/Ayyy a new fic! Still about Charlie Davis getting beat up. (Warnings for copius amounts of violence, mentions of blood and police abuse but then again, I did write this.) I'm noticing a pattern here? Anyway. This is gonna have two parts. The action, and the consequence if you will. Here's part one. Enjoy. Obviously comments are love and all that. Questions of concerns? Feel free to contact me. Especially if you're not over Charlie Cousins beautiful ass hands. Agh.
...
"Says that you've got loyal friends, and that that's your weakness."
"That sounds like a threat."
"And I'm included."
…
Since Lawson's return, not too much had changed at the station. Munro was still trying to force Blake out, Blake was still upset with him, Lawson still treated him like a subordinate, but maybe that was all for the better.
He just wanted things to go back to the way they had been.
He wanted to go back to Melbourne, he wanted so very badly to take Munro up on the bonehead offer, but he'd chosen to side with Blake. Like he knew he always would. A far as he could tell, he was now in this, regardless of if he wanted to be or not.
Lawson's new desk was the one opposite his. Previously, he'd just used Boss and Sir interchangeably when talking with Lawson. It had always been the way he did it. Lawson didn't seem to be too fussed with proper procedure and such, so neither was he. But Lawson wasn't really his boss anymore. Even so, it felt strange to call him something other then Boss or Sir. He wasn't really sure what to call him anymore. Even in their many phone discussions since he'd left, he's always called him Boss. And even when he knew he'd been demoted (he was the first, and under strict instruction not to tell Blake)
He was shaken from his thoughts by a brown paper bag hitting the table in front of his unbecomingly. Armed with a similar bag, Lawson dropped down into the chair across from him. He always looked so tired these days, even his posture looked more tired. He can't recall Lawson standing straight since he got back and it hurts him because he just wants things to be the way that they were. 1959 was shaping up to be a very interesting year. "Lunch." Lawson said, taking a bite from his own sausage roll.
"I brought a sandwich...But thanks." Charlie said, and rifled around in his pocket for three quid to pay Lawson keep it back.
"Keep it. Put it towards your rent."
"Don't talk with your mouthful." Charlie said, producing a sandwich wrapped in wax paper from his work bag.
"What's on it?"
"Honestly? I have no idea. Mrs Toohey made it. That woman gets here at about five O'clock in the morning."
"How would you know?"
"I was awake. The Doc was yelling and having a fit at about fifteen to. "
"Really?"
"Mrs Toohey cleaned…Well I think it was meant to be cleaning, up his mother's studio. " He said, before taking a bite out of the sandwich, going pale, and then spitting it into the bin next to his desk. He starred at the sandwich as if it were his worst enemy. "That is atrocious." He said. Lawson picked up the other half of the sandwich, and took a bite. His reaction mirrored poor Charlie's.
"That's awful he said.'
"Can I have a bite?" Hobart asked, walking up. Charlie looked up at him.
"Hobart I didn't throw you down the stairs this morning, don't make me regret that." Hobart put his hands up in surrender, and walked up to his desk.
"That was mean, Davis."
"Now I'm the same rank as him I can actually say mean things to him, it's beautiful." Lawson shook his head, while, Charlie got to his feet.
"Where on earth do you think you're going?"
"To the hospital. I'm going to tell Mattie not to eat the sandwich."
"Why? I thought you two didn't get on?"
"Well we don't...Sometimes, but I don't want someone to die because she was on roster for far too long, and didn't get lunch because it was gross and then she misread a morphine bottle and someone died."
"Pick a tense when you speak."
"Sorry!" He said, before quickly walking out the door. Hobart looked over at Lawson.
"He has a crush on her."
"Clearly." Hobart chuckled, and Lawson disposed of Charlie's awful sandwich.
Charlie was back in about an hour, and returned quietly to his desk. No one was around, so he quietly went back to typing out his notes from the crime scene. While Lawson didn't mind had written reports, Munro hated them, and called Charlie's handwriting 'feminine'. Charlie thought it was a load of crap, but put up with it. He pushed the top bar f the type writer across, it clicked, so he started to type again. He writes two more lines before Hobart walked up to his desk and stood in front of it. Charlie looked up at him with a light frown.
"What do you want, Hobart?"
"Charles Davis, you are to accompany me to the interview rooms on suspicion of disrupting the peace?" Charlie frowned deeply at him, "What? Over that sandwich? That's hardly a punishable offense, Hobart."
