Ok, seeing as i'v got some reviews (yay! thank you all so much! Not you, luska. you know why.) i thought i'd put chapter two up. Pls pls pls let me know what you think...fanfic is all still new to me and i want to know how to improve. Sorry about chapter 2's title- bit rubbish i know!
Anyway....To Luska, no harsh breathing pls! Glad u like (even if i did rip off ur idea, soz bout that) but come on! Sum more specific feedback pls. Dont make me come down there!
To teakettle and scone ; Enelya's right- you do write the sweetest reviews! thanx so much im glad u liked my Vimes- and ur so nice to say its well-written. I do try my hardest. Heres sum more- pls review again.
To waves-Sama , thanx for reviewing. If you think Vimes and Vetinari are sweet, wait till you see whats coming up next...........
Chapter 2 – Policemen
The door of the watch house slammed so hard that little flakes of plaster drifted down from the roof and settled in Sergeant Colon's sparse hair.
'Mmph' he said, jerking awake in time to watch the Commander's boots thump up the stairs. Colon knew only the Patrician could get Vimes so riled up, and he also knew that it was payday, and that if he didn't get a Vimes signature on the chit, he was going to have almost a hundred pissed off watchmen on his hands, something anyone who tried to disturb the peace in the Bucket on Gleam street knew all about.
Colon looked hopefully around the room, but everyone was studiously avoiding his eyes.
'Nobby,' he began, but the little man shook his head.
'Sorry, sarge. I ain't goin up there with Mr. Vimes in one of those moods. Last time the Patrician an' him had a row, he docked me 12 dollars for being a disgrace to the human race. Again! Its not like I can help it.' Above their heads, Vime's office door banged in a way that said in no uncertain terms, the next person to try to open it would need a crowbar. Not to get in, but to defend themselves once the door was opened.
'Detritus?' said Colon. A small mountain of rock near the door opened a mouth glinting with diamond troll teeth.
'I may be as fick as two o'them wooden tings, but I'm not that fick,' he rumbled. A few dwarfs, industriously buffing their helmets, sniggered at this.
'Oh, shut up' said Colon, wagging a fat finger at them as he heaved himself out of his chair. 'I've always been good to you boys. I'm getting on, you know. Me old legs can't manage those stairs like they used to…' He let the sentence hang in the air.
'That not 'cos they're old, it 'cos they're fat' said someone, provoking more sniggering followed by innocent looks as Colon whipped round, causing minor earthquakes in his outlying regions. He stuck his chins in the air and tried to stalk up the stairs, which groaned horribly. His big red face went even redder.
'No respect' he muttered to himself at the top of the flight, pausing to get his breath back. He'd been a pillar of the Watch for over twenty years now, and did anyone care? Not a chance. These days it was all dwarfs running around arresting people twice their size and trolls getting promoted to sergeant and solving murder mysteries and even Nobby Nobbs, disgrace to the human race, petty criminal and passion's most unlikely plaything, even he was doing overtime and coming up with bright ideas and trying to actually catch people. It's not how it used to be, thought Colon ruefully, inching along the corridor. He knocked gingerly on Vime's door, then poked his head round like the cowardly member of a bomb disposal squad.
'Come in, Fred' said Vimes wearily.
The Commander of the Watch was sitting moodily in his old battered leather chair, his legs crossed on his desk and a cigar in his mouth. His head was in a whirl but for the sake of old Fred Colon, of twenty years interrupted plodding along in the same old groove without being disturbed, he pushed away the impulse to tell Fred, or anyone, what had happened to him that afternoon.
Vetinari had kissed him!
The words and the memory felt burned into his skull. When he shut his eyes he saw the replay, over and over again, of his face coming closer and closer until it filled his vision.
Vetinari had kissed him!
'Sorry, what?' Colon was looking concernedly at him, and Vimes realised he had been talking for some time. There was a fresh sheet of paper on the mounds of it that covered his desk. 'What's this?' he asked blankly.
'It's the wages chit, sir' said Colon patiently, edging around the desk to see if there was a bottle anywhere on it. 'Are you alright, sir? Been overdoing it recently?'
Vimes looked into Colon's big round face and swallowed the confession that came bubbling up to his lips.
'I'm fine, Fred. Here, let me sign that-' he reached for his pen but paused, hand hovering, over the familiar crest of the Patrician. It stared up at him from the page, and again and again Vimes saw Vetinari's face getting closer. Vetinari…should he call him Havelock now? Did this mean they were on first name terms? The small part of Vimes marked 'Normal' snorted at the thought of Vetinari calling him Sam. Sammy. Sammy and Havelock. He laughed out loud and signed Fred's piece of paper without looking at it. He thrust at the sergeant with a flourish and treated him to a big grin.
'Anything else I can do for you, Fred?' Colon backed away nervously. Vimes' smile was the kind that lurked in undergrowth waiting for small furry creatures.
He collided with Captain Carrot on the stairs. The young man ripped off a salute- even though he outranked Colon and was, Colon knew, a good deal more intelligent than he was, behind his big blue eyes and honest smile. Sergeant Angua followed him into Vimes' office while Colon hurried down the stairs and back to the comparative safety of his desk. He was sweating heavily. Something about the Commander was different today, but Colon couldn't quite think of what it was. Normally he could shout and rant all he wanted and Colon wouldn't turn a hair, but today…Vimes' smile had scared him. He'd seen it several times before, but never aimed at him. It was the smile Vimes used on what he called 'the criminal cream of the underworld' when they thought they were going to win, just before he revealed he had all the aces in his hand, like Carrot with a loaded crossbow, or ceramic constable Dorfl just behind them, big hands reaching down.
