Author's Note:

This is tagged Kate/Steve (because the series is filled with Flemnott subtext and Kate being married was the biggest plot twist of S1 - change my mind!) but the story will be more pre-Flemnott, with her relationships with Mark and Richard being more explicitly shown. Just as a heads up in case that is something you absolutely don't want to engage with.

I actually never watched Line of Duty until S6, and once I'd finished that went back and watched it from start to finish in two weeks. Needless to say, I loved it. I know absolutely no one, other than my parents, who watch it and so have many thoughts that are at this point really just internal screams with vague cohesion and needed to release at least some of it from my mind.

Thank you for reading, and please let know if you enjoyed it or if you have any feedback!

Have an absolutely marvellous day x

This story can also be found on AO3 ( /works/33118579/chapters/82216312)


Would You (Please) Forgive Me?

Chapter 1

It's early and, as she waits to be welcomed into the new department, Kate can't help but long to be elsewhere.

Her shirt has a rather distinguishable crease and there's a slight kink in her hair that she couldn't quite get out before she left home, leaving her more unkempt than she would have liked to be. It had been a long night, between ensuring all the paperwork and cover story were in place, ignoring the stony silence from her husband, and soothing Josh through a restless sleep while tirelessly attempting to answer his questions about why Mummy would be going to work for so long again.

But, of course, she can't publicise any of that.

On the outside she must remain calm, collected and sure of herself - she can't blow her cover. For now, she has to tuck away all the messiness of Kate Fleming from her mind, smooth it as if it's a wrinkle in her son's duvet, and give herself over to the character of:

"DC Kate Fisher?"

She nods with a small, closed-lipped smile as she reaches forward to shake the hand of the officer who had just approached. Passing her the freshly-printed key card for the building, she clips it into place on her lanyard as he provides her with the basic information and introductions she'll need regarding the building for the first day, taking mental notes as he leads her in an impromptu tour.

It's all fairly standard, she thinks, the offices of the Counter Terrorism unit within Pelbury House aren't revolutionary for an administrative building and, outside of the building being largely comprised of high ranking offices, the wing in question doesn't differ that greatly from other locations she's been stationed at. Still, she takes care to look around with new eyes and observe as if she really was a new transfer and as if this would be, in the very least, an intended semi-permeant move.

In reality, the briefing she'd received from the Gaffer hadn't included an end date and so it could be anywhere from a couple of weeks to a couple of months. It's vital, they'd concluded, for her to first carry out covert surveillance to see if there were any grounds for investigation outside of a few whispered complaints - unfortunately there was always difficulty found when going against the higher ranking officials and this would be no exception: AC-12 had to be 100% sure before they made any further moves.

The tour finishes in the room in which she'll be stationed: "Welcome to your unit." A precursory glance around brings recognition from the files the Gaffer had provided, it's a fairly large team, what with terrorism being the new, sexy threat on the block. To get the most out of this experience, she'll have to choose her targets carefully: the ones who would be most likely to talk, or the ones closest to the man in question. Revisiting her mental map of the facility she reckons he will be working only a few corridors away, it had been determined that this was the closest AC-12 could get her off the bat and that there was no possible way to get any closer without raising suspicion.

Chief Inspector Philip Osbourne. The decorated head of the Counter-Terrorism department.

Investigating him would be… controversial to say the least. Which, once again, was exactly why her services were in use.

Although far from her first undercover deployment, there was always an exhilarating nervousness that accompanied the first day, and evoked the whispered stories of spies and secret agents that Josh so loved to hear during bedtimes. Kate found she lived for that adrenaline rush, but for as good as she knows she is (and she is good, one of the best, she's been informed by her close superiors), it couldn't fully prevent the very real slither of fear that came from approaching a high ranking target.

That danger, though, only serves to heighten the heady rush: after all, what is life without risk?

The introductions to the various staff members are completed mindlessly on autopilot - the warm smiles and upbeat laddish attitude almost Pavlovian in nature, and, as with all her jobs, Kate can't help but feel somewhat torn.

On the one hand, each individual she shook hands with was constantly being sized up as either an asset or a liability: how long to speak to them, how far to push. On the other, Kate tried not to think of her colleagues, most of whom were honest coppers, as tools for her purpose - no matter how much the job seems to numb her and how easy she knows it would be. In every interaction she tries to think of Josh, of what he'd say, of how to make him proud of his mum.

Dancing out of reach of the next onslaught of new and unfamiliar faces with an easy smile and a quick excuse, Kate makes her way to the staff kitchenette to pour herself a cuppa. Leaning against the countertop she grins slightly as her personal phone buzzes with a good luck text from Mark, to which she quickly responds with a simple kiss. Reading the peace offering for what it is, she hopes for a reconciliation come evening time.