"Get up." Charlie an eyebrow, but obeyed, and did get to his feet. He followed Hobart up the stairs to the interview room, and took a seat at the table.
…
They sit in silence for at least ten minutes before Charlie speaks up "Are you charging me?" Neither say anything, they just stare at him. Charlie has started to sweat, and he looked uncomfortable. He's not stupid. He knows that they're using his own tactics against him. Sit still and stare at them while your partner does the talking. Except there is no partner. Just quiet and he can feel the perspiration on his forehead and Jesus Christ won't someone say something? Anything?
"Put your hands on the table."
"What?" He asks, looking at Hobart with a confused expression.
"Hands on the table, Davis." Munro repeats. After a moment, Charlie puts both his hands on the table. Hobart gets to his feet. He goes to the back of the room and carries in a typewriter.
"Davis." Hobart said, and Charlie can feel what's about to happen, and he takes his hands off the table.
"What the Hell!" He demanded, holding his hands up to his chest defensively.
"Put them down." Munro said.
"No!" He said, looking shocked and disgusted. Munro got to his feet, as Charlie jumped to his and ran to the door, gripping the handle, but realizing that there was no way out. The door was locked, and the windows had been blacked out with some kind of cloth. He rattles the handle. Munro grabs him from behind, and throws him onto the ground. Charlie grunted and had the wind knocked out of him. Hobart sat on his chest, and Charlie struggled to take a breath through his bending and creaking ribcage. Hobart punched him in the face. Charlie cried out, trying his best to wiggle up, but to no avail. Hobart punched him again and he actually felt something in his face crack so he stops moving. Blood has begun to run out of his nose and down his cheeks, pooling under his head already. He thinks he probably has a concussion. Hobart stands, and hauls him up, and onto the chair. Munro sits back down, looking unruffled and unconcerned. He's dazed, and doesn't fight back when Hobart puts his hands up on the table again. Munro picks up the type writer, turns it over, and brings it down on Charlie's left hand over and over and over. Charlie has started to scream. Munro sets the type writer and looks at Charlie's mangled fingers for a moment, before nodding in satisfaction. Charlie didn't know how to react, so he just screamed.
Hobart left, briefly, while Charlie struggled to get his bearings back about himself. His hand aches so much that it felt white hot, like it was on fire. He had to keep looking away from it because he was so disgusted at the sight of his twisted and broken fingers. The bruises formed a dark colour, and they bled from where the type writer had cut them on it's sharp corners. He wants to cry. He wants to escape.
"I told you, Charlie." Munro said, from across the table, his dark eyes making a strong contact with Charlie's softer ones. "It would be a shame, if your doctor's friends were hurt, because of him."
"You're a monster." Charlie replied. "Lawson will never let you get away with this."
"I've already got everything all set up to ensure that I will." He heard a rustling of papers behind him, as Hobart hit him in the back of the head with a phone book. His head went forward and smacked into the table. It jostled his broken nose, and made him feel sick to his stomach. Munro gives a grim smile, as Hobart sets a hammer, as well as the phone book on the table in front of him.
…
After they finish with him, they drag him down to the cells. Hobart has to literally drag him because he cannot stand. A mixture of both a head injury and exhaustion. He notices how late it is as they drag him down there, surely someone is missing him by now? They have too, don't they? He realizes as they drop him onto the floor that he's collateral in all of this. Sure, people liked him well enough, but since Lawson got back, he wasn't as useful as he had been. Nothing to be gained from spending time with him. He wasn't useful like he used to be. And of course, ever since Blake accused him of stealing his mail, there'd been a shadow of good manners involved with everything they did. He's become useless and he knows it. He can feel it. So. Of course. No one is looking for him. It doesn't occur to him, that he's simply played himself into the trap that Munro had been baiting him with.
He struggles his way into a corner, and pulls his arm close to his chest. The finger are so mangled that he feels ill whenever he looks at them. They are swollen and purple and look more like sausages then his fingers. Sausages that exploded in the oven. He couldn't move them at all, and his mind flickered between 'look at what they did to you' and 'don't look and maybe it will fix itself' He'd never felt more out of it in his life, but he assumes that might also be because of his head injuries. As Hobart starts to leave, Charlie spat in his general direction, and it concerns him, that he's not concerned about tasting so much blood.
…
At the Blake residence, Lucien found himself starting to worry about Charlie's whereabouts. He hadn't come home for tea, like he'd assured him he would be, he hadn't called ahead, he didn't appear to have done anything. In fact, no one had seen him since lunch time, according to Lawson.
