A Closer Fate
by elfin

(Starts inside the episode Death Trap before taking its own path)


Gagged, blinded and bound, all Michael could do was listen.

He'd sagged between the two walls of the corner he'd been dumped in.  His head was pounding.

He'd been at home, lying on his sofa feeling sorry for himself. 

Robbie had begged him to stay away, to keep out of trouble.  Ironic, really, seeing as it was usually him yelling at Robbie.

He'd grudgingly agreed.  He'd promised to take the warnings about Kennedy seriously, and finally Robbie had left, promising to return that night.

And so he'd been lying there, listening to his favourite 'Travis' CD and pondering what Robbie would do to him if he did exactly what his DI did every time the situation was reversed - go out and investigate for himself.

Kennedy had shot the lock out of his front door with a shotgun.  He'd crossed the hall in five strides and had the barrel - the second shot - aimed at Michael's head before he'd had a chance to get off the sofa.  Not that it had stopped him fighting.  Perfunctory really.  A message to Robbie that he was in trouble.  It earned him a few bruises but it would have been worth it.

He was hauled out of his house, thrown in the boot of a car and driven here.

Since being dumped here, he'd only been given a couple of sips of water.  Not that he was hungry.

He was scared.

He'd recognised Kennedy, and seen the hatred in his eyes.

Seconds after the car had stopped, the boot of the car had been opened and the sudden, bright light shone into his eyes had given his captor the few seconds needed to bind his wrists and ankles, and to slap the thick tape over his mouth and eyes.

Then the light had gone out and a strong hand had wrapped itself tightly around his neck, cutting his air supply.

Michael had struggled in terror, his brain screaming for oxygen.  Kennedy had said nothing until his prisoner had almost blacked out.  Then he'd relaxed his grip. 

"Try anything, Jardine," he'd told Michael quietly, "and I'll kill you."

Michael had only just caught the words before the roaring in his ears had become too much and he'd lost consciousness.

He'd woken not too long afterwards, he guessed.  From the cold stickiness he could feel, and the various throbbing aches his body was reporting, he supposed he'd been half-dragged, half-carried inside and dumped on the floor.

It was cold, and he imagined he was in some sort of workshop.  There was a chalky substance on the rough concrete beneath him, and a smell that he couldn't place.  He hoped it wasn't him.


There was a sound outside, a car pulling up, and he knew Kennedy was back.  Despite himself, he tensed, trying to press as far back into the corner as possible.  He felt like a coward at that moment, but Kennedy frightened him more than he cared to admit.

The heavy metal door opened, and Michael heard Kennedy dragging something across the floor.

"Someone to keep you company, Jardine," he said smoothly, before leaving them and going back outside.  Jardine kept listening, tracking Kennedy's movements.

He had something else and dropped it onto a work surface or desk.  A few minutes later, Michael worked out that Kennedy had a laptop.  He could hear the quick, gentle tapping of fingers on a computer keyboard.

Kennedy was audibly comfortable with the thing, and Michael found himself absurdly thinking that prison educated people better than schools did these days.

But his attention was soon diverted to his waking companion.

He could hear the other person struggling to sit up, and for a moment he let himself feel relief that Kennedy hadn't brought a dead body here.

What the hell was he up to?

The sounds bought Kennedy's attention too, and he strolled over to them.

"Best you stay put," he said, and Michael guessed it was the other person he was speaking to.  He could hear shuffling, and then what sounded like a struggle.

He tried to cry out, but he could only make muffled sounds of frustration. 

Helplessness slammed through him, and suddenly all the things he'd concentrated on not feeling overwhelmed him.  Anger laced with fear, pain laced with terror.

His body seemed to move of its own accord, and a moment later he heard a sickening thud before that strangulating hand was back around his throat.

"Don't make me have to kill you, Jardine.  I don't want to.  I don't think you did it - lost that file - I think Innis did.  But I can't have you out there blabbing about me until I've got my revenge on that smug bastard."

Michael barely heard it.  He couldn't breathe.  Fear was pumping adrenaline into his bloodstream, making his heart race.  He was drowning in the waste trapped in his lungs.

