A/N: Who else is up for some self indulgent Charlie!torture? I am! Whoop whoop! I've had this idea in my head for ages and I'm glad to finally have it written down. Obviously, this fic does have spoilers for s3, plenty of violence, plenty of anxiety on Charlie's part, plenty of tears and plenty of misery. (and plenty of Blake saving the day, lol) Anyway, enjoy, as per usual, leave a comment if you liked it, and feel free to contact me if you have any questions or concerns. (This fic is set towards the end of S3)
"You wanted to see me, Boss?" Charlie asked, looking down at Munro. The other man nodded, and indicated to the chair in front of him.
"Sit, Davis." So he does. Munro caps his pen slowly, and sits back in his chair, regarding Charlie slowly. "You're very loyal, to your doctor."
"He's not my doctor." He replies very suddenly, a heat of concern starts to pass up his spine because this is new.
"I think that he is." Munro deadpanned, and tilted his head slightly to the left, "And I think that your doctor has loyal friends. And that it would be a shame if something were to happen to them. Or to him."
"Pardon me, sir?"
"You heard me, Sergeant." Out of the folder on the table, Munro pulls out some photos, and lays each one down for Charlie to see. "Mattie O'Brian." He's seen that photo before, but he can't remember where. "Jean Beazley." A photo taken outside, she is tending to flowers. "Danny Parks." He has o idea if that's actually Danny Parks or not, given that he'd never met the man. "Matthew Lawson." The photo is his ID, he looks very serious, and very angry. It's not wrong, not really. "Alice Harvery." A photo of her in the hospital, looking into a microscope, taken as a profile. "And Lucien Blake." He sets a photo of Blake that was taken almost a week ago, he knows because he was there, on the table as well. "You have the power now, Davis, to protect all of these people from a...Rather unfortunate accident."
"What?" He breathes.
"And all I want from you...Is a signature." Munro holds a sheet of paper out to him. Taking it carefully into his hands, Charlie starts to read it. After reading the first of the three pages, he feels physically ill.
"I can't sign this."
"I see." Is all Munro replies with. "I'm sure that Mattie O'Brian will wish you did when she's lying by the side of the road, after a hit and run, when she leaves the hospital." He stands, and he leaves because he can't sign that.
…
Mattie is hit by a car that evening. She only has a sprained ankle. She's annoyed more then anything else. Charlie picks her up from the hospital with Blake. He pretends that he wasn't to blame for this. Munro means business. He won't miss twice.
...
The next day, there's something in the mans eyes that makes Charlie scared. So he uncaps the pen, and after a moment, he signs his name. Munro takes the file back form him, and sets it down on the table.
"As of right now, you will come to see me, in my office, whenever I ask you too. No excuses." Charlie swallows, but nods, "And if I hear that you let the doctor cause trouble, then it won't just be him on the line." Charlie breathes out slowly, and he cannot recall a time he has ever been so scared in his life.
"That'll be all Sergeant." He stands, slowly, and goes to the door, and then out to the rest of the station. No one says anything to him. And he doesn't attempt to talk.
…
Munro calls him into his office for the first time that evening. He stands quietly, and waits to find out what Munro wants to do to him. Munro looks him up and down. Like he's considering. Charlie shivers involuntarily. "Take your blazer and shirt off." So he does. He undoes the buttons quickly, followed by his blue police shirt. He folds them and puts them on a chair. Munro looks at him for a long time before pointing at the far wall. "Put your hands on that wall." he said. So Charlie does. He hears the soft clink of a belt and he knows what's going to happen before it does.
The belt makes contact with the skin of his lower back first, and then again at the top, and then the bottom and it hurts a lot. It's not fair, he thinks. The bruises get deeper. His arms ache from being extended. The belt hits him again. Munro probably knows. How could he not.
