Work Text:
Simon’s never expected much from life, he’s never needed much. A house within walking distance of a pub and the football, an independent woman with her own life who just enjoys spending time with him when it suits them both, and a job that pays the bills.
Like so many others, he hated Dr Christian King on sight, spent months resisting the urge to punch him every time they were in the same room. But, like others and over time, he found himself growing inexplicably fond of the young man, coming to the conclusion that somewhere along the line, something happened to him to make him the way he is, to force the construction of so much defensive behaviour.
As time went on, Simon started to want to find the person responsible. A mutual acquaintance told him about Christian’s affair with a university professor years ago, one that ended in scandal for the Prof and heartbreak for Christian. But while it cemented his suspicions that a man had been involved, he doubted the ending of a love affair was enough to create the private, protective nature he came up against every day.
With the arrival of the images, and Operation Talisman, came something of a thawing. He witnessed Christian following Rebecca out into the real world, giving her little choice but to take him with her wherever she was going, even if on a couple of occasions she left him to find his own way back to the lab. He started to let his guard down, to interact, to at least try to be cordial, even human. Then came the fundamental shift between he and DS Holt, a seismic change, yet only after Christian was shot, only after seeing Ben at the hospital each and every time he visited, had Simon put a name to what was happening.
Despite the horrors, the injuries, the threats to his life, Christian is a very different man now to the one he was before all this.
So to look into the control room first thing that morning, to see him standing very still, with his arms around himself, staring at the screens in obvious distress, fills Simon with dread.
He opens the door quietly. ‘Christian?’ His head snaps round, eyes wide. ‘What’s wrong?’ He glances at the screens himself and sees three images. ‘Are they new?’
’They… came down this morning. Someone activated the downlink.’
‘Someone?’
‘I don’t know who.’
‘All right. One thing at a time. Just three?’ He nods. ‘Looks like… an empty glass, a key card maybe, and…’ The man in the image looks dead, eyes staring wide and blank.
‘I know him.’
‘What?’
‘I know him.’
‘Is he a friend?’
Christian shakes his head. ‘I don’t know if I can do this.’
He’s out of his depth here. ‘I’m going to call Ben. Okay? Just… wait here.’
. . .
Rebecca, Ben and Norman arrive together from the station, and Simon meets them off the elevator.
‘He says the downlink was activated last night, he doesn’t know who by. There are three images. One is of a dead man, someone Christian knows. He’s really rattled. I haven’t seen him like this in a long time.’
Ben nods. ‘Give us a minute?’
The screens in the lab blink into life, three images on rotation. Rebecca studies each one as it’s shown.
‘That must be our victim.’
‘Oh, you mean the dead guy?’ She punches Norman hard on the arm. ‘Ow.’
‘Empty glasses and a key card? It’s not much to go on.’
Ben steps down from the control room. ‘The dead guy’s name is Alex Jackson.’
‘Is he… a friend?’
‘I don’t know, he doesn’t want to talk about it here, so we’re going to go a drive. The timecode on the images is ten twenty three tonight.’
‘Okay. We’ll get an address, see if we can find out what his plans for the night are.’
‘I’ll call you when I know more.’
. . .
’121 Troughton Lane.’ Norman pulls the passenger door closed a little harder than he meant to. ‘He’s got form. Arrested outside the Kings Head in May after a fight which put two men in hospital. He got a fine and community service which it doesn’t look like he’s served yet.’ Rebecca starts the car. ‘How do think Christian knows him?’
‘University? Old work colleague? Seeing someone you know in one of those images is as much of a mind fuck as seeing yourself.’
‘What are we going to say to him?’
‘I’ve no idea. Difficult to tell him his life might be in danger without being able to say how.’
. . .
It’s freezing out. In the park, wrapped up in coats, scarves, hats and gloves, they sit side by side on one of the icy, wooden picnic tables. Ben’s bought them a couple of mochas from the little coffee hut at the gates, recalling something Kate had once said about the comforting effects of chocolate, and hoping it’ll help to keep them warm. All he can do now is wait.
