Dreadlock Holiday
AN: This is a story I've written a few months ago and have forgotten all about. I'm glad I rediscovered it and can now share it with all of you. I hope you enjoy it as well.
Spoilers: Set after "Anonymous"
Disclaimer: Dick Wolf has his teeth firmly planted in these characters and won't let go. I don't dare mess with the wolf, so he can have them. I'll only play with them. Now, as I always say, on with it…
Normally, you're just like any other working girl; satisfied with your job, but just as glad when the weekend arrives and you can kick back and relax with friends. Or read a book, go see a movie, go shopping…whatever.
But this weekend was slightly different. This weekend has left you worried sick. You've tried to call him. Several times, in fact. His phone was shut off. So far, he hasn't reacted to your numerous messages. You even went as far as to go by his flat, but once outside the building, you suddenly lost the guts to go inside. Perhaps your imagination was getting the better of you, but you didn't want to be the one to walk in on…on what? Well, that's exactly what you did not want to find out.
He was so defeated last Friday. Shoulders hunched and as close to tears as any DS would allow himself to be. Ronnie's mess, though well intended, had left him up for grabs and never before have you been more angry with James than you are now. Guess you can't blame Matt for not answering his phone. You, on your part, haven't answered any calls coming from James. It's not like you to blatantly ignore your peers at the Crown Prosecutor's office. In your job you never know when you're needed for some kind of emergency, but you figure George would have called you personally if anything had happened that required your professional attention. That or simply sent a car to come pick you up.
His call you would always take. Not just because he's your boss and you have a job to keep and the ethics to keep it, but also because he has nothing to do with James's scare tactics in the courtroom. He's not to blame for this mess.
But obviously, Matt thinks you are. When you tried to catch up with him in the courtroom after he was excused and court went into recess, he just whirled around and sneered at you, his normally handsome features contorted into something painful and ugly.
"You could have warned me, Alesha. I thought you would do that as a mate. Apparently I was wrong. You're no friend of mine."
There were so many things you had wanted to say to him. That indeed, you were his mate. More than that, you cared deeply for him, loved him even. And that, had you known, you would have warned him, would have done anything to convince James to let you off easily. But fact of the matter is that you hadn't known and you were just as angry with James for nailing him to the cross as he was.
You had wanted to plead with him not to blame you. You were not the enemy. You were Alesha, his 'Lesh', his mate. The same one who helped him deal with the aftermath of his friend's suicide and the Pandoras box his act had opened up. The same one who had needed his help and unwavering support in the weeks or rather months after your rape. In the recent past, you've always reached out to each other for help and always accepted it with gratitude.
If only he would accept your help now too.
But he hadn't given you a chance. Not at the courthouse, not later, not the entire weekend. Your calls remained unanswered, your concern went by unnoticed.
So yes, you're glad the weekend is over. Although working with James will be difficult for a while, you pride yourself on always being professional on the job and you'll get over the anger eventually. And with the beginning of a new week, you can be sure there'll be new cases to prepare and so at least a visit from DS Ronnie Brooks and DS Matt Devlin to look forward to. Whatever the circumstances, you are looking forward to seeing him again. At least you'll know for sure he hasn't dropped off the face of the earth.
Your morning goes by quietly, with some backed-up paperwork to do, a witness to prepare and files to be completed and put away. Just before lunchtime Ronnie and Natalie show up, which is a little odd since Nat rarely joins her sergeants for a visit. So either they're here for a very high profile case, or she is filling in…
Filling in for Matt.
All your hopes of seeing him, even if just to assess he's okay, fly out of the window. Where is he? Did something happen during the weekend? Have your worries been correct? Should you have gone to see him after all? Oh dear Lord, what if they came in to tell you he's had an accident, or worse, tried to do something to himself?
The look in Natalie's eyes doesn't do anything to quench the sudden ache in your stomach. It's a mixture of concern, pain and hesitance. Especially the last emotion is unwelcome, as the normally so composed DI hardly ever shows anything but quiet resolve.
There must be something seriously wrong with Matt for her to look like this. Almost broken…
Before you can ask the question you're quite sure you don't want to hear the answer to, Ronnie comes up to you, his expression mirroring his boss's. As there doesn't seem to be a way to escape the inevitable, you brace yourself and face him. The weekend has certainly left its mark on the older copper as well, judging by the bags underneath his eyes and the slump of his shoulders.
"Ronnie, Natalie, what's going on? W-where's Matt?"
It's a testimony to the faith you all have in the other that neither of them comments on your stutter, nor the fact that you're trying to forcefully blink away the fearful tears that have sprung into your eyes. All of them know you care deeply about the young DS, perhaps they even know that you've grown to love him far beyond the puppy crush with which it all began years ago. When just his smile made you blush. Well, it still does, if you're honest.
If he were here.
"Alesha…we don't know. He…eh…he never turned up this morning. Nor does he answer either his home phone or his cell phone. He has enough vacation days left, so it's not all that important, but he never reported anything, so officially he's absent without authorization and if he doesn't show up or contact anyone by this time next week, he's in trouble. I can only cover his backside for so long."
