Shows: Life on Mars / Blackpool
Pairing: Sam Tyler / Peter Carlisle
Rating: PG-13
Total Word Count: 16800
Warning: Spoilers for Life on Mars episodes and its ending. No spoilers for Blackpool
Summary: On one side lies the life he build for himself, the people he came to care for and on the other side remains the person he dared to live for...

Between Two Worlds

The corridor was white. The floor, the roof even the walls were of the same blinding colour. Peter hated it. Hiding behind the precision of life and death, there was never any room for laughter or love, only for desperation and agony. He walked past people crying, some muffling their sobs, some screaming to high heavens. He shivered as the lack of sugar in his system threatened to over throw him of his way. Hospitals drew that sort of reaction out of him every time without exception.

Finally he reached the wing side he was looking for and a deep, scary silence welcomed him. Hyde was written over the glass doors which now closed behind him, trapping him. What would he not give for a bubble gum, right then. He would have popped the gum just to spite the motionless figures as the loud noise would echo in the otherwise grim corridor. He passed a few doors and turned around the corner. He wondered if this was the sight of death where was the miracle of life? In another floor far away from the dying? Or was it at the end of this hallway, clinging to life with all his might? Peter hoped so.

As his feet dragged him towards the final doors, he hesitated. Only for a moment and in the next he had already pushed the door ajar, waiting to be properly called in. He had no intention of hastening their reunion in this condition. Funny that, considering he had ran here all the way from the airport as soon as he had landed. He isn't going anywhere he thought bitterly. Either way

"Peter" whispered the elderly lady sitting by her son's bedside. She hadn't called him by his name in a long time, years maybe. She gingerly pushed herself up, joints hurting from sitting in the same position for too long, far too long. He helped her straighten up and was enveloped in a hug almost instantly. He held the lady by her shoulders as he returned the hug briefly. Their position had put her son directly in his sight and he could do nothing but turn his head away.

Aware of his discomfort, perhaps by some motherly instinct Peter mused, the woman pulled away and with the same gentleness grabbed his hands, smiling. Peter was surprised to realize that she had already gotten used to this otherwise maddening situation, even accepted it. A month spent sitting by the side of her son who had been comatosed by a speeding car, guarding him from further earthly damage with the only way she knew how. No, he concluded then. She had just gotten better at concealing the pain and averting her emotions.

No words were needed to ask about the event. The newspapers and the friends from the force had already provided him with all he wished to know but she spoke anyway. The words spilling one after another, she confided in him. When she has exhausted herself of speaking she nodded in her son's direction, gripping him more firmly on one arm she guided the other hand to the bed bringing their hands together on the cold sheets. Peter would have jolted away if not for her suddenly tightening grip on his other arm.

"A mother knows" she assured him and he remained in that spot, feeling, marvelling at the heat emanating from the soft hand. He had always liked those hands, warm and always fiddling with something. He had liked watching them as they waved at him from across the station or touched him in all the right places or simply danced in the air as he got overexcited usually while making a point. He always enjoyed that, hadn't he. Will enjoy it again, his inner self spoke to him. He hoped it would, again.

"Sam" he whispered beneath his breath, first sign of anxiety seeping through. He wasn't certain whether he had been heard or not.

"I'll buy us some cocoa. I remember you having a sweet tooth so I'll ask for an extra creamy one, alright?"

"Yes, please. Thank you" he mumbled as she slowly freed his arm and made her way out of the room. Peter looked after the woman, with her slouched shoulders, messy hair and rumpled shirt. Despite the hunched posture, there stood a mother, a head held high and unyielding. On the brick of fainting with exhaustion perhaps but nevertheless unrelenting in the face of the bad fortune they had suffered. After all Tyler's were always a stubborn bunch. Speaking of which...

"Hello, Sam" he said simply. His eyes were focused on the pale figure covered in white hospital gown almost disappearing within the similarly coloured sheets. Like a ghost with cables sticking from his bruised arms and chest. Peter didn't like ghosts either. They reminded him that one occasion where he got too close to becoming one. How had he survived that? Oh yes, one newly promoted DCI Sam Tyler had waltzed in within the last minute. He was rather fond of that memory. It was this one time when Sam was willing to take a risk and ignore the procedure. Peter had been a little bit proud of him and largely grateful for his heroism. It hadn't dampened his gratification for Sam even after learning that it was in fact Maya who had convinced him to act as such.

