Before anyone comments- events are not necessarily taking place in the right order of how they were in the show. But the events that occurred still take place as a back drop for this story.

Joan didn't shed any tears that night. That would have been as out of character as her running into Ronnie's arms and begging for forgiveness. The best thing for a girl in her situation to do- was to move on as swiftly and as respectably as possible. Which she did very well…she thought, as she shamelessly scoffed on some chocolate. The very same chocolate she had originally bought for Morse. Soon as the last segment had passed her lips, she was filled with not only sadness that she didn't have any more confectionary to savour, but she had selfishly eaten someone else's supplies- and neglected her duties. She was a bad person.

Joan played some '45s' on the record player, and grooved on her own in her room. Her brother wasn't too happy about that, he wanted to use that player. So after she had burned sufficient energy, she fell into bed and occupied her thoughts with DS Jakes. She was a bad person.

Morse was sat still in his armchair listening to his records, a set of his knuckles were pressed against his mouth in thought. A package hadn't been left today, so it was worth a good think as to why. Perhaps the person has caught onto to their mistake? This disheartened him, as it would anyone. The idea that these meticulously planned packages had been for somebody else, and he wasn't so fortunate to have someone that cared in that way was… depressing. Don't dwell on it, move on. He stood up with some gusto, the draft moved everything in the room. Endeavour ironed a shirt or two to distract himself, it didn't work. Instead he propped his appliance up, and dithered over his board clothed only in his vest and boxer shorts. Maybe, they only wished to leave a few packages?-Unless it was Ms French? The scare he had given her could have caused the strike.

His shirts smelled scorched. What was he doing wrong? He didn't fret over them long, he hung up his attire for the morning, then paced - scrutinizing his previously received gifts that were displayed on his shelf. Unworn, but not necessarily uncared for. He felt wearing them was like accepting defeat, it was funny how things formed in his head. He would feel more inclined to wear them if he knew who had given them to him, but having them being seen was discomforting in itself- they weren't for the world, they were his.

The constable echoed his movements of the night before in the morning- he hoped to iron out the scorched smell with- further ironing. What the hell- iron the boxers as well. The familiar hiss and rise of steam filled the room. He was a late riser this morning, and he wasn't bothered in the slightest. His workload in the office was fairly light, considering he was in the grips of three cases now; fraudsters, a hit and run, and some unusual activity at a local night club. He could connect these somehow, he was capable of solving this on his own. But DI Thursday was holding back on some information, linking to his past dealings with a certain criminal- who happens to run the night club. The night club was run by management clearly linked to organized crime, Morse could feel it tingling in his detective senses. The ambiance of the place was seedy, and modern- a little too modern for his liking. The employees were a tremor with fear of the management, but obedient to no end, not willing to co-operate with the likes of him, as Morse had found out.

He toyed with the idea of wearing 'the tie' and 'pin', it was as fleeting as the steam from his iron. And then the idea was gone. He took hold of one his old ties and knotted it into place- all the while staring at himself in the mirror. He needed little effort on his appearance since he wasn't employed to be atheistically pleasing to eye, which he wasn't anyway. Endeavour didn't style the dirty blond hair on his head, nor did he have a moustache to trim- so he cleanly and closely shaved. And he didn't wear aftershave often enough for him to give off a signature aroma. He could only imagine the tedious routines of other men trying to desperately put themselves into the trendy circle.

The young constable ventured out of his flat before 8, and tripped on nothing on the way out- so no new package then. His assigned car waited out in the cold for him to utilize and warm. As perusal, he made no human contact until he reached the inspector's house. Morse pulled up just as the red door opened, obviously they had been spying through the window for his arrival- hardly unnerving at all.

He partly scrambled out of his seat in order to greet the inspector officially, he hadn't counted on the older gent being halfway up the path before he had the chance to put the brakes on. It was deathly cold outside, his nose clogged from the onset of runniness and instant cooling.

"Morse."

"Morning, Sir." He was on the cusp of debriefing his superior when someone else made themselves known in the doorway of the house.

Ignoring Morse's rather bewitched look- the inspector persevered- "I tried putting her on a bus- she wouldn't have it, so I negotiated with her into riding with us, we'll drop her off at the bank." He worded it like it was business- until his voice broke- "Come on Joan, don't dawdle!" He was already around the side and sliding in before he could see his daughter shut the front door.

Morse stood there rather put out because he had turned into a taxi. His attitude changed when he saw her hesitate upon clocking him, she was about to start down the driveway when was struck with surprise - did she forget he drove her father? In that moment she became her age- and the awkwardness passed after a seconds eye contact. That was unusual. He felt his cheek burn from the cold, that, and the pained smile that was creeping to his features, but it was concealed when he dipped his head. Since he had been bred to be courteous towards the fairer sex, he dithered just to quickly unclick the door for her. "Morning." It rolled off his tongue.

Joan clicked by in her low heels, and dropped down the curb to buddle herself into the back. Her eye line was in-between himself and the door. "Morning." She half sung, the awkwardness still clogging the air. The constable recorded her fully seat herself, even as he closed the door for her. Just casually viewing her in the back- he could see her smoothing down her skirt, and tugging her waistcoat across her breasts- Was this her usual routine? He deducted she thought he was a lecherous man- Probably shouldn't have been so courteous. It was Endeavour's descend into the car that he noticed a quick exchange between father and daughter, that was squelched by him sitting into the driver's seat. Something was up.

