Click, went a knight. "I used to play bullet chess."
“I liked blitz.” Click. “What was it like, Hendon? Went to Ashford myself.”
"Competitive. Busy. Lots of little extra-curricular activities. Was in most of them." Nicholas dragged out his second knight. "Ashford?"
"Bit cramped for space. It made you really appreciate the field exercises, though." Kinnell had a bishop free, now, he was building up his kingside defences, threatening the exposed places in Nicholas's back rank. His eyes were fixed on the board as if it was a crime scene, his eyebrows and mouth lifted as he made a decision. Click. "Ever played Armageddon?"
Nicholas opened up his queen and bishop. "Can't say I had the time for activities outside the police recruit gym with more professional players who'd've known that one. Part of the reason we played speed chess, because everyone could understand that one just enough to keep up."
A couple of moves later, Kinnell took a pawn and first blood. His strategy seemed quite reckless from the outside, leaving quite a lot to chance and Nicholas's choice. It remained to be seen exactly how much of that was a calculation in itself. He smiled, then said tentatively; “D'you find everyone can keep up with you here? I mean... I really don't want to overstep the mark, like I said, you have a great team here, but I noticed they're not all exactly up to recommended fitness, and-”
He shrugged, laughed at himself a little. “See, this is my big gob. You stand out a little, I think that's what I mean. I wondered if you ever find the gap sort of... frustrating.”
"I go running with Danny, on occasion," said Nicholas, a little defensively. "And they're all getting fitter without constant access to cake and ice cream."
What's he playing at? he thought, directing his pieces in ways that'd appear slow and weak, but working overall as a team. He's better at chess than I am, I can tell. Is he holding back because I'm his boss?
Or...
His breathing slowed.
"Wouldn't... suppose you'd like to go running yourself?" said his mouth, somewhere. "Your fitness scores obviously rank you top of your classes."
-the hell was he doing? Was he really that desperate to see Kinnell in high-shorts showing off by pulling ahead of him as they circled the duck pond?
Apparently he was.
It couldn't hurt to just watch, though...
Chapter 4
Fandom: Hot Fuzz
Characters/Pairings: Nicholas/Danny, Nicholas/OC, Doris, Bob, Andes, Saxon, Turners, OC
Rating: PG-15
Chapter 2
“Anyone near High Street?” Doris was on dispatch today; they had barely parked up next to the old horse trough when her voice came crackling out of the radio. The day had been pretty uneventful so far; some vandalism at the school, managing traffic at a breakdown on a nasty bend a little way out of the village.
Danny, in the passenger seat, had a mouthful of sausage roll, not that that stopped him from grabbing at the mic. “Whugh?” he managed, then choked.
“Sorry, didn't catch that, over?”
"Go ahead, Doris," said Nicholas, clapping his partner on the back. "Need a heimlich, Danny?"
“Nurf,” coughed Danny, waving him off and brushing bits of pastry off the dashboard.
“Got a report of a couple of blokes acting suspicious. They've been in Currys an' the jewellers so far, heading towards Baxters Antiques. Late twenties, one's got a green check shirt on. Could use you to keep an eye on 'em, Chief. Sergeant Butterman, too, when he ain't got a mouthful,” said Doris, in her entirely innocent and neutral dispatcher's voice, which was somehow worse than her normal one, because it made you feel like the innuendo was all in your own mind. “Over.”
"It's a sausage roll," protested Nicholas, before he could process that this might be protesting a bit too much. "We'll be right on it."
He turned the key and felt the engine turn over and purr into activity, then threw the gearshift into first.
Baxters Antiques was quite a small shop, black-painted and gold-lettered, sandwiched between the estate agents' and a Paperchase. According to the sign it Bought and Sold Antiques, Jewellery and Curios, Appraisals Given. There was a little rack outside the door, piled with secondhand books, and as Nicholas and Danny got out of the car a couple of women wandered up and started flicking through them, blocking up the doorway.
When the alarm went off a few seconds later, a cheap but ear-splittingly shrill panic-button, by the sound of it, they scattered like hens.
