Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything in this piece
A/N: This is going to be a long one so please don't hold your breath waiting for an ending. My target is the end of the year but… well, it's me so…
Going Under
"MAX!"
The scream was so real he almost jumped out of bed, but shaking his head as his eyes opened the last of the dream soon began to float away, leaving the DS with an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Her voice had been so clear, so familiar to him that for so long there he'd wanted to believe it wasn't just a figment of his imagination. Maybe somewhere out there she was calling for him, needing his help, and he just didn't recognise it. Maybe with enough positive thinking he could find her again?
But then, when was the last time DS Max Carter thought positively? Probably when he was about eight years old and still believed that humanity didn't suck spectacularly. He now knew better.
Sitting up and rubbing at bleary eyes he glanced at the clock beside him. It was a little after four am and still dark, but he opted to get up and get ready for work. Staring at the papers on his desk and achieving nothing was still better than staring at his carpeted floor and doing much the same.
...
Detective Inspector Tracey Hardcastle stared at the information before her, frowning at the details her girl on the inside had sent through. She held the sheet in her hand for a second, unsure what to do with it, before deciding to take it to the boss. Shoving her chair back she stood and passed over the thick red line that marked the end of the Specialist Investigation section. There were many areas like this in Central 3000, better known by the public as Scotland Yard, and each were marked with thick coloured lines and a little sign hanging from the roof. There was little else telling them apart for every person serving here was at the top of their game, irrespective of what that game was. Across the room from Specialist was the Tactical Firearms Unit (marked in black), beside them Surveillance in green and then Intelligence in a royal blue. These four, including Technical Support, took up the fifth floor and were usually the quietest of all floors. Today, however, SI was buzzing and Tracey's news was responsible for at least half of it.
Walking slowly to the office door of her senior and the head of the investigation DCI Lloyd Moore, Tracey re-scanned the information before her.
'Strathlewen in contact'
It was short and sweet but more than enough. At least enough to get Specialist Investigations excited…
Tracey knocked on the door twice and stepped back as it was ripped open by the frowning, glaring expression on the face of her DCI. Lloyd Moore was a heavyset man; thick eyebrows, moustache and the kind of look that made the younger members of the crew nickname him Cracker, after the famous Scottish series that made Robbie Coltrane a household name. It wasn't uncommon for police, especially those at Scotland Yard, to watch a little too much TV for their own good. But if Lloyd had heard the nickname, he hadn't been too worried about it, and Tracey had never known her superior to miss a chance to yell at someone.
A move he looked about ready to do now.
"You told me to expect Strathlewen at the end of the week Hardcastle."
Tracey tried to hold the frown. Some superiors would be happy things were moving a little quicker than they first thought. Done and dusted then they could get their girl out. But oh no, not Moore, he liked things his way or the highway. "Sorry Boss, not my call, it was Strathlewen's. I guess Kingston has more appeal than we first thought."
Moore glowered at Tracey's somewhat mocking tone but he didn't call her up on it. "Fine, is Taylor ready?"
"I'm sure he is…"
"Don't be 'sure' Hardcastle, be certain!" Tracey took a small step back but it wasn't enough. "NOW!" Then he slammed his office door right in her face. With a shake of her head she turned and went back to her desk.
...
Kara MacPherson rolled over in bed the next morning to find it empty. Her mobile phone lay on her bedside, flipped open where she guessed Pete had been checking up on her again, but this phone wasn't how she contacted her handler. Still, despite having been undercover with Pete for more than 8 months, the man was paranoid. She was bored with it to be honest. She was tired and bored with everything.
But soon she'd move to her next step. Strathlewen. He was in with Pete now and, to Kara's amusement, he'd been rather intrigued by her. She'd played it up as much as Pete allowed. Flirty smiles, short dresses, a few too many touches. At the start her actions would have disgusted her but now it was just… work.
It was all part of being an undercover officer.
It had to be done.
...
Max downed two strong espressos before he could get that scream out of his head. He didn't know where it had come from, it certainly wasn't a memory, but it had been so clear he'd known instantly who it was. But why she was back? That he'd never understand. It had been more than 18 months since she left and nothing had happened until now. Then out of the blue…
He couldn't figure out why and as a detective it was that which frustrated him the most.
"Morning DS Carter." A young, energetic voice floated across the half-empty cafeteria as Max finished his second coffee and he glanced up to see the young blonde PC he couldn't recall the name of smiling at him. "Little early for CID isn't it?"
She passed him to the drink's machine, looking like she'd been up all night, and Max caught her name. Knight. Right, PC Kirsty Knight, the one Sgt. Stone tormented. He gave the girl a nod. "I constantly go above and beyond PC Knight." She gave him a friendly smile and Max couldn't help but think again of that woman in his head. Damn this. "I better get back to it." She gave him a half-hearted wave as she battled with the choice of sodas. He left her, suddenly desiring another coffee, and headed up to CID. It was still dark upstairs, his workmates not due in for another two hours, but Max didn't bother to turn on the lights, finding his desk in the dark (was that sad? Probably) and switching on the desk lamp, frowning down at the papers he'd left there the night before. The recent rise in gun imports to Sun Hill. The smart and slippery Ken Wormwood and his fellow gun traffickers. In a few more days he'd have to hand it over to Specialist Investigations but he'd done so many yards on this so far he wasn't quite ready to let go yet.
When had his life become one frustration after another?
He moved Wormwood to the bottom of his pile and attempted to move on. Avoidance of the issue at hand was Max's strategy for coping. Short term answer only? Of course. But hey, if it worked…
If it worked…
The sound of her voice in his head and the nagging that he'd failed again, not just as a cop, suggested the theory had a long way to go before it was fact.