Perhaps that was the moment he had fallen in love with him. Nah, he had already fallen long before that. Just seeing Sam before his broken body, shielding him had done nothing but strengthen those feelings. Witnessing the panic in his DCI's face and finally knowing that he cared was almost worth the near death experience. Good thing that day hadn't been an end for them.

Now, Sam was left in the same way; wounded and broken. Lingering on the thin line between life and death, where Peter could not reach him, where he could not pull him back. He could stay with him though. I could be your anchor, if only you would let me...

"You stubborn bastard" he said out loud. Realizing it wasn't exactly appropriate to swear at an unconscious man, Peter straightened in his seat, glancing nervously around him. "Sorry"

Unsurprisingly there was no answer. Not from the nurses who suddenly disappeared or from Mrs. Tyler who had been taking ages to return, Peter knew by then that she wasn't coming back for a good while. And sadly there was no voice coming from Sam. His chest almost flat, barely moving with the force of the inhaler. Too shy to rise or fall.

Peter surpassed a sob. Hand clenching around Sam's, he couldn't quite stop a few stray tears from falling. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare dying on me, Sam Tyler. I might have let you go once but I am done running away. Do you hear me? So you are not allowed to run either. You have to come back. You have to wake up. I promise I won't let you go this time, any time! I won't repeat that mistake. So just return to us, ok? I don't care about Maya or anyone else. You won't slip away from me, you stubborn bastard. Please, Sam, open your eyes."

Pleading hadn't helped. Staying by his bed side, watching him struggle to simply breathe hadn't helped. Peter was getting desperate. He only had managed to take a week off; a single week with an unresponsive Sam in an unnerving room with dozens of nurses and doctors constantly rushing in trying to understand why he wasn't waking up. Being chased out of the room sometimes by those white soulless coats and sometimes by Mrs. Tyler herself. At those times he would still remain in the hospital, wishing to convey all he could to Sam through thick walls and across similarly broken bodies. Even if he couldn't respond back Peter basked in the knowledge of being in the same floor or building as him. He was such a lovesick puppy. Why had he run away again? Yeah, he had run because he was also a gutless coward who couldn't convince Sam to accept their feelings nor gather the courage to do it first.

He soaked his head into the water. It was one of those rare moments when Mrs. Tyler had had enough and sent him directly to his suit in a cab she had hailed. He was apparently forbidden from staying in the sterile room while he was stinging to high heavens. Peter would have laughed at her colourful description if not for the truth within it. He had promised to clean himself up, eat some decent food, dose up his system with sugar and return after a few hours of sleep. He had insisted though that she were to do the same once he had taken over. She had smiled at that and explained how they weren't the only ones concerned about Sam; That there would always be someone by his side even if the two of them were not available.

Peter sighed and grabbed a wrapped candy on the counter. The cranberry aroma both in his mouth and in the tub relaxed his shoulders and back as he submerged further under the water. His eyes closed, he allowed his mischievous brain to wonder back at his first day in the CID. Oh how amazing it had started and how painfully it had ended with his head cracked on the nearest pavement, body resting on the cold road. He was thinking about it before too. How it was their first day together and if he couldn't pull through how any day within this week could easily be their last. Both days one of them lying half dead, stone cold both waiting for an extended hand to grasp and raise them back up; towards the land of the living.

"Hi, Peter, Peter Carlisle, your new DI" singed a fresh out of Glasgow, newly appointed Detective Inspector Carlisle as he shoved the transfer papers into the hands of another newly promoted, DCI Sam Tyler. "I hear you are the youngest to become a DCI here in Manchester. Must be smart one, are you?"

"I'd like to believe so" answered the DCI Tyler squinting his eyes while trying to decide whether his team was pulling a joke on him by sending this poor sod who was standing in front of him, rudely eating a stolen muffin in the men's room. He knew it was stolen because it was the same one he had left on his desk, a minute ago.

"Oh, yeah. It's probably yours. I went by your desk. You weren't there. This beautiful thing was left all alone on its own. Couldn't resist." Tyler's eyebrow twitched.