It's obvious that Natalie is very upset by her young sergeant's behaviour (if voluntary; but you don't want to think about the other possibility yet) and it's even more clear that Ronnie is wrecked with concern as well as guilt and grief. He and Matt have always been good mates, until Ronnie made a bad judgment call and left Matt hanging out to dry. Unintentionally, of course, but that regretfully doesn't change the fact.
The fact he hasn't shown up for work this morning. For the first time in his career.
Matt's gone missing...
"He's gone? Just like that? But...what...he can't. He can't have just...what...I...he never even said goodbye."
Normally, you're not one to cry easily. You need to remain strong and appear indifferent, at least on the outside. But now, with the realisation that, if the worst case scenario should come true, you might never get to see him again, that the last words exchanged between the two of you were bitter and angry, you can't and won't hold back your tears. The man you love walked out on his friends, angry with them and his surroundings...it's enough reason for an emotional breakdown, right?
Nat hands you a tissue and then another one as the first one gets soaked within seconds. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you see James walking by on his way to his office, but one stern look from Natalie tells him he's not to impose right now.
After all, unreasonable as it may be, she's also quite mad at the Senior Crown prosecutor for coming down so hard on one of her detectives. Sure, Ronnie might be the reason Matt was put in this situation in the first place, but if Ronnie's responsible for Matt's predicament, than James is equally responsible for your pain, since he never got you involved in preparing the young DS as a witness, never letting you in on his strategy.
Thanks to him, Matt now thinks you're a traitor.
That thought alone takes a third tissue.
Knowing that there's nothing either one of them can do to soften the blow, both Ron and Nat leave you to yourself, after an obligatory visit to James and George. It's the latter who tentatively steps into your office somewhat (you have lost your sense of time) later, tactful enough to let you dry your tears first. With a knowing, almost fatherly smile, he tells you to go home.
"Take the rest of the day off, Alesha. In fact, why don't you take the week. You have plenty of leave days left and we don't have any cases James can't handle on his own."
The name of his Senior Crown Prosecutor comes out with some vehemence, so you gather that George is not as unaware of the strained relationship between his people as you imagined he would be. You should have known better. Your boss is a very perceptive man.
You also know better than to argue his 'offer'. Giving him a curt nod and a watery smile as something resembling a thank-you, you shut off your computer, file away your paperwork and take your coat and purse.
It's not even lunchtime yet and you're wandering the streets of London, just as busy as any other day, yet lacking its lustre, its sparkle. Like he's taken it with him when he left.
Why you're suddenly sure he's no longer in the city, you can't tell. It's a gut feeling you immediately trust is true. Unwelcome, but true nonetheless.
At any other time, with the knowledge of a week to yourself to look forward to, you would have enjoyed yourself by roaming around town, playing tourist, seeing the sites, visiting museums, do some shopping, you know, ordinary things.
Not today. Your heart's not in it. The only thing you desperately want to do is go home, take a long hot bath (while trying to talk yourself out of drowning yourself in it), eat everything in your house that contains chocolate, then pull the covers on your bed over your head and sleep until someone wakes you to tell you this has all been one horrible dream and that he's never really left at all.
Guess what? After two more days of that, nobody has shown up to give you the good news, but at least someone comes over to wake you from your almost destructive state of hibernation. That person is Ronnie.
As you open the door on that Wednesday afternoon, you're not surprised by the expression on his face. You don't need a mirror to know you must look a fright, since you haven't showered, haven't washed your hair, haven't changed out of your pyjamas (though yes, you have changed your underwear; you don't want to get any kind of infection which then ultimately gets you back into a gynaecologist's chair) and have hardly eaten since your Monday afternoon chocolate binge, so there must be some weight loss too. All in all, not a pretty look.
It's only a small consolation that your visitor doesn't look that much better.
"Can I come in, love?"
Reluctantly, since it doesn't look like he's the bearer of any good news, you take a step back to let him in. Quickly, you survey the room, but it doesn't look all that bad; just a little dusty perhaps. No evidence of your total emotional meltdown in here. You've mainly used the bedroom and bathroom the last two days anyway.
Common hospitality clicking back into place, you offer your unexpected guest something to drink. He settles on tea and you're happy with that. Anything more elaborate than boiling water and putting a tea bag in it is beyond you, the kitchen not very welcoming after your negligence of the past few days.
With two steaming mugs you come back and tentatively sit down next to him. He accepts his hot drink with a smile and for a few moments, you just sit there, lost in your own musings, though the object of both your and Ronnie's thoughts must surely be one and the same. Always...Matt.
After a few careful sips, Ronnie starts.
"So...has he been in touch with you?"
You give him such a reproachful look that he quickly recoils.
"Sorry, love. Didn't mean to hurt you. Just kind of hoped he would have, since none of us have heard from him either. I left several messages on his phone, but so far he hasn't answered. The gov wants to try one more time to find out anything about his whereabouts before she files a missing persons report and before she has to let the higher authorities know what's going on. He could lose his job over this, if he's left voluntarily."