Or even last month, when The Hide Park Hider had been cornered down some dark alleyway in the Shades. Every detail of that night was etched in his memory like an ice sculpture of the brain. The man, panicked, had reached out and grabbed Colon, pulled a knife from nowhere and held it to his neck. They'd backed into the shadows and Vimes had followed slowly, while the man screamed his demands and the knife had pressed deeper into Colon's flesh. Vimes had nodded his agreement, Colon remembered, and the Hide Park Hider began to relax, to loosen his grip, to think he had won.
Then Vimes grinned. A match flared as he lit his cigar and everyone's night vision was destroyed, except Colon, who knew Vimes' tricks and had shut his eyes tight, wrenched the man's hand away from his face and ducked. Peering through his lids he saw Vimes step aside and his ace card, a golden blur of fur and muscle, had ripped through the air and straight at the man's throat. Angua didn't kill him, but it was a close run thing. Watchman loyalty runs deep. Strangely, it wasn't the fear of death that Colon remembered most about that night. It was Vimes' face before he struck the match.
Colon shivered with recollection. When Vimes looked like that, someone was going to get it. He just hoped it wasn't him.
The door opened and shut. Colon looked up as a shadow fell across his desk. He was suddenly aware that everyone had gone out on patrol and he was all alone. There was a silken sound as a sword was drawn from its sheath.
'oshit' said Colon.
Upstairs, Vimes was barely listening as Carrot dutifully recounted various trivial Watch matters.
Vetinari had kissed him, and he had kissed him back!
He twirled his official baton of office in his fingers, trying to think about his feelings. He felt they were hiding from him, scuttling behind all the rubbish in his mind, not letting him see what he felt about the kiss, what he felt about Vetinari…was he happy? Was he sad? Emotions danced in his head but he didn't know which to look at first, they all darted away when he tried to concentrate. He wanted a drink but knew precisely why he wasn't going to have one.
Carrot's voice washed over him. Broken dartboards, missing petty cash, Detritus' habit of slamming his locker door so hard the whole row fell down, elusive suspects being found trussed up outside the Cable Street watch house with a mouth full of cloves …'
'What? How? Who was found trussed up with a mouthful of cloves?' Carrot shuffled through his notes.
'A Mr Jack 'Shinkicker' Neville. He's that one you've been looking for for three months, sir, you know, the one who robbed every Guild in the city, despite all our attempts to find him? The one who you said you wanted to both kick his arse and shake his hand at the same time-'
'Yes Carrot' said Vimes hurriedly 'I want to know how he got there. I mean, we've had our best men on this for months!' Carrot's honest brow wrinkled.
'I don't know sir.' Suddenly he grinned and tapped his nose in what he thought was a conspiratorial way. 'It's a mystery, sir!' Behind him Angua rolled her eyes.
Vimes mind suddenly cleared. Vetinari was pushed aside as a new thought entered, He felt like liquid ice was trickling down his spine.
Cloves…he met Angua's eyes past Carrot's shoulder.
'Yes, thank you, Carrot,' he said loudly. Just, oh ,damn it, make sure he's charged with everything we can pin on him. And send a pigeon to his lordship saying we've caught him. Don't be too specific about how-'
Carrot saluted.
'Already done that, sir!' he said brightly. Yes, I bet you have, thought Vimes sourly.
'Well then, off you go.' After Carrot had left Angua came to perch on the edge of his desk. Vimes found himself thinking how attractive she was. He looked wistfully at her for a second, and she looked back at him. He'd always liked talking to Angua. He felt their minds operated on the same wavelength, even if she was a wolf half the time.
'I've got something that might make you happy again' she said, opening her hand and tipping a few black objects onto his desk. Vimes stared at them and began to grin, a real grin that he couldn't hide, even though he was trying. They were cloves.
Angua smiled and left. Vimes locked the door behind her and went to the window, drawing back the curtains and raising the sash as far as it would go. Then he settled in his ancient chair and waited. After a while he heard a sound such as might be made by a boot scraping across the roof tiles above his office. Sam Vimes smiled to himself in the gathering shadows. He'd had plenty of practice in situations like this- he was infamous at the Assassin's guild for bear traps in the shrubbery, shifting handholds on solid brick walls and most importantly, spiky railings below his windows. The man on his roof was no ordinary assassin. He was the best. All the same…
'I wouldn't use the left gargoyle' he called out. 'He's under orders to chuck people off if he finds 'em.' There was a silence on the roof, then very quiet footsteps towards the right hand of the office. 'Yep' said Vimes, 'that one's safe. I always like to give you people a sporting chance.' Someone sniggered overhead.
The suddenly, with lightning speed a black clad figure appeared upside down in front of the window and somersaulted into the office. It had a black cloth across its face and an enormous curved sword across its back.
'I go, I come back' said the figure happily, unpinning its mask.
'Yes' said Vimes, looking into the grinning, scarred face of 71 Hour-Ahmed. 'You certainly do.'