Points of Endeavour

Disclaimer: I do not own the Endeavour series.

A/N: Thought I'd try something non-Harry Potter related to get my creative juices flowing. Not abandoning any story . Too many plot bunnies after recovering.
Reviews welcome. Thank you kindly! -JHS.


Ch. I: He did what?!

"Hey, take it easy, Morse." Sam said carefully. "'If they're awake I can fix it. If they're dead, I can solve it.' That's what you promised, right?"

Morse blinked in slow recognition, before turning sideways to see Sam Thursday.

"Jakes, Dad, Strange—are you awake?" Sam called, turning his head slightly, maintaining eye contact from the blue saucers of the best D.C. in Cowley Station.

"I'm awake." Jakes said, clearing his throat from the hospital bed on the far left.

"I'm awake, too." Strange said quickly, cottoning on from his hospital bed on the right.

"I'm definitely awake, Morse." Fred Thursday copied, eying his son and bagman worriedly.

The lanky man's shoulders relaxed and Sam took that as a sign to continue.

"Joycie's going to have tea with Joanie." The younger dark-haired man added, as Endeavour began to focus more steadily, despite the apparent tension in the hospital wing.

"Mum said she's going to make your favorite—banana pudding—then after, we're going to see the Wagner opera with you at the college. You, me, Joycie, and Joanie."

Endeavour smiled.

Trustingly, he leaned towards Sam, with the help of two nurses, got the traumatized copper to his bed; whereupon, they quickly sedated him to allow his injuries to settle.

He slept.

Sam tucked him in winced at the extent of his dad's bagman's blue, purple, and red injuries, all carefully bandaged with him topless. He looked worriedly at the gauze around Endeavour's head, his left black eye, and a split lip. Taking to his dad's seat with everyone eying him curiously, he answered by way of explanation. "He told me this in passing about his sister visiting him soon. That he really has no idea what to do for her except to take her shopping; and if possibly, Joanie wouldn't mind having tea with her while he was out."

"And…the 'awake,' thing?" Jakes gestured inarticulately.

"Ah, that." Sam grimaced, feeling like he was somehow betraying Morse and his idiosyncratic creed. "It was something he said offhand. I only now pieced it together."

"Good work, son." Fred praised distractedly. "You'll have to brief Joanie and Mum on their duties." Sam nodded, smiling slightly. It had better work out for him, Joanie. It's obvious you two actually love each other…and I know he'll take care of you.

"So…anybody going to share what happened?" Jim Strange asked with burning curiosity and obvious confusion.

Jakes and Fred exchanged loaded looks.

"We'd all be dead if it weren't for Morse." Fred answered with finality.

Sam's eyebrows leapt off his brow. He could tell his dad wouldn't say much else. Thus, it gave Jakes and Strange to keep that in mind before the nurses said they have 15 minutes until visiting hours were over.

Jakes, craving a cigarette, looked at his left to the second of the far beds from his first. The lanky bugger. He thought without any real antipathy. Strange, however, was really trying not to look at him on the right sight of Morse, while also politely ignoring the father and son discussion.

Jim Strange was lost in thought, said an absentminded goodbye to Sam, while in the same breath, saying the softest goodnight to his bunkmates.

In the dark, he finally decided to admit it, as guilt covered him like a shroud.

I am a first-rate cowardly sod.

Jim hadn't outreached Morse during his stay at the Grey Bar Hotel. He outright abandoned his 'matey,' and now Morse hadn't thought about it—he simply saved him as par for the course.

Similarly, Jakes was thinking of Strange. At least I visited—and I don't even like the arrogant puffball. Again, no malice, just thoughtfulness. It was a matter of principle—Blenheim Vale was to be a closely guarded secret, until it wasn't. And yet, he didn't use it over me. He hadn't shared it with anyone at the nick. Jakes could admit it to himself that he wouldn't have done something that nice. The chainsmoker knew he was a gossip, a bully, and made his animosity plain regarding his hazing of Morse. Honestly, I'd think he was queer or a virgin if I hadn't seen him attracted to women on a few occasions…Now he was being spiteful. His own mind reproached him. Knock it off.

But in jail? Not even Morse deserved that. Plus, Morse had taken it upon himself to go in Jakes' stead when he was overwhelmed. In as many months, Thursday was in the hospital again. It was Jakes who told the imprisoned D.C. that Thursday was awake after successive surgeries.

"He just can't visit you, yet." Jakes took a spectacularly long drag. "But, he will. First thing he asked was about you."

Hope reentered the wary, bleak demeanor of the innocent, young man.

"Thank you, Jakes." He breathed.

"Wotcher." Jakes managed before receiving a gimlet stare from the warden. The handsome policeman felt that was all he needed to say and didn't return because Thursday had gone in his stead before Morse was released.