Blindly, pleadingly, he reached out with his bound hands.

Just as suddenly, the fingers around his throat were gone.  As he gasped for his first desperate breath of air, his left hand was taken in an iron grip and snapped back.  The bones broke with a nauseating crunch.

Michael's brain commanded him to scream, but the oxygen in his lungs was needed elsewhere and he didn't have the reserves or strength to push the sound out through the gagging tape.

What came out then was a muffled groan.

Kennedy laughed.

"God, that felt good," he told his terrified prisoner.  "Don't tempt me to show you all the things that turn me on, Jardine.  I don't think you find them as exciting as I do."

*

Jackie tapped her knuckles on the front door, surprised when it swung open.

"Michael?"

Cautiously, she stepped into the hall, her stomach turning when she saw the smashed mirror hanging crooked on the wall. 

"Michael?"

She peered into the front room, the one they never used, before moving further into the flat.

As she walked passed the kitchen, something caught her eye, something so out of place that it put the fear of god into her.  An empty bottle of whiskey was standing on the edge of the otherwise spotless kitchen counter.

"Michael?!"

Quickening her pace, she rounded into the lounge and caught her breath even as her pulse sky-rocketed.

Michael kept the place immaculate.

The black-glass coffee table was smashed, the stack of CDs collapsed, strewn over the floor.  One of the cushions was half off the sofa and close by a coffee mug was lying on its side in a pool of cold coffee.

Taking her mobile from her pocket, she called Robbie and simply said, "Get over to Michael's, something's wrong."


He arrived ten minutes later.

Standing in the kitchen, he eyed the empty bottle.  "He could have got plastered, gone on a bender."

He knew how idiotic it sounded to his own ears, he didn't need Jackie's comment.  "Oh, listen to yourself."

Shrugging, he nodded.  "I know.  And the lounge...."  He'd called Burke already, told him the situation and that Michael was missing, presumed kidnapped.

He'd been told in return that Finlay McLean had also gone missing.

"We should get SOCO in," he said to Jackie, "see if they can lift something, finger print maybe."

"We know who did this, Robbie.  Kennedy's gunning for him and Innis.  If we bring in SOCO they'll turn this place over.  God knows what they'd find.  Do you think...."  She looked up at Robbie with large, wide eyes.

Shaking his head, he crossed to her.  "Don't.  He's fine.  If Kennedy'd wanted him dead, he'd have done it here.  If he's taken him, he's done it for a reason.  We need to find out what that is."

The words 'before he does it' hung unspoken in the air.

*

DCI Burke watched Jackie and Robbie as they sorted through the various clues that been found in this mess of a case.

He was worried sick about McLean.  He knew they were concerned about Jardine's whereabouts.  He hadn't known the other DCI for long, but he could guess that Jardine was meticulous and reliable. 

A T-Totaller didn't suddenly take to downing whole bottles of whiskey then smashing up his house.  If Jardine had drunk that entire bottle, he'd more likely have been found on the floor of his toilet having thrown up the contents of his stomach before passing out.

So where was he?  And where was McLean?

He was frustrated, desperately hunting for things that weren't there.  Answers he couldn't find.

"Right.  Robbie, go and speak to Innis.  I want to know exactly what happened between him and Jardine and Kennedy.  I want to know who did what back then."

Robbie dumped the file he'd been reading and got to his feet.  He was only slightly uncertain.  "Sir, if the DSI finds out...."

"I'll cover for you.  It's my idea, you've got witnesses."

"Right."  He glanced at Jackie before leaving.

Burke caught the look, but ignored it.  "Jackie, with me."

She was in a second, just as antsy.  "Where are we going?"  Not that it mattered.  She was starting to have faith in Burke, even if she couldn't actually bring herself to like him.

"To see if McLean found anything he shouldn't have."


As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they heard DSI Pattersen's quiet yet commanding voice.

"Matthew, can I have a word?"

He met Jackie's expectant gaze and rolled his eyes, making her smile.  He found himself thinking that it was worth doing a lot for one of those smiles.  The thought surprised him.