It's there that they meet for the first time.

The kitchenette is clean and orderly, but not in a manner that suggests a great deal of money has been invested into it, there's a splintering crack reaching across a wall panel and the room's size is that of a converted (admittedly on the larger side) cupboard. It's well used, and there is faint staining on the countertop. It's hardly the place of fairytales, instead being utterly unremarkable in every conceivable way. Yet…

"You must be Kate?"

"That's me" the man in front of her had a genuine smile, and she felt her own loosen in return.

"Steve. Nice to meet you"

"You too"

DS Arnott. Part of the Tactical Firearms Unit. Reports directly to the Chief Inspector.

Perfect.

There's a momentary flash of well-concealed panic at the realisation that it's not her undercover phone on show and she subtly and as-naturally-as-possible slides it back into her pocket, adjusting her position as she does so and manoeuvring herself so that he can reach for the kettle.

"How are you finding Pelbury so far? You came from the East Mids, right?"

She nods, as that's indeed the cover they'd established. Kate Fisher completed her police training in 2008 (two years after Kate Fleming really did: close enough that the timeline would still make sense, far enough that there would be no trace of her), followed by two years of desk jobs, filing, paperwork and minor community work, before finally receiving the opportunity to work on the front line as part of Armed Robbery the year before as part of East Midlands Constabulary.

"Yeah - it's different, but I think I'll like it. Everyone seems great."

"Trust me," he responds, "they are. I think you'll fit in here."

There's a slight timbre to his voice and she catches his eyes flicker across her, checking her out. They're signs she can read from a mile off: he's into her. It's surface level of course, they barely know each other and she presumes he would have the sense not too risk future team dynamics with for a quick fuck, but the niggling in the back of her mind whispers that this could be the in she needs.

She loathes herself a little more for it.

Shifting the conversation backwards, she takes another sip and calculatingly throws a glance to the rest of the office: remind him of everyone else, get him to talk about them. "Any advice for settling in? Team dynamics? Leadership or the sort?"

She's opened the conversation up that she's most interested in, and though she knows it's a long shot, hopes for even a single word that can be extrapolated upon, hell, a 'cold', a 'secretive', an 'angry' or a 'dismissive' would be a great start for her work.

There's no such luck though.

"Nothing you won't have already heard, it's a good team - bit serious during the day but we've all got an important job to do. You should come out to drinks with us later, get to know us all properly."

"Sounds great," she smiles, though this time it rings a little more falsely, "I'd love to."

"Good," he grins back, pushing himself away from the counter and back towards the office, "we'll see you there."

She smiles until he's out of sight, before letting her face fall as she traces the line of her phone in the pocket. She knows that she'll have to tell Mark, and she knows a new fight will surely follow. Gathering herself, and pouring away the last of her tea, she purposefully draws a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, leaving the kitchenette, and subsequently the office space, with them showing. Let her colleagues draw their own conclusions about where she's going.

She leaves the corridor and walks out of the workplace.

Rounding the corner of the building, Kate navigates to her husband's familiar number on her phone and a small smile arises at the associated photo, one of the family grinning widely at the beach with arms wrapped around each other tightly. The dial tone rings and she casts a quick glance around, ensuring no one is in the vicinity to hear her.

"Kate?"

"Mark, hey, something's come up and -"

"- You're going to be home late. Of course." There's a bite to his words and Kate closes her eyes in exasperation. There goes the civility they'd built up.

"It's not like that. You know it's not like that. The better I can assimilate into the team, the sooner I can -"

"Is there anything else you need?"

"Mark…" She's met with frosty silence and knows that there's no point in arguing. Neither of them will concede, after all, neither of them believe they're in the wrong. "Give my love to Josh, alright? I'll see you when I get home."

His response is to hang up and, squaring her shoulders, Kate Fleming is once again tucked away as Kate Fisher enters the building.

Retracing her steps she returns to the office and her desk, signing into the desktop and navigating through the case portal, categorising and linking various cases and tips. The day blurs together in a series of IP addresses, encoded conversations, suspicious purchases and civilian reports, and she can't deny it feels rewarding. It's a different kind of work to what she's used to, more behind the scenes, less reactionary. They're working on her approval to join the on-the-ground units, but for now she doesn't quite mind the delay.

Getting up for another cuppa, she appraises her new work environment: it's quiet compared to most policing environments, effective and hard working. Her new colleagues are sharp, and also know that each action they take came directly prevent the loss of life - it's deciphering the mystery and solving it in real time, it's exciting and fulfilling and empowering.

