SUMMARY: Superintendent Hastings offers Steve a room to stay in his new home after Steve's flat has been broken in by unknown intruders.
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A/N: Hello, everyone. This story takes place after Season 5, following the incident in the previous story "Omission". You can read this as a standalone, but I suggest you read "Omission" first to better understand the characters and for plot continuity. Enjoy, guys. Or not…
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It was a quarter to 10.00 on a Wednesday night when DI Kate Fleming pulled her car over, right in front of the entrance to DS Steve Arnott's flat.
"Right. Here we are," she said. Receiving no response, she turned to look. Her partner sat slump in the passenger seat next to her, sound asleep.
With a fond smile, Kate gently nudged his arm. "Steve?"
He instantly jerked upright to wakefulness. "Huh? What?"
Looking around, he quickly realized that they had already reached his home. He winced in chagrin. "Oh, shit...I'm so sorry, Kate. I fell asleep the entire way."
"No worries, mate." She chuckled, before giving him an intense gaze. "You sure you're alright?"
Steve sighed. "You already asked me that today. A couple times, in fact."
"So I'm asking you again. Are you okay?"
He met her eyes. "I'm fine, Kate. Honest. I'm just…exhausted. What with juggling two major cases and all."
"Yeah, I know what you mean." She nodded in understanding. AC-12 was currently investigating a high ranking officer who was suspected to be involved in a conspiracy to murder, and another case was about a civilian officer who had been reported of manipulating a downtown station's account books.
And yet, Kate knew that the heavy workload was not the only thing that had been draining her partner lately. Almost a month ago, Steve had lost the woman he loved in the most tragic way possible. The beautiful Russian woman—an MI5 covert operative—had been pregnant with his child at that time, but he only found out about it after the autopsy on her body had been completed by the local FME. He had been so shocked and devastated by the discovery that he nearly passed out on the spot.
Kate and Superintendent Hastings had been observing Steve with real concern when he had instantly dived into work to get over his pain and grief. He would take long hours shift to keep himself busy and occupied. On several occasions, Kate would come early to the office only to find him already sitting in front of his computer. And he would always be the last person to leave for home at the end of the day.
The pattern began to worry Kate immensely. After several weeks, Steve had lost some considerable weight. His face looked gaunt and wan, while his eyes were bloodshot as if he had not enough sleep. This evening, when he had swayed dangerously while in the middle of updating a report to the gaffer, she decided that enough is enough. Hastings himself had ordered Steve to go home and rest, forbidding him to drive even. And so Kate had gladly offered herself to be his chauffeur for the night.
"Well," Steve said as he unbuckled his seatbelt, "Thanks for the ride, ma'am."
"No problem." Kate smiled, before she quietly said, "Steve?"
"Yes?"
"You know you can talk to me anytime, don't you?"
He swallowed hard before replying, "Yeah, I know."
"Good. I'm always here when you need me."
"Thanks, mate." Giving her an appreciative smile, he pushed his door open. "Okay. See you tomorrow."
"I'll pick you up in the morning then," Kate offered, as Steve had left his Volvo at the office car park.
"No need. I'll take a taxi," he said, getting out of the car.
"Steve."
He paused with a frown. "Yeah?"
"Call me when you're safe inside your flat."
"Are you freaking serious?" Steve rolled his eyes. "Kate…"
"Just do it," she ordered. "Look, I just want to make sure that you don't collapse from exhaustion on your way up. You should see yourself in the mirror, mate. Even a zombie looks better than you."
When he continued to glare at her, Kate added, "Please? Do it for me, so I can sleep well tonight."
Sighing out loud, he finally relented. "Okay, fine. I'll call you."
"Don't forget."
"Yes, mother," he grumbled as he shut the door close.
Kate watched until Steve had entered his building before putting her car back into gear and driving away. About five minutes later, her mobile phone rang.
"Hey, Steve."
"I'm at my door now, turning the key."
She heard the sound of a door opening, followed by his footsteps as he entered his flat. "Right. Now go straight to bed. No more work for you tonight, so stay the hell away from your laptop."
"But I'm not—"
"Save it, mate. I know exactly that's what you're going to do. Go to bed. Now."
"Jesus…You sound just like my Mom." She heard him complain, as well as the sound of him flipping on a light switch. He then suddenly gasped. "What the fuck?"
