OOM: A Job To Do

[the_gene_genie]

Christmas Morning, about five am and he's awake and doesn't know why. By rights he should feel sick as a dog and wishing he were dead but instead he feels fine. Not even tired. This sofa isn't the most comfortable to sleep on though so he sits up; since he's sitting he thinks he might as well get up and once he's up, he figures he might as well go out for a little drive before the women wake up.

It's cold outside but he doesn't even feel it.

* * *

The station looks exactly the same as he remembers. Of course, it's only been a year. Why would it change? And the reception looks exactly the same, the desk, the files, the face behind it.

'Merry Christmas, Phyllis. Quiet one?'

'What're you doin' 'ere, Guv? Lady kick you ou'? Wouldn' be the first an' she looked a bit classy to pu' up with the likes of you.'

'Charmin' as ever, Sergeant.'

Phyllis pulls a face, though her expression changes to something quizzical when she looks at him.

'Wha'? You been at the gin behin' there again?'

'...no. S'nothin', Guv.'

There's a loud banging and yelling from the cells, some inmate obviously kicking off about something. Phyllis sighs but he notices a reluctance in her too, as if she doesn't want to deal with it because...scared. She's scared.

'Who is it?'

'David Mowbray.'

'That bastard! When did 'e ge' out?'

'Couple o'weeks ago. And no Guv, before y'say it. You can't go an' sort 'im out, you don' work 'ere anymore an' it's more'n my jobs worth to let you.' She squares her shoulders and picks up the keys. 'I can do it.'

He and Pyllis always had a mutual respect, hidden by a thousand crude insults. But still, he doesn't know why he reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder and says, 'I know you can. But I'll come with you.'

He doesn't know why she gasps either when she looks up at him. It just feels right to follow her and make sure she's alright, even though he knows the ol' trout has it in her to do what needs to be done.

Which she proves when the murderin' scum Mowbray flings his breakfast tray at her face as she walks into his cell, following it up with a drunken slash with the razor he had hidden in his shoe.

He wants to help but his feet are rooted to the spot. He's just an onlooker as Phyllis, on reflex, bats at the tray and it flies back into the man's face, catching him with enough force to knock him off balance. And then she's there with her truncheon and he's not going to be causing any more problems for the morning.

She's breathing hard with adrenaline but looks happy. He smiles, a genuine one.

'C'mon. You look like you need a drink.'

* * *

Nelson's waiting.

'Coming in for a quick one, Guv?'

'Not right now, luv. Put one behind the bar f'me though, OK?'

'...'course. And...thank you. For bein' there.'

She squeezes his arm, they smile at each other, two old bastards that need a bloody drink. And then she's gone.

And now he's tired. Now he can sleep. So he goes home, passes out as soon as he lies down on that old sofa and remembers nothing when he wakes.

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[lady_bols]

[ cont'd here ]