"Right. Well go back there and wait for me, then. Here" he said handing the papers back and he turned to run the cold tab, splashing his face.

"Tough day?" asked his new DI.

"Seen better. Would you stop eating that in here?"

"Apparently it has been a bit rough around the edges. So cranky!"

"Excuse me? Should I remind you that I am your DCI and you should address me as such?"

"Sorry but you are a bit cranky today, aren't you sir?"

"Out!"

Oh, it had been worth it! Getting a first-hand glimpse to his new DCI's tolerance, Peter was certain that he wasn't what Tyler had been expecting. After all Peter have never been the organised, follow the rules by the book person. Oh but he had heard of this DCI Tyler and his work as DI. Through and through Tyler was the one man the higher-ups liked to see on the big chair with his image as an incorruptible, highly successful copper. Too bad his ideals were limited by the book. A challenge Peter was willing to win. This man, so full of potential and wonders had intrigued him long before he had been promoted.

Peter walked around the solid table and took a peek at the ordered papers and files. No photographs, no personal effects and not even a bloody colourful stick-'em-notes. It was always the easiest to tell about a man by his belongings as the arrangement of his desk would be like a representation of his subconscious. Peter knew better that the lack of belongings was not an indication for lack of character but that it provided a much more definitive story about the owner of the desk; One such story of loneliness and work fixation which fitted the young DCI perfectly.

"You are on the wrong side" Peter startled with Sam's call out "Take a seat, on the other side"

"Yes, sir" he answered "Haven't had the chance to move in yet? Your desk is way too neat"

"What do you mean? I already have all I need here"

"Of course, you do" Peter handed his papers to the confused DCI and stretched on the chair, arms flailing up in the air. Sam went through his details quickly. There really wasn't much to ponder on. It was not like Sam had any say in who his DI was to be, though he had a strong idea why Peter was specifically sent to him.

"The home office requested your transfer to Manchester with one reason in mind, DI Carlisle. Have you been informed on what that is?"

"No but I believe that they think you can fix my methods and rectify my insubordination over the regulations to achieve even better results."

"I believe so too. You had done a remarkable job in your last case. I was sent the reports. The outcome was as desirable as it could have been in that situation but the pathway to reach it... well if you had done it here, I wouldn't have let you off the hook without suspension."

Peter squirmed in his seat. "I am not allowed to discuss the details, sir" he gritted out.

"I understand" was the reply he got "I won't pester you about it but I will be keeping a close eye on you."

"Please do, sir" At the suggestive tone Sam's eyebrows rose a bit but he maintained his composure. "Where would be my desk, then?"

"Boss!" A young Paki woman shouted out to Sam as she ran towards them "We have got a tip on the whereabouts of our suspect. Shall we move in?" He had already jumped out of his seat and was putting on his jacket. Peter followed his lead.

"Yes, good work Maya. Get the armed response ready. DI Carlisle will ride with me. Let's go."

The car ride had been a mess of loud radio transmittance between Sam, Maya and another man Peter had suspected to be the head of the said response team. By some sick luck the address they had been given was closer to them than to the response unit and they had ended up in the location, the threshold of a warehouse, earlier than the rest. Maya and a few other officers were hot on their heels. He wasn't certain what had happened next but there were some shots fired from the building and someone was screaming to others to take cover and Peter was side by side with Sam leaning against a green wall. Then a woman's voice, possibly Maya, was informing them about hostages and how they were running out of time to help them.

Acting purely on instinct, Peter found himself crawling behind the building by the wall. Perhaps because he was still new and his non-existence in the team was not noticed or that everyone was busy to avoid getting shot, he had managed to slip away without a soul seeing him. He didn't even have a gun or anything remotely useful with him but a warning had been issued by the hostiles and screams had been heard from the warehouse which had been enough to get Peter to work. He wasn't known for his athletic body but at least he wasn't cowering behind a wall like the rest. He didn't expect them to jump into action but Peter wasn't going to wait around for DCI tight-pants to hold him back. If he could just get in and talk to the man in charge he knew he could make him come around without the armed response to turn the scene into bloodshed. He never liked guns.

