Title: The Great Shenanigans of Jake's Eleventh Birthday

Rating: T for some icky romance stuff, and for a few sick children

Characters: Jake Manson and friends, Neil/Grace, Philippa/Liam, ensemble

Summary: Jake Manson turns eleven! Naturally, this is cause for much talk and excitement. And a big, Harry Potter-themed party! Sequel to Reaching Normality - this story is set just over three months after the ending of that story.

Disclaimer: The Bill is owned by Talkback Thames (unfortunately) and I am not making any profit from this (even more unfortunately).

The thing he liked most about automatic doors, Jake Manson mused as he surreptitiously waved his hand in front of them, was that they often made him feel like a Jedi when they swoosh open so satisfyingly. He entered to find the reception full of people. Shrugging, he simply joined the back of the queue behind a tall guy with dreadlocks. Jake shuddered inwardly, they stank pretty badly, and promised himself he'd never, ever do that to his hair when it grew back fully.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Master Jake," a vaguely familiar voice greeted kindly. Jake turned around, and grinned broadly at the short blonde detective who had paused on her way through reception.

"Hi, Stevie, what's up?" Jake asked. He liked Stevie – not only was she really funny (even Dad found her funny, though he pretended not to) but, most importantly, he was almost as tall as her. Jake bet if she wasn't wearing heels he would be taller.

"Oh, you know, work. What are you doing here?" Stevie said with a smile back at the boy. Despite the DI's best efforts, Jake had on a couple of occasions over the past three months come into the office to wait for a ride home with his dad. It had been a tumultuous time: the DI had taken a fair number of days off work, and no longer put in quite as many hours at the office in order to handle the new living arrangements.

Despite CID's initial trepidation that the DI would be so focussed on his son that Max would take over again (as what happened when Jake was sick), their worries had proven to be unfounded. Manson had regained his usual steady sharpness, and had run CID with an iron fist, making it clear in no uncertain terms from the beginning that he would not tolerate any disruption to the office. Still, many in the department felt it was an understandable, and indeed welcome, change. Except for occasions where he was forced to stay late for no good reason (which would have him in such a foul mood only Grace seemed to feel comfortable anywhere near him), Manson was much easier to work with.

"Oh, Mr Collins was sick so band was cancelled and I left my keys at home today so Dad said to just come here," Jake replied to her question. Dad was okay with him being home alone for a couple of hours if one of his two after-school activities were cancelled. Usually the cool old lady next door (Mrs Potter made him cake!) kept an eye on him after-school. Under normal circumstances, she would have been able to let him in but she was off to Mancester visiting her son.

"Jake, your Dad's still out on the obbo, but how about you come upstairs with me?" Stevie suggested, shooting a dubious look at some of the other … characters … in reception.

"Is that okay?" Jake asked.

"Of course!" Stevie told him, immediately taking his arm and leading him upstairs.

Reaching the crowded CID, Jake found himself the centre of attention again when he stepped into the room.

"Hey Jake," a chorus of voices greeted as Jake waved to them all.

"Grace's interviewing someone at the minute, so why don't you take her desk?" Stevie suggested with a gesture to her colleague's desk. Jake shrugged and nodded, dumping his bag with relief. He'd packed it as lightly as he could, only bringing home two books, but it still felt like it was filled with rocks because his back was so sore.

"So, how have you been, Jake?" Terry asked the boy with a friendly smile.

"Busy," Jake said gravely, adjusting his Leukaemia Cap. His hair had fallen out again with the vincristine at the beginning of the month, so it was still uneven. It was really annoying, but Dr Lawson had promised that the side effects of the drugs he could take instead of vincristine were even worse. "Very, very busy."

"Doing what?" Mickey asked, unable to repress a small grin at the boy's seriousness.

"Well, I turn eleven in two weeks," Jake said proudly. He paused to graciously accept all the birthday wishes. "And of course we're gonna have a big party! So I've been very, very busy working on that."

"What are the party plans?" Banksy asked with an indulgent smile.

"Harry Potter because I'm eleven. So everyone has to dress up as a character. I'm Harry, of course."

