(no subject)
Title: Nail You Down
Rating: M
Characters: Nicholas, Deskjob, others
Summary: Sometimes it takes a bit of time to get into the swing of things.
Chapter 1, chatpter 2.
Chapter 3
February was cold. Colder than December. The grass crunched beneath Stephen’s feet as he jogged beside Nicholas. Twenty years old was too young to be a body. It was a thought that kept coming to him, randomly. To be a body, and dug up, and then arranged like that. No fingerprints - well, none that didn’t belong to the corpse - which wasn’t surprising. Residue from a completely common brand of glove, which also wasn’t surprising. A name, and O’Reilly having to tell the parents.
What a thing to hear.
And then there had been a long stretch of nothing. “Not uncommon,” Andrews had said, but even he had seemed tense around the shoulders. Because it’s really just dragging out the waiting. Just inconsiderate. The twin thuds of two pairs of feet on hard dirt and sick grass; they fell into step so easily.
The way Nicholas’ hand cut through the air as he pointed ahead, cutting through the faint cloud of misting breath, and then his legs stretching further and his pace speeding, and their feet going thudthudthud as Stephen stretched his own pace and overtook.
Stephen could beat Nicholas in a long distance run. But it’s a useless talent to an officer if you could bring someone down with a sprint. Nicholas tore ahead, and the stretch of police tape was like an unbroken ribbon across a finish line. Nicholas lifted it up, and Stephen slipped under it, sucking cold air between his teeth.
“Well?” he said.
“Get some gloves on,” Swit replied. “Bottles and tweezers are in the boot.” And then they set to work.
It was an alleyway, again. And a body - young, male - again. And wood, and… the hands were different. It had been tape, the first time. Tape with no fingerprints, and some inconclusive dust caught between skin. The forensics team were still photographing the new body. Still pointing out the stitching on the y-shaped incision down the front.
There was a snap of latex, and then Nicholas stepping past him. Stephen shook himself, and went to follow suit. He was distracted for a few moments by consoling a rather shaky looking constable who was clutching an emergency sickness bag.
“It’s okay,” he said, pulling a pair of gloves from the box. “Everyone gets sick at least once when it comes to bodies.
He received a dull look in response, and then turned to follow the constable’s shift in focus. Nicholas was crouched beside the body, pointing at something by a hip with his pen and his blue-gloved hands.
“Well,” Stephen conceded, “almost everyone. Just try to stay upwind.”
It took a while for the body to be taken away, screens erected around it as some mild deconstruction took place. Quiet retching punctuating the sounds of metal being pulled through skin, and Swit silently passed around breath mints. The few police staff feeling awkward and out of place around the mix-and-matched forensics team. Forensics were understaffed too, new faces had indeed been pulled in from all over London. Stephen did his best to fit in with two men in the white body suits, chatting about football and taking photos of footprints and litter when they told him to.
Swit followed slowly behind him, picking up bits of nothing and slipping them into screw-top vials, setting an example for everyone else. Nicholas had, at one point, been helping to move screens and the body in general. Then he’d been absorbed into the group of people wrapping up the bits of wooden structure for transport. Nicholas had a way of talking that made people forget which uniform he was wearing. Sometimes he could make people forget he was wearing a uniform at all. He appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and crouched beside Swit to help collect granules of smashed safety glass.
“What was up with his hands?” Swit asked, eyes on the ground.
“Nails,” Nicholas replied. “Into the wood.”
“Christ complex, then?”
Nicholas shrugged. “Looks like it. Wait ‘til the profile’s been done.”
Swit nodded. “So who was that girl you were talking to?” she asked innocently.
“What girl?” Nicholas replied.
“The tall one, by the forensics van.”
Nicholas frowned, screwing the top on one vial, and unscrewing the top of another. “Forensics,” he replied. “From Hendon.”
“Right,” Swit replied. And then there was an impatient yell from over by another set of footprints and Stephen obligingly trotted over, leaving the suddenly stilted conversation behind him.
The Camden station was not exactly small, but the cafeteria was crowded with the extra bodies milling around, and Stephen took the opportunity to press himself as close to Nicholas as he could in the four-pm snack line. Economy of space, and all. Nicholas’s face twisted in annoyance, but he didn’t move away.
“I heard you got in on the detectives’ briefing,” Stephen said.