The drink has given Christian something to cling to. Ben’s amazed he’s not a smoker, given the way he always likes to be holding something in his hands; a pen, coffee cup, rolled up papers or a magazine. He remembers the way he’d been hugging his laptop to him when they’d found him sitting on the ground in the car park of the Arndale Centre that fateful afternoon.
‘I need to tell you something.’
‘I got that impression.’
He lifts his head, stares out over the grass at the joggers and the dog walkers. ‘When I left the Raven team… there was more to it than I told you.’
‘Do you want to tell me now?’
He takes a deep, shaky breath. ‘There was a Christmas party, a couple of months before… before I left. One of those pop-up casino things in a hotel, with a free bar. For weeks I’d thought Alex was interested in me. We got on, I was tempted. But he hadn’t actually asked, and I wasn’t one hundred percent sure. My memories of the party are blurry. I know he was coming on to me early in the evening, but the later part of the night… it’s blank. I woke up the next morning, in the bed, in my hotel room, with absolutely no idea how I got there. My shirt was open, trousers were undone, and I’d been sick over the side of the bed,. The smell was… awful. The company was paying for the accommodation, so I just left. I went back to my flat and took a shower. That’s when I noticed the bruises around my ribs.’
Ben’s starting to feel nauseous and angry. ‘Do you think he assaulted you? Spiked your drink?’
Christian shrugs, a gesture of helplessness. ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember.’
He has to ask. ‘Had you been-‘
‘No. I’d have known. Apart from the bruising, there was no physical evidence of anything having taken place. Yet, when I went in to work on the Monday and ran into Alex in the lab… the way he looked at me… I knew that whatever had happened, he’d been involved. Because I couldn’t remember, I couldn’t tell anyone. I started to get more and more paranoid. He was avoiding me. It created an atmosphere which became impossible to work in. When those people died because of us… that was the last straw. What we were doing was important, but I had to get out. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.’
Ben nudges his shoulder with his own, and Christian leans into him. He can see the steadily falling tears hitting the top of the takeaway cup. ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for. Just… tell me what you want me to do. Because all I want to do is kill the bastard.’
He gives him time, watching him eventually swipe at his eyes and nose with the sleeve of his coat. ‘I want to know what happened. I want him charged with assault, if that’s what this is, if he’s going to try it again. But I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.’
‘That, we can do.’ The urge to put his arms around him and hold him is almost unbearable, but he’s not sure it’s what Christian needs from him right now. ‘How much do you want to tell - or want me to tell - Rebecca and Norman?’
Clasping the styrofoam cup between his hands, Christian rests his head against Ben’s shoulder and he presses a kiss to his temple, just below his beanie. He looks as fragile as Ben’s seen him since the night of the incident on the fourth floor. All this shouldn’t be happening to him, and yet somehow he’s at the centre of it all.
‘You’ve absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘I know that logically. I hated feeling powerless over it, not being able to remember was driving me nuts. Resigning from the Raven team gave me back a measure of control. For a long time, everything else stemmed from that.’ He takes a swig of his rapidly cooling drink. ‘I’ll tell them.’
. . .
Rebecca and Norman pull up in front of a large, detached house. In the driveway, a man in a suit is scraping ice from the windscreen of a silver Jaguar.
‘Alex Jackson?’
He looks up at them as they walk up the drive. ‘Yes.’
‘DI Flint, DS Riley.’
His reactions are the same as most members of the public when approached by the police; nervousness, guilt, even when they’ve done nothing wrong. Suddenly those four miles per hour over the speed limit on the way home from work are looming in the memory. Sometimes it makes their jobs more difficult, other times it puts actually guilty people on the back foot and makes things easier.
‘Look, if this is about the community service-‘
‘In a roundabout way. We’ve received a tip off that friends of the two men who were injured that night might be gunning for payback.’
‘It was just an argument that got out of hand.’
‘Nevertheless, do you have plans this evening?’
‘There’s a works do.’
‘At which hotel?’
He looks confused. ‘It’s not at a hotel. It’s at the Cactus Club.’ She knows it: lots of brass fittings and plush seating, an expensive bar and overpriced cheese boards. She’d taken Ben there once, and they’d ended up at the Raj Indian Restaurant around the corner. It was a good night, the kind of night she misses sharing with him.