He should have known better. Reaching the backdoor and freeing the two tied up and gagged people in the back room had been simple enough but upon discovering the source of the screams and cries, his blood had run cold. A lad of four or five years old was being held by their suspect; The boy's mother lying still with blood oozing from her body, twitching occasionally. Time was running short.

Another surge of events had followed as Peter emerged from the room and gently tried to get the man to surrender himself. Panicked after his mistakes, the man had fired a shot just behind Peter and despite his reassurances, he had opted to run away with the lad, his own son still cradled in his arms. Unable to appeal to the man's fatherhood, Peter reached for his phone letting the central to know the reason of the sudden silence and his course of action.

As he had ran out of the building right behind the suspect, he hadn't expected to be hit with the butt of the gun as he cornered the street and reached the roadside. With a loud snap, his world lost its senses and another crack had echoed as his head had hit the side of the pavement rendering him paralysed. He was still conscious which was a relief but he could feel the ever expanding pain on his temple and the coolness of the blood pooling beneath his skull. He was rather close to panicking.

The suspect had lowered the sobbing boy and was busy looking at his hands as if they were no longer his. Peter wanted to yell at him that yes, you bloody idiot you did this. It was at that moment that Sam had reached him from behind at before he could point his gun, his DCI had already moved between the man and his son, knocking him out cold with a swift hit using his police issued stick. Alone and oh so greater than life itself, Sam had come for him after all and without a protective vest, much before the response unit ever could. It was only minutes later, or Peter had felt it as such that a couple of armed and guarded police officers arrested the man and took the lad away from them as Sam kneeled beside his wounded DI. "That was the most stupid thing I've ever seen a fully trained copper to do. A DI even. You... Where is the medic?"

Peter smiled despite his throbbing head and when Sam noticed it he simply shook his head in resignation, reaching to hold his arm, providing a silent but certain connection to the land of the living. His eyes were gentle and full of guilt with a tinge of pride; at least Peter wanted to believe it to be so. "Hang on"

"For you," had mouthed Peter unable to voice them "of course"

In the hospital, he had woken up because of the nurses and their endless gossip by his bed. His head was bandaged and one eye was shut closed, also kept under the sterile bandages. He checked his hair which to his relief was still full and soft as ever. He knew he wasn't in any immediate danger since there wasn't that many cables attached to him and he was breathing on his own. A concussion then, along with an unstoppable headache. That had been close though. If the idiot had chosen to fire his gun instead of hitting him with it, Peter feared he may not have been so lucky.

He wiggled uncomfortably, his muscles protesting with an agonizing pain. He must have hit the ground harder than he had initially assumed. Unable to stretch out due to the IV needle in his arm he opted to examine his empty room. Well, almost empty with a few flower bundles and a single paper wrap sitting on his bedside table. Gingerly he reached out to grasp the gift only to discover it containing a cranberry muffin. Peter squeaked delightfully as he devoured it before any nurse could confiscate his well taught and well timed gift.

His first visitor was Maya. She had walked in on him with muffin crumbles still all over his mouth and had ended up laughing as he tried his best to act innocent. With full of smiles and kindness, Maya was a dear. Peter was certain he wasn't being biased because of a second treat she had pulled out of her bag. Almost.

"Sam was around earlier" she had said without being asked "Had to leave to finish up on the reports. Superintended is really puzzled as to what had occurred."

"Yeah, they would be. I got Sam's little present. I figure it's his way of forgiving me for pinching his muffin this morning."

"Probably. Or guilt, not that he would ever admit it or being impressed by your... initiative."

"Stupidity, you mean. Feel free to say so. Sam already did. Even as I was lying down on the cold hard cement, he was rather adamant about it."

Maya smiled "Sorry but we all thought you were a goner before you even properly joined us" she continued light heartedly "I am glad you made it through but we are a team now so next time, wait for us or I'll be personally knocking you into unconsciousness."

"Yes, ma'am" They spent the rest of her visit talking about what he had missed after being transferred to hospital. Peter was really close to admitting that he was rather glad that he had been hospitalized after hearing about the earful they got from the superintended and the relentless press pressure due to the involvement of a child and a reckless officer –namely himself.

