A/N: I'm sorry if the next few chapters are quite short, I'm having some complications with my recovery and I can't type for long at the moment. Still fired up for writing though so I'll just write what I can, when I can for now x
~xXx~
Chapter Twelve
Robin couldn't take his eyes from the humiliating, violent and slightly bararic initiation the new recruits were going through outside.
"Am I hallucinating or did he actually shove that pencil up that guy's nose?" he shuddered.
Simon had seen it all before. He barely noticed the trauma Gene was inflicting on the small gathering, more interested in asking Robin about something he'd said earlier.
"So they finally caught Nailer out there?" he asked.
"Hmm?" Robin flinched as he witnessed another novel use for stationery, "ouch –"
"You said something about an undercover operation?" Simon pressed.
Robin finally stopped watching the commotion outside and turned to Simon.
"Yeah," he said, feeling slightly sad about the whole situation. "It wasn't an incredible success if you ask me."
"But they got Nailer behind bars, didn't they?"
"At some cost," Robin shook his head slowly, "it was more like a honey-trap than an undercover operation, Simon. They sent in a glamorous DI to charm his pants off,. Literally if Nailer's to be believed. But she took the role too far and got into the dark side of his world. She got addicted, quickly by the sound of it, and soon she wasn't getting all the drugs she needed from Nailer. She started to look elsewhere and –" he shook his head again, "must have been really desperate to go to Layton. Nailer found her, dead. He called for an ambulance, gave himself away, found himself finally on the inside of a cell."
"What did he expect after decades on the run?" said Simon.
"That's not the point," Robin aid quietly, "he was genuinely in love with the woman. He tried to get her help rather than keep his freedom. I heard he had some kind of panic attack when they told him she was just an undercover detective. He ended up in hospital. He didn't deserve that."
"You sound like he's on your Christmas card list," Simon frowned.
Robin shook his head.
"No, he's just not quite the monster everyone makes him out to be," he said. He shrugged. "And the man talks a lot of sense."
"The 'man' has a drug addled brain, " Simon told him.
Robin shook his head.
"He actually seemed pretty level-headed," he said, "I got the feeling he'd never really been into overusing his own substances."
"At what point did you become bosom buddies with Nick Nailer?" Simon cried, "he shot your fucking dog!"
Robin rubbed his temples. He was getting a headache and this was getting him nowhere.
"I'm perfectly well aware of what he did," he snapped, "but you know, sometimes things aren't black and white." Robin couldn't explain to Simon, nor did he want to, that his kidnap at the hands of Nailer had been a fairly surreal experience. The man he met wasn't the cocky, headstrong Nailer of the nineties; he was a man of the world who'd seen enough – maybe a little too much – and learned a lot of hard lessons. In fact, Nailer's advice about grasping chances and living life had given Robin the courage to pursue his relationship with Kim. And, he had even apologised for shooting Cassandra.
Simon was about to launch into another round of questions when the door of the office flew open and an angry, ranting gene blustered in like an heard of bison.
"What is it that goes so badly bloody wrong fifteen years down the line?" he demanded, "why are all you two thousand and bollocks coppers such a puny collection of weeds, wimps and wet-pants?"
Robin was torn between amusement at Gene's rant and offence about everyone being lumped in under one label.
"I think that's a bit of a bloody generalisation," he frowned but Gene was on a roll.
"It's women's lib, isn't it?" he demanded, "the bloody contraceptive bloody pill. All that estrogen in the water supply. Turned everyone into a generation of nail-shaping, eyebrow-plucking, leg waxing tosspot posers."
Simon slowly covered his face with his palm. He'd seen this happen before. He'd been there long enough to know the tirade that followed when a bunch of new recruits joined the station. But this was a little different to usual. He found himself torn between trying to muffle the harshness of Gene's words from Robin, worried about him coming into contact with such a tirade already and feeling a sudden embarrassment of realising that the rabid man ranting before them actually gave him half of his DNA. This was the time paradox equivalent of watching your dad dancing at a wedding.
"Oh god," he groaned.
"Not everyone's like that!" Robin tried to argue, "maybe it seems that way because you only get to meet the ones with the deep-rooted issues!"
"That explains why you're back," Gene mumbled.
Simon didn't like where this was going. Since he didn't think the floor was going to comply with his wishes and swallow him up whole he decided to try distracting Gene with a question instead.
"I thought you were only supposed to get two new recruits," he said.
"You an' me both, Shoebury," Gene frantically looked for their paperwork on his desk, "problem is, someone's got to pick up the slack from Bolly's department now it's gone down the crapper. They doubled me ration of weirdos. "
"Shit, sorry," Simon said quietly, just thanking his lucky stars that none of them came under his remit. He peered out of the door. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with the new recruits, nothing to live up to Gene's rant anyway. Yes, they were in real 90s fashion; there was indeed a strong boy-band appearance to one of them and another had shoes that would even give the Spice Girls vertigo but it was nothing Gene hadn't seen before. The presence of an interloper confused him though. "Why is Eddie in CID?" he asked.