"Well, what are we to do?"
Ronnie finishes his drink and urges you to drink yours.
"WE are going to break into Sunshine's flat and see if we can find out anything."
"Break in? You're asking a prosecutor to act as an accessory to an unauthorized police search?"
Ron tries to look indignant, but he's clearly relieved you're joking with him, though you're not sure you are. Yet...if it's the only way to find out anything about what has happened to the man you love, you're willing to handle the crowbar yourself. And Ronnie knows it.
"Nothing as dramatic as that, love. He gave me his spare key and the code to his alarm ages ago and I still have it. So I guess if we just go see to it that he's made some arrangements for his mail, his plants, his cat...see, nothing wrong with that, right?"
No, well, yes. But...no, you can't.
Can you?
"I'll go change."
Twenty minutes later, after the fastest shower and change of your life, the two of you set out in Ronnie's car to head over to Matt's flat. Thanks to Ronnie's key, you get in without a hustle. Now all you have to do is sniff around for clues. At least one of you knows how this works. Still, he seems a little hesitant. This is not a suspect's home after all, where he can ransack the interior and not bother with being careful because a piece of paper gives him permission. This is the home of a man you both care deeply for, a man whose welfare you're very worried about, but also a man whose privacy you really shouldn't disturb, no matter how panicked you get.
Soon enough though, the desire to at least know something more about his sudden disappearance wins it from the hesitation and you actually manage to get further inside than just over the threshold.
Matt's flat turns out to be your typical bachelors pad. A comfy leather couch, big-screen TV mounted to the white plastered wall, DVD-player and game console, discs of various kinds strewn about, a bookcase crammed with detective novels (Matt loves to read?), some more serious study-books, cookbooks (he can cook too?) and the lot, a couple of framed pictures in between (one of his mother and sister, one of the team, one of him and you at last year's Christmas party), but all in all, nothing to indicate where the owner is. In the kitchen, you find a day-planner stuck to the wall and small reminder notes of things to do and groceries to buy pinned on the fridge with funny magnets. But again, no clues you desperately need. Except maybe the fact that his cat's litter box and food and drink bowls are cleaned up, and no cat in sight.
Once again, you hesitate when you're about to enter his bedroom, the inner sanctuary of any person. Often enough have you fantasized about what it would be like to wake up in the same bed with DS Devlin, not to mention what would happen before you went to sleep, warm, comfortable and very, very satisfied in his arms...it's just the knowledge that several other women have had that privilege while you, so far, are only looking at that specific 'crime scene' while trespassing, that gets to you now.
And of course Matt's not that promiscuous, it's not like there's another willing body in his bed every single day or even every single weekend, but still, he's hardly a monk either. And surely you're not the only one melting at a mere glance from his baby blues.
Ronnie follows you in, not commenting on your obvious reluctance, just squeezing your shoulder as he passes to rummage through his partner's belongings.
His wardrobe seems to be intact as far as the business suits are concerned, but there seem to be several pairs of jeans missing and probably some shirts too. His underwear drawer is also emptied out, according to Ronnie that is...you're too embarrassed by the thought alone to go through there.
The annex bathroom shows an empty toothbrush glass, and several items like his razor and aftershave missing. His scent still lingers in there and you allow yourself a deep inhalation. For one brief moment, it brings you closer to him. You've always loved his scent and secretly enjoy that he tends to use a little more of it than necessary. Okay...a lot more. More often than not, you smell him way before he enters your office. It never fails to make you jittery in anticipation.
Your partner in this unauthorized house search has moved on to the small study, hoping to find anything in the younger man's paperwork.
Nothing...simply nothing. No clues scribbled on a notepad, no print-outs of booking confirmations or flight schedules. His laptop is missing, so he must have taken it with him, but since half his clothes have been taken and the cat's gone missing too, he must really be at least out of the city, as you have suspected all along.
The thought that he feels you're part of the reason he's left hurts you so much at that moment you're gasping for breath. If Ronnie has noticed anything in your demeanour, he's tactful enough not to comment on it, other than another squeeze to your shoulder. He too is still consumed by guilt.
At last, when he's checking out a notepad Matt has left next to the phone, you finally get your clue. In old fashioned style, he rubs a pencil over the imprints of the last note Matt has written on it. Hardly readable, it seems to have a date and time and the text 'take cat to Niamh' on it.
Niamh. The penny drops. Niamh. His sister. The one member of the family he's still close to. The only person he would have entrusted the care of his pet to.
And the only one who might know where he is.
A call to Natalie (who doesn't ask any questions since she's sure she doesn't want to know the answers) confirms that Niamh is Matt's emergency contact and as such, has her contact information listed. After some wheedling, you pen down an address and phone number in Birmingham.
Damn. That'll take you at least three hours, well, two and a half if the traffic's mild. But you know, the moment you have written the address down, you have to go. This little piece of paper is the first step to getting Matt back and for that, you're willing to travel to the end of the universe.
So…Like? Don't like. Either way, I'd like to know. Thanks for the trouble…