Nicholas shrugged in response. “Spend enough time standing next to a corpse,” he said, and trailed off as he set a sandwich on his tray.
Stephen nodded. “So,” he said. And let it hang in the air. Nicholas’ mouth twisted, but he didn’t offer anything. Stephen kicked him in the ankle, and gave him a meaningful look. Nicholas sighed, and accepted a bottle of apple juice. “Come on then,” he said as Stephen wrapped a cold hand around a paper cup of mediocre coffee, “let’s eat outside.”
It was cold outside, the two of them hunkering down in their jumpers and staying close to the walls of the building. “So,” Stephen prompted again.
Nicholas shrugged. “Most of it’s obvious,” he said. “Attention-seeking, assuming male. Poses the bodies. Had to dislocate some joints to do it, a few bruises on this one.”
“After death?”
“Naturally,” Nicholas replied around a mouthful of sandwich. “Looks like he was dead for maybe a few weeks, according to prelim forensics.”
“That’s a lot more recent than the last one,” Stephen said, sipping at scalding coffee, cringing at the taste.
Nicholas shrugged. “He’s getting the hang of it.” He paused, examining the contents of his sandwich. “Could work out best for us, really. Got a shorter time-span for the body to have been taken, and with all the ringing around we did with the last one people will have been keeping an eye out.”
Stephen nodded. “So we’ll be going over the same old shit tomorrow then?”
Nicholas paused. “Actually,” he said delicately, “I’m going to be filling some of the DCs in on the groundwork we did last time.”
“What?”
“Well, a heap of our lot got shifted over to the supposed drug killing a fortnight back. They can’t get pulled off over there without someone to take over, and since this is so high-profile-”
“So why are you getting lumped in with them?”
Nicholas shrugged. “Someone has to do it.” He shook his bottle of apple juice before opening it, the sweet smell overpowering the coffee aroma. “Did you want to catch up after shift?” he asked, staring at the juice.
“I can’t,” Stephen replied, brushing his pants as he stood up. “Some of us have real police work to do.”
“I hope you can follow their example then,” Nicholas said dryly. Stephen flung his undrunk coffee out onto the patch of grass beside them. Knowing Nicholas, he’d pick the fucking cup up before he came back inside.
next chapter
Rating: M
Characters: Nicholas, Deskjob, others
Summary: Sometimes it takes a bit of time to get into the swing of things.
Chapter 1, chatpter 2.
Chapter 3
February was cold. Colder than December. The grass crunched beneath Stephen’s feet as he jogged beside Nicholas. Twenty years old was too young to be a body. It was a thought that kept coming to him, randomly. To be a body, and dug up, and then arranged like that. No fingerprints - well, none that didn’t belong to the corpse - which wasn’t surprising. Residue from a completely common brand of glove, which also wasn’t surprising. A name, and O’Reilly having to tell the parents.
What a thing to hear.
And then there had been a long stretch of nothing. “Not uncommon,” Andrews had said, but even he had seemed tense around the shoulders. Because it’s really just dragging out the waiting. Just inconsiderate. The twin thuds of two pairs of feet on hard dirt and sick grass; they fell into step so easily.
The way Nicholas’ hand cut through the air as he pointed ahead, cutting through the faint cloud of misting breath, and then his legs stretching further and his pace speeding, and their feet going thudthudthud as Stephen stretched his own pace and overtook.
Stephen could beat Nicholas in a long distance run. But it’s a useless talent to an officer if you could bring someone down with a sprint. Nicholas tore ahead, and the stretch of police tape was like an unbroken ribbon across a finish line. Nicholas lifted it up, and Stephen slipped under it, sucking cold air between his teeth.
“Well?” he said.
“Get some gloves on,” Swit replied. “Bottles and tweezers are in the boot.” And then they set to work.
It was an alleyway, again. And a body - young, male - again. And wood, and… the hands were different. It had been tape, the first time. Tape with no fingerprints, and some inconclusive dust caught between skin. The forensics team were still photographing the new body. Still pointing out the stitching on the y-shaped incision down the front.
There was a snap of latex, and then Nicholas stepping past him. Stephen shook himself, and went to follow suit. He was distracted for a few moments by consoling a rather shaky looking constable who was clutching an emergency sickness bag.
“It’s okay,” he said, pulling a pair of gloves from the box. “Everyone gets sick at least once when it comes to bodies.