"I'll meet you at the car, won't be a sec."

Jackie nodded and headed out to he car park, pressing on the remote in her fingers, listening to the bleep of the car unlocking.

Only then did she see him.

Liam Kennedy.

He was standing next to a dark blue Vauxhall Astra, only yards from her.  His long silver/white hair was striking.  It meant an extra second passed before she noticed the gun in his hand.

She swallowed once.  He could shoot her - kill her there and then - and there wouldn't be a single thing she or anyone else, any of the fifty or so policemen and women close by, could do about it.

Oddly, though, no one else seemed to have noticed the threat.

Kennedy smiled, holding her attention for a moment more, before lowing the gun and getting into the car.

Burke stepped around the corned at the same moment that Kennedy started his engine.

"Sir!" she called out, "It's Kennedy!"

Within seconds they were on his tail.  Burke was shouting orders into the radio while Jackie threw her car out of the car park and into the Glasgow traffic.

The chase felt like it was taking them around in circles, but the one thing that became obvious as it escalated was that Kennedy wanted to be followed.  He was letting them keep up.

Although he never actually slowed down, he took routes that allowed them to follow easily.  He drove into paths of police cars, letting them pick him up when a previous one lost him.  He was leading them somewhere.

They had the helicopter up within the first two minutes of the chase, but before it could really join in, Jackie and Burke found themselves turning into the open gates of the old granary site, out on the edge of the city.

*

Panic flooded Michael when he heard a car come very close.  It confused him at first, but he figured there must be a garage of some kind close by.

A second or so later, another door was thrown open and slammed shut.

"Time to go, McLean," Kennedy called out.  Michael's mind caught on the name and he placed it.  Finlay McLean, Burke's undercover cop.

There were a lot of noises then, a scuffle as McLean was moved.  It sounded at least like the man was still alive.  Michael had been scared that the thud he'd heard before Kennedy had broken his wrist had been the other prisoner's skull cracking against the wall.

Outside too, he could hear more cars, and shouting.  His heart soared in the same moment that he realised he was probably about to die.  Kennedy's hideout had been found.  The police were surrounding the building.

He imagined Jackie and Robbie outside, not the first time the two had been in his increasingly chaotic thoughts.

Dragging his attention back, knowing he had to stay aware, he located Kennedy some way from him.  He heard a car door opening and closing.  He could smell petrol.

Then Kennedy was back with him.  Was this it?

"I have to go too, Jardine," he told Michael.

Michael tried to concentrate on anything else, on the noises outside, hostage negotiations being prepared.  Kennedy had picked up something, he heard the scraping of metal on stone.

"I'll miss your stunning company."

When the pain came, Michael knew he would never see his two lovers again.

*

The radio crackled into life.  "Ready when you are, Sir."

Burke picked up the handset from the top of the dashboard.  "Go."

Everything happened at once.

As the arm-response unit moved in, covered by the snipers on the roofs of the other buildings, a car came screeching out of a set of wooden double doors, which splintered into a million pieces in the vehicle's path.  It crossed the yard and a fraction of a second before it impacted the building opposite, it exploded.

Burke reached over and grabbed Jackie in the driver's seat, pushing her down as a metal shard hit the windscreen of their car and smashed it.  Glass flew into the car, over their heads before the shower settled on them.

The armed response team weren't phased.  They carried on, collapsing the heavy metal door that stood in their way and piling into the main granary building.

As Jackie and Burke carefully sat up, the radio burst into life once more.

"We've found someone, Sir....  I think he's dead."

Jackie's eyes widened, and before Burke could stop her, she forced the door open and clambered out of the car, shaking off the glass and breaking into a run.

"Sergeant," Burke yelled into the radio, as he too got out of the car and brushed himself off.  "Do you know who it is?"

"No, Sir." 

Another shout, in the background.  "He's alive, Sir!"

Burke could hear an ambulance closing in.  Someone had thought about it, and he berated himself for not making the call.

"Ambulance on its way, Sergeant," he responded.  "Keep looking."


