Author's note: While publishing the story the next chapter already had formed in my head. Sorry. I'm weak... Yeah, some of you know that.
Still no plot, just another scene.
.
The car park was deserted. She sat in her mini and smoked. Today they had arrested a serial killer. Barbara should be happy, or at least satisfied with the result, but she was not. She had suggested that she would play decoy. She had worn a dress, wore some false jewels and also had put on her heels that she normally had stuffed in the back of her cabinet - too less opportunities for those. She felt the eyes of her cheeky colleagues on her and could have sworn that her DI had blushed. They had carried her to this posh party, with too much brainless idiots, with too much bored waiters carrying too much champagne and tasteless nibbles, with too much cameras watching her - which was in fact good because they had guarded her.
It had been hard not to think of all the eyes following her but it had to be for her own safety. She had started to spot the cameras and had imagined that Tommy would be her personal guard. She had danced with some of those self-regarding blokes who bored her deeply. She had prefered to dance with somebody different. Someone with whom she would have the chance to banter, to talk, really talk and not just babbling about some bloody high society stuff. She would have had his arms in her back, she would have put her hand in his, she would have had the chance to lay her head on his shoulder. She would have had the chance to pretend just a bit for just a while. But she had had a role to play, a role that had been tailor-made for her.
The lonely one.
In fact she had had hours to wander around and get bored to death with all those uninteresting people around. But she had had to be patient and wait for the moment later in the night when she could act out her role, giving him the impression to be her 'last chance'. She nearly had stopped the whole farce at some point but if he had not been there they would have told her already or stopped the operation somehow and so she had stayed. Though deep inside she had wanted nothing more than to get out of those shoes, slump onto her sofa and watch some telly until she would sleep. Then this creature finally had entered the scene.
He had been not at all what she would call her target but she had had to play her role, she constantly had told herself. In fact she felt more alone than ever, flirting with a serial killer she knew would be arrested later, seeing the irony in this flirt, with the only purpose to nick him, as well as feeling the sarcasm having him flirt with her just to be his next victim. She would have prefered talking stiffly with Lord Asherton. This would have been at least a real feeling.
But then and there had not been the time nor the place for it. She had had to banter with him, she had had to let him help her on with her coat, she had had to follow him giggling to his car in some dark alley. Though she had known of a good working safety machinery in the background, though she had known that multiple eyes watched over her, that in that alley would be an enormous number of policemen, she still had been horribly afraid then. She had known that the hardest part of being the victim was still to follow. She disgustedly had kissed him, she had let him press her against the car. She had had to hold back her vomit and think of something else. On her way to the ball she had had thought of this situation briefly, how she should react if it comes to this. First she had had thought about trying to imagine her DI but that would have left a horrible memory whenever they would have met thereafter. So she had closed her eyes and had pictured her first stupid boyfriend. There had not been much difference.
When the criminal finally had put the rope around her neck and the gag into her mouth she was literally scared to death. Her fear had been genuine. What if they would not make it in time? What if they had lost track? What if he would not mind a bullet and continue to struggle her? What if they would decide they need more evidence and let him go too far?! All she had wanted in that moment had been that somebody would rescue her. She focussed on her dark haired knight and tried to breath calm, to get over her panic.
Tommy! Help me!
Instead it was an armed officer and the clicking trigger of his gun had been the sweetest sound she had ever heard. Another PC had helped her out of the car and had brought her back to New Scotland Yard. He had not been at the car, he had not been in the crowd of policemen, he had not been there to take her in his soothing arms. In fact, she believed that now, he had not been there to absent himself from the 'special treatment' of a serial killer who had harmed one of their colleagues - her.
Back at the office she had put off her shoes and slipped into some cosy sneakers, no matter how funny those might look with her dress she still wore. She had thrown a jumper around her shoulders against the upcoming cold. It had not been very helpful against the cold- and sickness she felt when they had watched the pre-sorted CCTV footage and had talked about the further handling. Despite the heartfelt congratulations from her colleagues she had felt entirely alone in the full room. She could not focus on what the DI had said in the front. She had not been able to follow his words. Obviously nobody had seemed to care or had expected she would say something.
She had yawned extraordinarily notable. She finally had wanted nothing more than to get home and have a shower, brush her teeth, snuggle into her blanket on the sofa, get lulled away from some stupidity on the tv-screen. Finally Tommy had dismissed them. All. He had made no intentions to keep her back for a word or two in private.
So she had left to her car, had lit a cigarette and had sat there for quite some time, thinking about the evening, the dullness of the ball, the long boring hours of waiting, later the culmination of events, much later the lack of a proper thanks. He had just looked at her. He had just stared at her cleavage like he had not seen one ever. Barbara had snorted in disgust before she had remembered the hidden pain in his eyes. She had remembered how he had looked at her when she had arrived in the screening room and had been greeted by 'the boys', like she had named their colleagues. They had slapped her on her back, they had congratulated her, Winston even dared to hug her. All she had been able to see had been Tommy's face. He had smiled, genuinely, but with a little twist in the corners of his mouth. He had simply watched her and she thought she had seen a certain unhappiness.
He had not even asked the inevitable question after a case if she would fancy a pint. Well, it was two in the morning, but still...
It would have been better if we had been alone. We could have talked about it. She laughed out of the front window. We would not have talked about it. We never talk about it, about how we feel, what is going on in our minds. How deeply I have fallen for this stiff, stupid, sweet, handsome Lord Police Officer. Bloody hell, and he had not even hugged me.
She determined that she should go back and see if he had not sneaked out through some back door. She flicked the cigarette out of the window and left her car. At least she had to thank him and tell him that she never ever would be doing such thing again. And perhaps to demand a hug from him, for that was what she needed the most. As the friend he was, as the best friend she ever had and as the man she so...
On the stairs up to the screening room she suddenly realised that she loved him. She nearly tripped.
Get it off your head, he is just your DI, he is just a good friend, he will never mirror your feelings that way. Silly.
Tommy was not in his office so she went back to the screening room. She arrived in the doorframe and froze. Yes, he still was there. He sat in the dark and watched her stilled image on the screen. Barbara, wearing that dress she never thought would be looking so... sexy on her figure. She saw the sparkling jewels, the determined look she gave almost exactly into the camera. And she saw his handsome, screen-lit profile as he watched her image for minutes, breathing deeply, wrinkling his forehead, visibly thinking. The expression in his face was suffering, painful, in fact it also was somehow sad. Barbara felt a wave of emotions crush over her. She leaned on the frame and blinked away a tear.
What is going on in his mind? she wondered. Why is he staring at my picture? Is he...?
They swallowed simultaneously. She held her breath when with a sharp intake his suddenly went uneven.
She watched him pouring a not too small drop of whisky in his probably icecold tea and raising the mug to the screen.
"Cheers, Barbara!" His voice was ragged.
"Cheers..." she softly answered.
Tommy whirled around.
.
...
Author's note: Just to make it clear. I don't believe and I don't allege that the Metropolitan police of London would harm any suspect or criminal they arrest. At least I hope it.
And yes, I know and you know that we can expect a third chapter...