"Steve? What's wrong?"
"My flat has been broken into. God damn it!"
"What?" Kate was surprised. "You're joking, aren't you?"
"No, Kate. I'm serious!" he said, sounding as mad as hell. "There's a lot of mess. Everything is—arghh!"
"Steve!" Kate was shocked. She called out his name a couple more times, but the line had already gone dead.
"Shit."
Kate instantly turned on her blues and twos. Amid the blaring siren, she looked both ways before making a quick U-turn to head back towards Steve's building.
"Control, this is DI Kate Fleming from AC-12," she instantly contacted the control center, "I'm reporting a home invasion. I need immediate backup."
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The blow to the back his head caught Steve completely by surprise. It came from behind him as he was stepping into the living room. The blunt force caused him to drop to the floor, his mobile phone flying off his hand to land in a corner somewhere. Lying between the broken pieces of a furniture, he painfully turned to look at his attacker.
Feeling a sense of déjà vu, he glared blearily at the tall stranger wearing dark clothing and a balaclava. His brain must have been knocked off center as well because he was now seeing two of them. Two balaclava men.
Steve thought he was revisiting his worst nightmare. Over and over again.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded to know as he tried pushing himself up. Before he could fully rise, one of the men rushed over to grab him around the throat, slamming him onto his back.
The strange man growled, "Where is it?"
"What are you talking about?" Steve grunted, struggling hard to shove the more muscular man away but to no avail.
"The thumb drive!" the second man yelled. "We know you hide it here somewhere. Give it to us!"
In spite of it all, Steve was utterly perplexed.
What thumb drive?
"I've no fucking clue what you're talking about!" he retorted. "Get off me!"
Instead of releasing him, the stranger tightened his grip around Steve's throat. Wheezing for breath, Steve batted frantically at those hands that clutched him. He groped about on the floor, looking for anything useful as a weapon. His hand touched something solid, which happened to be a steel kettle. Gripping it tight, he then slammed it with all his might against his assailant's head.
The balaclava man cried out in anguish, and so Steve hit him again and again, causing the intruder to release him. Gasping for breath, Steve scooted backwards on his elbows. In the middle of the excitement, he almost forgot about the second intruder until the man took out a gun and pulled the trigger.
On instinct, Steve quickly rolled to the left. The bullet that was meant for his head hit him in the right shoulder instead. It still hurt like hell. Another shot was fired, but Steve had managed to take cover behind the overturned sofa. The balaclava man was about to give chase to finish him off when suddenly there was a sound of approaching siren.
"Police! They're coming fast!" the first balaclava man exclaimed, holding his injured head as he struggled to his feet.
"Fuck it, let's go!" his accomplice responded. Seconds later, both intruders rushed out through the front door and took off.
Grimacing with pain, Steve pulled himself upright. He pressed a palm against the bullet wound in his shoulder to stop the bleeding as he looked around him in despair. His flat had been turned completely upside down. Those two men had done a thorough search, obviously looking for something. And they had not been successful, from the look of it.
But the real question was, what was they really looking for? What bloody thumb drive were they talking about?
While wondering about it, Steve suddenly felt his world begin to spin. It must be due to the blood loss or the bang to his head. Either way, he needed to quickly get himself horizontal or he would throw up all over himself. He abruptly sat down hard on the floor before slowly stretching down onto his back to lie among his broken possessions.
And that was how Kate found him moments afterward.
"Steve!" she cried out, rushing to his side. "Oh my God…Steve, can you hear me?"
Somehow he managed to smirk back at her, albeit weakly. "Okay, boss. I'm going to sleep now..."
And then everything turned into blissful darkness.
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12 hours later…
"Kate, you've got to get me out of here," Steve pleaded as soon as DCI Howard Wilson from the MVCU left the hospital ward. The SIO of the home invasion case had just finished taking Steve's full statement.
"Are you out of your bloody mind?" Kate responded with a scowl. "You've just been attacked in your own flat, for Christ's sake!"
"I know, but I'm fine," he protested. "I escaped with only a mild concussion. And the bullet went clean and through, hitting no vital organs. The doctor said so. I lost an amount of blood but that's it, no big deal."