"How's it going?"

She hadn't noticed anyone else having had the same idea recently, and so was surprised to find herself once again face-to-face with DS Arnott.

"Good," she paused slightly and gave a nod of thanks as he pushed the tin of tea bags towards her, "ta. It's nice to be a bit more active in stopping crime, anticipating and preventing it rather than just mitigating the fallout. It's important bringing crooks to justice, but sometimes it all feels a bit like playing catch up. This is different."

He nodded in thoughtful agreement and a somewhat proud smile tugs at his lips. "Exactly - and as of late, with the rise of the Islamic State, it's becoming even more important. No one outside of this building knows just how much we do, how much danger is out there. People can stay content and unknowing and… safe."

"Which just proves you're doing a good job."

"It does, doesn't it?"

It's cocky, but not smug, and she doesn't feel any self-aggrandising posturing from it like she would with so many of her colleagues. They share a smile, a moment of small talk, and return to their desks - walking part of the way back together.

It's true, Kate reflects, that since joining the force she'd seen how much danger lurked behind every corner, even in seemingly the most normal, pleasant or innocuous of places. Growing up on the estate and spending her days dodging her home life, she'd always known the world was anything but sunshine and roses. Still, back then she'd had no idea. Had no idea about the lingering modern slavery that still existed, or the enormity and prevalence of OCGs, or the epidemic of radicalisation and the ease of access to those dangerous resources.

That's why she does this - to make the world a safer place for her son. For her community. It's not the ego, or the adrenaline, or the bureaucracy, and it's nice, she thinks, that there's someone else here who maybe also gets it. Who isn't as cynical as AC-12, or as opportunistic as most of her colleagues have been.

As the work day draws to a close, she logs out and turns off her monitor, gathering her things and heading towards the outside of the building. Reaching her car, she inputs the postcode of the pub, given to her by Steve earlier in the day, into her Sat Nav. Before beginning the drive she checks her phone for word from either her husband or the Gaffer. Nothing. It's close to getting dark and so she calls Mark, hoping to talk to Josh before his bedtime. He doesn't answer but she's not too concerned, despite their earlier disagreement. She leaves a voicemail and knows he'll get back to her, if there's one thing they've always been on the same page about it's to never bring their son into their fights.

Settling back into her seat, she turns on the ignition and pulls out of the car park towards her destination.

She's sitting at the table later that evening when her phone buzzes with an incoming text, joking with her new colleagues who she's coming to realise are actually a right laugh and seem to be pretty genuine people.

The atmosphere is warm and jovial, every bit the traditional British pub that the papers bemoan as a dying breed. The light shines ambient over the wooden tables and tartan-covered benches and chairs, peering out from behind heavy lamp shades. A lingering hint of beer and batter clings to the furniture and from the depths of the room raucous laughter and yelling echoes.

It's a perfect night out really.

Making her excuses, she steps outside for a moment, expecting it to be from the Gaffer. It's not, instead, it's a solitary photograph of Josh - face beaming with delight as he looks into a lion's enclosure at the zoo. Anger prickles through her veins and before she knows what she's doing she's calling her husband, only for her phone to ring out as he ignores her. She tries again. Same thing.

Josh had been talking for weeks about going to the zoo and they'd planned to make a big day of it as a family, she and Mark had made plans - plans that he had completely undermined.

"That bastard," she seethes under her breath, "that absolute bastard!"

"Is everything alright?"

She turns sharply, so wrapped up in her own self pity that she hadn't noticed she'd been followed out. Steve.

"Yeah, 'course it is," she sends a wry smile his way "just a tosser who broke a promise, you know how it is."

Tucking her phone back into her pocket, she tries to push it from her mind and smiles more confidently. He doesn't seem fully convinced but that's fine, and sensing that she doesn't really want to talk about it further he tilts his head towards the pub door. She nods in response to the silent question and together they go back inside. Distantly she can make out some muffled cheers and raised eyebrows from their table, and wonders what it's about. Beside her, Steve looks a mixture of bashful and annoyed. She doesn't ask.

Her seat has been taken, and so together they squash into the booth, thigh-to-thigh, arm-to-arm. She schools herself into thinking about the job, about the case, about the rowdy-but-not-yet-tipsy laughing that surrounds her, and not about the gentle warmth that emanates from where his jumper sleeve is pressed into hers. He seems nice, like if they met under different circumstances he could be a good friend, he's undeniably attractive and she likes him well enough. Feeling like this is normal.