Eventually, he feels the skin on his back break, and he can feel blood dribbling down his back. Munro stops soon after, but Charlie supposes that it's more because his arm hurts then anything else. "Put your arms down, Davis." So he does. His eyes are teary, but he promises himself that he will not cry. Not now. Munro regards him, before nodding. "Go home." He doesn't need to be told twice
…
He arrives home at almost midnight. He prays to a God he's not sure he believes in to just let him get to the bathroom, and then get to bed. God still must not exist, because when he starts to walk up the stairs, from behind him he hears "Charlie?" And he turns, and he walks back down. Blake is standing at the door to his office. Charlie nods to him. Blake offers a smile he doesn't return. "Jean put your dinner in the fridge for you. Long night?" Charlie looks at him for another moment, before saying
"Can you please be careful, Doc? Not just...Go around talking to people?" Blake chuckles softly.
"Bosses orders?" Charlie doesn't reply, he just turns, and goes to the bathroom on the second floor.
…
Munro calls him back the next day, and he goes in, and he stands and he does his best not to try and think about how he's going to get the blood out of last night's shirt. Munro stares him for a moment, as if he's planning what he wants to do to him tonight. "Put your hand on the table."
"Which one?"
"I don't care." So he does. He puts his left hand on the table. Munro nods approvingly. "Other hand." Charlie puts his other hand on the table, and he just wants to get this over with because the wounds on his back have reopened and he doesn't want to bleed onto this shirt as well. "Open your mouth." He does, but he doesn't want to. He has no idea what Munro is planning, but it doesn't take a genius to see that it's not going to end well for him. He produces a pair of pliers from his desk, and walks up to him, using one hand to keep his bottom jaw open.
He slides the pliers into Charlie's mouth and he almost chokes on them as they clamp down around one of his molar teeth. And then pulls.
The tooth does come out, after a considerable effort on Munro's part. Complete with root, the tooth stares at him and even though he knows he should be screaming in pain, he cannot fathom the fact that his tooth is right there and he wants to be sick. He catches up to himself and before he can scream, Munro has a hand clasped firmly over his bottom jaw. "Your doctor friend won't listen to me, but maybe he'll listen to you." He said, and allowed Charlie to sit there for a long while, before standing. "I'm going home now. Lock up when you're done." Charlie lies there for what feels like hours, before he drags himself up, and locks the door behind him on his way out.
…
The bruise has already started to form on his lower face by the time he gets home. He drags himself into the house, and hangs up his coat by the door. He hopes Blake is drunk.
Blake is not.
"Charlie. " He smiled, and Charlie doesn't look at him because looking at him smile will throw him into tears he is sure. He folds his arms protectively around himself. "Are you alright?" He asks, standing. He gently puts a hand on Charlie's shoulder and he's trying so hard to keep It together. "Is something wrong?" And he wants to throw himself onto Blake and feel those arms around him because he wants to be held, but he can't. He can't let them be hurt because of him.
"'M fine." He said. He can't talk properly, and he can feel the blood on his chin.
"I think you're lying." Blake said, and tried to turn him to face him. Charlie's reply is to walk away as fast as he can because he doesn't want Blake to know. He has no idea how to treat a missing tooth but it hurt so much that he just wants to take something for it and go to bed. Blake watches him go with sad eyes. He wonders why Munro works the boy so hard.
In the bathroom, Charlie does his best to spare his shirt from blood, and tries to change his own bandages, with mixed success rates. The blood gets onto the white tiles under his feet, and under his nails and it dries and he doesn't have the energy to clean it yet so he leaves it.
He stuffs a piece of cotton wool in his mouth and then goes to bed, only hoping a little that he chokes on it.
…
Munro does not call on him for three days after that. The doctor continues to do his own thing and Charlie lives in perpetual fear. On the eve of the second day, when Blake finally becomes aware of how very little Charlie has eaten by the vein on the back of his hands, and the shakes in his fingers, he sits him at the table. The bruise on Charlie's jaw has turned purple and mottled brown. It's a very obvious handprint, but Blake doesn't want to just start asking about it and spook him. The blood caked under Charlie's nails worry him as well. And what's worse, he noticed Charlie has taken to biting not only his nails, but the skin around them, leaving his fingertips raw and angry looking. He sets a cup of tea down in front of him, before sitting.
"Is there something you want to tell me, Charlie?" He asks, as Charlie still doesn't pick up the tea.
"Yeah. Try and follow protocol at least a little." He said, but with no venom behind his words.
