Avoid if triggered by misplaced apostrophe's. (essayel) wrote in morningstar_mnr, @ 2010-06-01 16:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | au, chas, deacon, seth |
St Martins ER, about 2.00 am and after at the Manor
Detective Deacon Ferrell sighed as he stepped out of one of the cubicles in the ER. He jotted a few more notes down on his pad then closed it and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. The pusher was one of the usual suspects and Deacon wasn't surprised to see he'd gotten on the wrong side of one of his suppliers and wound up in ER - again. This time he'd been a little more forthcoming with information and Deacon would have a good deal of paperwork to do tomorrow when he got back to the station.
As it was he was supposed to have been off duty a good hour ago and was more than ready to get back home and relax.
"Detective."
Deacon looked up at a uniformed officer that was headed his way.
"Ah c'mon, Drew, I was about to go home," Deacon said with a groan and the uniform smiled.
"Don't worry, you still can," Drew said. "I was just hoping you might could give someone a lift. Brit that was mugged at the airport. They've got him bandaged up and he's staying with someone at Morningstar but can't reach him on the phone. I figured since you live there too..."
"You want me to play taxi huh?" Deacon ran a hand through his hair and nodded. "Yeah sure. Where's the guy?"
"This way," Drew said and lead Deacon to another curtained off bed in the busy ER. "Mr. Shaw? This is Detective Ferrell. He lives at Morningstar and said he could give you a lift."
Deacon stepped up to the bed and held out his hand. "Mr. Shaw," he said with a friendly smile.
The Brit was a smallish, darkish, man with the beginnings of an impressive shiner and a wound dressing on his forehead. His tie was loose and his checked shirt liberally spattered with dried blood. He blinked at Deacon and offered a smile as he stood up. "Yes that's me," he said. He took Deacon's hand, his long fingered hand's grip quite firm, despite missing a joint from the ring finger. "Are you my taxi?"
"Looks like I am today," Deacon said. "Deacon Ferrell. Welcome to the City. We usually don't mug our guests as a greetin'. Hope you don't hold it against us to much."
"Oh, no, of course not," Shaw said then smiled and picked up his jacket from the bed. "I've heard very good things about the City. I suppose that may have made me a little careless. That and twenty hours travelling."
"Ouch yeah that'd do it. Are you all signed out?" Deacon asked, glancing at Drew who nodded. "Good. Let's get you outta here then. C'mon, my car's out front."
"Thank you," Shaw said, and turned to Drew with a smile. "Thank you, constable. You have been very helpful - not to mention comforting."
"All part of the service, Mr Shaw," Drew said. "We'll be in touch. You've got my card if you remember anything?"
"Safe and sound," Shaw said, patting his shirt pocket.
They headed for the doors and parted ways with the officer and headed to a big black Challenger parked a little ways away. "Here we go," Deacon said, unlocking the doors and holding the passenger door open for Shaw. "In ya go."
"Thanks," Shaw said and got in. "This is - um - quite a car," he said as he fastened the seat belt. "What is it? It looks a bit like a Ford Capri - only bigger."
"Nineteen seventy Dodge Challenger," Deacon said proudly as he buckled up and started the car. The engine caught with a roar then settled down to a low growl as she idled. "She's my pride and joy. Been fixin' her up for a while and finished her just last month."
He pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic and headed in the direction of the Manor.
"So who you stayin' with at the Manor?" he asked. "I live there ya see."
"Oh, that's a relief," Shaw said. "At least I'm not taking you out of your way, though it's horribly late. I'm staying with Seth Roth. Do you know him? I think he's on the eleventh floor. Unfortunately his address and phone number were in my bag."
"Roth? The artist?" Deacon nodded. "Yeah I know him. Well I've run into him a few times anyway in the coffee shop in the lobby. Hyper little guy."
"That's the bunny," Shaw said, quietly. He had rested his head back against the seat and was staring into space, his face expressionless but his hands, folded together on the jacket in his lap, were tightly clenched, white knuckled. "There's a coffee shop - in the lobby? Seth shouldn't be allowed near caffeine."
Deacon glanced over at his passenger, down at his hands, and then back to the road.
"So how do you know Roth? You an artist too?" he asked.
"Wanted to be," Shaw said. "I met Seth at college. He was artist in residence - terrifyingly talented - and maybe a bit lonely. I was homesick too and we sort of hit it off. He comes to stay with me every so often, every couple of years, to rest and recuperate." His smile was brief but sincere this time. "Nothing much happens or changes at home."