They wouldn't have internal locking systems, Nicholas reminded himself. They won't be trapped inside.
He slammed through the front door, mind already mapping the route they'd take out of the back, because nobody would be that stupid to take on the Sandford Police Service headon after last summer.
"Stop! Police!"
Danny was right behind him. Inside the shop was cool and smelt like ancient leather and mildewed, perfumed lace, a scent common to every antique shop anywhere, even the ones that sold nothing but vases or clocks. The owner, a stout woman with an apricot perm, was still trying to struggle up from behind the glass-strewn counter, where it looked like she'd been shoved over into a stack of boxes.
“Out the back!” she gasped at them. A door to the left counter was open, the one flimsy chain on it hanging loose, victim of a hasty kick. “Bastards got my whole Regency jewellery display!”
There had always been a bit of an alarmingly instinctive comfort in chasing people down for Nicholas, especially the ones in need of punitive measures. He was good at it. Like he'd been born for it. And it was very nearly like hunting; staying back with your pack to keep your head from being smashed in, or running ahead to make the killing blow- arrest, arrest.
It was what made frisbees so endlessly entertaining. And you can't kill a frisbee.
He ran out the indicated door, leapt across the tipped bins they'd shoved behind them to trip him up, caught himself against a stone wall, pushed off, and continued streaking off down the backalley in the direction of the sound of their pounding feet.
They'd cut through the first opening they could, into a wider residential road that ran parallel with High Street for a little way. Their plan seemed to be to change direction as quickly and as many times as possible, dodging across the road and out of sight. They'd reckoned without the children drawing on the pavement on the corner, though, and several chalk-smeared, pointing fingers greeted Nicholas as he emerged from the alley, indicating a lane full of garages on the right-hand side.
"Good kids!" said Nicholas, sucking in a fresh lungful of air and launching himself down this much smaller alley without a backwards thought as to how far behind his partner was.
Danny pounded across the street and headed through after him, grabbing his own lapel to yell into his radio. “Doris, we got a 10-27, get out an APB on those two suspects! We're in foot pursuit, Pembry Lane headin' up the waterworks, get anyone 'round here over here now!”
“Roger that, Danny.”
Nicholas could hear them- hell, he could almost smell them- up ahead and around the corner of this last stretch of Sandfordian mazework. It didn't take a pair of rotating ears to pick up the sound of the two thieves swearing under their breath and jingling chainlink and the sound of most of Mrs. Rose Stone's Regency display clattering and pinging off the kerb as they hurried; just as it didn't take a genius to figure out what they were doing.
And of course nobody thinks barbed wire is suitable for using anywhere that isn't on a farm, like the stuff is decoration.
Nicholas slammed into the fence as the felons dropped down the other side, grinning, and raced off.
They probably didn't reckon on the tenacious, furious little man being able to climb like a monkey, though.
Danny reached the fence just in time to see Nicholas swing himself over the top and land in a crouch, up and running in an instant. Without hesitating, he grabbed a double handful of chainlink and pulled himself up, only to discover that a) the fence was slacker than he'd anticipated and b) the diamond-shaped gaps in the wire weren't large enough for his feet. The fence swayed towards him with a shivering clash, and he was forced to let go before it could dump him on his arse on the concrete.
Before he could try again, running footsteps out of nowhere, the scrape of a long, powerful jump, and Kinnell hit the fence halfway up, one foot braced against the wire, hauling himself swiftly to the top- heave- and over, perfect landing.
“Try 'round the side,” Danny heard him call as he sprinted away. “Bound to be a big gap somewhere.”
Nicholas caught the leg of one of perps, sending one the longer-haired and -limbed men crashing into the gravel, scattering the last of whatever jewelry he'd still managed to hold onto- the other was running, leaving his partner in the dust without a backward glance- he was going to get away, because Nicholas couldn't cuff this one and be after the next fast enough-
Kinnell raced past him, flailed an arm out and grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck, hauling him up short. This wasn't well-received.
“Getoff! Get the fuck off me, man!”