"Of course," Stevie nodded. "Who's your Dad going as?"

"He's Mad-Eye Moody," Jake announced. Banksy spluttered, choking on his coffee as Stevie giggled.

"Who's Mad-Eye Moody?" Mickey asked, frowning at his colleagues' reactions.

"The guy with the eye," Jake explained, eyes widening with horror as Mickey shrugged.

"I ain't read the books," he explained.

"How can you have not read Harry Potter?" Jake demanded seriously.

"I've never had the time to read them," he excused himself weakly.

"You need to fix that," Jake said with a frown.

"Mad-Eye Moody is this old, grizzled guy who's the former head of the wizard police," Stevie explained to Mickey. "He's really grumpy and absolutely paranoid." Mickey snorted, the joke becoming more apparent.

"So are you assigning people costumes, Jake, or…?" Terry asked.

"I'm giving people 'suggestions'," Jake replied innocently. "Grace is coming as Madam Bones, you know, the judge on the Wizengamot, Mum's going to be Professor McGonagall, and Liam's coming as Snape."

The adults exchanged surprised and curious looks – Grace and the DI's ex in the same house for a day? This they would pay to see.

As if summoned, Grace arrived in CID.

"Hi, Grace," Jake greeted with a smile, pushing himself out of her chair to offer it to her.

"Hi, Jake," she greeted, waving him back into her chair. "It's all right; I have to go back downstairs in a minute. How was school?"

"Annoying," Jake complained. "You know how we have the history assignment due soon? Well, Mrs Wilkinson was sick –"

"Again?" Grace retrieved the file she wanted, and leant back against her desk to continue the conversation.

"Again! And so we had a stupid substitute and he was like, oh, read finish researching and start writing. I'm done with the research, but I don't know where to start with writing it."

Jake hesitated slightly, fully aware that the attention in CID was focussed on the interaction between him and his Dad's girlfriend.

"Dad's rubbish at history," Jake said quietly and somewhat uncomfortably. "If you're not doing anything tonight…I mean, if you don't mind, would you maybe please come over and help me? Please?"

"Of course, if I can," Grace assured him, quickly covering a flicker of surprise.

"Awesome!" Jake smiled gratefully back at her. "Hey Grace, I'm staaaaaaarving. Can I get something to eat somewhere please?"

"Well, Dad should be back soon," Grace told him, dropping her voice. "And I don't think he's had lunch yet…"

"But it's three-thirty!" Jake said in surprise, glancing at the clock. He gave Grace a conspiratorial wink, nodding firmly. "Don't worry; I'll take care of him."

"Good," Grace smiled back at him. "Did you want a drink before I go back downstairs?"

"Nope, I'm good," Jake assured her.

"All right," Grace smiled at him, lightly touching his shoulder as she pushed herself off her desk. "I'll see you."

Seeing his colleagues about to burst with curiosity, and knowing that the DI would most definitely not appreciate it if they quizzed his son on his love-life, Banksy quickly interceded to keep the conversation focussed on Jake's birthday.

"So, Jake, what are you hoping to get for your birthday?"

"I don't know," Jake shrugged.

"You don't want anything else? My nephew always has a huge list," Stevie said.

Jake shrugged again. "I want a lot of stuff," he said more quietly. "The stuff I want the most I'm not going to get, but I won't say no to a season pass to the Champions' League…" Terry chuckled.

"How do you know you're not going to get the stuff you want the most?" Mickey asked pragmatically. "I'm sure if you asked-"

"I'd like not to be sick any more," Jake cut him off, pulling his cap over his eyes and fiddling with his school tie. "And I'd like a dog, but Dr Lawson would probably say it was a germ risk. She says everything's a germ risk." His voice couldn't have sounded sulkier if he'd tried.

Stevie, Terry and Mickey exchanged glances, all unsure of how to respond. They were used to the DI's kid being young and cheeky and upbeat, not bitter and cranky.

"I'm sorry, Jake," Banksy said gently, recalling the emphasis they'd put on acknowledging the child's feelings in one of many classes on dealing with emotional kids.