"Because he caught the scent of fresh meat and came after them like one of Batman's sniffer dogs," Gene told him. Sure enough Eddie was focusing all his efforts on appearing as humanly charming as possible to a young detective whose 90s makeover had clearly been lifted straight from a poster of Mel B.
"At least he looks happy," Simon commented, "that's the first time I've seen him smile in about eight months."
"Don't think that's going to be lasting for long," Gene informed him as the expression of the Mel B lookalike darkened and she stamped on his foot with shoes that must have weighed at least as much as a desk. As Eddie hopped around the room, howling and clutching his toes, Simon found himself covering his face with his palm once again.
"Great. That's just great. A hopping, miserable Eddie moping around the office is just what I need this afternoon."
"You'll be busy this afternoon," Gene told him abruptly, "it's time to revise The Life and Times of Arthur Layton, chapters one to thirty five." He looked out of the doorway at the newbies, "and don't let the new blood get whiff of what you're doing. As much as I'm sure they'd love an introduction to the greasiest-haired dealer this side of thee continent I don't think they're going to appreciate the importance of catching the bugger or enjoy the time travel discussions I can practically hear oozing out yer science fiction noodles."
Simon hesitated.
"Are they all dead?" he asked, "or are any of them –"
"Floaters?" Gene shook his head, "No, they're all enjoying the decorative delights of an all-wood dwelling, six feet under."
"Do you have to put it that way?" Simon frowned.
"Do you have to call us floaters?" Robin added, offended by the comparison to something found in the toilet bowl.
"Fine, fully paid-up members of the coma club then," said Gene.
"Are we going to get an introduction then?" Simon asked.
"For the foreseeable future they're going to be otherwise occupied being introduced to filing cabinets and attending a crash course in how not to impress your DCI by looking like a reject from Top of the Pops." He grabbed a set of keys from his drawer and threw them at a shocked Simon who fumbled for them in the air and barely caught them. "In the meanwhile you're both going to be busy finding out what our dear friend Mister Layton has been doing for the last ten years."
"What are these for?" Simon held up the keys.
"Dig out everything you can find from the files," Gene told him, "if that greaseball touched it, I want you reading about it. I want a full and unabridged account of his recent history; who he's pissed off, who he's been working for, what he's been shoving in his veins." He walked to the door. "Free ice cream for anyone who digs up anything connecting him with Nailer. We know about the bomb, but there's a ninety-nine in it for anyone who can dig up a deeper connection."
"With a flake?" Robin asked before he realised how stupid his request was.
"And a vat of bloody sprinkles," said Gene before he disappeared, heading off to insult his new recruits a little more.
Simon and Robin glanced at each other, neither really knowing what to say.
"He seems to be getting back some…" Robin began eventually.
"Rudeness?" Simon suggested, "violent tendancies?"
"I was just going to say 'bite' but those work too," Robin said a little nervously as a metallic clank made them both flinch.
"It's a double drawer slam," Simon observed Gene as one of the new recruits met he furniture, "I haven't seen him do one of those since Alex vanished." He paused and jangled the keys absently, "This Layton thing has got him all fired up. It's the closest he's come to believing that Alex is going to find her way back."
It was true – it had. For the first time Gene actually had something to work towards. Between his messages from Alex and both Layton and Nailer filling the papers he'd found his first glimmer of hope, small as it seemed, and the fire was back in his belly. Whatever part Layton would play in her return to 1997, Alex was coming back one way or another – and so was the bite of the Manc Lion.
#...Darling I'm killed
I'm in a puddle on the floor
Waiting for you to return
Oh what a thrill
Fascinations galore
How you tease
How you leave me to burn
It's so deadly my dear
The power of having you near
Until the day
Until the world falls away
Until you say there'll be no more goodbyes
I see it in your eyes
Tomorrow never dies
Darling you've won
It's no fun
Martinis, girls, and guns
It's murder on our love affair
But you bet your life
Every night
While you chase in the morning light
You're not the only spy out there
It's so deadly my dear
The power of wanting you near
Until the day
Until the world falls away
Until you say there'll be no more goodbyes
I see it in your eyes
Tomorrow Never Dies...
Until the day
Until the world falls away
Until you say there'll be no more goodbyes
See it in your eyes...#
~ Tomorrow Never Dies - Sheryl Crow
~xXx~
A/N: Oh ewwwwwww, I made a horrible typo near the end and when I was editing it I realised I'd put 'that Layton THONG'! Ugh… well, yes, I am sure they will be all the fashion on the beach this summer…. Excuse me, I think I need a course of therapy now :-/