Morse walks into the room and nods
Thursday's eyes narrow in concern. Bright looked as though he had just seen a ghost. Jakes' eyebrows almost disappear into his perfectly coiffed hairline, before he hastily rearranges his face. He has obviously gone for a disdainful expression but doesn't quite manage.
Surely that wasn't concern slipping through Jakes' determined indifference?
This disturbs Morse, so to give Jakes time to reconstruct his façade he turns his gaze to Thursday.
"You ok lad? I'm not really sure you should be here." Thursday sees the amount of blood on Morse's jacket and wonders how the constable is still on his feet.
"I'm fine. The girl will die if I go home, and the Doctor patched me up ok."
"DeBryn wasn't it? It's not in the regulations to have a pathologist perform accident and emergency on the side," Bright interjects.
"Well this isn't a regulation case, is it Sir? Morse was within his rights to refuse hospital treatment, and DeBryn was off duty. No need for the Chief Constable to find out, is there?"
"Yes… well… you better find the girl or I might change my mind. You'll need to tidy yourself up too," Bright snaps, turns on his heel and marches away.
"Don't mind him lad, he doesn't mean it, he's just over-aware of the stakes," Thursday lays a comforting hand on Morse's shoulder, and then withdraws it again when he winces. "Sorry. He's right though – you can't go out dressed like that, uniform might try and arrest you. Shame the good doctor couldn't have had a crack at your shirt too." The corners of Thursday's mouth twitch.
Jakes sniggers, but Morse doesn't have it in him to crack a smile.
"I have a spare jacket in my locker, so I can just button it up. There isn't time to go home for a shirt, Sir."
"I might be able to help you out there," Jakes mutters gruffly, speaking for the first time.
Jakes offering Morse help? What on earth was going on here?
Embarrassed, Morse mumbles a barely audible 'thanks' then examines the score. He is completely unsurprised to see his assailant's hat, glasses and beard lying there.
"Sir, could I also take this score over to Doctor Cronyn?" Morse asks.
"If you're sure you feel up to it?" Thursday still isn't entirely convinced.
"Yeah I think I need to get out and have some fresh air."
"Ok, after you have your clean shirt. Thanks for that Jakes." Thursday turns into his office.
Jakes strides off towards the locker room, with Morse shuffling along absentmindedly behind him.
Morse strips off his blood soaked shirt and vest and throws them in the bin. Jakes produces his pristine white shirt, trying not to stare at the ugly gash on Morse's side. Secretly, he's surprised Morse isn't dead, or at the very least unconscious.
Morse takes the shirt and very gingerly shrugs into it, trying to conceal his hiss of pain as the stitches tug.
"I want it back clean, starched and pressed," Jakes emphasises, keeping up his tough façade, whilst secretly noting that he'll be lucky to ever see it again. Just as well it is one of his cheaper shirts.
Jakes rummages for his cigarette packet, so he can pretend not to notice the difficulty Morse is having.
"You sure you're fit for duty?"
Morse is wondering why Jakes cares so much, whilst Jakes is trying to convince himself that he doesn't.
Jakes lights a cigarette so he doesn't say anything else that might break through his stoicism.
"Mm yeah, looks much worse than it feels. What did I miss?"
"The ice cream driver has been found. He thinks, just thinks he might have seen a young girl fitting the description talking to a man. Beard, walking stick, glasses."
Morse sighs and shrugs into his jacket. He decides not to embarrass either of them by thanking Jakes for the shirt, doing his best to maintain the apathetic relationship that Jakes has set out.
After the scene on the roof, Jakes coldly tells Morse that he doesn't want to see him back at the station until DeBryn has cleared him for duty. He rests on the assurance that Thursday will see him right, but does pay a visit to the Mortuary to have a quiet word with DeBryn.
A few days later, Morse shuffles into the locker room holding a carrier bag whilst Jakes is laughing with one of his cronies. Great, that means he is going to have to speak to Jakes. He stands awkwardly to one side, waiting for Jakes to finish. The crony sniggers and raises his eyebrow, while Jakes notices that Morse wants to talk to him.
"…anyway mate, I'll see you at lunch in the pub, yeah?" Jakes claps his friend on the shoulder, slightly pushing him towards the door.
He turns round and levels his best haughty look at Morse through his heavy lidded eyes.
Morse can't meet his gaze, so stares at the cigarette in Jakes' hand, whilst scuffing his foot nervously across the floor.
"Uhhm sorry but the blood stain didn't come out of the shirt," Morse hands over the bag.
Confused, Jakes opens it and finds a brand new shirt of the same make and size, starched, pressed and still in the original cellophane.
When he looks back up again the room is empty, relieving Jakes of the obligation to reply, and thus dispelling any threat of unease. Jakes tried his hardest to maintain his apathy at the thoughtfulness of his colleague, but doesn't quite manage. He puts the shirt away in his locker, and later on in the duty room, he shows slightly less hostility when asking for the still unfinished car theft reports.
Over the next few days Jakes starts to treat Morse with slightly less contempt, and attempts to discreetly rebuff any Mockery sent Morse's way. He removes several snide messages from his colleague's desk, and throws away a paper with Morse's photo circled. During this last instance, Morse enters the room just after and catches the movement out of the corner of his eye. As he sits down at his desk, he gives Jakes the tiniest of smiles out of the corner of his mouth and he could swear he gets one in return.