Kate's glare grew more ferocious. "No big deal, my arse! If I had not insisted on that call, I would've never known what happened to you and you would still be lying there, bleeding to death!"
He snorted. "And you just love to rub it in my face whenever you're right."
"That's not what this is all about, you—"
"Alright! Calm down, both of you," Superintendent Ted Hastings quickly jumped in before things could turn uglier.
The two partners shut up on instant. They gave him guilty looks and simultaneously said, "Sorry, sir."
Despite it all, Hastings couldn't stop himself from smiling. His two best officers were constantly at each other's throat, as both were equally vocal when they had contradicting opinions on certain matters. Most superiors would frown upon such brazen acts between officers, but Hastings understood that that was why Steve and Kate performed so well together. They trusted each other, they cared about each other, and they were not afraid to speak up their mind. Even so, their bickering could drive the gaffer up the wall sometimes, especially when they started arguing about stupid things just for the sake of it.
"Look, Steve," Hastings calmly said, "Why don't you give it another day before leaving the hospital. Just for twenty four hours more. It wouldn't hurt to wait for that long, would it?"
Steve looked unhappy. "If I didn't die from boredom first, you mean."
"You really want to go home that bad, huh?" Kate incredulously asked, raising her eyebrows.
"You know I hate hospitals. This is…what? The fifth time this year alone? Come on, give me a break."
"Even if you're feeling better, you can't go home just yet," she told him. "Your flat is still closed for forensics. It would take them at least a couple more days to process the scene."
"Damn it." Steve sighed out loud. "Looks like I have to book a hotel room somewhere then."
"You are doing no such thing," Hastings said with a shake of his head. "You can come and stay with me."
Both Steve and Kate stared at the gaffer in astonishment. "Sir?"
Smiling, Hastings shrugged. "Why look so surprise? I have a nice home now, if you both must know. There's a spare bedroom too."
After the great fiasco involving Gill Bigelow and the late John Corbett the year before that resulted with Hastings being investigated under suspicions of misconduct and conspiracy to murder, the gaffer had quickly taken steps to tidy up his personal financial mess. He had seek a trusted advisory to get some guidance to smartly deal with his never-ending mortgage, as well as to properly manage his income and expenses. Several months afterwards, Hasting had finally been able to move out of the hotel room he had been staying for years. He was now residing in a small bungalow that he rented at an affordable rate from an old lady who lived just next door. No one from AC-12 had ever visited his new home, and so it came as quite a shock to Steve and Kate when the gaffer brought up the offer.
"So what do you think, Steven?" Hastings asked, while his two young officers continued to gape at him.
"I…uh…I'm very glad, sir. But I don't want to impose—"
"Nonsense. You and Kate help saved my career. My life, even. This is the least I could do to return the favor."
Steve exchanged smiles with Kate before he replied, "Thank you, sir. I greatly appreciate it."
"Good, but on one condition. Stay in the hospital for another 24 hours. We don't want you to get a sudden relapse for being discharge too soon, do we?"
Steve refrained himself from rolling his eyes in exasperation as he glumly replied, "Yes, sir."
Hastings nodded before putting on his service cap. "Well, son. I'll see you tomorrow then. Meanwhile, get some rest and listen to the doctors."
After Hastings had left, Kate turned to Steve and grinned. "Teacher's pet."
"Shut up," he responded, also grinning.
"Seriously, Steve. I believe the gaffer thinks of you as the son he never had."
"Is that why he always reams me out every single day at the office? Strange way for him to show it."
"You know you deserve it." Kate laughed. She then grew sober. "Steve, why didn't you want us to inform your parents about what just happened to you?"
He shrugged. "I don't want to give Mom and Da more reasons to worry about me. They are not young anymore. They have health issues too. What they didn't know won't hurt them."
"What about Shane? Do you want me to contact him?"
Frowning, he gave her a closer look. His partner had slightly blushed at the mention of his older brother's name.
"I have no idea where he is now, Kate. I haven't spoken to him for weeks. After quitting the MI5, Shane has returned to his army regiment. He might be in a mission with his SAS brothers in a desert somewhere in the Middle East right as we speak."
"Oh, well," Kate said with a shrug. "If he's here, Shane would want to hunt down the intruders himself. He has such a fierce protective streak when it comes to you."
