When Duty Isn't Enough
Author: Firebird
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Neither Hot Fuzz nor its characters, settings etc. are mine. Original characters are, as the name would imply, original and belong to me.
**
Nick walked out of the courtroom the next day feeling more drained than he had at any time since the immediate aftermath of the shoot-out. He had been warned by a member of the prosecuting team that the defence, having failed to convince anyone that Frank Butterman was legally insane, would instead try to convince the jury that Inspector Nicholas Angel was. He had felt himself freezing over, retreating back into the cold, largely emotionless, persona which he had worn for much of his time with the Met. His old London colleagues would have considered it par for the course, whilst the team from Sandford would have wondered whether the last two and a half years had happened. He doubted that Lily would have recognised him.
A swirl of reporters surrounded him, a mob of jostling, shouting faces wielding microphones, tape recorders, cameras and note-pads. He cleared his throat and uttered a few tight 'no comment's' before reaching the sanctuary of a waiting unmarked car.
He gave directions to his hotel, then stared unseeingly out of the window. 'Put him away' Lily had asked, and he hoped his efforts had gone some way towards that end.
It had been strange seeing Frank Butterman and the other members of the Sandford NWA again, and even stranger seeing Frank out of uniform. There had been no hint of contrition on the older man's face, no sorrow for the suffering he had caused, or remorse for the betrayal he had committed against the law he was sworn to uphold, not to mention what he had done to his own son. He had not taken the stand today, and Nick was grateful for that. He didn't think he could have stood to hear that calm, jolly voice trying once again to convince him that nothing was wrong, that it was all perfectly reasonable and under control.
The young constable driving the car was plainly aware of exactly whom he was transporting, and awed by his passenger's reputation to the point that he was reluctant to break the silence which Nick had drawn about himself. It therefore took several moments for him to realise that he was back at his hotel.
He looked at his watch, and was surprised by how early it was. Far too early for dinner. He considered the bar – God knew, he needed a drink – but dismissed the idea. The way he was feeling right now, alcohol was probably not a good idea. He was too restless to focus on an action movie, so he settled instead for Lily's favourite pastime, changing quickly out of his uniform before setting off to wander the streets.
He wandered carelessly, trusting in the part of his mind that was always on duty to keep him from walking into trouble. The shops were bright and cheerful with Christmas decorations, and reminded him that he needed to buy presents. In spite of what had happened during their visit he had promised to see his family whilst he was down, so he needed something for them or his life wouldn't be worth living, at least for the duration of their time together. Then there were his friends in Sandford, particularly Lily and Danny.
He sorted Danny quickly enough – a newly released three-disk extra-expanded-super-ultimate-bonus set of one of his favourite action movies – but found himself stuck for Lily. The shining window of a jeweller's caught his eye. Perhaps a pair of earrings?
The young woman behind the counter barely glanced up from her nails as he walked inside. He cleared his throat and she dragged her gaze to him with an exaggerated sigh. 'Ah, London,' he thought, 'how I have missed your cold and impersonal touch.' "Can I help you?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied, "I was looking for a pair of..." then he spotted them. Not earrings, but rings. A whole tray of diamond engagement rings.
"A pair of...?" The girl's lip curled up slightly in a sneer of barely-concealed contempt.
"No," he corrected, suddenly certain of what he was going to buy. "Not earrings. A ring. One of those."
Half an hour later he left the shop. He had bought earrings in the end, a pair for Lily and another for his mother, but it was the small, square box nestled safely in his breast pocket which put a smile back on his lips.
**
Over the next few days that box became his talisman. He seldom touched it, and never drew it out in public, but when he breathed deeply he could feel it resting close to his heart. He drew strength from that as his story was poked and prodded, analysed to the last micro-second, every decision tested and weighed in the precious light of hindsight, divorced now from the split-seconds in which he had had to make them. It seemed to go on forever, and he lived for the evenings when he would return to his hotel room and check his text messages, ring his friends in Sandford, or simply collapse into bed.
After six days, it was over.
The next day he had lunch with his parents before catching the next train back out of the city. As brick and stone gave way to fields and hedges he drew his mobile from his pocket and sent the two people he loved most a simple message:
'I'm coming home.'