"It's almost midnight." Mattie said, as she shut her text book. "He should be home by now."
"Maybe he just got caught up?" Mrs Toohey offered. "Sometimes happens."
"At midnight? I know Munro works him hard but really?" Blake asked, and took a sip of his drink. "Something just feels off."
"Off?"
"I can't explain it." he sighed, and sat on the couch. Jean shook her head.
"Well. I'm going home Charlie can tell us tomorrow where he was." She said, before leaving the room swiftly. Blake sighed, and sat back on the sofa as Mattie packed away her books.
…
Charlie tries to watch the clock, but his eyes can't stay focused. He knows that it's probably the concussion but it doesn't help. Everything just aches. His reflection is distorted in the curved bowl of the toilet, but he can still make out that he hardly resembles himself. He doens't know the names for these injuries, but they all look serious. Maybe he'll die in here, of sepsis. It'll be a disgusting and painful death. Maybe the concussion will kill him? Can you die from concussion? How long has he been sitting here anyway? He's felt sick all night, and decided that it might just be better to sit here so when he was inevitably sick, it wasn't onto himself. That just sounded miserable. Much like he was. He didn't have the strength to really move, so he stayed still and quiet, waiting for a new wave of nausea to pass.
…
Before Blake can even see his first patient of the day, Lawson is at his house hammering frantically on the door.
"Inspector Lawson!" Mrs Toohey scolded. Lawson seemed to have run all the way here from the station, apparently because he was out of breath and red faced. Blake emerged to see what all the commotion was about.
"Blake…." he panted. "Munro has Charlie."
"What?" he demanded, grabbing his hat and coat from inside on the peg. "For what?"
"Claiming that Mattie reported him for sexual harassment."
"MATTIE!" Blake called. Mattie wasn't dressed, but came out anyway.
"Yes?" She asked, rubbing her face slightly.
"Did you report Charlie yesterday for sexual harassment?"
"No?' She offered, looking concerned.
"Did you see him? "
"Yeah. He came by the hospital, and gave me a sausage roll…He just seemed like he was concerned I wasn't eating enough when I was on at the hospital" She said,
"Did he do anything that might prompt anyone to report him on your behalf? " Lawson asked. Mattie shook her head no.
"He seemed a little more friendly then usual, but other then that no." Lawson nodded, and wiped his face, which had slowly started to return to the correct colour.
"Bastard!" Lawson shouted, and kicked the wall next to the door. Blake blinked. Lawson having a bit of a temper was hardly news. But this was just a shock.
"Matthew. What's happened to Charlie."
"Get your doctor's bag." Blake's face paled, but he nodded.
"Let me come too." Mattie said,
"No. I dragged Charlie into this, I won't drag you into it as well." Lawson said, "Stay here." Blake re emerged with his doctors bag.
"We'll take my car." He said. Lawson nodded, and the two of them were off.
…
"Breakfast." Hobart said, and dropped the tray on the floor in front of him. The plate bounces. The cup breaks.
"Oh dear. That won't look good on the report." Hobart said, as Charlie looked up at him with the one eye that seemed to have a full range of motion. Breakfast probably meant it was pretty early in the morning. He could see the light that was coming in from the windows. He must have fallen asleep, now he's awake, everything is back to aching. When he doesn't respond right away, Hobart kicks him firmly in the damaged lower ribs. He cried out, and half curled over. "Say thank you, Bill."
"Never!" He spat, before Hobart kicked him again, and knocked him down, before putting his foot onto the injured part of Charlie's head. He just screams. His voice breaks halfway through, and the sound stops coming. He'd already screamed himself hoarse, but it now sounded like he'd screamed past that. Hobart digs his heel in.
"Th-Thank you...Bill.' He said, softly, but brokenly. He chokes on a mixture of saliva and blood, and Hobart takes his foot away. He then leaves Charlie on his own again, and Charlie was never more glad to see the back of him.
He thinks, as he gently touches the toast and jam on the plate, that surely Blake must be looking for him by now. His rent is due in today. He has enough, of course. So even if he didn't find him because he likes Charlie, he supposes that at least he might try if just for financial gain. It didn't seem so far off. At this point, he'd take any help anyone would give him. Lawson might be looking for him, right? Lawson likes him well enough. Maybe he's notices Charlie's absence. Maybe he's going to find him down here when he brings someone else in. Maybe he misses their vague discussions about life. He doesn't eat what he was given. His fingers flash white hot when he moves them. The broken porcelain had cut his good hand when it smashed. He wants to cry, but he knows better. He has countless broken ribs and crying would probably do him more harm them good.
