It was a bright and warm morning as the Inspector strolled to Station House No. 4. Naturally his mind cast back to the day that Darby O'Farrell attacked him, so he kept his trusty walking stick clutched tightly in his right hand. Thankfully there was no such attack on this day; in fact it was most unusually uneventful. Brackenreid shrugged it off as he stopped at the steps of the police station. He sighed a light, but then with a slight smile on his face, he knew it was time to get back to work.

The Inspector walked up the stairs and was greeted with a warm "hoorah" as the Constables and Detective applauded for his full time return to work. The Englishman's face flushed with embarrassment, "Thank you men," he acknowledged as he walked toward his office. Several men patted him on the shoulder as he moved past them. Murdoch and Crabtree were nearest the office entrance; both men smiling. Brackenreid stopped in front of them, "Let's get to work," he winked with a slight tick of his head before he entered his office. Both Murdoch and Crabtree knew that the Inspector was indeed thankful for their show of hospitality.

Crabtree went to his desk, while Murdoch followed his boss into his office, "It's good to have you back, Sir," the Detective smiled.

"It's good to be back, Murdoch! I love my family, but I've had enough pampering for quite some time," Brackenreid smiled as he place his hat and walking stick on the rack just inside his office door, then gingerly removed his suit coat; clearly he was still in some discomfort with his injuries. The inspector then slowly lowered himself into his chair, "Where are we at with this Marcel Charles case?" he was eager to lean what was happening.

Murdoch moved closer to the Inspector's desk, "First, I'd like to apologize in not believing what you said about Marcel Charles, and blindly took his words as a changed man," the Detective stated.

"That's water under the bridge Murdoch. I want to know what you have on that toe-rag that will put him behind bars for the rest of his miserable life," Brackenreid stated as he leaned toward his desk, placing his forearms on his blotter, waiting.

"Well, thank you for your understanding," Murdoch said. "I'm sure the evidence will be sufficient to see him locked away for life," the Detective noted. "The most damning is the Bible containing newspaper articles about his trial and your involvement in that case. And the syringe that he brought into your hospital room."

Brackenreid sat numbly looking at the Detective, "He planned to kill me, didn't he?" he slowly asked.

"I believe so, Sir," Murdoch spoke softly.

Brackenreid stood and walked to his window. He slid his hands into his trouser pockets as he peered through the blinds, "I hope he gets what he so richly deserves," he growled. He then turned to the Detective, "Is he still here?"

Murdoch nodded sharply.

"Good. I want to see that little bastard," the Inspector turned on his heels.

Murdoch swallowed, for he knew why the Inspector wanted to see Charles. He couldn't help but want to join in, but he had to show constraint, "Just be careful Sir. You wouldn't want to be charged with police brutality," he warned.

"I'll only hit the little bastard once," Brackenreid growled. "Remember, my doctor said I was to be on "light duty" for the remainder of the month," the Inspector snorted. The comment made Murdoch smirk.

"Let's get this over with," Murdoch suggested.

"Indeed," Brackenreid looked as feisty as ever; his face saying it all. The two men walked down to the holding cells. Marcel Charles was quick on his feet, "I want out of here," he sneered through the bars.

"Fat chance on that, Sunshine," Brackenreid laughed.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Charles barked back. "You've got it all wrong. It was Dobbin and Reese that put me up to it," he tried to convince the two men otherwise.

"Open the door, Murdoch," Brackenreid ordered, and Murdoch did. He held the iron bar door open for his boss, and reminded him, of just one hit, "Just one, Sir," he stated firmly. Brackenreid's jowl muscles tightened as he sternly walked into the cell; his fists balled up tightly.

Charles backed away, "You can't do this," his voice crackled.

"Want to bet on that?" the Inspector firmly stated as he moved even closer to Charles. And with a quick solid gab, Brackenreid landed a solid punch to Marcel's gut, doubling him over. Charles groaned as he slowly dropped to his knees with his arms wrapped over his stomach.

"Sir," Murdoch warned. Brackenreid was breathing heavily through his nostrils. "You're lucky that the Detective is here Charles, or you'd have gotten more," he glared at the man on the cell floor as he slowly turned and face Murdoch, "Hurry up and get that scum out of here before I'm tempted to finish him off," the Inspector firmly said as he briskly walked past the Detective heading back to his office. He didn't want to admit that his actions probably hurt just as much as Marcel gut, as his ribs had still not fully healed.

Murdoch closed the iron bard door and locked it. "Your trial will start the day after tomorrow," he said flatly as he too walked away, leaving the prisoner on the floor. The Detective rejoined his boss in the bullpen, "Sir?" he noted the look on Brackenreid's face.

"I just pulled something, that's all," the Inspector said. "I have to say, despite it," he noted his side, "That felt bloody good!" he almost laughed.

"I'm sure it did," Murdoch said. He hated when his boss beat up a suspect or prisoner, but no one deserved more than Marcel Charles.

"In fact, it was almost as good as the licking my Margaret gave him with the bloody bed pan!" Brackenreid quipped with pride.

"That certainly would have been a sight to behold," Murdoch smirked. "I kind of wished I had seen it with my won eyes."

"It was brilliant," the Inspector smiled as he walked to his desk. "Absolutely brilliant," he stated as he sat at his desk with a satisfied look on his face.

The Judge rapped his gavel down hard on the block of oak on the bench, "Order!" he shouted as the verbal confrontation between Reese and Marcel escalated. Two Constables intervened and shoved the men back down in their seats. The court was hoping to deal with all three men at the same time, as they were all in on want became known as the "Brackenreid Incident", together. As the room settled, Brackenreid nervously looked over to the Detective and his wife; they both glanced back, Murdoch's eyebrows lifted at the spectacle and was thankful that they were sitting in the gallery above the main courtroom floor. "Bloody hell," Brackenreid shuttered. Margaret tugged at his shoulder at his exploitative comment. He chose to ignore it for now.

"These men clearly no longer trust each other," Murdoch whispered to his boss.

"I just want this over with," Brackenreid whispered back.

"I think your testimony was solid," the Detective said under his hushed breath. "I watched the faces of the jury. This out outburst is Charles' attempt to try to have the sentence reduced by spreading the blame," he pointed out. "And the same with your account, Mrs. Brackenreid," he added.

"Miss James and Doctor Ogden also had some good stuff," Brackenreid pointed out.

"I suppose we now just wait," Julia suggested.

"I suppose," Brackenreid sighed. "I hope this ends soon."

"I'm sure it won't be long, Sir," Murdoch offered his support. Brackenreid couldn't take his eyes off Marcel Charles. "I hope you're right me ol' mucker," he said half laughing before he swallowed as he looked down at the room below.