Steve snorted. "I guess all big brothers are like that. Lucky me."
"I'll leave you now to your rest. Like the gaffer said, listen to the doctors." Kate leaned over and gave him a gentle hug, mindful of his right arm in a sling due to his shoulder injury.
"I'm not really good at listening to the doctors," he grumbled. "The pretty nurses, on the other hand…"
"That's why you always got yourself in trouble," she quipped. At his forlorn expression, Kate gave him a reassuring smile as she brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. Quietly, she said, "You are not alone, Steve. You know that, right?"
"Sure. I have two bloody AFOs standing guard outside my door." He jerked his head towards the two armed policemen flanking the doorway to his ward.
She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."
Grinning, he took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I know. Thanks, mate."
Hours after Kate and the gaffer had left, Steve still lay awake in bed to stare at the ceiling. Gradually, he had succumbed into deep melancholy. The bullet wound in his shoulder screamed with agony, while his head was pounding like crazy. But he refused to take any painkillers to avoid going to sleep.
How could he sleep when nowadays his dreams had turned real dark and forbidding, besieged by nightmares about that fateful night when he had lost the woman he loved and their unborn child.
No. His sleep would never be peaceful again.
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"Come on in, Steve. Make yourself at home," Hastings said the next day as he led the way into his house. The modest little bungalow was located about a half an hour drive from the hospital which Steve had just been discharged.
Nodding his thanks, Steve followed the gaffer inside, carrying a light weight gym bag under his good arm. Earlier, Kate had managed to pack several changes of clothing for him. As his flat was still closed for forensics processing, she had dashed to a department store nearby to buy him a new pair of jeans, sweatpants, some t-shirts and a pack of underwear.
When he had tried to pay her back for all those stuffs, she just scoffed and said, "Don't bother. They are my birthday gift to you."
"But you've already given me the latest Stephen Booth's bestselling novel for my birthday three months ago."
"A good guy like you needs more than one gift, Steve," she had quipped in response, and that instantly ceased all his protests.
Stepping into the bungalow proper, Steve looked around with great interest. The house was indeed small but very cozy, full with warmth and charm. Not too much furniture to clutter the space, except for the sofa and an easy chair next to the hearth.
Turning to the gaffer, Steve commended, "The house is very nice, sir. It really suits you."
Hastings beamed. "I'm glad you approved. Come, I'll show you your room."
They walked down a short corridor before going into the second room on the left. Upon entering, Steve immediately put down his gym bag on the bed and headed straight towards the wide bay window.
"Jesus…" He gaped in wonder at the beautiful view. The bungalow was situated on top of a knoll, which overlooked the large river that flowed lazily towards the North Sea. Below them, trees grew thick at the foot of the hill along the embankment. The sky was clear blue with no signs of clouds.
"Amazing, isn't it?" said the gaffer as he came to stand next to Steve. "I was very lucky to be able to find this place. The landlady who lives next door, she's a sweet old woman. This bungalow used to belong to her younger brother who died of cancer several months ago. When I first saw it, I was afraid I couldn't afford to pay the rent. But she gave me quite a reasonable rate, bless her heart."
"Maybe because she doesn't want this house to stay empty for long," Steve said with a shrug. "A nice house like this needs to always be cherished."
"I agree. Same thing with a person's heart, it shouldn't stay empty forever. It needs to be nurtured too," Hastings quietly commented.
Slowly, Steve turned to look directly at his gaffer, unsure of the true meaning to the older man's words.
Hastings took a deep breath before he said, "When we lost someone we love, it's not wrong to grieve. But if you mourn too long, without a care for your own self, your heart would start to shrivel and die."
Steve could only blink, unable to make a proper response to that.
The gaffer earnestly added, "You're still young, son. There's a long future ahead of you. Don't let your recent loss define what you really are. You're a lot stronger than you know."
Swallowing hard, Steve quickly looked away before Hastings man could notice the tears swimming in his eyes. The gaffer was the gruffest man he had ever met, but sometimes he would surprise Steve with his unexpected display of paternal concern.
"Thank you, sir," Steve croaked. "I'll remember that."
Hastings patted the younger man's good shoulder. "Good. Now I suggest you get some rest. You still need some recovery to do. I'm going to see about dinner."