That doesn't change the feeling, however.
…
"What's Munro done to him?" Blake asked, as they drove down Mycroft Avenue.
"I don't know. But they won't let me in the cells. And it doesn't take a genius to know what a blood stained hammer might have been used for."
"How do you know it was Charlie?"
"Barbara told me."
"Ah.'"
"I asked Munro where he was. He said in the cells. I asked why. He said charges of sexual harassment and breach of the peace."
"Charlie?"
"Hm."
"How is he going to cover this?"
"It's a game of police politics. I imagine he has a team of some kind to cover this whole thing up."
"And Charlie's just collateral."
"Hm."
"He told me. He told me Munro said that my friends are my weakness."
"He's right."
"I didn't expect him to hurt anyone. Especially not Charlie."
"Why not Charlie?"
"He's always been pretty nice to him. Offered him a transfer back to Melbourne."
"I know."
"He didn't take it."
"He was helping me."
"I know. You could have told me that before I threatened and insulted him."
"He's a strong lad."
"I agree. But he's not super human."
"Which is why we need to make sure he's okay."
"You know he's not.'
"Mm."
"Police politics.'
"Hm."
…
They arrive and walk in, feet click, Lawson glares at anyone who even looks at him. Munro stops them in the hallway.
"Ah! Doctor. I have an interview I'd like you to sit in on."
"With Charlie?"
"Mm." He looks at Lawson, who nods.
"Fine."
Munro lead him upstairs, and sat him at the interview table. He looks up, just in time to see Hobart dragging the hardly awake Charlie down the hall and into the room. Blake was expecting something bad, but Charlie looked more like the men he saw in the war then he did the men he saw in Ballarat. Between the blood and bruises, he could see splotches of white skin, but there seemed to be more bruise then not. His face was a mess, he clearly had an orbital blowout fracture, and the other eye was swollen nearly shut, purple and angry. His hair looked to be matted to his forehead with dried blood, his nose was broken, and that was just his face.
"Jesus Christ." He said. Charlie's eyes both went right to him. "What have you done to him?"
"I didn't do anything. Sergeant Davis here resisted arrest.
"Of course. He broke his own skull, I imagine." Munro shrugged. Charlie has put his head down on the table, unable to keep it up himself. Hobart doesn't say anything, just stands by the door. "Now. Interview time."
"Davis. Yesterday at lunch-"
"Stop."
"Pardon me?"
"Stop with the games. You know as well as I do that's not why Charlie's here."
"Do I?"
"What do you want?"
"I thought you would have known by now, Doctor."
"My resignation?"
"Always so bloody smart, Doctor Blake." Munro said. "Take him back to the cells." He told Hobart. When he realized he wasn't going home with the doctor, Charlie seemed to panic.
"No!" He said, with as much force as he could muster. He tried to reach out and grab at the doctor, and it broke Blake's heart that he couldn't take Charlie with him. "No please!" He shouted, as Hobart dragged him back down to the cells.
Blake watched Charlie as he was lead away with teary eyes. He looked at Munro for a moment.
"He's an example."
"Of what?"
"Listen to me or I'll do this to you. What kind of police man are you?" He demanded, before standing. "And I wonder what Charlie's dad would think of you now." He spat, before stalking out. He wants to break Munro's face, but he knows that it wouldn't do Charlie any good.
Lawson is sitting at Charlie's desk when he comes out. Blake sits down across from him, and they both stare at one another for a moment. "They paraded him through here, like some kind of sideshow."
"He's a warning."
"I know." They both sit for a long time, each man in his own private bubble, trying to figure out what to do to save Charlie.
….
The day passes and they have no idea. Hobart shut down their requests to visit him, and they avoided Munro like the black death. Lawson comes home with him that night.
…
"You have to let me go, in three hours." Charlie said, from the bottom of the cell. Hobart dropped the plate with what he called 'dinner' on it near him.
"As if." Charlie looked up at him for a long time.
"Munro's not on your side." He mumbled.
"Shut up, Davis" Hobart said, before closing the cell. He left, only to return with the hammer. Charlie's face paled because there was no way this could end well. Hobart came back in. As Charlie tried to curl himself up, Hobart grabbed his ankle and looked at his leg, before bringing it down time and time again on his knee. Charlie doesn't even have the energy to scream anymore.
