Twenty Six
Gull shoved him through the damp hallways, the knife still pressed against his throat. They stumbled down the dimly lit concrete, cold and rough against his bare feet, and Morse felt his heart beat faster and faster as the sounds of yelling increased, far behind them but echoing loudly.
They were here.
They had found him.
He was going to be okay.
Gull tightened his hold on the switchblade.
"I'll kill you before I let them have you".
Or maybe not.
Morse had to think -and act- fast.
If the police reached them before he got the knife off Gull, then it probably wouldn't end very well for him.
The knife was lowered, but immediately replaced by a bruising grip in a choke hold as Gull dragged him worn steps and shoved at a metal door.
Morse clawed at his hands, but it was almost as if the man didn't feel it.
The stairs wreaked havoc on his leg, which now decided it was time to make itself known again.
Kicking at the door, Gull finally got it open and yanked Morse forwards. He threw him forward, out into blinding daylight, and he fell, knees hitting sun-warmed pavement.
Looking up, his gaze landed on the roof of Christ Church Library, which made this... King Edward Street.
Obviously.
His eyes took far long to adjust, but he suddenly realised that if he was dazed from the bright light, then Gull was too.
Using the last of his energy, he forced himself to his feet, turned around, and lunged.
His shoulder hit the older man in the stomach and sent them both stumbling back. The switch blade went flying out of his hand and clattering across the concrete. Gull grunted as his head hit solid ground, and Morse briefly hoped that it was enough to knock him out.
No such luck.
A sharp knee dug into his chest, stealing his breath and giving the man time to reverse their positions, rolling them over and pinning him to the ground. Morse snarled and kicked with all his might, managing to get enough space between them to scramble out from underneath him. A hand clutched at his ankle and yanked him back, and he clawed at the bare pavement, looking for anything at all to grab onto.
His blood-stained fingers found the knife.
He heard shouting in the distance as he spun around and kicked. Gull swore, loudly, before launching himself forward and getting an arm around his waist. Morse yelled, and slashed out with the blade, rewarded with a cry and a spray of blood that turned his stomach.
He fumbled with the knife as he turned, grappling with the maniac until he finally came out on top, both metaphorically and literally, as he pinned him to the pavement and finally got the sharp edge against his throat.
The man finally stilled.
From behind him, he heard running and familiar voices.
Morse struggled for breath, chest heaving and old wounds reopened, and beneath him, Gull grinned with blood covered teeth.
"You threatened me" He said quietly, "You threatened me, you threatened my friends, you threatened my family".
Footsteps halted a few meters away, and he heard the familiar cackle of a police radio.
"Richard doesn't win. Richard never wins".
"Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end, Endeavour?"
"Something like that".
His grip tightened on the knife as he imagined with vivid imagination what would happen if he was to simply... slice.
He'd threatened Abby. He'd hurt her and terrified her and traumatised her beyond belief. He'd used his five-year-old daughter just to get at him.
Gull didn't deserve to live.
Behind them, was more shouting and running and he vaguely wondered if any civilians had seen them before the police had arrived.
"Morse?"
Oh had he missed that voice.
Peter stepped a little closer.
"Morse, it's me, you're safe now, alright?"
He wouldn't be safe until Gull was dead. None of them were.
"Will you put down the knife?" Richmond asked.
They were all in danger as long as he lived.
"... Abby?"
"She's safe, Morse" He replied immediately, "I was with her over the last few days, and she's with Win and Joan now. She's safe".
He slowly nodded, eyes never leaving Gull's, fingers clenching and loosening around the blade.
It would be so so easy...
"Go on then" the man grinned, "Do it. I know you can. Prove it. Prove it".
"Morse, listen to me, just drop the knife, please!"
"... It's over, Richard".
He laughed, high and sudden.
"It's never over. Not for Richard. Not for me... Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, and I will stand the hazard of the die!"
He slowly lowered the knife.
"The day is ours" Morse finished, feeling strangely numb, "The bloody dog is dead".
Jakes hadn't known what to expect when Strange radioed in to say he found them. He knew from the man's tone that Morse wasn't dead, but how much damage had been done asides from that...