"Where's home?" Sometimes talking helped to keep the victim from dwelling on what had happened. Deacon smiled a little sheepishly. "Sorry. I'm a cop, I ask questions. If I'm annoyin' you just say."
"Oh, no, thank you. I need to stay awake," Shaw said. "I live in England - just. It was Wales at one time but they changed the county boundary. Debateable land. I - er - farm. Sheep, some arable, orchards. We still make our own cider."
Deacon grinned and glanced at him again.
"Yeah?" he said. "Believe it or not I'm a country boy. Grew up on a farm down in Georgia then moved up here. Me, mom, my sister. Mom still runs a little farm outside of the City."
"Yeah?" Shaw's face opened in a bright interested smile. "What stock do you run? I bet everythings a bit different here. Well everything else is so why not farming."
"Cattle," Deacon replied. "Don't have a lot anymore but mom does have a nice orchard. Makes the best apple pies you've ever tasted."
"And chickens," Shaw said. "You have to have chickens." He looked out at the neon-lit chicken-free streets and sighed. "I need tea," he said. "I hope Seth has some. Mine was in my bag."
Deacon glanced at him again then turned a corner. Morningstar Manor - the most affluent apartment block in the City, lay a few blocks down on the left and even now they could see the glow of its lights beckoning.
"You sure you're okay, Mr Shaw?" Deacon asked softly, his tone not that of a cop but truly concerned.
Shaw glanced at him and gestured to his head. "The local's wearing off. Five stitches. And - and I need to get my bag back. I just have to. Officer Selick said they'd do their best but..." He shook his head. "I thought the insurance might cover it but they are saying I was negligent."
Deacon nodded. "What was in the bag - if I may ask?"
"Apart from my tea?" Shaw's smile was utterly mirthless. "A painting. Carefully wrapped and quite old and," he sighed, "worth about a hundred thousand dollars. Shitty luck, eh?"
"Ouch," Deacon said as he slowed and signaled to take a turn into the Manor parking garage. "They'll do their best to get it back. We've got good people on the force here." He nodded to the building. "Here we are. Morningstar Manor."
Turning into the parking garage he waved at the guard and drove to his parking spot, shutting down the car and climbing out.
"Just a few more minutes then you'll be able to sleep."
Shaw was out of the car too, his jacket draped over his arm and looking, frankly, like shit warmed up. "I'm not sure I will," he said then belied his words by yawning. "Duw sorry."
Deacon just smiled and reached into the back seat for his own bag, slinging it over his shoulder and then locking up the car.
"C'mon I'll walk you to Roth's door," he said and lead the way through the parking garage and to the elevators. They rode in silence up to the eleventh floor and Deacon again lead the way down the hall and to the door of Roth's apartment. He knocked hard, figuring he'd be waking the other man up.
It took a few more knocks but then the door cracked open to reveal a small blond man with messy hair sticking up in all directions. "Yeah?" he said, blinking at Deacon then noticed the man with him and gasped, coming fully awake and throwing the door open.
"Oh my god, Charlie! What happened to you?"
"Long story," Charlie Shaw said. "And I'm sorry to arrive like this but the skies cleared suddenly and they called my flight and ... well here I am." He looked at Deacon and smiled. "Detective Ferrell gave me a lift from the hospital and, yes, I'm okay, It looks worse than it is."
Deacon smiled as the little artist hugged his friend and expressed his thanks.
"Just doin' my job," he said. "Now if ya don't mind I'll be on my way. Mr Shaw you need anything just give me a holler. Night."
"Night," Seth said absently then pulled Charlie into the apartment, fussing over him the whole way.
Tea = life blood to some Brits and Charlie Shaw was one of them.
Yanked into the apartment by Seth he had barely had time to say goodbye to Detective Ferrell, nor yet to admire the set of his shoulders as he made his way to the lifts, and then he was being offered a change of clothing and a warm shower. That he regretfully had to refuse, having been told on no account to wash his hair for at least three days but he was able to wash and change into a tee-shirt and a pair of sweat pants.
Then he went out to join his host and find the tea.
There was a lot of tea. Seth knew exactly what was needed and he had a whole pot made and a cup prepared just the way Charlie liked it along with a couple quickly made little sandwiches as he figured the poor guy hadn't eaten much of anything.
"Hey," he said from the couch when he spotted Charlie. "Come sit down. Jesus, babe, I wish I had known you'd be getting in early. If I'd been there..."