‘Right. Well. Thank you for your time, Mr Jackson. Please… take care tonight.’
She doesn’t have to see the confusion on his face to know it’s there as they walk back to the car.
. . .
Back at the lab, Christian’s set himself the task of cleaning up the image of the key card, with the aim of finding out if it contains any clue as to the hotel and maybe even room number, although that’s a long shot.
Ben’s staying close by, drinking coffee and giving him enough space to work, while at the same time making sure he has all the reassurance and support he needs, whenever he wants to reach for it. He occupies himself with a study of the various charts and maps on the walls of the control room, the constantly changing stats on some of the screens, those not currently occupied with the three new images.
‘It was a long time ago,’ Christian says into the quiet space between key taps.
It draws Ben out of his quiet contemplation. ’Not long enough that you didn’t have a panic attack when you saw his image this morning.’
Fingers hover over the keyboard. ‘I realised I’d have to tell you what happened.’
‘You can tell me anything.’
A nod. ‘I know. But I wanted to forget. Because I don’t know how much I gave to him that night.’
‘You gave nothing. Whatever happened, he took from you.’ He moves to rest his bum on the empty desk close to where Christian’s sitting. ‘When we first met, you were so… tucked away behind all these defences you’d built up…. That was more than one unfaithful professor breaking your heart. I mean, we’ve all been there.’ He offers a little smile that’s thankfully returned, if only for a moment.
‘Defences are useful. When Franklin touched me in that hotel bathroom, I reacted calmly yet decisively.’
’To put it mildly.’
He sighs, tilting his head to one side. ‘The thing is, whatever Alex did… it didn’t put me off sex. The thought of sleeping with someone didn’t suddenly scare me.’
‘Is that true?’
‘I’m sleeping with you.’
‘And before me?’
‘There wasn’t anyone worth my interest.’
That at least sounds like the Christian he knows and loves. ‘I’m very glad that I was.’
Something beeps, twice, and he leans over to tap a key, bringing the cleaned up image on to the screens. At the same time, the door to the control room opens; Rebecca and Norman returning.
‘Is that the key card?’
‘It’s the best I can do.’
Ben gets up, goes around the desk to stand in front of the screen in the corner, looking at the picture sideways on. ‘Is it a clock face?’
‘I think so,’ Christian confirms. ‘And letters... CTH?’
‘The Clocktower Hotel,’ Norman supplies. ‘It’s on George Street.’
Rebecca nods. ‘Around the corner from the Cactus Club.’
‘What does the Cactus Club have to do with it?’
‘It’s where Alex Jackson’s attending some company do tonight. Maybe he’s staying at the Clocktower. Or maybe he’s going to hook up with someone who’s got a room there.’
Ben meets Christian’s uncertain gaze, waiting to see if he’ll tell them, giving him time. Norman at least picks up on the undercurrents. ‘If there’s something we need to know-‘
It’s Ben who says, ‘There’s a possibility that Alex Jackson might be planning an assault: spiking someone’s drink, taking them back to the hotel.’
Rebecca’s eyes widen, and although Norman’s mouth opens, no words come out. It’s a couple of seconds before she asks Christian, ‘Is that what he did to you?’ He doesn’t reply, but the answer is clear in his expression. ‘Right. So there might be another victim, someone defending himself.’
‘The Cactus Club is a public bar,’ Norman points out, voice hard. ‘I suggest a good, old fashioned stake out.’
. . .
It was Ben’s idea for he and Christian to hang out in the hotel lobby, to get a drink from the bar then just sit and wait. They choose a table which means Alex will have to walk right by them to reach both the stairs and the elevators. There’s a two seater sofa and an armchair, and sitting close on the sofa is a surefire way of putting anyone else off taking the chair.
‘Are you all right?’ It’s a ridiculous question, but he feels the need to ask.
Whether it’s the stress of the day, or the relaxing effects of the beer, Christian has settled against his shoulder, and it’s all Ben can do not to take him in his arms the way he desperately wants to. He rests his cheek against the black hair for a moment, feeling it soft against his stubble.
‘I’m hoping I will be before the night’s out.’
‘You don’t have to be here.’