He ran to the service tunnel entrance, glad to find more than a few familiar faces already there and ushering civilians away from it. There was a sort of semi-circle of Uniform around the area, and it wasn't until he shoved his way through that he found out why.
Morse had Gull pinned the pavement with a switch blade against his throat. Previously pale skin was now stained red, thin lacerations across his chest and back. His right shoulder wasn't quite right looking, and, christ, there was a bullet hole in his leg. He was covered in bruises, some already fading to yellow, but angry blue and purple marks already raising on his neck.
Despite all of that, however, he couldn't help but feel relieved, watching as the slighter man snarled and dug in the blade, incredibly alive and unbelievably stubborn and somehow, impossibly, still fighting.
That bastard may have broken Morse's bones, but he sure as hell hadn't broken his spirit.
The minute the knife hit the ground, there was shouting and heavy footsteps once more, and Morse allowed warm hands to gently pry his fingers from Gull's dust covered shirt, carefully pulling him back until he was completely free of the man.
Peter stood in front of him, hauling the maniac to his feet and cuffing both hands behind his back before handing him off to Uniform.
Gull continued to grin.
"Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee!"
"Morse?"
He watched as he was led to an awaiting police car.
"Morse?"
He was unceremoniously shoved inside, and Uniform shut the door behind him.
"Morse!"
He started, blinking quickly as his sight of Gull was suddenly blocked.
Richmond knelt in front of him.
"Morse? Can you hear me?"
He slowly nodded, only realising that Thursday was there too when a warm heavy coat was pulled tightly across his shoulders.
"The ambulance is on its way, lad" He continued, ducking down to be eye level with him, "But DeBryn is here. Is there anything that needs seeing to now?"
"I…" His voice was suddenly hoarse, and Peter flinched.
He coughed, painfully, "I… I don't… I can't-"
"Hey, now, it's alright" He quickly hushed, "We'll have you sorted out soon enough, don't you worry".
Thursday disappeared from his sight again, and Max appeared instead.
"I heard you've been put through the ringer" He greeted, forcibly cheerful, "So let's wrap some of these up while we wait for that ambulance, hm?"
He let his head fall back against the wall behind him and- when had he moved? Had he moved? Did they move him instead? -and it was a beautiful cloudless morning.
It had been evening time when he was taken.
"H-How long-?"
Thursday smiled sadly from where he was crouched down next to him, "Corned beef".
He slowly nodded.
Friday, then.
Not quite a full week.
"Morse?"
There was a light tap on the side of his face.
"Morse?"
He hummed.
"When did he shoot you?"
Max.
"Morse? When did Gull shoot you?"
When did he shoot him? It wasn't the first day, he doesn't think, but it was old enough that it had stopped paining him, or, well, until the stairs, at least.
"... Middle?" He guessed.
"Of your- your time? With him?"
He nodded and looked around for Richmond.
He'd been there a minute ago, hadn't he?
There was another gently tap, this time on his left hand, and he slowly looked down to see familiar fingers intertwining with his, strangely pale and clean looking compared to his own bloody knuckles and bruised skin.
"... Pet'r?"
"I'm here, Morse".
He looked up and immediately met worried green eyes.
"Richmond".
The older man frowned, "Morse?"
"Richmond" He repeated, feeling suddenly giddy.
Richmond had saved him. Richmond had saved Elizabeth of York. Richmond had saved England.
True hope is swift and flies with swallow's wings.
There was a slamming of car doors, a sudden yell ahead of them, and then a flurry of action.
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.
Gull.
He felt Peter's hand leave his own and saw the flash of a barrel, before Max was shoved against his side and Thursday leapt in front of them.
Morse just about caught sight of wild brown eyes rushing his way, before there was a muted bang, the man jerked, blood sprayed from the neat little hole in his forehead, and the body tumbled to the earth.
A horse, a horse! I'd give my kingdom for a horse!
He felt suddenly detached from himself, staring at the rushing policemen and the shouting doctor and the panicking Richmond.
The day is ours.
There were more flashing lights and even more yelling before his fading vision was swarmed with men and women in white.
The bloody dog is dead.
He hoped, at least, that Richmond got to stay with Elizabeth.