The would-be thief turned, still trying to run, and took a swing at his apprehender, who caught his wrist neatly in his free hand and, twisting, yanked it up behind his back, then coupled it with a precise foot into the back of his knees. The man produced a howl of pain that was swiftly muffled by the gravel, pressed face-down with Kinnell kneeling on his back, groping for cuffs and reciting the caution with staccato speed.
Nicholas gaped openly at Alex, absently cuffing his man with the back of his mind still able to run the stuttering Police Inspector program. He hadn't seen anyone able to run that fast since... himself.
"Training for the Olympics, Detective Constable?"
“Bit of luck,” said Kinnell, still kneeling heavily on his belligerent, thrashing captive, who didn't appear to know when to quit. “We were literally in the next street. Come on,” he added, quite unconcerned, in response to another scream, “settle down.”
Nicholas hauled his own captive up onto his feet. "Good Christ, Kinnell. Anything else you're holding out on me?"
Kinnell blinked up at him, nailed his knee into the small of the other thief's back, stilling him for the moment. Behind him, Andy Cartwright was straggling into view, followed by Wainwright, followed by Danny.
“I... don't like tuna? I play chess? Give me something a bit more specific to go on, chief.”
Nicholas blinked, stupidly. "You... play chess?"
The new DC shrugged, pulling the complaining thief upright into the waiting hands of Andy W, who was wheezing like- well, like a lifelong smoker who had just been forced to go for a short run. “Bit rusty, probably. It's hard to find good clubs, especially for speed chess.”
"I haven't played anyone decent since Hendon."
“I think I can match 'decent,'” said Kinnell, grinning. “We should have a game sometime.”
"After we get off work, then?" It was almost pathetic, the Inspectory bit logging everything in the back of his mind, how eager he sounded. And just in time for Danny to pull up.
“Sounds good to me, chief.” Kinnell pulled out an evidence baggie and used it to scoop up a couple of necklaces that had scattered from the thief's pockets, then pushed it into Danny's hands as he joined them. Danny took it automatically, still trying to get his breath back, looking from Kinnell to Nicholas with none-too-happy confusion.
"I'll- I'll just go get the board, then," said Nicholas, grinning widely, and his gaze shifted over to Danny, still grinning, not having quite realized his scheduling conflict.
Here was a little signal for him, a subtle hint, just like the ones he was so fond of. It was the grin which Danny gave him in return, the one which- unlike almost any other Danny-grin ever- did not quite reach his eyes.
“Gonna take ages t'get... all this cleared up,” moaned Andy Cartwright, still very out of breath himself and regarding the trail of evidence leading all the way back towards the fence with dismay. “We're gonna need a camera an' bloody everythin'.”
What'd he done wrong? Nicholas's smile faded a little, and in need of having something else to distract him, focused on Cartwright. "Well, better go and cordon off the scene and start all that, if you're going to get out of the office before pub closing."
The Andes grumbled, but complied. Alex gave Danny a cheerful, raised-eyebrows smile and followed Nicholas back towards the fence, following the trail of necklaces.
The Andes grumbled, but complied, heading off to get the SOCO kit from their car, passing Tony, who had just turned up in the van and was wandering uncertainly towards Nicholas and his handcuffed thief, ready to assume custody- well, as far as Tony was ever 'ready' to do anything.
Kinnell gave Danny a cheerful, raised-eyebrows smile and hoisted the man he'd caught off towards the van by himself, leaving them to it.
“Board?” asked Danny, as soon as Kinnell was out of earshot.
*
Three hours later, having finished processing the man he'd tackled, and Nicholas was still feeling thoroughly annoyed. Danny ought to be happy he'd found something approaching an intellectual equal in the department, in the whole of Sandford, really. Perhaps even a new friend. He'd been champion of the chess club in Hendon, but after he'd graduated, without the enforced honor in the official standings, fellow graduates had found excuses to avoid playing him, and after a while he'd realized that it was because most people weren't like him. In the face of defeat in one area or another, he'd learn new skills, and put in hard work to become better. Most ordinary people hated the idea of having to lose over and over.