‘I want to be. I want to look him in the eye and ask him what he did to me. I want to know.’
‘If he touched you in any way, I will punch him in the face.’
‘Not if I beat you to it.’
‘Which would be your prerogative. If you want, I’ll happily confess that I hit him because he resisted arrest. So… you know, if you feel the need, you go right ahead.’
Christian twists around to look at him, wry smile on his face. ‘Is that what’s meant by police protection?’
‘It is for you.’ He has to resist the urge to lean over and kiss him.
. . .
Rebecca and Norman are propping up the bar at the Cactus Club. There’s a room upstairs which is where a private corporate event is taking place, a company called Morecambe Scientific. From their vantage point, they’re able to watch suits and evening dresses heading up a curved flight of stairs from the main dining area. They haven’t spotted Alex Jackson yet, but they’re patient people.
‘You know… if this guy sexually assaulted Christian, we’ve going to have to keep Ben from killing him.’
‘We don’t know that’s what happened,’ she reminds him. ‘All he said was Jackson spiked his drink. If Ben knew anything for sure, we wouldn’t be sitting here. Jackson would have already been arrested and charged.’
‘Good point.’
‘I think they’re hoping to catch him in the act.’
Norman reaches for his beer. ‘How did it happen, those two? They’re the most unlikely couple I’ve ever come across.’
‘I have absolutely no idea. One minute Ben and I were sleeping together, albeit it on and off, and admittedly I’d told him I didn’t love him any more-’
‘Ouch.’
‘I know. I still haven’t decided whether I regret it or not. But the next thing I know, Christian’s been shot and Ben won’t leave his bedside.’
‘So they started sleeping together before that?’
‘They’d spent a night together, that’s what Ben told me. Don’t ask me how that came about, I’ve tried to imagine it and can’t.’
‘Shared trauma, sex as an affirmation of life.’
‘They’re not just having sex though, not now anyway. Ben moving in… it’s a step he and I never even thought about.’
‘I’d suggest your relationship was very different.’
‘He was different when we were together. Christian’s changed him, given him something I couldn’t, something his wife definitely couldn’t.’
‘Anal.’ She slaps his arm with the back of her hand. ‘Sorry. But it’s true.’ The hand that slapped him taps his forearm. ‘I did say-‘
‘That’s him! That’s Alex Jackson.’ He’s climbing the stairs with two other men, laughing as they go, oblivious to the cops at the bar.
‘Okay.’ Norman pulls out his phone and sends a text, telling Ben and Christian that their mark has arrived. Now they wait. It’s going to be a long night, but at least they have a deadline. And beer.
. . .
Rebecca interrupts a conversation about house plants, nudging Norman’s shoulder, looking pointedly at the two men coming down the stairs. It’s twenty minutes or so before the countdown hits zero. ‘Does he look unsteady to you?’
One of the men is Alex, the other is leaning heavily against him.
‘Yes, he does.’ He texts Ben to say they’re on their way. ‘Do you think we should follow? For Jackson’s safety.’
She hesitates, but nods. ‘Yes.’ She finishes her glass of wine in the time that it takes Jackson and the other man to pass through the dining room and cross to the door. They follow close enough to watch him turn his companion towards the Clocktower Hotel.
Ben feels Christian tense up against him. ‘That’s him.’ Two men are coming into the lobby. Even to Christian’s untrained eye it must be obvious that one of them is either very drunk or drugged.
‘Okay.’ Lifting his hand to gently turn Christian’s head towards him, he murmurs, ‘Look at me like I’m the most gorgeous, fascinating man in the room.’
He doesn’t even hesitate. ‘You are.’
‘Aww, I love you too.’ Over his shoulder, he watches the two men walk towards the elevator. ’Right. We’re up.’
They head for the stairs, taking them two at a time, keeping pace - more or less - with the lift, so that on the forth floor they hear a ping and the doors slide open. They wait at the top of the stairs for a beat, then Ben pops his head around the fire door and watches the two men heading along the narrow corridor. It’s easy enough to follow; Alex has his hands full keeping his companion upright while he slides the keycard through the electronic lock of room 415.
Christian’s all for breaking the door down.
