Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC and ACD not me.

A/N: Shorter chapter than I'd have liked but it seemed a sort of appropriate place to stop it. Still focused on Lestrade and relying very heavily on his OC children in this chapter but they aren't actually going to ever be part of the story (at least I'm not planning on it). This is mainly a 'passage of time/hurrah for Lestrade, he's such a lovely chap but he has problems too' kind of chapter.

I'll try and update it within the next few days again. Oh and this is in the summary but there will be the occasional swear word (there's only one in this chapter).

Review?

It had been a very long day, Lestrade decided, dropping on to the sofa and flicking distractedly through the channels. The case wasn't moving fast enough as it was and today they had been forced to release their prime suspect because of a rock solid alibi. The man was a sleaze that enjoyed many short relationships with women in even shorter skirts, and if he hadn't killed the victim then they had no leads whatsoever. Just once, he reflected, it would be nice to arrest someone and have them turn and say "Yeah, it's a fair cop – I killed them." There'd still be a mountain of paperwork and investigations to do but at least he wouldn't be left at home wondering whether anyone else was going to die because he couldn't do his job right.

He swore loudly and reached for the remote again as his own face flashed across the screen looking harassed as he and a few other officers escorted the suspect into the station. Turning it off, he started towards the kitchen before changing direction and reaching for the scotch he had left on the coffee table the night before. As he was about to open the case file he had brought home, the phone rang. Glancing at the clock (quarter to eight), he answered immediately. He was expecting a very important call.

"Katy?" He winced, thinking how to explain if it was not his daughter on the other end.

"Hi Daddy!" Lestrade felt a weary smile creep onto his face.

"Hi," he whispered, trying not to sniff too obviously, "off to bed then? How was school?"

"Okay," she sounded distracted; he could hear the television in the background. He felt ridiculous but he sort of resented not having her undivided attention – but he had barely spoken to her let alone seen her in nearly three days!

"What did you get up to?" He prompted, envisioning the way she watched TV: eyes wide, lips parted and her tongue stuck out slightly through the gaps in her teeth.

"Stuff." He tried not to huff at her.

"What kind of stuff?"

"Just…stuff. Oh! I'm playing my recorder in the concert on Friday, are you coming?"

He hesitated, until they solved this case everyone on the team would be pulling long hours – the only reason he'd got away tonight was that they had absolutely nowhere to go since letting the guy out. He'd sent everyone home and told them to be there extra early the next day. "I dunno, Sweetheart – I'll try."

"Okay," he could imagine the way her bottom lip jutted out and her brow creased in a perfect imitation of his own when she was disappointed. "I'm going to be really good!" She informed him hopefully.

"I know," he assured her, thinking about the noise complaints from next door and the hours of working with pieces of cotton wool in his ears when she had come home with her new recorder last term. "I'll try really hard to be there, love."

"Promise you'll try your best?"

"Yeah, course I will." He heard someone speak in the background and he braced himself for the inevitable statement that always followed. He was not disappointed.

"Grandma says I have to go to bed now."

He glanced at the clock again – barely five minutes since she'd rung. "All right, Love," he said, swallowing hard, "Nighty night, then."

"Night night, Daddy. Nick wants to talk to you." And just like that she was gone.

"Nicky!" He greeted when his daughter was replaced by his son, hoping that he sounded at least mildly cheerful and not at all annoyed that this was his first conversation with his son in nearly a month. His acting was rewarded with a grunt from his son on the other end. "How you doing?"

"Fine."

Lestrade waited but it was soon clear that no further details were going to be offered. "Your sister said you wanted to talk?" Another grunt. "Look, I'm really glad you did, Mate, because I – "

"Can I borrow some money?" His son cut in.

"Erm…what?" Spoken trying not to sound hurt.

"Can I borrow some money?" His son repeated very slowly.

"Er, yeah. Yeah, course you can. How much?"

"Dunno," he could just see his son shrugging and flicking his ridiculous fringe out of his face. "Whatever you want to give me."

Lestrade sighed and bit back a harsh comment; years of being in the force had made him acutely aware of when he was being exploited. "Well, how much do you need?" He said patiently.

He heard his son huff down the phone. "I don't know! There's a load of us going to Brighton on Saturday, I just need some cash."

Lestrade hesitated, puffing air through his lips. "What on your own?"

"Steve's brother might be coming with us." His son said nonchalantly.

"Well, how old is he?" He asked, racking his brains for previous mentions of this 'Steve' and his brother.