"Okay." Blake said, before gently pressing the tea closer to him. "Have something to drink, Charlie." so he does, he picks it up and drinks a small sip of it, mostly just trying to convince Blake to leave him alone. "You haven't been eating."
"I'm not hungry."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Why? You've never skipped meals before." And he can't just say 'it's because my boss ripped one of my teeth out with a pair of pliars, and he did that because I signed my body over him so you don't get hit by a car in the middle of the street' so he just kind of shrugs, and tries not to wince as he takes another sip of tea.
"You're shutting me out, why?"
"I'm not. There's nothing wrong, Doc."
"What happened to your face, Charlie?"
"Hobart and I had to put away a particularly resistant drunken fool. Hobart elbowed me in the face." He wants to say something, because he knows that's a lie, but he doesn't. He watches Charlie take another sip of tea, and tries to think of something to say, to sway him. He can't, so he just sits and watches Charlie drink.
"You don't have to watch." He said, finally.
"I know. But you won't finish it if I don't." Charlie doesn't argue with him about it. So he takes another sip. Blake stays still and quiet watching him drink. They sit in the uneasy silence for a long time. Blake still can't think of anything to say to Charlie, and Charlie clearly isn't interested in talking. Eventually, Blake sighs, and when Charlie finishes his tea, he looks at him, right in the eye.
"Let me do something for your fingers." Charlie looks down at the fingers on his right hand.
"They're fine."
"They aren't fine. They are the opposite of fine." Charlie can't let him because if he sits up on that table and lets Blake look after him then he will start to cry and ask him to fix the rest of him up as well and he can't. He can't let Blake know because he will go straight for Munro, and then it will be the end of it. Blake reaches out to take one of his hands, but he quickly pulls them away into his lap. His head hurts. "Charlie. I want to help you."
"I don't need help. I've never needed help."
"I know that you're a grown man, Charlie. There's no reason to be ashamed of needing help!"
"I'm not ashamed of needing help. I'm okay, Doc."
"You aren't. I can see it." It goes very quiet and for a long time Charlie thinks he may be about to cry. Blake stands, and gently puts a hand on his cheek. He kneels down so he's lower then Charlie, and tries to be as warm and open as he can possibly be. "You don't have to shut me out." and Charlie's eyes begin to water, so he puts the cup down and offers Blake his hand.
"I'm not trying to." Blake takes the hand and looks it over. He stands, and bring Charlie with him.
…
Almost thirty minutes later, Blake releases him, and the tips of his fingers have all been bandaged and the doc tells him not to pick at them, or he'll make it worse. So he tries his best. But after he goes to bed, he takes the cover off his thumb, and bites it slightly, just for the stupid comfort of having something he's always had.
…
The next day, around lunch time, Munro calls Charlie into his office, and doesn't talk for a long time. He leaves Charlie there to sweat, and melt in his own skin, while he finishes writing his report. "Davis...Do you know how much of our time is spent cleaning up the doctor's messes?"
"I..I thought the Doctor was pretty good at solving crimes, Sir."
"Well..He's had his uses." And Charlie wants to scream but he doesn't. "Of course, you're aware of his daughter in Communist China?" How could he not be? "Well...He went to visit her recently, as you're aware...And as such...He's come up on a few watch lists."
"Do they suspect him of something in particular?"
"I can't say. Classified information."
"Ah."
"Of course, I could be convinced to keep him on, if a certain sergeant allowed me to take something from him."
"You'll take it no matter what I say."
"You're right." Munro agreed. "Put your hand on the table." So he does. He shuts his eyes, and curiously enough, he feels nothing until the saceteers squish though flesh and cartilage, severing the tip of his ring finger. He puts his other hand over his mouth, while Munro hold a lighter up to the wound. It's not for almost ten minutes that the choking gasps and tears begin. His knees fold and he draws the injured hand up to him, and cries. His whole body heaves with the tears. He's so afraid. Munro moves around to see him, and slowly drags a hand through his hair, "You're so pretty." he murmured, "When you cry." Charlie cannot function enough to reply, he just shakes more and cries louder. Munro keeps a hand in his hair, stroking it gently as Charlie's stomach turned and struggled and eventually he ended up being sick, but he had nothing in his stomach to be sick with, only bile escaped his mouth, thick and disgusting, traveling down his chin. Munro seems intrigued by him crying, but says nothing for a long, long time. He just lets Charlie cry himself out, sitting on the chair in his office, before he decides to do something about the blood loss Charlie has clearly not considered. He wraps it in his handkerchief, and tells Charlie to go home.
