othrilis, this is for you. Thanks for the encouragement!
There comes a time in every Inspector's life when any relationship previously built or otherwise cobbled together with one Inspector Giles Lestrade abruptly changes from strictly professional to embarrassingly, uncomfortably personal.
This change can be traced back to one single, life-altering event: the first time Mrs. Lestrade, formerly a woman of legend and highly suspected by the uninitiated of being mere myth, instructs her husband to invite an Inspector to dinner. Such instruction, ignored at one's own peril, are traditionally delivered in the mildest and blandest of terms, as if Lestrade himself does not dare to have an opinion on the matter, and as if the invited have no choice but to appear as if summoned.
The first such experience is a unique one filled with surprise, discovery, and yes, often terror. Subsequent experiences, offered at the very least once a year, seem to do nothing to alleviate the discomfort for most of the Inspectors, with one notable exception.
Bradstreet received an invitation to dine with the Lestrades at a consistent six month interval, with the only variation being that sometimes Lestrade would simply drag him home with him at times in between without warning or explaining himself to anyone involved. Bradstreet could, on occasion, make a guess as to his motives, but his wife never seemed to. She simply accepted the man as if she had invited him herself, and that was that.
As warmly as he was welcomed by Mrs. Lestrade, he was greeted even more enthusiastically by the children, who while never impressed that he could pick all three of them up at once (their father's fault, though how Lestrade managed it was still a mystery to most of his fellow Inspectors), were nonetheless delighted by the attention.
Bradstreet had begun to feel that it was close to that time again, though as a rule he never kept a strict record the way Gregson or Jones, who were generally as miserable as Lestrade during what they considered their own annual ordeals. Consequently when Lestrade invited himself into the larger man's office wearing the very same expression he had kept plastered on for the entirety of that disastrous case involving several (way too many) of the upper class earlier that month, the Inspector knew for sure.
The following Monday evening Bradstreet and Lestrade left Scotland Yard at the ed of the day and made their way to the Lestrade abode.
Predictably, Lestrade barely made it past the door before being tackled by his three children as they shouted greetings and news of their day at him in high, piping voices. Jackie launched himself onto his father's back while Amy scrambled up his leg, only to insist on being handed off to Bradstreet as soon as she realized he was there.
Bradstreet accepted the child and considered, perhaps for the first time, the fact that Lestrade was perfectly fine with handing his children off to the other Inspector: the first time one of them had reached for him he had given them up without seeming to even realize what he was doing. Lestrade ignored Bradstreet's not-quite revelation in favor of scooping up his youngest before she could work herself into a full pout.
"I hope you're home and brought company, and not a burglar." Elisabeth Lestrade could be heard calling from the kitchen.
Lestrade hesitated, but apparently Bradstreet had come over often enough that he managed a retort. "Specific company, love, or will anyone off the street do?" It was just a bit stilted, but Bradstreet appreciated the effort all the same.
"I actually happen to be both company, and a burglar." Bradstreet offered, exchanging a grin with Jackie, who was just getting old enough to appreciate that sort of joke. "Hope that's not a problem."
"If you're looking for the silverware save your energy; we haven't got any." Mrs. Lestrade called back cheerfully.
Bradstreet ignored the discomfort that briefly flitted across his fellow Inspector's face and tossed Amy up in the air, making her shriek in delight.
Olivia, until now content in her father's arms, giggled and clapped her hands. "Me! Me!" She cried, leaning dangerously away from Lestrade as she tried to get out of his arms and to Bradstreet. Somehow Lestrade continued to support her without ever seeming to notice the change; Bradstreet watched in awe.
He tossed Amy up again once more for good measure, then declared it was Olivia's turn. The older of the two girls thought about complaining for all of three seconds before running back into the kitchen.
"Amy's helping Mum cook." Jackie announced from his preferred position on his father's back as Bradstreet obligingly tossed his youngest sister into the air a couple of times. She was still giggling madly when he set her down, though she immediately raced off after her sister.
"Is Olivia helping?" Lestrade asked. Jackie sighed in a world-weary way that reminded Bradstreet very much of the man he was hanging off of.
"She thinks she is." He said, shaking his head almost mournfully.
"And you're the one stuck keeping her out of trouble." Lestrade guessed. He never seemed to have difficulty in talking to his children, no matter who was present, Bradstreet noticed. "Maybe you should have her 'help' you set the table, that way dinner gets finished up that much sooner."
Jackie slid down his father's back reluctantly. "Yes, Da," came the dutiful reply. The two men watched him make his way to the kitchen. The bounce in his step had almost returned by the time he disappeared from view.
"I thought he liked helping out with his sisters." Bradstreet commented idly, and Lestrade sighed.
"He doesn't like to let me out of sight when I'm home." He admitted. "Been clinging to me like that since I went back to work."
"The stab wound?" Bradstreet asked, wincing at the memory.
"The stab wound. Scared him pretty badly." Lestrade paused, then added, "I think it scared everyone here pretty badly."
"Not just everyone here." Bradstreet pointed out. "Gregson was an absolute bear until we got word that Watson was seeing you."
Lestrade almost chuckled. "Lizzie almost fainted with relief when he showed up. I don't remember much else from that night, but I do remember that."
"The girls are handling it all right, though?" Bradstreet asked, aware that it was a personal question, and that as forthcoming as the man had been so far, he might close back up at any time.
"I don't think they're old enough yet to realize that it was anything worse than usual." Lestrade looked moderately uncomfortable as he answered. "They're used to me getting better, so maybe it didn't occur to them that I might not this time. But Jackie's getting to that point now where he sees and hears more. And he asks questions. He's trying to understand, and it makes him more aware of when something's wrong."