"I hope I'm not being a bother."
"Of course not. We're a team. We look after one another." As Hastings turned to leave, a large orange tomcat suddenly strolled into the room, causing him to grin. "Oh, hi there, Reggie. Come and meet Steve."
Steve promptly sneezed. "Uh…sir?"
He sneezed again. "Actually…I'm allergic to cats."
"Oh, right. I forgot." Hastings hastily bent over to scoop the cat into his arms. "This is Reggie. He belongs to my landlady. Reggie comes and goes as he pleases. I guess I've adopted him along with the house. He makes a good companion."
"Right." Steve managed a weak smile, stepping away from the cat as far away as possible.
"Let's go, Reggie. Steve needs his rest." Cradling the tomcat, Hasting stepped out and headed for the kitchen.
Two hours later, when Hastings returned to Steve's room to call him to dinner, he found the younger man deeply asleep. Reggie, the tomcat, lay curled atop the covers at Steve's feet, also asleep.
Hastings was reluctant to disturb his junior officer's much needed rest. And so, with a slight smile, he quietly backed out of the room and shut the door close.
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The dream was like his other dreams of late.
He was running through a dark forest, chasing a beautiful wood sprite. This particular sprite had a name though. Natalya. Or was it Yulia? He didn't care which, because he loved her either way. To his utter frustration, she always stayed out of his reach. Each time he got close, she would vanish into thin air before appearing again within his sight, as if mercilessly taunting him.
He kept running after her, even though he knew he was merely chasing shadows. Without warning, he tripped on something on the ground. Stumbling to his knees, he quickly turned around to look. His eyes fell on a small bundle wrapped within a bloodied cloth. His hands shook as he touched it before unpeeling the layers. When he found a human fetus inside, he began to scream…
The sudden feeling of a rough hand cupping his mouth jerked Steve awake instantly. On instinct, he struggled for release, his left fist flying to connect with flesh.
"Ow! Shit!" Someone cursed. And then that someone hissed, "Stevie! Cease, damn it. It's me."
Steve abruptly went still. He blinked in disorientation. The room was dark, but a sliver of moonlight that streamed in through the window was enough to let him see the other person. Besides, he recognized that voice. He had been hearing it all his life.
"Shane?" he angrily hissed back as soon as the hand was removed from his mouth. "What the fuck, man?"
"Sorry, sorry," Major Shane Arnott quickly apologized.
Still terribly shaken, Steve had to take several deep breaths before he could speak in a low voice, "Arsehole. You scared the shit out of me!"
"Yeah, I know. My bad." Shane reached up to stroke his younger brother's head to comfort him. "Bad dreams, huh?"
"More like nightmares," Steve replied, calming down a bit. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I heard about what happened to your flat. You alright?"
Steve lay back and sighed. "I'll live."
"You were shot?"
Glancing down at his right arm in the sling, Steve shrugged his good shoulder. "Yeah. But nothing life threatening."
"Okay. That's good to hear." Shane nodded with relief, and took a seat on the edge of the bed facing his brother.
"Wait, how did you know I'm here?"
"I have my resources."
"And how the hell did you get past the AFOs securing the perimeter of this house?"
Shane grinned. "A magician never tells his secrets."
"Fine. I don't really want to know anyway," Steve said, rolling his eyes. Still whispering so as not to alert Hastings who slept next door, he told his brother next, "There were two intruders."
"I gather that much. Did you recognize them?"
"No, I didn't. They wore balaclavas." Steve shuddered involuntarily, recalling his previous distasteful encounters with balaclava men.
"What were they looking for?"
"I'm not sure, but…they did ask me about a thumb drive."
Shane's eyes widened in recognition at that, and Steve was quick to notice. "You knew."
"More or less, yes."
"What's the thumb drive all about? Why is it so bloody important?"
"Stevie, it's highly classified."
"I guess as much. That's why I didn't mention it in my official statement about the incident."
Surprised, Shane raised his eyebrows. "You hid that critical fact from your own team?"
"Yeah. Because I knew it had nothing to do with AC-12 but had everything to do with you!"
Sighing, Shane looked away. He was quiet for several moments before finally saying, "You were right, Stevie. It was my fault. I was the reason they broke into your flat."
"Talk to me, Shane. What's going on?"