Peter sank deeper into the tub. The water was already cooling down and the cranberry scent was dissipating. He drained the water a bit and reopened the tabs to let the hot water drown him. His hand grabbed a hold of the bathing bubble bottle and after careful consideration he emptied the remaining liquid into the tub. The smell became so overwhelming that Peter could feel the taste of that muffin in his mouth and the pleasure of the day in his soul. Minus getting a wound, of course but he had never been someone to dwell on the negative bits while there were happier aspects to focus on.

He had only interacted with Sam for a few hours and probably learned more about him than the rest of the force who has been working along side their DCI for years. He knew there was a big heart buried under the files and regulations as well as an unhealty obsession to the force and even a greater potential to discover if he were to let loose of the restrains. Peter had helped him to do just that in the upcoming weeks until... well.

Obviously not being visited by DCI Tyler during his time in the hospital for a day and a half, had been a negative side which he wished to forget especially since he had half blamed himself for putting the man in a pinch with his recklessness and the other half resting on Sam's wrongly placed guilt. As Peter was left in silence during the night in a moment of clarity, more like drugs wearing off, he decided to let go of the pang he felt in his heart. Sam was still his superior and had important office stuff to do. He could understand that. So he had done so. When he had returned to work, he had smiled and nodded kindly to all his new co-workers and he hadn't forgotten to leave a bag full of muffins on his DCI's table. Yes, it had been a delightful first week.

Back in the hospital with Mrs. Tyler having a well earned rest in her house, Peter was once again, like many times before, alone with Sam. As his free week came closer to its end, the anxiety continued eating him up. He wasn't going to wake up. Doctors were grim, nurses were avoidant and friends and colleges alike were hopeless. On the surface everyone was acting out as positive as they could but Peter could see their faith dissolving and lies bleeding out constantly. Even Mrs. Tyler was on shaky grounds as horrendous advices she received, telling her to let go kept increasing day by day. Sometimes Peter felt so alone, so trapped and desperate in that white room which was devoid of warmth that he forgot Sam was still there, that he was still breathing albeit hesitantly. Peter focused on that on those long hours. He reminded himself that Sam wasn't locked in a cold mortuary or six feet underground.

It was probably the scent of antiseptics and the taste of copper in the air that Peter was taken back to old times spent with deceased people trying to solve their murder cases and provide some sort of justice to those left behind. Who would avenge Sam Tyler then? If it had been a hit and run, Peter would not think twice before hunting down the bastard but the driver had been sensible, calling the police and acting all honest and worried and whiter than this bloody room. If Sam died, there would be no one to blame, no one to hunt down.

No, no. No! Peter stopped that thought process, Sam wasn't going to die. His pig-headed DCI would prove all those weak willed, so called friends wrong and return amongst them stronger than before. Yeah, that was more like it.

Peter sighed deeply. Just one more day and he would be forced to return to his unit. He contemplated staying longer but his new boss was adamant on getting him back to work and it was all the way down in Bristol, nevertheless. He sighed yet again. He had spent most of his time with Sam but he was aware that he was agitated, angry even. Close to lashing out at people, he managed to contain it but that wouldn't do. He had to work so he could remain sane, as sane as he could be.

Pushing his chair so that its side would lean on the bed, he interlaced his and Sam's fingers, lightly rubbing inside his palm. He picked up his book with his free hand and continued reading it out loud. Someone on the floor had mentioned something about the sensory system being active while the patient was in coma and could hear all those around him. Peter knew he at least had to try and communicate with Sam so when his words ran out, he picked an old book as replacement.

He was halfway through the story when Maya walked in. Ever the lady, she didn't comment on their hands but Peter did pull his apart reluctantly. As the girlfriend, his seat was her place in reality. Though she made no movement to claim it so far, her own heartbreak was evident enough to Peter. She knew about their past; Maybe Sam had told her or she had assumed it herself. The DI suspected the latter to be the case since Sam wasn't the type to cry over exes and she was a brilliant detective.

Maya sat down across from them, she bared no gifts and appeared to have just gotten out of work, hair messy and eyes tired. They conversed without talking, both up to date in both Sam's condition and the predicaments following the CID. It would have been chaos really, if Sam hadn't been so uptight about his reports and organization, his substitute would have been lost the day he stepped into his place. They had been dealing with multiple cases and all in vain as their last suspect had been realised. Peter would have offered to help but in all honesty he didn't care. Right, he did but not as much as he cared about Sam. The only think that got to him was that Maya wasn't acting like him. She wasn't crying or gluing herself to Sam's bedpost. He couldn't understand it at first but later it dawned on him that she was coping in her own terms and finishing up a case, Sam worked uncontrollably on was her way of showing her respects and willing him back.