So he'd forgotten about the arrangement he'd proposed this morning. Was it his fault he'd forgotten it when Danny had so thoroughly distracted him less than two minutes later, and after the stunning diversion of Alex's extremely athletic legs?
The Andes sulked past the processing room, finally off on their way to the Crown. Or at least, Cartwright sulked. Wainwright was in mid-harangue.
“...done hours ago if you'd got off your arse an' done some work for a change. Me an' him 'ad the whole lot writ up while you was still pissin' about with your fuckin' crayons.”
This was a sore point. The subordinate Andrew had an entire desk drawer full of coloured Magic Markers, and if he ever got uptight about anything, it was anyone interfering with or even alluding to them.
He muttered something indistinct and surly, but Wainwright was having none of it.
“Don't fuckin' give me that bullshit, And. I'm that sick of runnin' my arse off pickin' up the slack for you. Jus' don't you forget who's supposed to be in charge round 'ere, alright?”
Cartwright started shouting, which was odd, because what he usually did when he was trying to get under people's skin was go soft and stupidly sarcastic. Maybe it didn't work on another Andy, though- too used to the strategy, perhaps. "Why don't you go off an' get soddin' married to 'im, then? He only been here ten whole minutes an' you o'viously p'fer him under you an' all."
Wainwright stopped halfway down the corridor and angled his face into his partner's, sneering. “From what I saw, mate, you'd pr'fer 'im more'n under you. I saw you in the Crown last night, you was nearly chewin' on 'is earhole. That what you like, is it? Pretty smile an' a bit of fancy talk, an' you're worse'n fuckin' Butterball.”
Cartwright sputtered. He wasn't very good at arguing with his formerly best mate, and it showed. "Wh-well, at least he's not a complete twat like some benders I could mention."
“Oh, yeah, that's jus' brilliant, that. How you think up all these genius comebacks of yours, I'll never know. Write 'em in your spare time, do you? Oh, that's right, you must do, 'cause it's not like you ever do any fuckin' WORK!”
At this juncture, Kinnell came out into the processing room from the small equipment closet behind Nicholas, where he'd been putting the assorted paraphernalia they'd used back in the right places. He closed the door quietly behind him, watching the furious argument between his direct superior and colleague through the blinds with a tense, concerned expression.
“They do this often?” he asked Nicholas, under his breath.
"Never," said Nicholas, who was a bit embarrassed. He hadn't thought he and Danny would be as obvious as to creep into casual conversation, let alone become an unspoken structure around which arguments in the workplace were based. This was precisely the sort of thing he was trying to avoid, because it was obviously impacting the work environment, and if it were disrupting others...
On the other hand, this was the Andes.
"They're not getting on your case, are they?"
“Hm?” Kinnell glanced at him. “No, no. Seemed perfectly all right a few minutes ago.” He kept watching through the blinds as the older Andy effectively curtailed the argument by slinging the stack of papers he'd been carrying at the ground between them, then turning and storming off in disgust while it acted like any collection of paper thrown hard in one direction will, scattering like a smoke bomb and drifting to the floor. From the furious set of Wainwright's shoulders, he intended to keep going like that until he hit some alcohol, come hell or high water.
Though he seemed oblivious to any of the implications that were bothering Nicholas, Kinnell was clearly worried. He drew in a breath through his teeth, squinted. “Thought we were getting on pretty well, actually. You've got a solid team here, chief, last thing I want to do is rock the boat.”
"You're not," insisted Nicholas. "You're enthusiastic, fit, and well-trained. If anything, you're setting a good example for everyone to follow." Because I'm clearly not that person anymore, sleeping with my employees and letting it tear that solid team apart.
Kinnell gave a pragmatic sigh, perked up a little. “Thanks, chief. I can't exactly say it's all my doing- well, you'd know, I suppose, isn't that long since you were the newcomer here yourself, is it? Everyone's been so friendly, it'd be harder not to fit in, really.”