They laugh, and they joke and they smile, and as the evening draws to a close he texts her his number in the doorway of the pub. They're leaning into each other slightly and catching eyes and it's fine.

She could have asked him about Osbourne, about the counterterrorism department. She doesn't.

As she gets into her car having waved goodbye, her cheeks hurt from smiling and her cheeks are flushed from the cold. The sudden silence as the door closes behind her is suffocating and she can't help but feel like she's just done something wrong, though she knows she hasn't.

Eyeing the time briefly (22:09, Josh will be asleep, Mark will already be working upstairs), before she makes the journey home Kate sends a quick text to the Gaffer. It's late - she'll complete all her documentation and notes in full tomorrow, and deliver him the detail during their scheduled meet up at the end of the week. First day done, she writes, all fine and getting on with the team.

Her phone buzzes twice.

[22:10] Received. Speak soon.

[22:10] It was nice talking to you tonight, welcome to the team

She starts the car.

The journey back is quiet, the roads nearly empty. The radio is turned off, having not been able to settle on a choice and, though she remains vigilant, tiredness is beginning to prickle at the back of her mind.

Pulling into her driveway, she gets out of the car and approaches the house, taking care to be minimal in her disturbance to the occupants. As she slowly releases the lock and slides the door open she is struck with the unfortunately not-so-unfamiliar feeling of being an intruder within her own home.

The house is dark as she enters quietly, all the lights turned off leaving the only illumination from the streetlights outside. Kate stands in the hallway, bag hanging limply at her side as she waits (though waits for what she doesn't quite know) before easing off her shoes and walking slowly to the kitchen, collapsing at the table with her head in her hands.

Everything is quiet, too quiet, but that's fine - it has to be. Upstairs Josh will be sleeping, perfect and safe, and she mustn't disturb him. He and his dad had a tiring day, which she knows, but it still hurts her fiercely that she hasn't been able to see him and she can't help considering stopping by just to make sure. Her eyes stray to the living room. Empty. The ghosts of happier times still linger there though and in her minds eye she can see Mark waiting for her to return, a glass of wine ready for them to discuss their respective days over.

Her mind is buzzing as the adrenaline of the day catches up to her and, not for the first time, she wishes she had someone who understood. Or would still be willing to pretend to understand. Her eyes drift upwards to where she knows her husband will be waiting, gone is the muffled laughter and companionship of yesteryears - now he works silently and spitefully in their room, his laptop glow the only light as she sneaks in and continuing until the clacking of the keyboard sends her into a restless sleep.

She toys with her phone, wistfully contemplating the idea of calling someone who might get it, get her. Steve, Jane, maybe. Shaking her head though she ascends to the stairs. It's late and she needs to sleep, and she can hardly discuss her undercover work with any of them anyway: Steve can't know Kate Fleming, and neither can Jane know about Kate Fisher.

Goodnight, lights up her phone, to which she quickly replies with the like, hovering on the landing like a ghost. He may not understand her fully, but at least for the moment she's sure Steve makes her feel a hell of a lot better.

Continuing on her journey she pauses briefly outside of Josh's door, resting her hand upon the door knob and hoping beyond all hope that he knows how much every inch of her soul belongs to him. A whispered goodnight hangs in the air and she moves on, entering the master bedroom that is dark aside from a slight dappling by the moonlight streaming through the window.

Mark isn't asleep, but he's lying in bed, determinedly facing away from where she should be sleeping and hunched to one side as if he cannot bear the thought of being close to her. Her heart aches and she watches him as she prepares for bed, his eyes resolutely never meeting hers and instead just staring into the darkness. Sliding into bed next to him she reaches out a hand towards him, pausing timidly for a second in a way that feels altogether alien to her, before making contact.

"Mark?"

He doesn't answer, doesn't respond, and she pulls away, not knowing when he started to make her feel so unsure in herself. She's always been a woman of action, preferred to show her emotions through the things she does rather than with the words she can never quite get right. At work, she is a master of linguistics. She has to be, has to be able to talk to officers, to the public, to suspects; has to get people to open up, to trust her and to do what she wants.

She loves him, she does, truly, but she's never been one to throw the words out willy-nilly. She loves him for being there, for staying, for letting her reach for her ambitions. She loves him for giving her Josh.

She loves him.

But sometimes, she's found, love isn't enough to bridge the chasm made in their bed, and, sometimes, she wonders if it's the right kind of love that's left between them at all.

The silence drags on, and the room seems colder somehow.

When Kate awakens the next morning it's to an empty bed, and it occurs to her that it might has well have been empty the whole night.

Good morning, her phone buzzes. She smiles.