Catch 22: Chapter 7 - Everything or Nothing at All
"What do you mean, you kissed her?" Leo cries, distracted (not for the first time) from his work by you pacing in front of him.
"I think it's pretty self-explanatory," you snap, stopping and standing in front of Leo, raking a hand through your still damp hair, from the shower (very cold shower) you had just taken, "Sorry," you sigh, apologising for your tone, as Leo simply stares at him with raised eyebrows.
"No, I - What I meant was why? What is happening with you and her?" he says softly, gesturing in the direction of Nikki's desk, before returning to his work momentarily.
"I have no idea," you sigh, fiddling with a cuddly toy on Leo's desk, a toy you remember that Nikki gave to him after he got his MBE.
"Put that down," Leo tuts, prising the object from your fingers and replacing it on his desk, an action that much mirrors a father reprimanding his child, "Why did you kiss her, Harry?"
"I - I don't know," you mumble, returning to your desk, as you fiddle with your nails, in particular, the skin on the edge of your thumb, as you bite at it nervously.
"You don't know?" Leo cries in disbelief, following you, "So you just cheat on your girlfriend for-"
"Look, I know how it sounds. I just... I don't want to hurt Nikki, you know? God, Leo, through all the crap I've put her through...she deserves so much more than me," you mutter, some words more coherent than others as you put your head in your hands, an act of shame if ever there was one.
"But? I'm sensing there's a 'but' coming," Leo pushes you, knowing that you need to say it, once and for all, and finally admit it.
"I love her," you say weakly, looking up at him, "You know when people say, the love of your life? I can see it with her, the whole death do us part, church wedding in front of everyone - and I don't even believe in God - I can actually see it all," you murmur, rambling slightly, "I love her," you repeat louder this time.
"I love you too," a voice from behind you says suddenly.
You and Leo turn around simultaneously, in shock.
Eager to find a face to fit the voice.
"Oh, for God's sake," you mumble under your breath, praying that he hasn't seen you, as if the transparent windscreen of your car will suddenly make you invisible. However, as his sullen eyes lock onto yours, you exhale loudly and reluctantly get out of your car. If there's anything you hate more than a rainy crime scene, it's Mumford at a rainy crime scene.
"Ah, Dr Alexander," Mumford says, his depthless voice infiltrating the comforting silence in your mind, and instantly irritating you beyond recognition.
"DCI Mumford, a please as always," you reply, shaking his hand, your sarcasm subtle for your own satisfaction, but also much to the amusement of the man next to Mumford, who you presume is another detective.
"Dr Alexander, my junior, DI Harper," Mumford says, as his "junior" leans over him to shake your hand.
"Toby Harper," he smiles at you, beginning to take notes with you about the crime scene, and attempting to ignore the vitriol being shouted by the general public about the police "failing" society.
"AKA the junior? you smirk, raising one eyebrow, as Mumford turns his back.
"Mm-hm," he smirks back, not crazy enough to say anything else, as Mumford had now rejoined you, but for a reason neither man knew, you still had a smirk on your face.
"What?" Harper inquires, your smile infectious as he begins to smile back at you.
"Toby?" you giggle, as he shrugs his shoulders, not comprehending, "Oxford or Cambridge?"
"Caius, Cambridge," he laughs, mentally applauding her, "How d'you guess?"
"Toby?" you repeat, as if his name alone makes him obvious Oxbridge alumni. You then begin to take it in turns to name stereotypical "posh-boy" qualities, each one more ridiculous than the last, until Mumford barks that you should have greater concentration on the case.
"I've been called to a stabbing, Mumford. I think the cause of death would therefore be, oh, I don't know, a stabbing?" you sigh exasperatedly, your sarcasm more prominent now, as you begin to lose your patience with Mumford.
"Still not a Professor, Dr Alexander?" Mumford replies dryly, an unnecessary dig needed to assert his authority.
"Still not invited to the Christmas party, DCI Mumford?" you counter, nonchalant, causing Harper to laugh loudly.
"I wasn't laughing at-" Harper backtracks, trying to feign innocence as Mumford frowns at him disapprovingly, but to no avail, as he soon bursts out laughing again. Mumford, after throwing a few lines of verbal abuse at both of you, soon stalks off in search of more prey to bark at, leaving you both laughing as Harper helps you put your instruments back into your case.
"Well, that's us told. I don't think we're in his good books today," you whisper unnecessarily, for Mumford is out of earshot, yelling at a tabloid photographer trying to get nearer to the crime scene.
"I don't think that's humanely possible," he whispers back, as you nod in agreement, giggling.
The face to fit the voice soon becomes apparent as you spin around.
But with Nikki at a crime scene, it could only ever be the wrong face.
Isabel.
You curse internally as your eyes come to rest on her smiling at you, her hair immaculately pinned into its customary tight bun, her bank uniform plain and uncreased.
"Hey," she smiles concernedly, walking over to you and kissing you on the cheek, "What's wrong?" she asks, noticing the slight hint of disdain that is possibly still gracing your features.
"What? Oh, nothing, just thinking," you recover quickly, smiling broadly (and almost certainly fakely) at her, your mind running through the possibility that she heard a lot more than you intended her to. Well, you didn't intend for her to hear any of this.
"What were you thinking about?" she laughs, "Looked like some serious thinking!"