So he does. He tries his best to think up a good lie, should the doctor ask.
…
It seemed as if hope had smiled on the eldest Davis boy that day, because Blake was not home, and Jean was so busy that she didn't notice him. He was able to go straight to bed, and stare up into the ceiling for nearly an hour and a half, thinking about a good lie to tell the doctor, but his painkiller and pain addled brain could hardly form a coherent sentence.
…
Three days later and he comes to the conclusion that his finger is infected. Aside from smelling like gangrene and draining pus, he has straks of red running up and down his hand, and he feels faint. (But that might just be his lack of eating) after three days of wearing gloves with tissue in the end of the finger he was missing, he had reached the end of his rope. He sat at the breakfast table, as Blake all but forced the tea down his throat, and felt unresponsive as Blake offered to drive him into work. He took it, and didn't say a word the whole trip. Blake pulled up on the side of the road.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Charlie?" He asked, softly.
"Nothing."
"That's bullshit and you know it." His mind is fever addled, his words are lisped. He cannot think. "What's going on. I'm your friend. You can trust me." And he can but Blake can't know or he will be hurt because Mattie as hit by a car, and he knows Munro will not miss next time so he shakes his head looks away from him because tears are sparkling in his eyes.
"Nothing's going on, Doc. Take me to work, please."
"Something is going on, Charlie. You're wearing gloves, you aren't sleeping, or eating, or drinking and you're coming home so late. Much later then usual. Drop the act, for once in your life and let someone help you."
"I don't need help." He said, after a moment. "I never have. Please Doctor, take me to the station."
"You haven't heard the last of this, Charlie." Blake warned, as he started towards the station again. And Charlie knows he's right so he only have about six hours to come up with a story. And Munro still hasn't called for him so he has no idea if he actually has six hours, or if Munro will take them from him. He wants to hate the man, and scream 'I did this for you!' but of course he doesn't. Because he can't. Blake starts again and he puts his thumb in his mouth and starts to bite at the skin, trying to comfort himself. When they arrive, Blake gently pulls his hand away from his mouth, and guides it back to his lap. "Charlie." he murmurs. "We're all very, very worried about you. Please, please, talk to me. You don't have to suffer alone." He does, but he doesn't say it out loud.
"Don't worry about me." He said, after a long pause, "Have a good day, Doc." he sighs. Blake sighs softly as he watches him go.
…
Towards the middle of the day, it is Hobart who notices something is very, very wrong with Charlie. He sits like a ghost, pale, and worn down. As well as the hand biting. "Davis, you look sick."
"I'm fine."
"No you aren't."
"Leave me alone, Hobart." he shoots, as fast as he can with his addled brain. Hobart stares at him for a long minute, before making a cup of tea and setting it on his desk.
'Milk, no sugar." He states, giving Charlie a concerned look. "Go sit outside. Have a drink. Maybe you'll come to your senses and go home." Charlie looks annoyed at him, but does so. He takes the tea, and sit on the bench in the shade, watching shadows pass him buy, losing track of time, and not realizing that his tea had cooled, and he was now drinking cold tea.
…
He's still there, drinking his cold tea when Blake arrives. The car pulls up, and he stands, going around, before smiling. He has a lie he can use, he will fix this, and the he can go back to Munro. Munro has not called on him yet but that doesn't mean he won't. He walks towards him, ad attempts to smile, but it comes out lopsided and awkward. "Boy. Am I glad to see you."
"Did you know about this?" Blake asks, holding up a letter that he's never seen before.
"I don't know what it is." He can't see that well. His eyes have gone blurry. His jaw hurts. His hand throbs. Blake suddenly grabs him by the collar, and shoves him up against the wall. He drops his cup.