…
The next morning, Charlie is released. Lawson stands by the cell doors until he's let in. It takes a long time for Munro to let him out. He takes the lock off the cell, and Lawson rushes in, grabbing Charlie into his arms, while Blake waited by the door. He couldn't carry Charlie, while Lawson could. Munro says nothing, but holds his hand out. Blake sets his resignation in it, careful to make sure that Charlie can't see. He just groans as Lawson picks him up and carries him out towards Blake's car. He puts his head on Lawson's chest as they sit. He holds the injured arm close to his chest, and Lawson greens slightly at the sight of his fingers. Blake looks appalled. They both say nothing.
…
Charlie is aware that time has slipped beyond his grasp. He has wrapped himself in the blanket off the bed, and moved himself into a corner. He is also aware that he just dreamed of being rescued. And he aches for it. It had felt so real. He could have heard Lawson's heartbeat. Felt the arms around him. He has no idea how much time has passed since he was last awake. He doesn't investigate the food. He stays small and still and quiet. The door to the hallway creaks open. He pulls his blanket over his head with his good arm, hoping this time to avoid confrontation. Just do as they say, stay alive. He was already crippled but if he was alive…. If he was alive then Blake could save him. He no longer cares that he doesn't fit in. It's past him to care that there's a shadow of good manners involved with them. He knows that Blake is a good doctor. Fix him up right smart.
The figure sits on the bed and looks down at him. It's Munro. Charlie can see his Masons signet ring on his finger, and he can see the wedding band on his other hand and he hopes that Munro's wife isn't treated like this. "Charlie." He said, and it sounds cold. Like ice. It sounds bitter. Like the crackling of ice after pouring something on them.
"You know, that it's not about you, don't you?" He doesn't reply. Munro doesn't say anything about it, not at first. "It's just police politics." And Charlie doesn't have the energy to think up a witty reply. "And for what it's worth, I didn't mean for Hobart to go so far." He didn't say he was sorry. Charlie didn't reply still. "You really were a good officer, Charlie. Just fell In with the wrong crowd." He wants to shout and scream and kick and cry but he doesn't. He just glares at Munro from under his now blood stained sheet. Munro stands, and Charlie pulls his sheet closer around him.
"My father would be so disappointed in you." He whispered. Munro whipped around.
"You didn't know him." Munro said, walking back up to him.
"I've heard about him every day of my life."
"You didn't know him."
"How would he feel, if he knew what you'd done to his-" He doesn't finish because Munro had him by the throat, and had him pinned up against the wall.
"You didn't know anything about your father. You're a child." Charlie chokes on the air, and splutters blood. It escapes the left side of his mouth. Munro drags him up, and slams him against the wall. The lack of oxygen combined with the slam tinged the outside of Charlie's vision with black. It didn't take long for him to lose it all together. He doesn't care. He even longs for the silence of the darkness.
…
"If you aren't going to charge him, then let it go."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you're still here."
"You're breaking the law."
"No one will know." Lawson struggles to keep himself under control.
"Have some decency, Munro. He's a kid." He said, through clenched teeth.
"He's twenty six."
"He has visitation rights." Munro seems to consider this.
"Blake can visit him for ten minutes. And if you want to see him again, I best have that resignation." Munro says, before walking in the direction of the cells. Blake looks at Lawson one last time, then follows after him.
…
The first thing he can smell is blood. The cell looks empty. Munro unlocks it, and lets him in. "I'll be counting." He said. Blake steps inside, and looks around. In the left corner of the room he can see a dirty, but still white sheet. He walks slowly, and crouches in front of it. He gently pulls it back, revealing Charlie's shattered face. He gasps softly. Charlie's 'good' eye looks up at him, and starts to tear up. Blake knows that right now there's nothing he can do. So he sits next to him, and gently pulls Charlie so he's resting against him. Charlie shuts his eyes again.
"What hurts most?" He asked softly.
"Hands." He whispered. Blake gently took a look at his good hand, before moving onto the ruined one. The swelling had gone down marginally. "They're going to mend like that, aren't they?" He murmured.
"Maybe." Blake replied, trying not to jostle it too much. Even gently touching the hand, Charlie whimpers softly. He can't stand the noises. He puts the hand back in Charlie's lap."What did they do?"