He slung his jacket over his shoulder. “I'll just go and sign out.”
"You'd be surprised at exactly how good they are at excluding outsiders," said Nicholas, removing his cap and rubbing at the creases in his forehead. "You're either very lucky, or you've got a knack for it."
He hesitated, caught in the door of the cold processing room and tiles.
If he invited Alex over for chess, he'd most certainly have to deal with Danny and his sorry, kicked-puppy face, waiting there for him at the cottage to properly have it out. Nicholas wasn't ready to deal with that, and he certainly wasn't ready to have domestic arguments in front of guests- even if it was so screamingly obvious that the pair of them could cause practically-domestic arguments between the Andes- not by a long shot.
In fact, the longer he could avoid Danny right now, the better. Alex and his cheerful 'so it goes' perspective would be a welcome tension-breaker.
"I could set up in the break room, if that's alright with you."
*
The break room after hours was a quiet, strangely solemn place. During the day, it wasn't quite as much of a social hub as the main office, but it was rarely empty, between people making teas and coffees, trying to fathom out the less orthodox functions of the photocopier, and bickering about such vital topics as who ate the last Hobnob and why writing 'TONY' on things with marker did not protect them against Sudden Vanishing Syndrome when left in the fridge.
All that was left, as Nicholas and Kinnell sat down opposite each other, the board between them, was a lingering smell of instant coffee and half a diabetic flapjack, sitting sadly on an adjacent table in a crumple of packaging on which only the 'NY' was intact.
"When was the last time you played?" asked Nicholas, who hadn't had time to remove his shirt and tie, but didn't particularly care. Most of the time his uniform felt more suited to him than anything he tried wearing after hours, anyway. He offered the side of the white to his opponent, eagerly.
“A person? Must be a year, at least.” Alex looked down at the board for a moment, then moved a pawn. “I've got this thing, one of the old twenty-one-five-ohs. Talks like Knight Rider crossed with Stephen Hawking. But it's not quite the same. You?”
"Not since Hendon, actually." Click, went a knight. "I used to play bullet chess."
“I liked blitz.” Click. “What was it like, Hendon? Went to Ashford myself.”
"Competitive. Busy. Lots of little extra-curricular activities. Was in most of them." Nicholas dragged out his second knight. "Ashford?"
"Bit cramped for space. It made you really appreciate the field exercises, though." Kinnell had a bishop free, now, he was building up his kingside defences, threatening the exposed places in Nicholas's back rank. His eyes were fixed on the board as if it was a crime scene, his eyebrows and mouth lifted as he made a decision. Click. "Ever played Armageddon?"
Nicholas opened up his queen and bishop. "Can't say I had the time for activities outside the police recruit gym with more professional players who'd've known that one. Part of the reason we played speed chess, because everyone could understand that one just enough to keep up."
A couple of moves later, Kinnell took a pawn and first blood. His strategy seemed quite reckless from the outside, leaving quite a lot to chance and Nicholas's choice. It remained to be seen exactly how much of that was a calculation in itself. He smiled, then said tentatively; “D'you find everyone can keep up with you here? I mean... I really don't want to overstep the mark, like I said, you have a great team here, but I noticed they're not all exactly up to recommended fitness, and-”
He shrugged, laughed at himself a little. “See, this is my big gob. You stand out a little, I think that's what I mean. I wondered if you ever find the gap sort of... frustrating.”
"I go running with Danny, on occasion," said Nicholas, a little defensively. "And they're all getting fitter without constant access to cake and ice cream."
What's he playing at? he thought, directing his pieces in ways that'd appear slow and weak, but working overall as a team. He's better at chess than I am, I can tell. Is he holding back because I'm his boss?
Or...
His breathing slowed.
"Wouldn't... suppose you'd like to go running yourself?" said his mouth, somewhere. "Your fitness scores obviously rank you top of your classes."
-the hell was he doing? Was he really that desperate to see Kinnell in high-shorts showing off by pulling ahead of him as they circled the duck pond?
Apparently he was.
It couldn't hurt to just watch, though...
Chapter 4