"If you'd been there he'd probably have whacked both of us," Charlie said settling beside Seth and leaning against him with a heartfelt sigh. "Oh shit, Seth, I don't know what to do. We used all our savings to get me here. If that picture doesn't turn up ..."
He took the mug of tea with a murmur of thanks and buried his nose in it, drinking deeply.
"They'll find it," Seth assured him, wrapping his arm around Charlie's shoulders and squeezing. "And if they don't - well - we'll figure something out. I could, I dunno maybe I could give you a loan. But they'll find it. Top notch cops here in the City."
Charlie chuckled and swallowed his tea. "Oh yes," he sighed. "Duw, Seth. Detective Ferrell. He could take down my particulars any time. Trust to my rotten luck I look like - what? Someone's punchbag." Letching after straight guys was a tried and tested displacement activity.
"He is hot isn't he," Seth said with a grin. "I got him in the gym working out once. Holy shit, Chas, I didn't know which I wanted to do more - paint him or jump him."
"Both?" Charlie said grinning, then wincing as his stitches twinged. "Gah, I mustn't laugh. So - you? How's YOUR love life. I don't talk about mine because there's nothing to say."
"Oh you know me. Never gonna settle down." Seth handed Charlie a plate with a sandwich on it and then poured himself a cup of tea. "Though there is a guy in the building - in the music business I think. Here I'll show you."
He hopped up and fetched his sketch book and opened it to a certain page then handed it over.
"My gaydar bounces around a lot on him so - I dunno. But Jesus he's pretty."
Charlie took a bite of sandwich and rested the sketchpad on his knee. "Cripes, is that drawn to scale?" he asked. "I dunno, Seth. I wouldn't have said pretty. Attractive though. Oh yes."
"Not pretty like you," Seth said, pulling his knees up and resting his mug on them. "But he is pretty. In a big, manly, gruff," he sighed deeply, "bad boy kinda way. Oh I wanna climb up him.
He chuckled and gave himself a shake.
"But anyway," he said and reached out to squeeze Charlie's arm, "that's a story for another day. When we've slept. And when you look more refreshed maybe we'll find Detective Ferrell in the gym again." He waggled his eyebrows, wanting to see Charlie smile.
And Charlie did, though it was tired and wistful and a little wry. "That's a thought to hold onto," he said and looked at Seth. "Spare room? Or do I get cuddles?"
"Please like I'm going to let you sleep on your own? I'm a greedy bastard. You're in my bed, baby." Seth stood up and bent to kiss Charlie on the cheek. "Finish your tea while I clean up and then we can go to bed."
"It's breakfast time - no, almost second breakfast time - at home," Charlie said, cheek bulging with the last bit of sandwich, "but bed sounds very good right now." He tried to give Seth an appreciative smoulder but with his swollen eye it came out as more of a leer.
Seth still smoldered back at him anyway. "Only way to get over the time difference is to force yourself onto our time. You know that. So come on, gorgeous."
Charlie got up, bringing his empty mug and his plate. "I don't feel gorgeous," he said. "You'll just have to be gorgeous for both of us." He put the crockery in the kitchen and looked around. "This is a lovely apartment," he said. "I didn't say before. No manners, see."
"You've had a rough night," Seth said, rinsed out the mugs and plate and left them in the sink for tomorrow then took Charlie's hand and lead him to the bedroom.
Charlie followed on meekly, accepted first use of the bathroom, and a brand new toothbrush, with gratitude, and then went to get into bed, shedding his borrowed clothes and laying down in just his boxers. He pulled the covers up to his chin and stifled a yawn while he waited for Seth. They had shared a bed on many occasions, sometimes with heat and passion and sometimes out of necessity, but he couldn't remember a time when he had felt as rough as he did now.
Seth joined him a few minutes later, climbing in bed in his boxers and flipping off the lights then snuggling close to Charlie - though being careful of his injuries. He kissed his friend's shoulder lightly. "It'll all be alright, Charlie. You'll see."
"Yeah, it'll be all right," Charlie agreed, holding onto Seth and screwing his eyes tight closed so they wouldn't leak and give the lie to his words. He felt wretched. He dreaded waking up tomorrow and having to call home to tell them what had happened. "Sleep tight."
"You too, love," Seth said, petting his hair gently a bit and pulling the blankets up tight around them. He wished there was more he could do but they'd have to leave that to the police. Hopefully it wouldn't look quite so bleak in the light of the morning.