"Did you know?!" He shouts, as Charlie's leg folds under him. As soon as Blake drops him, he falls. Blake stares at him, confused. He hadn't even pushed Charlie that hard, but his anger courses though his veins, and he can't help but draw back a foot like he wants to strike the downed Sergeant. "I sent letters, money, none of it got though, did you know?" Charlie pulls his legs close to him, and coughs slightly.
"God, Charlie!" Blake said, as Charlie nodded slightly.
"You knew! She thinks ive abandoned her again, and I promised I would-"
"It's the boss!" Charlie shouted, suddenly. Blake knelt down and yanked him up by the back of the shirt.
"The what?"
"The boss! Your name...It came up on a watch list."
"What's Munro got to do with that?" Blake demanded, shaking Charlie suddenly. He thinks he can feel his brain rattling around in his head.
"He's on to it! He told me."
"When?"
"Three days ago." Blake looks at him for a moment.
"Let me read you something, Charlie." Blake said, as he started to read the letter, Charlie starts to fade in an out a little bit. His mind is blurry. Nothing makes sense. His hand hurts.
"Lucien, I'm sorry." He's not sure if he's sorry that he's about to pass out, that he's allowed himself to fall so very far, or that he didn't say anything about the letter. Could be a mix of all three. Blake finally seems to see though his anger, and kneels next to him, pulling him up into his lap. He puts a hand on his forehead, and then takes it away.
"You're burning up."
"Bit hot..." He agreed. Blake, after a moment, lifts him, and puts him in his car. Charlie says nothing. He's already lost.
…
Blake carries into the house, calling for Jean. "Jean! Jean, I have an emergency!" Jean comes out in a hurry and sees Charlie in the doctors arms, and joins him in the surgery.
"It looks like he's..."
"Very ill." The doctor said, setting to work at removing Charlie's police blazer. Jean takes it from him, before Blake starts to take off his gloves as well, before stopping. He'd pulled off the left glove to reveal the missing finger tip. Jean turns slightly green, and Blake has to actually stop. "Bloody hell." He said, softly. Charlie remains unresponsive.
"I thought he was hiding a cold." He said, softly. "I didn't know." He murmured, taking the hand into his own and taking off Charlie's somewhat makeshift bandage. "I need penicillin, a needle and thread, clean gauze and disinfectent.' he decides, looking Charlie's hand over. "God only knows if it'll be enough."
…
He moved Charlie onto the couch in the studio, wrapped thickly in blankets and more or less surrounded by pillows. Sitting himself on a chair nearby, his eyes keep landing on the missing fingertip. Two days have passed, and there has been very little change. He's given the injured man a little water when he seemed even verging on coherent, but it's not enough. He's running out of options. He knows, logically, that he should have taken Charlie to the hospital, but he didn't, because Charlie would have gone by now if he was going to, so he decided there was probably a good reason for that. Any reason, really.
But mostly, he feels guilty. Jean comes in and sits up on one of the tables, looking down at poor Charlie. "Any change?" She asked, Blake looked up, and shook his head.
"No. Not really." he sighed, softly.
"How about you?"
"I'm fine, Jean." He said, looking at Charlie for another moment.
"What happened?"
"His leg crumpled, and he fell."
"And?"
"And I didn't help him. I yelled at him, and I tried to make him feel guilty and he was so sick."
"True."
"I should have seen it, I should never have let him go in." He said, rubbing his face finally.
"Maybe." Jean agreed, "But how is feeling guilty going to help Charlie?" She asked, kindly, and patted his knee. "He should have gone to you. It's not your job to baby him." She said.
"I know..." He said, and sighed again. Jean stood.
"I'm going to bed. I assume you'll be spending another night in here?" Blake nodded, and gently took Charlie's hand between both of his.
…
Charlie's fever does eventually break, and his finger starts to heal. It's not unexpected. Charlie Davis is a tough boy. Blake spends more time keeping an eye on him then he used to. Charlie's not allowed out of the study, because Blake just wants to wrap him in cotton wool and keep him safe forever. He's too young to be this hurt.
