TITLE: Love Born of Murder (1/5)
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Nicholas Angel/Met Sergeant
SUMMARY: The story of a relationship. This chapter occurs in 1997, with Nicholas, 25, four years out of school and Liam, 22, just starting at the Met. The story takes place over the ten-year span leading up to the events in "Hot Fuzz."
NOTES: I'll always name Martin Freeman's character Liam Nash. ALWAYS. It's just my interpretation of his character. 3
"CONSTABLE!" someone screamed in his ear, making his head snap up so rapidly he saw stars.
Sleeping at his desk again. Lovely. That was sure to put a good spin on his upcoming performance review. Not that anyone had seen him, really; his desk was hidden in one of the smallest offices on the floor, and despite the privilege of having four actual walls to call his own, he would have preferred to be on the floor with the other newbies.
Better than sharing a cramped office with such an uptight prat, leastways.
Police Constable Nicholas Angel, top marks, best performance record, first in his class. His side of the office was covered with awards, all framed and hung in neat rows, his desk immaculate, without a single bit of clutter. He came to work half an hour early and left whenever his job was done, however long it took.
His partner on the other hand, Police Constable Liam Nash, was a human being. He wasn't the best in his class, or the fastest on the track, or the quickest or most accurate with written material, and he'd comfortably managed to graduate in the top ten percent of his class, but that was all. He had a newspaper clipping about a midget being accidentally swallowed by a hippo tacked to his wall beside a calendar from 1995, making it a good two and a half years old.
He had just graduated from University of Leeds, majoring in criminal justice and international studies, taking a job at the Met instead of going on to graduate school like his mother had asked of him before she died. He didn't want to be a lawyer, and no woman six years dead was going to steer his life, especially when she wasn't helping pay the rent.
Someone upstairs obviously hated him, though, partnering him with the most uptight cop on the force.
"He's a good influence," Sergeant Evan Barclay had told him when he'd first appealed the decision.
"But I don't need an influence…sir," Liam protested, almost forgetting the honorific.
"You should be glad to have a partner at all," Barclay continued, ignoring him. "Most of the new lads are jockeying until we find beats willing to take them. Besides, Constable Angel requested you specifically."
Liam's eyes went wide in shock and disbelief.
"Excuse me?" he asked.
"It seems one of your professors contacted him," Barclay said, flipping open Liam's file, turning the pages gingerly. "A Gregory Bobbish, it appears, had a phone conference with Constable Angel three weeks before your arrival and asked him to take you under his wing. Apparently, Bobbish knows the Constable's family in some way, so he felt obliged to tutor you."
"But I don't need any…tutoring or coddling, or…or whathaveyou," Liam snapped, agitated by the term 'tutor.' He'd done his time behind a desk. Now was his time on the street, in the action and thick of it, getting his hands dirty and catching the 'bad guys.'
"Listen, Liam," Barclay said, changing his tone and pushing the paperwork aside, "I know Nicholas is difficult, but…we think a partner would be good for him, and there really are no other perspective officers at the moment, so do us a favor and try to tough it out, would you? You can make an official appeal for reassignment in ninety days."
"Ninety days?" Liam repeated, panic now making his voice almost squeak. "With all respect, Sergeant, he'll have killed me by then!"
Smiling, Barclay quipped, "Well, you'd better learn to defend yourself, Constable."
It had been two weeks and four days since then; fifty-two days to go. Liam was ticking them off on his outdated calendar, pretending June was supposed to start on a Tuesday, and even if it didn't, it wasn't really his fault.
Peering up at Constable Angel through sleep-wear eyes, Liam tried to stifle a yawn; the last time he'd yawned in his partner's presence, he'd been given an all-day lecture on proper form in the field.
"I can't help that you work insane hours," Liam had shot. As his partner, Liam was forced to remain at his station until they'd both finished. Needless to say, he was a master of documentation and was developing a lovely cramp in his right hand.
"It is your responsibility to be well-rested," Angel snapped at him. "You could at least get that right, Constable."
He always called him 'Constable.' It was to the point where, in moments of complete zombie-ism, Liam actually believed it to be his only name, as if his mother and father hadn't any part in the business, and it was really Constable Angel who'd hatched him from a test tube and spoon-fed him a story about growing up in Manchester and having a strange affinity for guppies, The Beatles, and the color yellow.
This time was shaping up to be worse than the last three or four Angel had caught him at, what with the terrifying glower on his face making him look as near to demonic as any mortal being could.
"I believe, Constable," Angel said slowly, his jaw clenched, "we've discussed this issue of your sleeping patterns in the past. I should like to think that, somewhere in that daft head of yours, there is a brain conducting some sort of business, and not just a small dog chasing after its own tail. I have been more than patient-"
"You've been a right prat," Liam mumbled to himself, truly believing Angel wouldn't hear it.
He was dead wrong, of course.
"Excuse me, Constable," Angel spat, slamming his hands down on Liam's desk and leaning menacingly over him, "but I hardly think you're in the position to be doling out criticism. I have gone out of my way to accommodate your lack of exuberance in the matter of our job, but it seems you've no heart for it. Now, I realize you may find my standards a bit high for someone of your…caliber…but I am rather fond of my work, and I'd appreciate it if you'd do the same, or get out of my office!"
"Your office?" Liam laughed in his face, getting on his feet in record time. "Listen here, you silly twat, I was assigned to your sorry arse, and anybody who tells you different is as daft as the day they were born! And I'd rather I wasn't in here, either, if you really want to know, but nobody else will have you."
"You say that as if you had a choice," Angel scoffed, turning away and heading to his desk, opening the middle drawer of his filing cabinet and drawing out a folder. He tossed it at Liam with a flourish.
