DC Zain Nadir closed his eyes lightly and took a deep breath.
Steady, he thought to himself.
"Tenner, mate." The taxi driver called from the dark of the cab.
Silently, with his eyes still closed, he slid a hand into the inside pocket of his dark suit and produced his wallet. Far less money than he started the night with.
"Have a good night." He sighed and exited the cab.
Today had to have been the best day of his career. Without wanting to give himself too much credit, he'd been instrumental in breaking the Louise Larson murder case. He'd been allowed back on the case, he wasn't on the wrong side of the DCI or MIT. Smithy was a free man, thanks to him.
Drinks at the pub, pats on the back. Smithy hadn't been there like Gina had said he would be but as the night wore on, Zain cared less and less about the celebrations.
One foot in front of the other, unsteadily he made to the green front door. Free man. Free man to pick up the phone, to make a call to Zain and just say thanks. Hello and thanks.
Sighing, he patted his right hip-pocket.
Nothing.
Left pocket.
Still nothing.
"Locked out, great. Better and better." He growled at himself.
Zain was far, far too tired and boozy for this at – wait, what time was it? A glance at his watch confirmed his fears – 2:46am. Running his hand along the cool, gritty bricks, he followed the house along to the far corner, cursing himself for not leaving a single light bulb on in the place that morning. Finally, he reached the huge terracotta pot his mother hand bought him as a bizarre housewarming present. Bending his knees and bracing his shoulder against it, he eased it back to reveal his spare key.
"Copper and I hide a key outside my front door," he mumbled to himself as he trailed the wall back to the door.
"Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness." Came a soft, familiar voice from the shadow of the only tree in Zain's garden.
Zain's heart skipped more than a couple of beats as the shadow budded off to the silhouette of the uniform sergeant that he hadn't been able to forget for what seemed like an eternity.
"Smithy, what are you doing here?" Zain stuttered, the keys and doors fiasco forgotten.
A simple shrug was the only answer offered, then an absent-minded zipping of his sweatshirt.
"Look, do you want to come in? I'm not going to be much in the way of conversation; we were having drinks in your honour." He offered, turning his attention to the door. "Were you planning to be outside my house all night?"
"Nah, I came from the graveyard. Gina took me from Longmarsh to Louise's…" he trailed off. "I came straight from there anyway. And I knew you were having drinks with the nick so I waited for you. Didn't know you'd be so long, I was about to give up."
"You never know, I could've moved or.. or…" The key-to-door relations were not improving.
"…or forgotten how to use your front door? Give it here." Smithy smiled and crossed the distance between them and took the key from Zain's fumbling hands, elbowing him back to make room for himself. A little click and the door swung open.
Smithy gestured broadly and grandly into the hallway. Zain stepped past him and flicked on the lights, seeing Smithy for the first time since he'd got home: wearing a zipped up sweatshirt, grubby jeans, trainers. He could've just come from food shopping, not prison.
"Thanks," Zain managed to mutter. Suddenly struck completely dumb by Smithy's presence was completely new experience for him. Normally when he was interested in someone, he'd know just what to do; wear the right clothes, say the right things, throw a bit of cash around, heavy compliments followed by light touches and long looks. But Smithy was different, whenever he was around, Zain was a kid in big boy clothes.
"Lemme get you a coffee, eh?" Smithy was saying. "You'll feel better."
"You don't know where my kitchen is. And I don't have coffee at the moment, ran out." Zain pointed out, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair.
"Tea then?"
"Smithy, it's nearly three in the morning.." he started.
Smithy's hospitality wavered. "I wanted to see you."
"Don't you want a shower or something? Sleep in your own bed? A…a drink?"
"I'll take the drink if you're offering," Smithy answered, picking the jacket up and hanging it in the cupboard in the hall.
"Living room's through there. Be there in a minute." Zain pointed through a darkened archway and made for the kitchen.
Smithy followed where the slender hand had gestured, turning on a table lamp and dropping into a deep leather sofa. It suddenly struck him how exhausted he was, and how absurd his setting was. Zain Nadir was nothing if not consistent, his place was filled with the same impeccable, suave style that Zain himself was famous for. Smithy didn't know much about designers but he was pretty sure most of the contents of the room were worth more than much of his flat.
Neat too, Smithy thought to himself. Tidy, clean, expensive; Zain all over.
A table to the right of his elbow held perfectly ordered photographs in trendy glass-and-wire frames; the closest showed a younger, smiling Zain with longer hair and a scrubby sort of goatee, his arm pulling an older woman to his side. The woman was laughing and looking up at Zain with the same eyes, save for a few crinkles around the edges.
Seeing Zain's mother made Smithy wish he knew more about Sunhill's well-dressed detective.
"I didn't ask if you wanted tea or…" Zain pushed the door on the other side of the room and gestured with a couple of crystal-cut tumblers filled with ice and amber liquid.
Smithy shook his head and held his hand out. "Thanks, mate."
The couch dipped as the taller man sat at the other end, loosening his tie.
"So what's this I hear about Sergeant Dale Smith – one man against Prison violence?"
He laughed and shook his head. "I was doing my job! I'm still a copper and Jamie didn't deserve to lose his parole, his kid."
"Listen." Smithy turned to sit sideways, facing him, deliberately keeping his eyes firmly away the fingers working the tie undone. "I heard about what you've been doing today…with Will and Gina's lead at the flat, the links to Larson. I appreciate it, you know."
Zain smiled and studied the honest eyes flitting between his own eyes and his tie. "Any time. I'm a copper and you didn't deserve to lose your freedom."
Smithy exhaled a laugh and patted his friend on the knee, not withdrawing it after the pats.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Zain could feel the hand burning a hole through his suit, but he could only idly think how much he was going to miss that suit. Maybe he could still wear it with a hole burnt in it? Are hands really hot enough to burn holes in suits?
"Smithy…" Zain started, forcing himself to meet the dark blue eyes, darker than normal, pulled into an expression of confusion? Compassion? "It's been a long day and – "
"Don't want to go home," Smithy shook his head softly.
Zain's breath caught in his chest, weighing up just how bad being rejected by Smithy could be. He started to lean in, the short distance between them felt so far. Rubbing a hand over his own mouth, he sat up straight.
"D'you want…something to eat?" he whispered, voice drying up in his throat.