Charlie sees it as a pain more then a gift. While the reprieve from Munro is appreciated, he can't help but fear what will happen when he returns to work on Monday. Blake has said he won't be going in but he can't afford to have any more sick days. "Doc, I have to work." He said, as Blake insistently tucked the blanket over his toes. Even his tooth (or lack there of) was starting to heal. "If I don't work then I don't get paid. And if I don't get paid then you get no rent."
"Money isn't a problem for me Charlie." He said, pausing to fluff Charlie's pillow. He still hasn't brought it up yet, but he knows that he will have to.
"I know, Doc. But I feel like a free loader." He complained. Blake sighed softly, and sat back in the seat he'd been occupying for the last week or so.
"Well, you aren't." Blake sighed, before carefully taking Charlie's hand between his own. Charlie is a good liar. Always has been, but he can feel his carefully constructed mask of embarrassment, that hides an overwhelming apathy towards his body starting to slip. "Charlie..." Blake said, after a moment, "What happened to your finger?" Charlie was about to let out his carefully prepared lie when Lawson enters the room, carrying a tray. He was aware Lawson had come home, but he hadn't known he was already home.
"Boss! You're back!" He said, excitedly, as if that would draw the attention away from him, and what he's gone and let happen to his poor body.
"Yes, and I want to know why, when I leave for about three months, my Sergeant goes and nearly kills himself." No way out now. He has to speak, so he does let out his carefully prepared lie.
"I...Cut it off with the guillotine."
"The big paper one in the station?" Charlie nods.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Blake asked, taking a tea cup off the tray and pressing it into Charlie's hands.
"I was embarrassed!" He said, looking down, trying to look ashamed.
"Next time, tell me, so this doesn't happen." Blake sighed, looking at the cup in Charlie's hands until Charlie did take a sip from it. "And how do you explain the whip marks on your back?" He asked, finally. Charlie's face pales because he didn't have a carefully constructed lie for that. So he makes one up on the spot.
"Are...Are you really one to judge my bedroom habits?" It's a pale lie, that hardly seems to hold a candle to the previous one, but it will have to do. Lawson and Blake look at one another and they don't believe him.
"Charlie?" Lawson asks, but Charlie doesn't want to hear it, so he drinks as much of the tea as he can in one go, or at least until Lawson stops trying to talk to him. He just wants to forget that it ever happened.
They drop it after that.
…
"He's lying." Blake said, with a sigh.
"You don't say." Lawson commented, looking back towards the study.
"When he had a fever, he kept asking me about Munro, if Munro had called for him."
"Why?"
"I have no idea." he said, "But I'll be he has something to do with this."
"Are you saying that because you actually think that, or just because you dislike him?"
"Maybe both.' Blake admitted, "But you have to agree, Charlie is hiding something from us."
"I did agree."
"Sorry, Matthew, I just haven't been sleeping much."
"Because you've been annoying Charlie?"
"I suppose." he said, with a small sigh.
"What are we going to do? He asks.
"I have no idea." Blake said, "Do you?"
"No." So there they both sat, in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to save Charlie from whatever was ruining him.
…
Blake decides they need to find out what happens themselves or it will just get worse. They both start to hang around Charlie during the day, but nothing happens. Charlie is annoyed at them, but he says nothing. Munro scolds him for not having his finger tended too. He apologizes. Blake thinks the whole interaction sounds forced because the very sight of Munro seems to start bringing Charlie to tears. He passes by Blake, and sighs at him. He moves on. Charlie doesn't seem to have relaxed at all. Even Hobart looks worried about him. Blake is no closer to finding out what was happening to his friend.
…
The fear in the pit of his stomach is back. Blake confiscated his gloves from him, and made him keep the tips of his fingers wrapped up tight in cotton to prevent infection. Now he had no where to put his nervous energy. Munro passes though three times, but says nothing to him. He can feel it coming. He can just see the look in his eyes.
He considers, very briefly, how pathetic he has become after little more then a week. Just the sigh of Munro brings a sparkle of tears to his eyes because he looks at his boss and all he can see and feel all of a sudden is the same pain he felt when the tooth escaped his jaw. Even Hobart is looking at him funny. He should have taken Munro up on the Bonehead offer.
He should have gotten out of this God forsaken town.