Jackie burst into the damp room, immediately feeling the warmth evaporate from around her.

There was an officer knelt in one corner, tending to someone.  In a second, she was by his side.

"Michael... oh, God, Michael...."

Identifying herself and Jardine to the armed officer, she eased the tape from Michael's mouth, and then his eyes.

He was unconscious, but there was a pulse.  It was rapid and unsteady, but it was fairly strong.

Not wanting to move him from his slumped position in the corner, Jackie started a quick first aid check.  His wrist was brutally broken, through both bones, and she decided it would be stupid to go near it simply to free his hands.  Unconscious, Michael didn't care right now that he was bound.

There were no broken bones in his legs or feet, so Jackie peeled the tape from around his ankles.  His legs fell apart slightly.

There was livid bruising around his throat, and worse than that on the left side of his neck.  Not too far from him was a length of heavy piping.  Jackie guessed that he'd been hit with it. 

She could hear the ambulance now.

"It's okay, Michael.  It's over now, you're safe.  Help's here.  Just hang on for me a little while longer."

A hand landed on her shoulder and she started, turning her head to see Burke crouching beside her.  He looked shocked at the state of the DCI, but Jackie knew there was more to it.

"Sergeant," he called out, "is there anyone else here?"

"No, Sir.  Place is clean."

Burke sighed.  "I want this whole site gone through with a fine-bloody-tooth comb, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir."

Jackie was gently stroking fingertips over the back of Michael's uninjured hand.

"He'll be fine, Jackie," Burke reassured her.  The ambulance had pulled into the yard outside and the crew was being led inside.  "Let them help him," he urged, easing her to her feet as two young men closed in on their patient.

*

Trotting down the steps away from Innis' office, Robbie reached for his mobile when it rang.

"Ross."

"Robbie, it's Jackie."

Robbie paused on the steps, feeling suddenly sick.

"Jackie...."

"He's alive."  His breath hitched, and he closed his eyes in relief.  "He's hurt, but he's going to be okay.  They're about to take him to hospital."

Robbie could hear movement behind her.  "What happened, Jackie?  Where did you find him?"

She sounded distracted.  "Look, I've gotta go.  Meet me at the Infirmary."

"Jackie, wait...."

When he didn't continue, she wished she could reach out and squeeze his hand.  "I know, Robbie.  Don't worry.  Just meet me, okay?"

*

Jackie was on her sixth plastic cup of watery coffee.

Burke had left about half an hour before, wanting to find out the initial post-mortem examination results on the remains of the driver of the stricken car.  He was sure it was Kennedy.  It could only be Kennedy.  But the idea of never finding McLean, of never knowing what happened to him, was a terrible one.

"Jackie!"  She looked up, and felt an almost crushing relief when Robbie ran in along the corridor.  "Sorry, I'm sorry.  Burke called and I had to make a diversion."

Hugging him when he wrapped his arms around her, she shook her head.  "It's okay."

"How is he?"

"I don't know.  They took him into X-Ray as soon as we arrived, then they took him into theatre.  That was... just under two hours ago."

He started to look around for a doctor to harass when she pulled out of his arms.  "Don't, Robbie.  They'll tell us when we can see him."

With a deep, steadying breath, he nodded.  "Where did you find him?"

Sitting down on the uncomfortable plastic seats, Jackie explained about Kennedy's little chase and the events at the granary.

"Was it Kennedy in the car?"

"I don't know.  I think we're supposed think that it was Kennedy."

"If it isn't...."

"DS Reid?"

Both Jackie and Robbie got to their feet.  "How is he?"

"He's okay."  The doctor stuck out his hand.  "Craig Burns."

"Sorry.  I'm Jackie Reid, this is DI Robbie Ross."

He shook their hands, smiling reassuringly in response to their concerned expressions.  "He really is okay.  His wrist is broken.  His throat and windpipe are very bruised.  I would say that he's been strangulated and maybe hit with something.  There are some cuts and other bruises, none of them needing anything more than cleaning up and dressing."

He let them take that in.