"Used a typewriter...From the interview room." Blake nodded, and gently ran his fingers over Charlie's bloody hair. "I noticed you had a head injury. How's your sight?"
"Everything's blurry...Can't move left one all the way 'round." Blake nodded. Charlie shifted suddenly, and Blake wanted to say something, but Charlie only moved closer, and put his head on Blake's chest. Blake carefully put an arm over him.
"I'm so sorry." He whispered. Charlie shut his eyes, and a tear streaked down his dirty face. It's only then when Blake notices Charlie's ruined knee. He gasps softly, and puts a hand on the back of Charlie's head as Charlie clutched his good hand in his shirt. "Oh Charlie." He murmured.
"I am sorry." Munro stares at them, and Blake looks up with murder in his eyes. He's felt angry, sure. But the last time he felt this kind of anger was in a war zone. Innocent people killed for nothing. Charlie reminded him strongly of that, but it seemed that even Ballarat had wars. And casualties. He decides that he'll go to hell before he lets Charlie become one of them.
"I won't be able to help you anymore." he murmured.
"It's okay." Blake assured him, turning his attention back to the one who deserved it.
"I tried my best."
"I know you did."
"All I ever wanted to do...Was help people.'
'I know."
"I was going to be the youngest superintendent in Australia."
"Yes. You would have been."
"And you would have been...So proud...Of me."
"I'm already proud of you, Charlie."
"Are you really?" Blake nodded. He was proud of Charlie. He was very proud that he'd made it this far. That he'd helped Lawson escape with his job. "Even if I didn't tell you...That they were taking your letters?"
"Even so." Blake promised him.
"Am I going to die here?"
"No. You won't."
"You won't resign, will you?"
"Why not?"
"He'd win."
"As long as you're still alive, it doesn't matter where I work, Charlie." Charlie looked distantly towards the clock with unseeing and glassed over eyes.
"All I ever wanted to do...Was help people."Blake nodded, and pulled him close for a long moment. Charlie was probably in pain but at least he could find some peace. Even if just temporarily.
"We'll figure something out, Charlie. I promise." He's not sure if Charlie noticed or not, but Munro told him time was up. Charlie tried his best to hang on, but Blake had to pull him off. "I'll get you out of here.' He murmured, and gently put his hands back in his lap.
…
"How is he?" Mattie asked, from across the table.
"Out of it. Tired. Sick."
"Ah."
"Sorry, Mattie. I just...Don't know what to do. Munro wants me to resign."
"And you're considering not?"
"I know, it sounds terrible."
"It is terrible."
"I know. I'm halfway through typing it up."
"And then Munro'll let him out?"
"We can only hope." Blake said, as his dinner remained untouched.
"He's going to the hospital, right?"
"Yes, of course."
"I'll look after him."
"Thank you, Mattie." Blake nodded. "I'm just so worried about him."
"I know." She said, softly.
"He told me that he just wanted to help people." Mattie took a sip of her drink and nodded.
"Doesn't surprise me." Blake finally started to eat his dinner, and the conversation dropped off there.
…
The next day came far to fast for Blake's liking. Although he did have his resignation ready to hand over, that didn't mean he was happy about it. He was angry that someone used his friend to get to him. He was angry that Munro and Hobart had ended Charlie's career. He was angry at all the police men in the world. Except maybe Lawson.
Lawson was more then ready to get Charlie out of here.
Handing over the resignation was silent. No one said anything but Munro smiled when he read it. Blake wanted to smash his head in with a phonebook and see how he liked it.
…
Coming into the cells, it's the first time since the interview that Lawson has seen Charlie and he feels sick to his stomach. He has no idea why anyone would do this kind of damage to another human being. He wants to break both of Munro's hands with a type writer. He unlocks the cell for Blake, who walks In slowly, since he doesn't want to startle or scare poor Charlie.
"Charlie." he murmured, softly, gently pulling back the makeshift hood to see his face. Charlie looks up at him, and then smiles. Blake smiles back and gently slides one arm under his knees, and the other at his lower back. He lifts up, and Charlie sobs quietly. "I know, I know." He murmured. "There's no other way, I'm sorry." He said, as they walked out to his car. Lawson just looks pale. Charlie doesn't fuss as they carry him. He puts his head on Blake's chest.
"I knew that you'd come get me." he murmured. Blake gently put him down in the backseat, and when Charlie refused to let go of his shirt he looked at Lawson, who nodded, and climbed up into the front seat to drive them to emergency.