"Sir Leopold Sullivan," the elder Arnott shortly said.
Steve frowned. "Your ex-boss? The head of your department when you were attached to MI5?"
"Yes. He's the one."
"What does he has to do with this?"
"Everything. I can't tell you much, except that Sullivan is being closely watched by the JIC for his suspected involvement in Natalya's death."
Steve jerked in dismay to hear that name.
Natalya Petrenko, the love of his life. Her real name was Yulia Burlakov, but she used the other name as a front while working as an MI5 sleeper agent in a hotel downtown. A month ago, her cover had been blown wide open. A group of Russian thugs had abducted her from her own home before torturing her to death, killing also the fetus she carried.
"So," Steve grimly said, swallowing hard. "He's the reason Natalya and my unborn child are dead?"
"Neither proven nor confirmed, but we are getting there. His credibility as the MI5 department head has been seriously questioned for quite some time now."
"But I still don't understand. How did the bloody thumb drive get into the whole picture?"
"Like I said, it was my fault." Shane looked chagrin. "The last time I saw Sullivan before I returned to my regiment, I hinted at him that I had some proof of his misconduct, some kind of a covert visual recording of his clandestine meetings with certain shady parties that I stored in a thumb drive, which I kept in a real safe place."
"And they thought the safe place was my flat? Jesus Christ..."
"I'm sorry, Steve. I didn't figure that it would come to this. I never intended to get you involved in this mess."
Steve waved his hand dismissively. "I don't blame you. Shit happens. But, wait. What about Mom and Da? Are they—"
"I've put up protective measures for them the moment I heard about what happened to you. Don't worry. They are perfectly safe."
"Thank god…" Steve briefly closed his eyes. "So? Where's the thumb drive now?"
"Actually…it doesn't exist."
Steve stared agog at his brother. "What? You're kidding."
"It's the truth. I made it all up. I only wanted to shake the tree and see whose stupid fat arse would fall."
For several moments, Steve was speechless. And then he broke into soft laughter. "Some stupid fat arse will fall, alright. Your trap works."
"And that nearly killed you in the process," Shane replied with sheer regret. "I'm really sorry, little brother."
"Just get the bastard, Shane," said Steve. "I want the man who caused Natalya's death to be caught and put on trial."
Shane nodded. "I'll do that, I promise."
Even though Shane was no longer attached to MI5, he still had friends in high places. Steve was always confident of his older brother's capability to see each mission through.
Glancing at his Luminox wristwatch, Shane announced, "Yikes. Time's out. I need to get back to my men."
"Your men?"
"What, you think I'm on my own?" Shane grinned. "They are all around here somewhere, guarding this house. Your AFOs are none the wiser."
"Shit."
Chuckling, Shane then leaned down to gather his brother into his arms. "Get better soon, Stevie. I know you haven't been sleeping well, so try to get a good night rest. I'll take care of this whole damn mess."
Hugging his brother tight with his good arm, Steve nodded. "Be careful."
"Always."
Moments afterwards, Shane moved quietly towards the bay window. All of a sudden, he turned back to his brother, "Hey, Stevie?"
"Yeah?"
"Aren't you allergic to cats?"
"Huh?"
Shane pointed at something on Steve's right. Steve took a look and was startled to see Reggie. The large tomcat was lying curled on the pillow next to his. He promptly sneezed.
"God damn it, Reggie!" he cried out, before sneezing again. "Get the hell out, and…go chase a squirrel or something."
The door suddenly flew open to emit the gaffer. "Steven? Are you alright, son?"
"Yes, sir. I'm fine," Steve responded with a quick glance at the window. To his great relief, his big brother had already vanished into the night. "I'm so sorry if I disturbed you."
"I thought I heard some voices. Who were you talking to?"
Tucking the meowing cat under his arm, Steve looked extremely sheepish when he answered, "Uh…Reggie?"
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Several days later, on a Tuesday morning, Steve returned to work despite the sling he still wore on his right arm. For the time being, he continued to stay with the gaffer because his flat remained a total mess. The forensics processing had been completed two days earlier, but the insurance company was now making their assessment on the damages. He would not be able to return home until they finished with their task, which would take another week at least.