They were brumming along the high street when he was reminded of the department store incident, which could have put Morse in Joan's bad books. But him and Miss Thursday hadn't exactly parted on bad terms that day. So her awkwardness could be through sheer fear he could let something slip to her father. Miss Thursday, don't you know I'm good at keeping secrets? He shot her another glance through the rear view mirror, there wasn't much trace of discomfort in her features, her anxiety must have passed.

"Stop off here a moment, I'm just going to nip to the shops." The inspector's voice rung from the passenger side. Just before he departed the car, there was another silent exchange between the family, followed by a strange sense that the constable had walked into a trap. Silence ate away into the parked car. Morse aired this out by rolling down the window then back up again- it killed about a second before he focused on something on the horizon, conscious of the legs pushing into the back of his seat. Was that to remind him she was there? He knew alright.

"Haven't seen you at the house lately?- Have my family scared you off?" It was an attempt to wean him into a decent conversation.

He avoided looking in the mirror for fear of his mouth going dry."Oh, erm no." His voice broke from lack of use. "-No… I've been on general duties." He nodded to assert this. Well that's a start.

"Was Peter there this morning?" She chimed not long after his response.

He immediately started prizing apart her query. "Sergeant Jakes you mean? He's got called." Being brief, this was deliberate- he had no interest in the man.

A single feminine huff of laughter reached his ears."You don't give much away, do you?"

"Er-Don't think I'm meant to, am I?" He mumbled very incoherently at the steering wheel, realizing this wasn't a conversation at all, he was being pumped for information. "It's work, you know-" Morse saw movement in one of his wing mirrors, sighting the inspector leaving the shop.

"Oh, I know." She droned rolling her eyes, he sensed she was trying to relate to him in the pretext of confidentiality with clients at work. Morse was getting geared for the inspector's arrival when he heard Miss Thursday creak forward in her leather seat, and in all confidentiality asked. "Is he still with that Sandra?"

"Who? Jakes?" He was incredulous- didn't have a clue, and why does she have to ask after that vagabond? The constable's brow lowered as he finally looked directly into the rear view mirror at her. Clunk.

"Never mind." She uttered as her father's footfalls reached optimum level outside.

DI Thursday had opened the door and expelled the tense air from the car. She sat back as if nothing had transgressed. "All out of string, had to make do with ribbon." He looked over the two of them- convinced he had missed something, he wasn't hard of hearing."Never mind what?"

The question wasn't for the young detective, so he remained obtuse – she could take the fall, after all, she was the one chasing the wrong kind of man.

Luckily the young Thursday was obliged to speak, it was her father who had asked."Work, if you must know I was asking about work." If you say so. Morse listened intently to her matter-of-fact manner, she was a very convincing liar, probably a trait a father wouldn't be too proud of- she would make an exceptional criminal. Maybe she did try to steal that lotion? "And he's the same as you- it's like getting blood out of a stone." He focused on the floor mat, shrugging it off. True.

"Quite right." A flicker of a smile was observed by the constable on the inspector, the elder was proud of him. "Any case I thought you weren't the type to be gassing it, you can walk it from here, can't you? Save us going up the one way."

Good old Thursday. He couldn't help but smile at this. A good walk isn't just to maintain one's figure- not that she needed it, but to also clear one's head- which she did need. Miss Thursday's choice to fraternize with the enemy had put a slight downer on this already depressing day. Why should you be bothered? He needed to think outside of the box; if girl's like her can go for coppers- then maybe there's hope for hi- Jesus, he was going there. If he had been driving at the time he would have put the brakes on. That was a rather fanciful notion- but what he probably meant was if high-maintenance girls like her could tie themselves to someone with a little more discipline, then maybe there was hope for the human race. Better. He nodded to himself with that strange pained smile of his.

"Right well… while you try to shake him out of it, I'd better take my leave." Miss Thursday directed her retort at no one in particular, but mainly her father, and shuffled across the leather seating. "Thanks for half the lift!"

"-Oh hahaha...nicely please if you want picking up."

"Who says I want to be picked it?" She replied briskly, rapping her fingers impatiently on her handbag.

"After last night, no, I'm not having you traipsing in at 10 at night." Giving her a tone, one as equally as brisk. The younger gent was both uncomfortable and fascinated."I know something happened, after the mood you were in, you won't say anything- but I know when something's heating up my little girl-"

"-Pops." Becoming fretfully embarrassed.

Her father was adamant. "And I'll make sure you're driven straight home."

Endeavour was wondering if that was a hint. Their private discussion was becoming work related by the sound of it, all sorts of criminal offences were crossing across his mind that could have been the reason for Miss Thursday's distress last night. He just hoped it wasn't because he had very nearly arrested her the day before. He was met with a look of indifference from the young female, from this he could tell she had been thinking just that. Oh dear. And he couldn't reassure her, not in front of her father- that would defeat the whole purpose of secrecy.

She inclined towards her father and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. It was just bad timing that Morse got a tickle in his throat, and grunted to clear it. Bugger- no- that wasn't a hint. She threw him a glance and he diverted his gaze to the gear stick.

"Morse." She said in courtesy, and dusted her father's shoulder as she clambered out into the high street. And the woman was gone- but not entirely, her energy still left an impression on the detective's face.

"Anything in last night?" His DI inquired oblivious. Back to business.

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