"What's this, then?" Liam asked, looking at the folder in his arms and then back at Angel, who gave him the same old stoic expression as always.
"You may not excel in the field, Nash, but I know you can read," he bit at him.
Allowing Angel a gratuitous glower, he tossed the folder on his messy desk, letting it fall open to reveal some very old letters and a series of photographs of a young woman.
Realization crashed over him like a tidal wave of frigid water, his hands trembling slightly as he touched the picture on top of the stack, taking in the image as his fingers gingerly traced the outline of its composition.
"I've been on that case for over a year, now," Angel said, his voice somewhat softer than usual, though still as professional as ever, despite the circumstances. "Mr. Bobbish sought me out on your behalf. I assumed from your transcript and his recommendation, however, that you were a more…satisfactory candidate."
"This…I shouldn't be working on this…," Liam fumbled, eyes flickering up to meet Angel's as he sorted through the documentation. "This is twelve shades of wrong as far as protocol is concerned, Constable."
"And I suppose you'll be the one to ask for a transfer, then?" Angel retorted, making Liam consider him solidly, trying to push aside his prejudice.
He wanted this case. He wanted it badly. He knew that neither he nor Angel had the power to outright run this case, but with Angel as the officer in charge, it meant access, it meant involvement, it meant…
It meant justice, personal and public.
"I never thought you capable of something like this, Constable," Liam smirked, lovingly running his fingers over the photograph one last time before flipping the folder shut and coming around his desk to hand it, almost reverently, back to Angel.
"I have my reasons," Angel replied, sliding the folder carelessly onto his desk. "But I will ask of you, Constable, that you put forth more effort in the future. I cannot have you slowing me down. In the long term, it will be beneficial to you as well, in case you need further motivation, I suppose."
"Fine," Liam replied quickly, "but I need you to do me a favor."
"What's that?" Angel asked tentatively, squinting his eyes a bit and giving Liam a calculating look.
"Would you call me Liam for Christ's sake?" he laughed. "Or at least Nash, or something. I feel like I'm stuck in a fucking queue from the moment I get to work."
Angel considered for a moment, sighing to himself as he looked Liam over, most likely displeased beyond words.
"Fine," Angel said, his turn to use the forceful, one-word come-back. "I'm still Constable Angel to you, though, unless…unless you really think Nicholas is appropriate."
"I've no measure for appropriations," Liam chuckled, forgetting himself and clapping Angel on the shoulder, only to receive another icy glare. He cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly as he lowered his hand.
The six-inch, scale model clock replica of Big Ben on Liam's clock suddenly chimed out the hour dolefully; 9PM.
"Bloody hell," Liam groaned, running his fingers through his hair. "It's fantastically late, and I've not started…And you're probably…Do you have a spare pen, maybe?"
"I took care of it," Angel replied, making Liam's jaw drop dramatically. "You were sleeping, Con – Liam…And despite what you may think, I've no intention of wasting time by letting you use our records as drool receptacles. It's just not sanitary."
"Nicholas, you cheeky bastard," Liam smiled, shaking his head. "I owe you, really. And here I thought you really were a soulless wanker."
Nicholas raised an eyebrow and managed to find the musculature in his face to deepen his frown, Liam clapping a hand over his mouth as he realized the content of the words spilling out of it.
He was young and incredibly stupid, it seemed.
"I expect to see you tomorrow at 9AM sharp," Nicholas said coldly, and had Liam thought more of him, he'd have seen he was hurt.
"Very good," Liam nearly chirped. He was feeling much more optimistic about work now, what with the contents of that file folder prodding at his brain more fervently every moment. "And I suppose we're going for a run before we start?"
"Bring your trainers," Nicholas confirmed, nodding curtly; their shift didn't start until 10:30.
Liam's head was a convoluted mash of thoughts as he jogged through the main lobby. It was five minutes to 9, and despite a restless evening, he'd found no difficulty in getting up at 8 to make the long trek to work on his bicycle, his knapsack especially heavy that morning.
He could see Nicholas studying a pamphlet of some nondescript nature on one of the long benches lining the length of the walls, set before a large, semi-transparent map of the greater London metropolitan area.
"Morning," he said softly as he trotted over to Nicholas, despite the fact that the extreme echo in the lobby made it impossible for Nicholas to have missed his arrival. He was trying to be polite, however.
"Good morning, Const – Liam," Nicholas replied, picking up a bag similar to Liam's as he stood, tucking his reading material away and slinging the pack onto his shoulders. It was obvious that they were going to keep the extra weight for the run.
"Quick question," Liam broke in, instinctively grabbing Nicholas's upper arm to stop him, ignoring the Constable's reproachful countenance as he spoke.
"Why did you listen to Bobbish?" he pressed; the question had been driving him mad all night, when he wasn't sleeping fitfully. "Just because he asked…There's got to be more than that."
"I have my reasons," Nicholas replied, clearly unwilling to be more expressive on the matter.
"Well, I hope you can tell me some day," Liam replied, his words carrying complete sincerity.
For the first time, he felt obligated to make Nicholas like him, really like him, no matter what that took. He owed it to him, in all honesty, for letting him work with him. Sure, up until that point it'd been a hardship, but the circumstances were different now. Plus Angel – Nicholas – was suddenly proving he was a human being, too, despite the nasty rumors circulating in the ether.
If it meant getting up at 8AM, he could do it. If it meant running for half an hour with a bag full of rocks strapped to his back, he could do that, too. And if it meant struggling to form some sort of relationship with possibly the thorniest gent he'd ever encountered, he'd sure as shit give that a shot, too.