Now that the political winds had settled, the uneasiness around the nick had the guilty conscience regarding Morse once he returned. It was awkward at best. Palpable at worst. Strange is a right bastard. Jakes thought in askance and real malice. I'm sure he's Morse's only friend besides the Thursdays. Even a fool would see how much Morse depended on his governor.

Privately, it would've put Jakes off from the force if he'd been betrayed like that. He…could admit—with a small glance in the sleeping subject's direction—he'd have ended it or gone ballistic. But even the brilliant sensitive didn't quit solving cases. And, he still wouldn't play the game, despite what happened. Jakes could admit he admired Morse's fortitude and discretion of character. Something he himself would never own.

But…what was the price, or prices, is he really paying? A part of him shied away from knowing that answer. Only, he really wanted to know…if only because it reminded him just what all he owed Morse, now.

At that troubling thought, sleep won.

Fred Thursday couldn't see Morse's face without straining his stitches. Needs must. He rolled his eyes in derision before drifting off to sleep.

~ 8 hours earlier ~

"I'll shoot up all you coppers!" Stevie O'Neal roared with his five goons egging him on. Thursday gritted his teeth against a slash wound weeping wet scarlet. He had gone with Strange and Jakes to a warehouse, thinking it was a part of the case of the murder of the old couple from two of the goons.

Morse had desk duties, given his return to civilization, they wanted to break him in slowly…if only to see if he was still fit for the job. Thursday was trying to stay conscious. Jakes had been shot in the leg while Strange was knocked out. Jakes had managed to stem his blood flow; but even his cocksure face was nervous. At least I told him where I was going…oh Win He was working hard to hold back his bile, not panic all while paying attention. Thursday knew his death would break Morse. At least he'll av-.

A door opened and the copper-haired man appeared, stoically taking in his teammates. There was a strange, low-key energy emanating from the young man.

"Oi!" One of the goons shouted, hoisting his gun.

Thursday tried to say something to the blithering idiot; but Jakes' gasp was all that was needed.

Morse, in an uncanny, macabre dance, moved out of the way of every bullet shot from the goons before he dropped them with a screwdriver in their throats.

"I wouldn't." Endeavour informed the burly man over Jakes as another screwdriver went into his pistol hand. Jakes punched his assailant in the groin before knocking him out on the way down. His nervous fingers pinching the gun.

"Perhaps…we should dance?" Three goons down.

The other three had knives; but were circling Endeavour, who couldn't help the inappropriate urge to smile.

"Freak!" They jeered, leaping at hm. "Motherfucker!"

Too many times…that moniker…really should be laid to rest.
Something that was barely tethered was loosened.

Thursday was paling and Jakes had lifted his dead leg to put pressure on Thursday's, speaking reassurance as he watched the boy he often hazed.

Endeavour fought low and dirty. The moves catching the three bigger men off-guard. Endeavour flipped a knife from one and turned his opponent to his friend—getting him mortally stabbed.

"Bastard!"

He turned, sideswiping out of the way, facing the remaining fighters as they sought to tackle him.

There was a lurid excitement in Endeavour's eyes that reflected something of his prisoner mind. It scared Jakes a little scared to see.

End it quickly, then.

He palmed the blade he pilfered from one of the men.

Both assailants roared their frustration and animosity.

"I'm going to carve you up and make you watch your friends, you smiling freak!"

"Yeah, and the old m-"

Endeavour feinted left, knowing it would cost him.

One had bludgeoned the left side of his head. He traded blows; but the blue-eyed man was thankful they hadn't knocked him out or ruined his equilibrium.

He slashed tendons in one of the goon's wrists while breaking the knife's hold and catching it. Now, armed with two knives, as the other goon moved to cover his mate, Endeavour ignored the wailing assailant.

"J-just wait-!"

Endeavour lunged, unpredictable, guerilla attacks, creating slashes designed to bleed profusely and become overwhelming for his victim. The knife was slipping from a bloodied hand. The energy to fight was fading fast. It gave the detective the perfect window of opportunity as he struck the coup de grâce at the goon's jugular and let him drop before he matter-of-factly stabbed the severed wrist's goon until he choked his final breaths. He clocked him in the back one of the knives sticking out.

The copper-haired man seemed to glow otherworldly in the warehouse light.

He took off his jacket and immediately went to Thursday. Thanks to Jakes, the bleeding had stopped. But his mentor was shivering from shock.

Endeavour simply sliced one of his best suit jackets to accommodate Thursday's significant surface area. The eerie calm resettled Endeavour knowing Thursday would live. He could tell that Strange was OK enough to where he didn't need to do much for him.

Jakes didn't dare speak.

Endeavour looked at the knife and sliced his shirtsleeves and methodically wrapped Jakes' leg, eyes narrowing.