When Kate had volunteered to collect more clothes from his wardrobe the day before, Steve had wanted to come along with her, but she wouldn't let him. She knew that if Steve saw the condition of his flat, he would immediately grab a dust pan and start cleaning up.
"You're in no condition to do any heavy lifting right now," she had told Steve when he began to protest.
And so, Steve remained as Hastings' house guest for a while, going to and from work together in the gaffer's service vehicle. It was kind of awkward at first, but he bore with it because it was a sensible arrangement. He had even tolerated Reggie, as long as the tomcat didn't jump onto his chest and start licking his face like it did when he woke up this morning. He hadn't been able stop sneezing for a full minute afterwards.
Steve was at PC Tatleen Sohota's workstation, listening intently as she briefed him on the personal file of a suspect to his current case, when Kate stepped out of Hasting's office to call his name, "Steve."
When he looked up, she beckoned him over. "There's something the gaffer wants you to see."
"Ma'am." Steve nodded his acknowledgement before turning back to Tatleen, "Put the file on my desk. I'll go through it again."
"Yes, Sarge."
As soon as Steve entered Hasting's office, Kate shut the door behind him.
Steve frowned. "What's going on?"
"Ah, Steven. This news bulletin from the BBC is very recent. I'm sure you haven't seen it yet," the gaffer said from behind his desk, turning the screen of his computer for Steve's view.
Steve came closer to get a better look. Hastings hit a button on his keyboard, and the video from the national press website began to play. The first familiar face he saw in that video caused his eyes to widen.
It was Sir Leopold Sullivan, Shane's former boss. He was being escorted by several men in suits into a dark tinted SUV right in front of the MI5 headquarters at Thames House in London. Several similar vehicle flanked the SUV front and back as it sped away towards an unknown location. The female voice-over was saying that an unnamed senior officer of a British security agency had been taken into custody under the orders of the Home Secretary through the JIC.
"No specific charges have been mentioned by the said authorities," continued the narrator, "But we believe that his arrest is related to the agency's covert investigation into the Russian oligarch territorial wars in the East Midlands area that came to a tragic end last month with the death of a female security officer working undercover. The JIC refuses to comment for now. Stay tuned for more updates."
Hastings hit the keyboard button to stop the video. And then he looked up at Steve who had grown very quiet. "Well, son?"
Steve blinked. "Well what, sir?"
"What the gaffer was asking is if you're okay," said Kate, watching him closely.
"Oh." Steve quickly responded with a shrug, "Yes, of course. I'm fine."
"You know anything about this?"
"None whatsoever," he said with a straight face. "But that man is Leopold Sullivan, my brother's former boss."
"I know, mate. I met him once at the hospital, when you were recovering after your near drowning." She touched his arm. "Are you sure you're alright? The news is not upsetting you?"
"No. In fact, I feel relieved. Natalya's death is now being given the justice that she deserved."
Superintendent Hastings nodded with a smile. "And that's the way it should be."
"Thank you for informing me about the news, sir, ma'am. Anyway, I better get back to work. There's some more details I need to vet through before the interview this afternoon."
"Of course, Steve. Carry on."
When he returned to his desk, Steve sat down to stare blankly at his computer screen for a full minute. He then picked up his mobile phone and logged into a private Google mail account under the user name 'Shortlegs', a nickname that Shane had been calling him since he was a kid. There was one notification in the draft box. He clicked it open to read.
"A fat arse fell from the tree."
Shaking his head at his older brother's cryptic message, Steve grinned and cleared the draft box. With a new resolve, he took a deep breath before picking up the file that Tatleen had placed on his desk earlier, and resumed the work that he loved.
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THE END
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Stay tuned for more LOD stories. And stay safe out there. Let's fight this pandemic together. Later, guys..
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"That whisky is probably older than me." – DS Steve Arnott.
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* ABBREVIATIONS:
AC- Anti Corruption
AFO-Authorized Firearm Officer
BBC-British Broadcasting Corporation
DCI-Detective Chief Inspector
DI-Detective Inspector
DS-Detective Sergeant
FME-Forensic Medical Examiner
JIC-Joint Intelligence Committee
MI5-Military Intelligence Section 5
MVCU-Major Violent Crime Unit
SAS-Special Air Service
SIO-Senior Investigating Officer
SUV-Sport Utility Vehicle