"What I worry about in these situations is the mental distress that he's been through."

Robbie nodded.  "He's seen and been through a lot in his time.  Don't worry, we're gonna look after him."  Jackie looked at him, questioningly.  But he went on, "Can we see him?"

Burns looked him up and down, and then smiled.  "Of course."

He led them through into Ward 4.  Along a short corridor just in front of the nurses' station, a small room had two beds in it, only one of which was occupied.

"Mike...."  Robbie was in first, moving to the bed, hand hovering over his lover's.

Burns saw it and smiled, this time to himself.  "We'll be keeping him in overnight, if he wakes and is coherent, we'll probably release him tomorrow."  He paused.  "I'll leave you alone for a while.  He won't wake for a couple of hours, the morphine will see to that."

Robbie perched himself on the edge of the bed and picked up Michael's hand, minding the IV line in the back of his hand.  The other one was lying on the mattress, set in a white plaster cast.

He could clearly see the bruises around Michael's throat, could even make out a thumb-shaped red mark.

"I thought... God, Jackie, I thought we'd never see him again."

He felt her hand on the back of his neck, before she stepped around him and leaned down, touching her lips to Michael's forehead.  "Love you, Michael."

Robbie smiled at her and reaching out, wrapped his fingers around her hand.  For a while they just stayed like that, relieved, finally allowing their minds to touch on what it would be like to live without Michael.

So lost were they, that when the door opened it took a minute for them to register the sound.

Luckily, Burke saw only Jackie's hand held in Robbie's, and whatever conclusion he came to was either half-right or mostly wrong. 

Robbie let go of Michael's hand, moving back on the bed before he stood up.

"Is he going to be all right?" Burke asked quietly.

Jackie nodded, letting Robbie's hand drop from hers, not making an issue out of it.  Just comfort, shared relief at seeing a friend safe.

"Thank God for that."  He paused.  "The pathologist has confirmed it was Kennedy in that car.  He had to go down to the teeth."

Jackie nodded.  "Thank God he left Michael alive."

"Aye.  What're his injuries?"

"Broken wrist and serious bruising."

Burke let his eyes linger on Michael's face for a few moments.  "He's one lucky bastard."

Jackie stepped towards him, and Robbie stepped back, not wanting to get caught up in the explosion as her valve finally blew.

"Lucky?  You call that lucky?!"  Burke really hadn't registered his own words, but even as he started to form his response, she was closing in on him.  "He was kidnapped from his home.  He's been strangled and beaten.  Kennedy could have killed him!  What the hell makes that lucky?"

 
Something caught Robbie's attention and he turned.


Burke's hands were up.  "Jackie, I only meant...."

"Don't!  You've been gunning for Michael from the start."

"Now listen...."


Just under the shouting, Robbie caught his name spoken in a rough, painful voice.  He moved closer to the bed.

"Mike?"

Obviously distressed, Michael's lips were moving, his eyes cracking open, pulling at the raw skin where the duct tape had blinded him for eighteen hours.

Covering his lover's hand with his own, Robbie leaned over him.

"Easy, Mike...."


"...maybe if he'd mentioned Kennedy instead of ditching that file..."

"Don't you dare lay the blame of McLean at his feet!"


Turning his head, eyes flashing, Robbie yelled, "Will you two shut up!"

Before the stunned gazes met his own, he'd returned his attention to Michael, who was trying to say something.

Robbie carefully squeezed the hand under his own.  "Take it easy, you're in hospital, you're safe."

Jackie and Burke closed in, but he kept them at bay.

Michael's face was crumpled in pain as he tried to lift his head.  "Rob...."

"Just relax, Mike.  Let us get the nurse."  Robbie went to stand up, but the hand in his own suddenly tightened in an incredibly strong grip.

Michael was taking deep breaths, fighting his own system, which just wanted to sleep.

"Kennedy," he managed finally in a scraping whisper.

"We know," Robbie told him gently.  "He's dead, Mike."

But Michael either ignored him, or didn't hear.  "Got McLean."

Burke heard that and elbowed passed Jackie.  "He's got McLean?  Where?"