What…are those weird scars? Jakes wondered at Endeavour's forearms. Clearly, they were defensive wounds, Some huge dog or something?

"Can we tilt your leg?"

"Huh?"

Taking that as a 'yes,' Endeavour put words into action. The bullet was peaking and Endeavour took a safety pin from his hemline while he surgically maneuvered it. Jakes was sweating bullets. He swore once Endeavour got it out and put it unceremoniously into Jake's pen pocket while tightening the strips.

The lanky man stood to his full height, and made his way over the less bloodied goons. He defrocked them. Covering his teammates with the 'borrowed,' coats and jackets while asking if any of them had their handcuffs.

"Strange does." Jakes answered quietly as he realized what Endeavour was doing.

He nicked the handcuffs from Strange's trousers with a subtle disgust. If Jakes wasn't looking for it, he wouldn't have seen it.

Morse cuffed the one living goon. Then he did a singular thing. He had him face his fallen friends. Bit vengeful, Jakes thought surprised.

"Watch him." Endeavour softly commanded as he turned his back from Jakes, who raised the pistol. The detective retrieved his ever-present little black notebook from Thursday's prone form; and begun to furiously write details going through the goons' wallets.

Endeavour didn't look at the slaughter he was undeniably responsible for. He blanked out the bloodbath and focused his considerable attention while scribbling and checking his watch.

Just when he was about to ask how they were going to contact the station; Jakes heard the sirens.

"How-?" The handsome policeman sputtered.

"Called ahead…" The lanky man answered, brow furrowed. "Said to DeBryn if I wasn't back in 37 minutes to bring the calvary."

"3-37 minutes?"

This time Endeavour did turn around, while placing his notebook inside his trouser pocket. He palmed the knife by reflex, and looked at Jakes.

"37 minutes from the time it took me to get here—which would've been 19 minutes." His expression shuttered as he stood and made his way over to the goon who was beginning to regain consciousness. He knelt within striking distance, if only to keep himself occupied. Jakes' arm must be tiring.

Endeavour kept his attention split between the handicapped assailant and the door.

"Because…I was really angry at being left behind." Again, thought Jakes, blinking at the man he doubted for too long.

"George! Mikey!" screamed the goon, who struggled against his handcuffs. "Y-you're a sick fre-!"

"Careful, please." Endeavour said. "You've the right to remain silent…" He glinted the still-dripping knife in the goon's sightline and he promptly quieted.

The Cowley Police opened the door with their usual fanfare led by none other than DSC Reginald Bright and Dr. Max DeBryn with his handy medical valise.

"Morse?" his friend whispered, taking in the brutal situation his normally squeamish friend had embarked in.

A shocked, horrified silence filled the air like fog.

"Sir," Endeavour respectfully acknowledged.

Bright immediately shouted for medical services.

DeBryn anxiously repeated, "Morse?" turning to the fresh officers on the scene he quickly told them to get the shock kit. A few hesitantly approached the goon on the ground. Not so much afraid of the handcuffed criminal as they were of this relatively unassuming 'college prisoner.'

"Did…you do this, Morse?" Bright whispered, seeing Jakes' eyes widen in censure and DeBryn's sharp intake.

"They'd already made Thursday bleed, sir." Endeavour answered mechanically, still keeping his mentor in his sightline. He took comfort in Thursday's medical attentiveness from the team, despite feeling like a pariah. Once again, a despondent thought lurked, I'm the outcast who does his best to outlast. "Shot Jakes, and knocked out Strange." He fisted the knife, before dropping it, and with excruciating slowness, just managed to look Max in the eye. "It was just me…thank you Dr. DeBryn…for listening to my analysis." The young man stood as a newborn colt, wobbling, but spent and unarmed. An officer carefully helped him over to the ambulance.

Yes, thought Max tragically, this will be all over the nick.

"Thank you, officer." Endeavour's gentlemanly manners were on display as he sat next to Thursday and Strange being attended to with Jakes loaded up after him. He sat docilely as they asked him concussion protocol and chose not to do anything except listen carefully. The doors closed, sparking a flinch from Endeavour. He continued talking if only so they would let him sit peacefully.

"DI Thursday is in need of lower abdominal stitching," a medic radioed. "Has a broken ankle and bruised ribs."

"DS Strange." Endeavour's eyes tightened. "Requires concussion protocol and a liquid diet." He smirked at that.

"DC Morse has extensive injuries, most severe being a head injury…" He sighed irritably and was prodded to remain awake.


Notes:

These are all plotbunnies awaiting to be written. There will be whump, processing, and eventual E/J. Mostly, this is a relationship FanFiction story :-).
I decided to add a recurring Playlist (that I obviously disclaim that I do not own any songs): Hozier's "Movement," and "Work Song." Dan Stevens' "Evermore,"