What Agape Means

Genre: Family, Angst

Pairings: Greg and Molly

Main characters: Greg, Molly

Chapter Tie-in: DS Ambrose is mentioned in Chapter 42, "Phillip's Christmas Lullaby"

Molly had had a rough week, but for as draining as it had been, she knew that Greg had had it worse.

When she walked in on him in their bedroom, he stood in front of the full length mirror in his full dress uniform, a pinched, pained expression on his face.

The sorrow it beheld seemed to add unnatural years to him. Molly knew this was only temporary, though.

"Still fits alright," she observed quietly. "Maybe a bit loose in places."

"It'll do," Greg said, softly.

Molly said nothing to this, merely approaching her husband from behind and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, bringing her forearms up to rest along his chest, clutching him to her protectively. Greg sighed and brought his hands up to clutch hers in his own, interlacing their fingers.

"I don't know I could do this again without you, Love," he said, his gravelly voice sounding utterly exhausted with the whole business of being a decades long veteran of Scotland Yard. "I've done it too many times already, this time may have finished me with the whole sodding business if not for you."

Molly loosened her grip as Greg turned to face her.

"Do you know yet what you'll say?" she said simply.

Greg closed his eyes, shaking his head, seeming lost. "Not a bloody clue, Love. I'm no good at these things, there's a reason Sally looks after the public relations. I just show up to be the token team leader and answer a few press questions. Eulogies are just…"

He took a sudden breath, letting it out slowly, not finishing his sentence.

"I know," Molly said, simply, running her hands up the sides of his dress uniform jacket. She settled them on his shoulder blades, holding him firmly but comfortably.

"Tell me about Detective Sergeant Jared Ambrose," she said softly.

"He was a good copper. He was fast on his feet, a quick thinker. He had a keen eye for details, small details. He had the sort've eye Sherlock has, but with department protocol and regulations in mind."

"A sniffer dog with obedience training," Molly said, with a tiny smile. Greg noticed this, and smiled himself, ever so briefly.

"Yeah," Greg said. "Something like that," he said roughly.

"What else then, darling?" Molly urged, moving her hands unconsciously to rub his back, comforting.

"He was just bloody brilliant with families," Greg said, with a faraway look and a subtle smile. "Many's the time I watched him calm a hysterical wife, or a husband wild with grief and anger. Children too, terrified children. Ambrose had a way with them all. He could coax out such critical detail in his way. If he couldn't get it from a scene, he could get it from our witnesses, before time and trauma had a chance to distort their own memories."

Molly brought her hands forward, absently playing with Greg's tie, straightening it, smoothing it out, before bringing her hand up to his neck, her thumb gently stroking his jaw – her way of letting him know he wasn't alone in any of this.

"We say the first forty-eight hours in any investigation is critical, and I'm convinced that many of my team's cases were made by Jared's skill in those first hours."

"What did you know of him personally, then?" she asked gently. "Jared, versus Ambrose."

"He was a fighter. Even this last, when he was on Dimmock's team, he summoned me to the pub to tell me of his diagnosis, God Love, he was a fighter even THEN."

Molly was silent for a few moments. "Do not go gentle into that good night*…" she quoted softly.

"Rage, rage, against the dying of the light*," Greg finished soberly, his voice hitting a low tone that nearly broke Molly's heart. "He raged, oh God Molly, he raged. It just… wasn't enough."

"He still didn't go gentle though, did he darling?"

"God, no. Even to the end he was determined to return to active duty before year's end. I still don't know if he was in denial, or just the bravest young bastard I've ever had the honour to know."

"Was he strong for himself, or strong for others?"

"I've no bloody clue, Love. I suspect it was a front. Trying to make the rest of us at ease. Trying to take burden off of the rest of us."

"There has to be a special place for him, who held in more than he could bear to shield the rest of us from care**..." Molly quoted softly.

"A rarity, who showed us what Agape means**." Greg finished.

"Well, he had a legacy then, didn't he?" Molly gently pointed out. "He had colleagues who loved him and who he loved back. He raged for you, and for strangers. He tried to shield you all, but he never knew of his legacy, did he?."

"No. Kieran and one of Dimmock's other Sergeants organized a bone marrow testing drive just before Jared passed. I don't think anyone in CID missed out taking part."

"See," Molly said, smiling, bringing her hand up to tweak his collar. "Even in death he made an impact. Still making a difference, that one. To serve and protect to the end, and even a bit beyond it."

"Maybe just not in the conventional Yarder's sense," Greg admitted.

"Well then," Molly finally said, nudging Greg's chin up to look her in the eyes. "There you have it. Your eulogy."

"You make it sound so bloody easy, Love," Greg said sadly. "I've done this too many times over the years. I'm not sure I can do it again once I've gotten through this one. He isn't gone because he was shot, or stabbed, or taken out in an on-duty accident. It was bloody cancer. We can take precautions against on-duty perils, but this… there was no training against this. No evasive measures, no bloody defense," he said, his voice finally breaking.

"I have no answers for that, I'm afraid," Molly said, sadly, as she brought her hands up to cup his face, catching the tears of rage and grief. She stood on her tiptoes to reach up, kissing him ever so softly.

"Come on then," she said. "The uniform fits fine, so let's get you out of it now before Toby decides to jump on your back and put cat hair all over it. Your pyjamas are freshly laundered today, and we've had plans to watch that old miniseries on the telly all week. I've a date with my husband on the sofa, and I intend to keep it."

Molly paused a moment, thinking. "What's it called again? Forsythe? Chronicles? Something like that?"

Greg smiled for the first time in what felt to him as ages.

"The Forsyte Saga."

"Yeah," Molly said. "That's it. I hear the actor playing Young Jolyon is a right proper dishy little fox," she winked.

Greg took a deep breath, smiling and shaking his head. "Yeah, but it was filmed years ago. I bet he's a balding middle aged old has-been by now who hasn't worked since, or been seen nor heard from by anyone in Britain in years." He grinned briefly, then let it soften into gratitude. "Thank you, Love," he said.

Molly nodded in return.

"If I ever take anything we have together for granted, promise me you'll remind me of Jared, because that will be a swift enough kick in the ass to set me straight again."

"I promise," she said, as she stepped away to retrieve his pyjamas. "Now get yourself changed, Inspector. I'll get the popcorn started. Film starts in 10 minutes. Jolyon Forsyte and I will be waiting for you on the sofa."

* "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas. No copyright violation intended.

** "To One, Now Gone, Who Always Let His Hunting Partner Claim a Downed Bird", by Jimmy Carter. No copyright violation intended.