Robbie shot his boss a warning glare, but Michael's eyes had opened, red and bloodshot they were fixed on Burke.  "A car.  He... took McLean."

"Where did he take him?"

"Don't... I don't know."  Michael's eyes were closing again, his body trying to shut down, to slip into a blissfully painless sleep.  But he fought it.  "He... took McLean... in a car."  His voice, such as it was, was fading as his body won the battle over his desperate mind.  "Thought he'd killed me," he murmured as he drifted back to sleep.

Robbie was still grasping Michael's hand, and he had to force himself to loosen his grip. 

But Burke wasn't paying attention.  His brain was racing, piecing together what Jardine had been trying to tell them.

"He had McLean," he spoke out loud, pacing to the other side of the small room.

Robbie sat down on the edge of the bed, absently still holding Michael's hand.  Jackie didn't take her eyes from Michael's now peaceful face, but Robbie too was thinking the clipped words over.

"He had tape over his eyes, Sir, he couldn't have seen McLean."

"Didn't he sound certain to you?"  Robbie had to give him that one.  "Maybe McLean wasn't gagged, or maybe Kennedy called him by his name.  He said... Kennedy took McLean in a car."

Robbie's brain hooked the idea first.  "Oh God....  What if it wasn't Kennedy in the car that exploded?  What if that's what we're meant to think?"

Burke immediately shook his head.  "No.  No, the pathologist identified the body."

"But just think about it.  He took McLean.  He leads you to the granary, and then he drives out of one building and into another?  What if you were set up?  What if he set all this up so that we'd think he was dead?"

But Burke was still denying it.  "Why take McLean just to use him... as a body?"  Jackie caught the catch in his voice and glanced up at him.  "He had Mike, why not just use him?  Why leave him alive?"

Robbie unconsciously closed his fingers tighter around Michael's hand.  The idea pierced through his mind and he exchanged glances with Jackie.  The sudden image of Michael trapped, bound and gagged, in an uncontrollable car as it exploded into a fireball around him.

He shook the thought, clinging to his lover's warm hand for a moment for reassurance.

"I don't know.  But I don't think we should rule out the possibility that Kennedy's still alive."

"And gunning for Innis."  The immediate threat did what Jackie had hoped it would.  It distracted Burke from what he had to admit was a distinct possibility that McLean was dead.

"Right.  Jackie, I want you to go and see the pathologist, find out if he could have been wrong.  Robbie, you and I'll cover Innis."

Letting go of Michael's hand, keeping his voice low, Robbie said, "No."

Burke wasn't expecting it.  "What?"

"If Kennedy's still alive, maybe he thinks he killed Mike.  I'm not letting him out of our sight until I see Kennedy or his dead body."

Burke rolled his eyes, but he could only agree.  "All right, Jackie can stay here, I'll send Stuart to the morgue.  Is that satisfactory?"

*

Doctor Burns opened the door and smiled to himself.

"He's got enough morphine in him to put an elephant out for a week," he told Jackie softly.  "You should go home, get some sleep."

Jackie sat up in the chair.  She'd dozed off, despite it being still daylight outside.  "Sorry.  I'm fine, really."

"You think he's still in danger?"

Jackie frowned.  "What makes you say that?"

"Your DCI Burke's got six uniformed officers posted around the place."

Surprised, touched, Jackie nodded.  "It's a possibility.  But I don't want him waking alone."

Shrugging, Burns checked Michael's vitals, promised Jackie he'd have someone bring her a coffee, and left her to her vigil.


"Jackie...."

Sitting forward, Jackie reached for Michael's hand.

"Here, Michael."

He was looking at her, eyes hooded, still fighting the morphine.

"Innis...."

"Robbie and Burke are on it, Michael.  He's safe."

"No...."  Like the last time he'd woken, he obviously needed to tell her something.  "CR... chromium."

It took Jackie a moment to catch on.  "Chromium?  Michael?" But he'd lost the struggle a lot sooner this time.  His eyes were closed, lips parted, just sleeping without having shifted an inch.