He handed the book to her and left to grab some lunch.

A few more hours and Peter's cab would arrive to take him through the voyage of the damned and to the airport. He had returned back to talking about this and that. Books were lying by his side, empty candy wrappings adored the tableside, colouring the room, while he was hunched down on the bed, head resting on his arm. He spoke about the weather and the sports and ended up on their memories.

"Remember," he started "that lass from metropolitan? Of course you do. No one's ever gonna forget her. Oh it was such a weird case we had to work on. Glad we sorted it out safe and sound, eh?"

With the vague finger pointing and the dismissive hand waves, Peter had found his way to the photocopier eventually only to come face to face with the infamous backside. One that prominently belonging to his DCI. He took a few steps back and remained in the safer side of a booth wall decorated with green flowerless plants. Sitting on the empty table he grabbed the nearest file and kept a close eye on the man struggling beautifully behind the machine, bend over to reach whatever he was aiming for and trousers pressed tightly because of standing on his toes.

Peter would have let out a tactless giggle but in fear of being heard and lose this one chance he was given, he kept his silence and hid behind the file. All the while, Tyler was cursing lowly as his hands roamed on the photocopier trying to sort out the problem. His voice barely above a whisper as Peter assumed Sam would not dare get caught acting unprofessionally even towards a machine.

The young DI grabbed the nearest pencil and started chewing it as his DCI grew desperate. Tyler had checked the paper holder, the ink cartridges and probably had tried all of its available settings. Why hadn't he called for help, Peter thought and realized that this was something Sam Tyler had always done, not the kicking office machinery but sorting things out himself. Pride as the youngest promoted DCI or some sort of self-preservence through avoiding to show any weakness. Yet surely he must have understood that he couldn't handle everything alone, that he required help too from time to time. Surely not... or from the way he discarded his blazer and pushed up his sleeves, he honestly did hope to fix it all by himself.

Peter knew that one day that he was going to have to break the man's sheer stubbornness. If not for Tyler's benefit then just for the hell of it but today was not the day. Today he was going to sit back and enjoy his frustrated DCI's glorious backside. Which was what he had been doing until he felt a pull of the files and was nose to nose with a pair of fierce eyes. He blinked.

"Sorry but these belong to me" said the woman in a perfect London accent. Her dark hair was held together on a bun above her head with bits dangling from the sides as she loomed over him. "And just what on earth are you doing here?" Before Peter could answer her head followed the direction his body was pointing towards. As they reached their destination she squinted back at him with a promise of heavy judgement to come.

"None of your business, PC...?" he said with whatever dignity he could muster. He had still whispered. Perhaps she hadn't noticed.

"DS Alex Drake" she introduced herself emphasizing on her rank. "Here on the request of DCI Tyler to assist in his case."

"Let me guess, as a psychological analysis expert. Yes I have been told you were coming."

"I'd scarcely believe that. For someone whose sole purpose in the CID is to sit idly by and stare at someone's well... backside, I doubt you would have high enough clearance for the latest case we have, Mr...?" Oh she was looking to get burned, this one. He smirked.

"Carlisle. Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle. Your superior and the one leading this so called highly important case." As to his expectations, Drake's slightly too large eyes opened wider but to her credit she didn't jump back as he had wished. Instead after a moment's inner argument she leaned forward to bite back at him. He was quicker.

"From the looks of it, your profiling skills are rather dull. Since you can't even pinpoint a superior officer in such a reserved division. Why had he even bothered calling one of you lot? I'd be more than sufficient."

"Yet you couldn't tell me apart from your own colleagues" she retorted back "How is this any better?"

"Because I don't need to. It's your job."

"I have heard about you, sir and let me tell you that it is rich coming from a constant trans-"

"What are you two arguing in there for?" raised the voice of one Sam Tyler. The said duo turned towards their DCI with equally baffled faces.

