He woke when the car stopped. Someone opened the door and he left his cage with as much dignity as he could muster. Which wasn't much; he was handcuffed and could feel tears stained across his cheeks.
Damn that kid, makin' me cry like a schoolgirl.
Murdoc's legs were heavy when he stepped onto the pavement.
He was led into the station by a bulky man with a black uniform and no hair. Murdoc felt another officer behind him, staring into the back of his head as he walked. He wanted to stop short and let the officer run into his back but the holster at the waist of the man in front of him made him think better of it.
The cheap fluorescent lighting made him squint. He waited, hovering awkwardly over a wooden bench, while the officer with the shaved head spoke to someone behind a desk. They were too far away to hear but Murdoc could imagine the distaste in his voice. He turned back and led Murdoc further still, into a hallway he couldn't see the end of. For once, he had nothing to say. He had never been arrested before, he was always so careful.
He was taken to a room with a calm-looking woman and a machine Murdoc didn't recognize. They released his hands and recorded his fingerprints, the officer pushed his hand down and the machine displayed them on a little screen. Then the woman measured his height and took his picture and Murdoc felt like a stray dog with too many diseases.
He knew he was supposed to pose for the pictures with a screw-everything smile but he couldn't swallow the lump in his throat, so he just stood in silence like the woman told him to.
"Have you ever attempted to commit suicide?" She asked in a mechanical voice.
"'Course not," Murdoc spat.
Drier questions followed, like "What's your home address?" (55 Archers Court) and "When were you born?" (June 6, 1966)
Then Murdoc emptied his pockets onto the table; a pack of Mayfair Superkings and a peeling leather wallet. The officer put his things into a plastic bag and took his arm again. Murdoc was getting tired of that.
He brought him to another door, it was heavy and he had to pull Murdoc in before it slammed shut. The walls were lined with identical cells and the lights were too bright for his tired eyes. Murdoc was reluctant to leave his shoes in the hall.
He had imagined heavy bars and cigarette butts, but his cell was all clean white bricks and yellow light. He was locked behind a steel door and then the officer was gone. Murdoc was left alone with a blue-gym-mat mattress and a metal toilet in the corner. He did the only thing available to him: he sat on the mattress with his head in his hands.
After a while the door clicked open and a man in a pressed suit introduced himself to Murdoc with a tense smile. He called himself a solicitor and was flanked by two officers that looked ready to defend him. Murdoc rolled his eyes.
"Mr. Niccals, We can schedule you a court date on the next available workday. If all goes well you'll be in front of a judge tomorrow."
Everyone called Murdoc by his surname here. It was too formal; it reminded him of his father.
"Is there someone you'd like to contact regarding your arrest?" Murdoc couldn't think of anyone that would care. His throat felt tight and he didn't trust his voice, so he just shook his head.
"Are you sure? Most people choose to contact a spouse or family member." Murdoc couldn't imagine what his father would say if he called.
"I said no," his voice sounded harsh. He consciously uncrossed his arms.
The man left and then Murdoc was alone again. He remained sitting, even after an officer came with a folded blanket and a cup of water.
The lights never dimmed, and he couldn't be sure how long he sat there. Eventually he stood with numb limbs. The water tasted like metal and the blanket scratched against his skin. Murdoc left the blanket and laid his back against the mattress with his arms folded under his head.
The night was long, the static in his mind never quieted and every once in a while someone new would be brought in and Murdoc would be pulled from his thoughts by angry screams and something banging against metal.
When he had memorized every crack in the tiled ceiling and the mattress felt like stone against his skin, someone came for him. It was a guard he didn't recognize, a man with foul breath and close-cropped hair the colour of the concrete he stood on.
The guard led him past the lobby and into the blinding morning sun. The air outside was thick and it felt like being smothered; not much different from his cell but he appreciated the soft breeze on the back of his neck and the freedom of it all. They walked to the patrol car and Murdoc climbed into the backseat without being asked. It felt less unnerving with the absence of the sirens.
He told Murdoc that he was meeting with a court-assigned lawyer in a voice like gravel, and then they fell back into silence.
They pulled up to an office building and Murdoc followed the guard to a desk with a receptionist who looked like she should be retired. Then they were walking again, down a carpeted hall with the officer's hand tight around his arm. When they reached a tiny room with too many windows, the officer guided Murdoc in and waited at the door.
A woman smiled like she was expecting them.
"Mr. Niccals?" she called out to him.
"I'm Eva Mackenzie, your assigned attorney," she said when he nodded.
Murdoc reached over a desk to shake hands with her and sat down. She was a slim woman, with a tight bun and a matching smile. She steepled her hands and looked at him; straight in the eyes, like she pitied him.
"Mr. Niccals, your case has hope." Her voice reminded Murdoc of his years in public school. "I believe the most you'll be charged with is theft and destruction of property." Murdoc didn't know what that meant, and the room's cramped air was making him lightheaded.
"I'll do everything I can to keep you out of prison," she said. Murdoc wasn't sure if he should smile so he just leaned forward in his seat and nodded.
The courtroom was dark mahogany everywhere he looked. He followed his lawyer down a row of benches with his arms tight at his sides. The judge was a thin man with frown lines who looked much too comfortable with his position of authority.
Murdoc didn't do a lot between hearings, just sat on the bench outside and waited for his attorney to bring him back to the courtroom.
The whole thing was a mess of legal terms that Murdoc didn't understand but by the end his lawyer was smiling and pushing papers at him to sign. He was just glad to be done; the wooden bench was uncomfortable and he had run out of drinking water much too soon.
When he was back outside and breathing fresh air, Eva sat beside him on the bench and explained his sentence.
"You got off on probation, 30, 000 hours of community service," her voice was high with excitement, and she was waiting for him to thank her.
Murdoc composure cracked and the frustration he felt about all this finally hit him.
"30, 000 hours? Are you fucking kidding me?" he was standing now, pacing along the length of the bench with his fingers pressed into his temple, "That's five years for Christ's sake!"
Her back straightened, "It's three. And you could have been facing prison time."
Murdoc huffed a sigh and sat again, "What am I supposed t' do for 30 000 fucking hours?"
"I spoke with the judge, and we've arranged for you to care for the boy you injured," her voice was careful. "He's catatonic, and requires 24-hour watch."
Murdoc rode back to the station with the same officer in the silence he had grown used to.
He signed more papers and was given the bag of his belongings.
When Murdoc was outside he snatched up his pack of cigarettes and held one to his lips, letting the tension in his shoulders melt. He counted the bills in his wallet and waited for a taxi to take him to the boy he had nearly killed.
A/N: thanks so much for the reviews! they made me smile so much~
again, please tell me if you spot any mistakes!