"How's life been around here?" Jake barely acknowledged Banksy's words, only giving him a weak smile as he changed the subject.

"Dull," Stevie sighed, before her expression brightened. "Hey! Any tips on convincing your Dad to let us decorate his office for Christmas?"

Practically since her arrival, Stevie had appointed herself the Chief Decorator of CID, often employing Mickey to help her reach the high areas. Her plans to spread the festive cheer always stopped at Neil Manson's door – on her first year, she'd moved to enter his office, arms full of the stuff, only to be stopped dead in her tracks by a baleful glare from the boss. Subsequent efforts had proved equally unsuccessful.

Jake laughed, mood abruptly switching.

"Just do it," Jake told her. "It's easier to apologise than to ask permission."

Terry chuckled. "I think Stevie was trying to avoid getting into trouble," he said good-naturedly.

Jake grinned cheekily. "Never said you wouldn't get in trouble that way – Dad!"

Neil Manson had just entered CID, deep in conversation with Callum Stone. He grunted as his son barrelled into him and enthusiastically wrapped his arms around his waist.

"Hey, mate," Neil kissed the top of his son's head, before releasing the boy. "How's my forgetful boy?"

Jake looked sheepish as he drew back. "Sorry, Dad," he apologised.

"Well, see it doesn't happen again," his father scolded lightly.

"Yes, sir," Jake promised, before grabbing his dad's hands. "Dad, I'm staaaaaaaaaarving!"

"Did you not finish your lunch?" Neil asked.

"I did! I'm still hungry!"

Neil's jaw dropped momentarily. "You mean to say, Jake Alexander, that despite having two ham and cheese sandwiches, an apple and a packet of crisps that you're still starving?"

"Yep! And I also had some of Connor's sandwich," Jake informed him.

"This boy is going to eat me out of house and home," Neil groaned.

"Only while I'm on the prednisone, Dad," Jake pointed out, swinging their joined hands before hopefully continuing, "I could always stop taking it…"

Neil let out a solitary chuckle. "I don't think so, son," he said. "All right. Put your stuff in my office and we'll see what we can find down at the canteen, eh?"

Jake dashed off obediently, and Neil turned back to his colleagues.

"How did he get up here anyway?" he asked.

"I saw him in reception, gov," Stevie admitted. "It was pretty full, so I just thought –"

"No, thank you, Stevie. I just hope he wasn't too much of an irritation," Neil said.

"Oi!" his son objected, returning to lean into his dad's side.

"Gov, before you go," Mickey began, flipping open a file and handing it to the DI.

Jake's attention wandered as the adults discussed the case, but there wasn't anything interesting to look at in CID (not even photos of dead people!).

He sighed loudly, call of his empty stomach intensifying, and Dad's arm tightened around him in silent warning. Stevie threw him a sympathetic glance from her desk to the side and out of eyeshot of Dad and Mickey and he rolled his eyes back at her. Yeah, Jake definitely liked her, he decided when she grinned back at him and began imitating both Mickey and Dad as they spoke. She had obviously done it before: her imitation of Dad in particular was really apt - right down to his borderline-condescending scepticism. Fortunately for Stevie, Neil was engrossed in the conversation with his usual single-minded intensity; otherwise Jake's muffled snorts would have landed her in significant trouble.

"Well, Mickey, you've got to find something more than this or we'll have to release him," Dad said matter-of-factly. "You should have waited to gather more evidence before arresting him. Get to it."

"Yes, gov," Mickey sighed. Seeing some other CID guy approach Dad, mouth opening as if to ask a question, Jake decided enough was enough.

"All right, you've helped Mickey, now let's go, Dad," he demanded, grabbing Neil's hand and pulling him towards the exit. "I'm hungrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry."

"Okay, okay," Neil sighed, allowing himself to be pulled out. "So, what did you do today?"

"Nothin'."

"Nothing? You mean Mum and I pay all that money for you to go to school and do nothing?" Neil's voice trailed off as the pair exited CID.