Stroking her thumb over his forehead, Jackie hesitated before pulling out her mobile phone, she called Stuart.


"Chromium's a by-product of steel making," Stuart told the incident room full of officers.  Burke had called everyone in, including Jackie, after she'd phoned him.  "There was a report done two years ago, but it looks like Innis suppressed it.  It stays in the ground for years afterwards.  It's poisonous." 

There was an odd grin of triumph on Stuart's face that Jackie decided not to question.  "There's something else.  There was a break-in at the dentist where both Finlay McLean and Liam Kennedy were registered patients.  He could have swapped the records over.  That way, we'd think that it was Kennedy's body in the car at the mill, when in fact...."

"...it was McLean."  Burke looked away.

"Sorry, Sir."  There was real sympathy in Stuart's tone.  Burke nodded, acknowledging the sentiment.

"So what do we do, Sir?" Robbie put to their superior.  "Protect Innis or arrest him?"

Burke looked from the documentation Stuart had dug up, to the door of his own boss' office.  "Arrest him."

"What about Kennedy?"

"I don't think Kennedy's coming back.  I think that's why Jardine's still alive."

* * *

Robbie was muttering to himself about the mountain of paperwork that had accompanied the case as he let himself into his flat the following evening.

He knew Jackie had brought Michael here to recuperate, but when he saw Michael standing in the hall, on his way from the lounge to the kitchen by the looks of the empty glass he was carrying, the sight ripped his breath from him.

He just stood there for a single heartbeat, door open, all thoughts of paperwork gone.  Then he smiled, and pushed the door closed.

"Should you be up and about?" he asked, a smile playing on his face.

"I had a desperate need for painkillers," Michael responded, mirroring Robbie's smile.

Dumping his keys in his coat pocket, and his coat on the peg next to the door, he closed in on his lover, reaching for him, breathing him in when the tender hug was cautiously returned.

"You ok?"

"I'm fine, Rob.  Just the wrist.  And my throat's a bit sore.  That's all."

Robbie released him slightly, drawing back to look at the deep, purple bruising that was coming out now.

"A bit sore?  You won't be giving any blow jobs for a while, I can promise you that.  And hand jobs could be out too."

Michael laughed, but pulled a face when already abused muscles and tissue were further stressed.  Robbie smiled sympathetically.  He took the glass from Michael's hand.

"Go back to wherever you came from.  I'll get your pills."

Rolling his eyes at the ill-kid treatment, but without the strength to argue, Michael vanished back inside the lounge.

Robbie found Jackie in the kitchen.  He dropped a kiss to the back of her neck.

"Is he ok?"

Jackie shrugged.  "He's been quiet.  I think he's just trying to adjust to it all."  She saw the glass in his hand.  "More painkillers?"

"Aye.  It looks really bad."

"Doctor Burns wants to see him in a couple of days, but he gave him the all-clear."  She peeked into the over to check the chicken wasn't turning black.  "Michael said that just swallowing hurt, so I think it's as bad as it looks."

Robbie found the bottle of painkillers on the windowsill.  "I told him, no blow jobs for at least a week."

"Absolutely not!" she agreed around a smile.  "Burns said he needs a lot of TLC.  I think he knew who'd be administering it too."

"Yeah, not much gets passed him I wouldn't have thought."

Filling the glass from the tap, Robbie took Michael his pills, shouting back, "how long until that chicken gives up the fight?"

"It gave up when I stuffed the orange up its bum," Jackie called back.  "You've got ten minutes."

The ad hoc domesticity never failed to amaze him, and he stepped into the lounge with a smile of contentment on his face.

When he saw Michael, his heart skipped.  He was lying on the couch, eyes closed, propped into one corner against a small but carefully bashed-into-submission pile of cushions.

There were more scrapes and bruises now Robbie came to look properly.  The areas around Michael's eyes and mouth, that had been covered by the duct tape, were still slightly reddened.

Crouching down beside the sofa, Robbie touched Michael's good hand gently.  "Mike?"

Blue eyes opened and Michael started, sitting up slightly.  "Sorry, keep dozing off."