He received a dull look in response, and then turned to follow the constable’s shift in focus. Nicholas was crouched beside the body, pointing at something by a hip with his pen and his blue-gloved hands.
“Well,” Stephen conceded, “almost everyone. Just try to stay upwind.”
It took a while for the body to be taken away, screens erected around it as some mild deconstruction took place. Quiet retching punctuating the sounds of metal being pulled through skin, and Swit silently passed around breath mints. The few police staff feeling awkward and out of place around the mix-and-matched forensics team. Forensics were understaffed too, new faces had indeed been pulled in from all over London. Stephen did his best to fit in with two men in the white body suits, chatting about football and taking photos of footprints and litter when they told him to.
Swit followed slowly behind him, picking up bits of nothing and slipping them into screw-top vials, setting an example for everyone else. Nicholas had, at one point, been helping to move screens and the body in general. Then he’d been absorbed into the group of people wrapping up the bits of wooden structure for transport. Nicholas had a way of talking that made people forget which uniform he was wearing. Sometimes he could make people forget he was wearing a uniform at all. He appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and crouched beside Swit to help collect granules of smashed safety glass.
“What was up with his hands?” Swit asked, eyes on the ground.
“Nails,” Nicholas replied. “Into the wood.”
“Christ complex, then?”
Nicholas shrugged. “Looks like it. Wait ‘til the profile’s been done.”
Swit nodded. “So who was that girl you were talking to?” she asked innocently.
“What girl?” Nicholas replied.
“The tall one, by the forensics van.”
Nicholas frowned, screwing the top on one vial, and unscrewing the top of another. “Forensics,” he replied. “From Hendon.”
“Right,” Swit replied. And then there was an impatient yell from over by another set of footprints and Stephen obligingly trotted over, leaving the suddenly stilted conversation behind him.
The Camden station was not exactly small, but the cafeteria was crowded with the extra bodies milling around, and Stephen took the opportunity to press himself as close to Nicholas as he could in the four-pm snack line. Economy of space, and all. Nicholas’s face twisted in annoyance, but he didn’t move away.
“I heard you got in on the detectives’ briefing,” Stephen said.
Nicholas shrugged in response. “Spend enough time standing next to a corpse,” he said, and trailed off as he set a sandwich on his tray.
Stephen nodded. “So,” he said. And let it hang in the air. Nicholas’ mouth twisted, but he didn’t offer anything. Stephen kicked him in the ankle, and gave him a meaningful look. Nicholas sighed, and accepted a bottle of apple juice. “Come on then,” he said as Stephen wrapped a cold hand around a paper cup of mediocre coffee, “let’s eat outside.”
It was cold outside, the two of them hunkering down in their jumpers and staying close to the walls of the building. “So,” Stephen prompted again.
Nicholas shrugged. “Most of it’s obvious,” he said. “Attention-seeking, assuming male. Poses the bodies. Had to dislocate some joints to do it, a few bruises on this one.”
“After death?”
“Naturally,” Nicholas replied around a mouthful of sandwich. “Looks like he was dead for maybe a few weeks, according to prelim forensics.”
“That’s a lot more recent than the last one,” Stephen said, sipping at scalding coffee, cringing at the taste.
Nicholas shrugged. “He’s getting the hang of it.” He paused, examining the contents of his sandwich. “Could work out best for us, really. Got a shorter time-span for the body to have been taken, and with all the ringing around we did with the last one people will have been keeping an eye out.”
Stephen nodded. “So we’ll be going over the same old shit tomorrow then?”
Nicholas paused. “Actually,” he said delicately, “I’m going to be filling some of the DCs in on the groundwork we did last time.”
“What?”
“Well, a heap of our lot got shifted over to the supposed drug killing a fortnight back. They can’t get pulled off over there without someone to take over, and since this is so high-profile-”
“So why are you getting lumped in with them?”
Nicholas shrugged. “Someone has to do it.” He shook his bottle of apple juice before opening it, the sweet smell overpowering the coffee aroma. “Did you want to catch up after shift?” he asked, staring at the juice.
“I can’t,” Stephen replied, brushing his pants as he stood up. “Some of us have real police work to do.”
“I hope you can follow their example then,” Nicholas said dryly. Stephen flung his undrunk coffee out onto the patch of grass beside them. Knowing Nicholas, he’d pick the fucking cup up before he came back inside.
next chapter