"Hello, I am DS Alex Drake. You asked for me from London." jumped in Drake as she extended her free hand for a shake. Peter narrowed his eyes as his DCI took the hand a little too enthusiastically. The man must be attracted to the cracked, holier-than-thou type. Then perhaps Peter had a chance.

As they immediately started discussing the case details, right there on the spot by the photocopier, Peter cleared his throat. "I thought this was a classified case. Isn't it a bit reckless to exchange details out in the open, boss?"

"Right. Of course. If you could follow me, DS Drake. We are also going to need to dig out the cold cases; Can you sort out the related archive files?"

"Sure thing" grunted Peter as Drake flashed a smirk behind his DCI. If the lady was going to be a major tart then Peter would have to take position for the battles to come. He took out a bunch of lollipops out of his inner pocket. Unwrapping the red one, he chucked it into his mouth angrily.

They should have been enemies really. The blood thirsty, stay away from my man or else, sort of sworn enemies. Alex Drake was certainly not an easy woman to get along with and Peter hated to admit it but she was rather eccentric. Positive eccentric too. Peter was similar. He took pride in how he operated; the way he could read people, analyse their personalities, manipulate them into talking and leave with the least damage done. The problem with how he operated was that his damage rate was considerably high, especially compared to this profiling lady. She followed a parallel method to his own minus the smoke and ashes that he usually left in his wake. Drake grabbed the data, became one with it and then juiced it out until nothing but the truth remained. She was refined and efficient and all too professional.

He was a bit jealous honestly. Drake and Tyler would have made one productive couple, well in every aspect but in the bedroom. Learning that Drake had a daughter with a proper life back in London and knowing that with her fastidiousness about the job, it made him happy to come to the conclusion that she wouldn't have time to flirt back, let alone engage in any sort of relationship with a Manchurian DCI who happened to be even busier and, Peter still dreaded to believe, more rigid about the job.

Yet somewhere along the line Peter grew to respect the woman, even like her a bit. Mentioning that to Tyler was probably a mistake as he had expectedly taken it the wrong way, as if he was gonna fall for Drake; they were simply too much alike, but the slight change in Sam's demeanour as he voiced the thought, that almost invisible tremor of his lovely, tiny hands proved all that Peter had been wanting to confirm. Sam Tyler was jealous of him too. That realization made him even happier.

Their case included old, supposedly closed but nevertheless sensitive cases, forcing them to tread carefully but quickly. Once they all agreed to get along and be professionals, latter one more so on Peter's side, they solved the case pretty fast. Tyler had been the conductor of this sophisticated orchestrate. Drake had been tasked as the second in command to sort out the obvious details where else Peter had been the little voice of reason with an adequate amount of persuasion who had been whispering in the ears of the judge, jury and witnesses. Now he was certain the higher ups were never going to let them come together in fear of their extreme efficiency. Who knew; maybe one day they would team up again to go after that corrupt lot too…

"You know" slurred Alex, to Peter after drinking enough alcohol she was now Alex. Just like he was Peter to a drunken Alex. "If you wanna get into his pants, you are gonna need to do a whole lot more than just ogling after his butt"

"I know" he shot back and sipped his sweet banana daiquiri "but it's a glorious butt, isn't it?"

"It is. It definitely is. He must be constantly working out. In the mornings, jogging in his tight sweat pants, shirt clinging over his chest, heart beating so fast, his skin all sweaty and oh, dears"

"Oh, indeed" his grip on the glass got tighter as he shifted on the bar stool awkwardly to put his legs on top of each other.

"I probably should return to London before, you know..."

"Yeah, probably."

"After this drink"

"Of course"

"What? You are looking at me like that, again" asked Sam as he approached their stools with a rare moment of joyfulness on his face "You two have that weird vibe back when you first met. I can tell. What is it?"

"Nothing, nothing" assured Alex as she stood up "We were just reminiscing about the good old days."

"Right" said Sam and turned to face his squirming DI. "Come on then, Carlisle. Others are waiting by the table."

"Give he and his daiquiri a minute, Sam" giggled Alex. Peter bit hard on the straw making Alex laugh out load.

"Just a sec! I'll be right there. You go ahead" Sam complied although suspiciously and let Alex dragged him away leaving Peter with an air of peace to breathe.