"About the lovely mountain of work that he still hasn't finished," Leo interrupts, providing an escape for you to have some actual thinking time, "Sorry if that ruins your plans for lunch," Leo smiles apologetically, although you know that he's anything but sorry.
"No, it's fine, I was actually coming to see you, Leo. You and Janet are still coming tonight, aren't you? I wanted us all to have a meal together after everyone else has gone home," Isabel smiles, her voice warm and cheerful, and you wonder why you just can't be satisfied with her. Why she can't be enough.
"Oh, that sounds lovely, Isabel, I'll let her know," Leo replies, before making his excuses and finally returning to his desk.
"I'll see you later, okay?" Isabel smiles, pecking you on the cheek, as she turns to leave.
"Yeah," you smile back, although it doesn't quite reach your eyes.
"I'll have you know, Harper, I didn't get to DCI by chatting up the assistants-"
"Excuse me?" you cry, finally at the end of your tether after more than two hours with the man, "What did you just call me? Did you just call me an assistant?"
"Look, the detectives are the ones who do the real work. We find motive, put the clues together, find the killer, and send the little buggers to jail. What do you do? As you charmingly put it, it's a stabbing. Anyone could work out that the cause of death is a stab wound. God, I don't know how Home Office cuts didn't extend to you lot-"
"Come on, it's raining again. I'll walk you to your car; you can share my umbrella," Harper interjects, effectively breaking up the fight between you and Mumford before anything more can be said, "Why do you let him get to you?"
"It's a reflex. Like breathing, or yawning, or blinking - I can't help it," you sigh, knowing that you really shouldn't let Mumford rile you so much, "It's just - it's people like him that make my job-"
"Impossible? Yeah, I know. But the sooner you two co-operate, the sooner you find who did this, and bingo, case closed," Harper suggests, and you know it's a good suggestion, but the thought of having to work with Mumford again negates every reasonable train of thought.
"Did you just say bingo?" you giggle, "Sounds like something my grandad would have said."
"So, first, you mock my name, then my education, and now my vocabulary, and I'm supposed to share my umbrella with you? You're lucky you're pretty," Harper smiles at you, nudging you as you walk along the muddy road.
"Oh, I'm only teasing," you defend yourself, before grabbing him for support as you begin to slip in the mud.
"Serves you right," he laughs, although he helps you regain your balance, linking your arm into his for the rest of the trip back to your car.
As you reach your car, you reach an inevitable awkward silence, a moment filled with awkward smiles and awkward glances - even awkward breathing - until he decides to break it.
"Seems like a straightforward case," he says, rocking on his heels in a bid to stay warm, but he only succeeds in tilting rain droplets off his umbrella and onto you.
"Yeah," you sigh, choosing not to mention the fact that he is essentially pouring water onto your head.
"We can work our actual hours for once, and then go straight to bed," he continues wistfully, and it seems like a long time since he has had one of those days.
"Not for me," you add, for no reason in particular, "I'm going to a party. Well, a housewarming party, so-"
"Yeah, they're not exactly known for their radicalism," Harper agrees, "Unless you're one of those people who'll murder someone for spilling red wine on a white rug," he adds.
"Trust me, more often than not, it's me doing the spilling," you grin, putting your case in the boot, as Harper walks over to your car to close the boot for you.
"Thanks," you smile gratefully, "Hey, do you want to come tonight? Just as a way of saying thanks. Again," you offer, wishing this could have gone slightly smoother. You also wish that this evening could go smoother, but, with Harry playing happy families with Isabel, you know it's not exactly going to be an easy night for you.
"Thanks for what? Shutting your boot? I could just spend the evening showing you how to do it, if you like. It's really easy, actually. You just open the boot-"
"Yeah, you're funny. No, for helping me not to lose it with Mumford today," you reply seriously, smiling softly at him, trying not to get distracted by his lopsided grin, as it reminds you very much of someone who you'd rather not be thinking about right now.
"Oh, sure. What time is this rave, then?"
"Meet me at the Lyell Centre at six?" you inquire, handing him your card.
"I shall see you there, Nicola," he grins, walking away. You try and keep up the smile until he's so far away, you can't even see the features on his face clearly anymore, but it doesn't change the fact that it feels all wrong.
It feels wrong that you're inviting some guy you don't even know to your best friend's housewarming party. It feels wrong that you're flirting with some guy, when only a couple of weeks ago, you were happy with Ben. (Well, pretending to be, at least.) It feels wrong that Harry is having this housewarming party at all.
It feels wrong that Harry is still with her.
And if two wrongs don't make a right, then two more wrongs won't make it any better.
Okay, I know I've totally disappeared off the face of the earth recently. But A-Levels are just so...blah! That's literally the best word I can find right now. I will definitely try to update more often (famous last words, I know), but I will really try :)
I also said I was excited about this chapter. This now applies to C8, as for some reason, Toby Harper appeared in this fic, and I don't know how. It wasn't intentional. I'll try and get him to drift off sharpish.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed C6 (and continues to wait so patiently through my sporadic updating): delectabledaisy, Cariad1987, KiwiSWFan, greyslostwho, Lizziginne, liesel81, dinabar and tigersbride - Big suffocating hugs to you all! (In a nice way, obviously.)
As always, please read and review, even if it's only a couple of words!
Love Ems xx