"Hardly surprising.  People've been disturbing your sleep for over a week now."  He smiled, handing Michael first the pills, then the water.

"Thanks."  He handed back an empty glass and Robbie took it, rolling it between his palms.  "Rob?  You ok?"

For a moment, Robbie thought about nodding.  Saying, yeah, he was fine.  Lying.  But he shook his head.

"God....  Mike... he could have killed you."

Michael reached out his hand and covered his lover's where it was curled around one side of the glass.  "I'm aware of that," he responded gently.

Robbie ran his thumb back along Michael's index finger.  "Too close, this one.  Way too close.  I've lost too many people.  I couldn't lose you."

"Robbie...."  It was murmured with frustrated affection, and Michael sat up, leaning forward and reaching for his lover.  Dropping the glass to the wooden floor with a soft crack, Robbie sat up on the edge of the sofa cushions and wrapped his arms around Michael's waist.

They sat like that for a long while, Robbie letting the relief seep in, letting the nightmare scenarios of Michael's death go.

"What happened to Kennedy?" Michael asked as he settled back against the cushions.

"Gone.  Burke doesn't think he's coming back any time soon.  The theory is that he killed McLean in order to make us believe he was dead, and he left you alive so that you could bury Innis."  He saw the slight uncertainty, the fear, flit across Michael's face.  "He wouldn't have let you live if he wanted you dead."

"Not even after Innis is put away?"  But Michael knew Robbie was right.  He remembered Kennedy's words in the granary.  "He didn't want to kill me.  He knew it was Innis who'd buried that file."

"I don't think he's coming back for you."

Michael nodded.  "My very own Hannibal Lecter."

"I'll make sure there's never any Chanti in the house - it'll put him off."


Once the chicken was cooked, Jackie made up a plate full of chicken and herb stuffing sandwiches with fresh bread took them into the lounge.

Robbie joined them a few minutes later, having showered and changed into jeans and a T-shirt.  It took a couple of minutes before Michael worked out how to eat without every mouthful being complete agony.  Jackie had volunteered to make soup once, and she did so again.  But Michael could be as stubborn as they came.

They settled then, Robbie wriggling behind Michael to put himself in place of the cushions, Jackie acting as a leg rest at the other end of the sofa.

Switching the television on, finding Channel 5 showing an Arnold Schwarzenegger film, they let Michael snooze while they just revelled in having him back safe.

"What did Burke say about me not being at work?" Jackie finally asked when Michael had dropped off to sleep, head rested back against Robbie's chest.

"He said that if you came back before Mike did, he'd suspend you."  As he spoke, he stroked his thumb back and forth over the back of Michael's good hand, soothing himself more than his ward.

Jackie smiled, then realised Robbie was telling the truth.  "Someone take the stick from up his ass?"

Robbie shook his head.  "I think... he was close to McLean, or whatever his real name was."

She thought about that for a while.  "What about Michael's job?"

"I don't know.  But I think Burke'll let him off the hook."

"Why?"

"I think he's lost too much already."


Later, they went to bed, Michael settled comfortably on his back with Robbie and Jackie either side of him.  Ever since it had become clear that the threesome was a permanent relationship, they'd all bought queensize beds, letting them be sure of sleep in whichever house they ended up in.

Sleep came quickly, as all three had been denied it for over twenty-four hours.  But soon, nightmares woke Michael, and he lay in the darkness, trying to slow his racing heart.

"You all right?" Robbie's sleep-roughened voice murmured to him.

"Bad dreams," he whispered in reply, turning his head towards the voice.  "Sorry."

"Don't be."  Shifting, Robbie closed up to his lover's body, pressing along his side, wrapping one arm over him.  "Go back to sleep."

Michael took a deep breath and brought his hand up to wrap over Robbie's.  "Love you," he murmured softly.

"Love you too, Mike.  Now go back to sleep."  But he laid awake himself, and waited before Michael's breathing evened out, and soft snores were reaching his ears before adding, "And don't you ever, ever do that to me again."


fin
elfin

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