"Sixteen."

"No." Lestrade said shaking his head vehemently, eyes wide, even though he knew his son could not see him. Vague memories of his own teenage antics flooding his mind.

"What?" Half stunned, half furious.

"No," Lestrade repeated, "You're not going off to Brighton on your own – you're only thirteen for Christ's sake! What's your Mum said? And don't you dare tell me she said it was okay because I know she wouldn't have." He took a few deep breaths to calm himself while his son swore down the phone at him but ended up shouting back at him anyway. There were a few awkward minutes while he thanked God his son had not just hung up on him. He soon realised why.

"Mum won't be here to notice anyway, she's going away." His son informed him slyly.

"What? Who with?" He asked, being dragged in even though he knew it was only to distract him from the fact that his son had just sworn at him. A lot.

"Some guy from work." He felt as if he'd been punched in the gut and to make things worse, he could just imagine the satisfied look on his son's face as he was speaking. "He's been round a few times too – Mum's out with him now."

Lestrade clenched his jaw. He supposed it was bound to happen eventually, had in fact felt it happening for months – after all he, himself, had gone from a baby-faced choirboy to a punk in eyeliner and riding a motorbike almost overnight – but he hadn't realised just how fast his little boy was going to turn into teenager that he well…despised. As for the news that his wife was dating, well, he supposed that was to be expected even if he couldn't help thinking that one month was a ridiculously short mourning period for their marriage and that she was probably seeing this bloke from work before they split up.

"Right," he said eventually, trying to sound disinterested. "Well, never mind what your Mother's up to, you're not going to Brighton on your own – even with some sixteen year old!" He added, cutting short the complaint he knew was coming. He waited while his son silently fumed. "Look," he said, relenting, "if you wanna go to Brighton, just give me a bit of time and I'll take you – you can bring your mates if you like."

Nick scoffed and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'fuck that'. "So, can I borrow some money or not?"

Lestrade rolled his eyes exasperatedly, smiling in spite of himself – even if he did want to throttle him, it was nice to speak to his son instead of getting a dial tone every time anyone tried to pass the phone to him. "Yeah," he said softly, "but you're not going to Brighton."

"Dad! God, you just don't…" Whatever it was he didn't do was cut off by Lestrade's mother-in-law's voice in the background and his son breaking off to speak (just as moodily, Lestrade was quite happy to note) to her. When his son returned to speaking to him, Lestrade flattered himself to think that he almost sounded sad. "I've got to go, Dad. Grandma wants the phone."

"Okay," Lestrade replied tightly, "When do you need this money? – and don't say Saturday."

"Whenever, you could drop it here." Lestrade smiled, relieved to finally hear a hint that his son even vaguely wanted to see him. "We're all going to Katy's concert…what fun."

"Don't be nasty," Lestrade chided automatically.

"Are you coming?"

"I'm certainly gonna try."

"So, no then?" His son responded flatly.

Lestrade sighed. "Look, I'm gonna try, okay? I can't promise but I'll do my best."

They were quiet for a moment, then, "Goodnight, Dad."

"Night night, Nicky." Lestrade grinned as he heard his son smile wearily at the nickname. He swallowed then forged ahead, "I love you." He blurted out gruffly. It was strange – he had never really said it when they lived together – but he always felt like he needed to say it now, as if saying it to his kids would make up for the shambles that was their parents' marriage.

Nick paused, clearly still uncomfortable with his Dad pulling out the 'L' word on him. Somewhere, deep within himself, Lestrade could admit that he always hoped his son would return the sentiment but as before, all his son said in reply was "Yeah, okay," and then a dial tone again.

Replacing the phone in its cradle, Lestrade looked at the clock. Half past eight…time for one drink before he started back in on the murderers and other bad guys of the day. Stretching, he went to close the curtains and paused, staring out the window. Silhouetted against the orange glow of the streetlamp was a figure, tall and almost definitely male, wearing nothing but trousers, a T-shirt and shoes, hair plastered to their forehead. They seemed to be staring intently at him (or at least into his front room) which was unnerving to say the least. Even more disconcerting, was that when he went to lock it, Lestrade peered through the glass of the front door (if the guy was casing the joint, he hadn't been very subtle about it but you can't be too careful), and found the figure to be nowhere in sight.

More than a little concerned, Lestrade was almost grateful the kids were not in the house with him. Telling himself that he had been too long in the force, Lestrade sat down, forgoing the drink and set back in on the case files.