It was almost a speech, coming from Lestrade. The man looked as if he almost regretted it. Bradstreet shoved his hands in his pockets and cast about for something else to focus on.
"So is Olivia speaking in full sentences yet, or is it just words here and there?" He asked. The youngest of the Lestrades had latched onto a few key words at an astonishingly early age, but had not, the last time Bradstreet had been over, seemed interested in expanding her vocabulary.
Lestrade relaxed minutely. "She uses complete sentences, with proper grammar and words I have no idea where she learned, but only when speaking to her doll. She also speaks with a distinct upper class accent, and don't ask me where she learned that either."
Bradstreet grinned and shook his head.
Amy appeared in the door and summoned them to dinner, saving them from further speculation on the matter. Bradstreet ended up sitting between the girls; Jackie insisted on climbing into his father's lap in spite of Lestrade's half-hearted protests that he was getting too big to do so. Mrs. Lestrade smiled at her family, and at Bradstreet, and dinner was served.
They were halfway through a relatively quiet dinner when Jackie stopped talking about their trip to the park earlier that day, a speculative gleam in his eye.
It was a gleam that Lestrade, who was doing a more than passable job eating with his son in his lap, missed. Bradstreet saw it quite clearly, however, and found it alarming.
"Can we get a dog?" He asked, and Lestrade nearly dropped his forkful of potatoes. Unaware, Jackie continued enthusiastically. "We could get a big one, to guard the house when you're at work! And we could teach him to attack bad guys. And he would keep us all safe, and."
"Jack," Mrs. Lestrade's voice was soft, but the boy immediately fell silent. Behind him Lestrade's complexion had turned ashen.
Jackie carefully tried to turn around to see his father, but could not quite manage it. "I'm sorry, Da," he said earnestly, "whatever it was, I'm sorry."
It took Lestrade a moment to notice that his son was speaking to him, but when he did he ruffled the boy's hair almost reflexively. "No dogs, Jackie boy."
"I could take care of it?" The boy tried, and his mother stirred once more.
Lestrade took a breath. "No dogs. I'm sorry, Jackie. I'm sure you would take good care of one, but the answer is no."
Instead of arguing, Jackie seemed to realize something was wrong. Leaning back against his father's chest so he could look up at him, he asked, "Why don't you like dogs, Da?"
Lestrade looked down at his firstborn. "Because..." he took another breath and considered. "Because when I was younger, maybe close to Amy's age, I was bitten by one."
"A big one?" Jackie wanted to know.
"A big one." Lestrade confirmed, wrapping his arms around the boy.
"Are you scared of dogs, Da?" Jackie asked quietly.
Lestrade looked around the table at his wife, the two girls watching him silently from the chairs, and briefly at Bradstreet before his gaze returned to settle somewhere over the top of his son's head. His voice, when he spoke, was strangely gentle. "Yes, Jackie. I'm scared of dogs."
"Very scared?"
"Very, very scared."
Jackie looked thoughtful as he considered this new information. "I didn't think you were scared of anything, Da. I didn't think adults got scared."
A small smile found its way past Lestrade's solemn visage. "Even adults get scared, Jackie boy. Even me. What's important is being able to do the right thing even when you are scared."
Jackie considered this as well. "So you could face a dog if you had to, like to keep someone safe or something?"
"I could if I had to Jackie, but I'm afraid I'll never be able to have one around the house."
Jackie sighed, but seemed to accept the explanation. "I guess I'll just have to wait till I grow up and have my own house and then get my own dog." He smiled up at his father. "And I'll teach him to be the nicest dog ever so you don't have to be afraid of him when you come visit."
Lestrade chuckled. "I think that's a great idea, Jackie." He went back to eating his previously abandoned potatoes.
Bradstreet tried hard not to be surprised by much of anything that happened while he was at the Lestrades for dinner, but he was fascinated by this particular interaction in spite of himself.
He had never known Lestrade was afraid of dogs. Truth be told, it had never really occurred to Bradstreet that Lestrade, who seemed to face down just about anything and everything that was thrown at him without trepidation, might be afraid of much of anything.
The rest of the meal was uneventful until the scuffle that arose at the end of the meal over who was going to clear the table, but Lestrade put an end to that quickly enough by declaring that he and Jackie would do it.
Bradstreet took his own plate into the kitchen and tried to get into a good-natured debate over whether or not he should be allowed to help clean up after all these years of coming over, but the woman simply would not hear of it.
"I don't even allow the other Inspectors in my kitchen, Mr. Bradstreet." She told him firmly. "You're already being granted special privileges."
"Like your husband's confession of private fears?" Bradstreet replied, his voice low, and Mrs. Lestrade's lips thinned.
"And I trust you'll treat it as privileged information." She retorted. "He trusts you enough to admit as much with you here."
Bradstreet shook his head. "I don't go telling tales, Mrs. Lestrade, you know that."
She smiled him. "I do know," she admitted. "And so does he."
Bradstreet left soon after, making sure to thank Mrs. Lestrade for a wonderful dinner, say goodbye to each of the children, and thank Lestrade for inviting him.
"Thank you for coming," Lestrade managed, most of the tension from dinner gone. "I'm pretty sure the children like you best."
"Well, what's not to like?" Bradstreet grinned at the other man. "After all, you like me, or your wife wouldn't keep having me over so often. I'm fully aware that the others only get an invitation once a year."
Lestrade looked distinctly uncomfortable. Bradstreet figured the man had reached his limit for one night.
"See you tomorrow, Lestrade."
Are disclaimers still a thing? Like, if I don't put them on, are people going to think that I think that I invented Sherlock and the boys?