…
Munro calls on him that evening. The Doctor has gone home, and Lawson is so busy he won't notice him gone. He walks in and closes the door behind him. Munro steeples his fingers under his chin. "I would have been very upset, had something happened to you, Davis. Perhaps upset enough to hurt some of your friends. Keep that in mind." Charlie can already feel tears on his face, he disgusts himself. Munro stands, and gently wipes the tears away with his hand. It makes Charlie feel ill, and today he actually does have something in his stomach so he can't be ill."Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are when you cry?" Munro asked. before telling Charlie to take off his blazer, and let him see his stomach. So Charlie does. His stomach, much like his chest and back, is pale, with a small speckling of freckles. Nothing unusual.
He opens his desk drawer to show Charlie a small claw Hammer and before Charlie can even react, it makes contact with his stomach. He coughs and his stomach turns sickeningly. Munro is about to strike him a second time, when from behind him he hears voices. "Drop the weapon." It's Lawson. Charlie wants to be ill, and he wants to scream for him to leave because he will be hurt. Munro smiles, and offers Lawson a sheet of paper.
"He agreed to this. Move along, Inspector." Lawson takes it, and then after a moment, starts to move towards Charlie.
Charlie tries his best not to cry again "Please just go, Lawson." he said, softly. "He'll hurt you." he whispered. Lawson looks at Munro, for a moment, before looking at the paper.
"I see." He said, before putting it back down. "It's just a shame that won't stand in court." He said, before suddenly taking the other man out with a phonebook to the head. Blake moves in, now, and takes Charlie away from the room, and Charlie dares to wonder if it may have actually just ended.
…
After a while, he finds himself sitting on top of his desk, tea placed just to his left, Blake's coat around his shoulders. It doesn't take long for Blake to join him.
"Don't you like the tea?" Charlie held one of his hands up to show him.
"They're shaking so badly I can't hold it."
"Ah." He said, before gently patting his arm. "It's alright." he said, before picking up the tea, putting it in Charlie's hand, and then closing his around it so Charlie could have a drink.
"You must think I'm such an idiot." He murmured.
"Why would I think that?" Blake asked, carefully.
"I let it get this far. I should have just said something."
"You should have, yes." Blake agreed, "But you did what you did because you wanted to protect us."
"Did he tell you that?" Blake nods. "He's right. He hit Mattie with a car..What was I meant to do?" He asked, quietly.
"I don't know." Blake said, "But being open with me would have been a good starting point."
"I guess you didn't believe the guillotine story, ha?"
"No. I didn't."
"Pity. It looks so much neater that way." He said, softly, looking down at the finger with the missig top as Blake helped him take another drink.
"What did he do it with?"
"Sacateers."
"Those big garden scissors?" Charlie nods.
"He pulled out one of my teeth as well..And got me in the back with his belt."
"And that's all?" Charlie nods.
"Do you believe me?" This time it's Blake's turn to nod.
"And you know that none of this was your fault, don't you, Charlie?" He nods, halfway.
"I guess." He said, before setting the cup down and wiping his eyes furiously. "I'm pathetic. I'm sorry."
"No, you aren't. You're just worn down and tired." The doctor said, before pulling Charlie into a hug. They stand together for a few minutes, before Charlie murmurs
"He told me I was pretty...When I cried." Blake just holds him tighter and he wonders why because there's nothing beautiful about watching someone else suffer.
"I'll get Matthew, and we'll go home." He said, releasing Charlie from his arms. Charlie sat, and picked at the gauze on his finger tips.
…
Blake went down to the cells to see Lawson, with a smear of blood on his face, leaving Munro's cell. He passed Lawson a hankerchief, and looked in on Munro. It looks like Lawson didn't leave a single part of him in tact. He doesn't have any desire to help the bastard. "If you thought he was pretty when he cried, maybe you should have seen him smile from time to time." he offered, before collecting Lawson and heading back upstairs.
…
"Will he be alright?"
"Munro?"
"No, Charlie."
"Eventually, yes."
"Should he have some time off work?"
"Probably."
"Should I send him back to Melbourne?" Blake shakes his head no.
"I want him where I can keep an eye on him." Lawson nods, and waits by the door while Blake collects Charlie, and brings him outside with them.