‘I adore and applaud your enthusiasm,’ Ben whispers, ‘but if we want any charge to stick, we have to catch him in the act.’ Christian looks at him with a mix of horror and pleading. ‘We won’t let it go too far. Just… give it a minute.’
The fire doors at the top of the stairs bang closed, and they’re joined by Rebecca and Norman.
’415,’ Ben tells them, and Rebecca nods, glancing at the countdown on her phone.
‘Two minutes. We go on thirty seconds.’
It’s the longest minute and a half of Ben’s life. Christian’s too, judging by the way he’s practically vibrating next to him.
All eyes are on Rebecca, and half a minute before Alex Jackson is due to die, she says, ‘Now.’
Ben kicks out at the door with everything he’s got, foot connecting just below the lock, wood splintering under the assault.
‘Police!’ Norman yells so loud the occupants of the rooms either side will hear it, ‘Stay exactly where you are!’
. . .
‘Nothing happened that night.’
Jackson’s sitting in his underwear, handcuffed, on the end of the bed. Christian’s standing opposite him, back pressed into the wall, hands tucked behind him. ‘I don’t believe that.’
‘You have to.’
‘Why?’
‘Because that guy’s looking at me like he wants to rip my dick off.’
‘That’s because he wants to rip your dick off.’
Ben’s standing at the corner of the bed, Norman’s by the door, both of them radiating menace.
‘I swear to you, nothing happened.’
‘Define ‘nothing’.’
‘I spiked your drink. Not with roofies-‘
‘Is that what you gave that guy?’ Paul Perkins is being checked over by a medic elsewhere in the hotel, having calmed down from his drug-induced hysteria, one - they’re theorising - that would have led to Jackson’s accidental death, had they not intervened. Their best guess is that in trying to push him away, Paul inadvertently cracked his assailant’s head on bedside table.
Jackson nods. ‘Yes.’
‘What did you spike my drinks with?’
‘Vodka. Lots of vodka. You were blotto, walked into one of the pillars in the hotel lobby like you just hadn’t seen it. You were the one who invited me up to your room. You were all over me before the door was even closed. We got to the bed and I started to undress you, then you suddenly announced you were going to be sick and threw up over the side of the bed. You said you didn’t feel well…. I panicked, and I left.’
Ben takes a step towards them, definitely not liking what he’s hearing. ‘You left him, drunk and sick. He could have choked to death.’
Alex nods, glancing warily at Ben. ‘I know.’ He looks back up at Christian. ‘When I saw you at work on Monday, I was relieved but at the same time, scared to death you’d remember. The way you kept looking at me…. When I realised you didn’t know what had happened, that’s when I knew I could get away with it.’
‘You want to be very careful what you say next,’ Christian warns him, voice steady despite how unhappy he looks. ‘This isn’t an official police operation. They can take you to the station, have you formally charged with sexual assault, or they can take you out to the moors, bury you alive and no one will ever find you.’ It’s the matter-of-fact way in which he says it that surprises Ben the most. ‘How many times have you done this?’
‘A few. Not often.’
‘Can’t get a date without drugging the men you like? Or… is it that you can’t admit you want to date other men.’
‘It’s a sickness.’
Ben laughs, mirthless, at that. ‘Jesus Christ.’
‘How the fuck would you know anything about it?’ He gazes at Christian and Christian gazes right back. ‘You two? Seriously?’
‘Why do you think he wants to rip your dick off?’
‘I told you! Nothing happened.’
‘I didn’t know that. I’ve spent all these years not knowing.’
The momentary bravado evaporates. ‘Sorry.’
‘Say it like you mean it,’ Norman growls, the sentry in front of the door.
Alex looks over at him with something approaching real fear. I’m sorry.’
‘To him!’
Directly to Christian, he says, ‘I am sorry. I really did like you.’
Ben asks him, ’Was that good enough?’
Christian shakes his head. ‘Not by a long shot.’
Norman comes forward to grasp Alex’s arm, and Ben grabs the other. ‘Alex Jackson, you’re under arrest for attempted sexual assault and actual sexual assault, and when our colleague Rebecca goes all out on a news conference and asks for anyone who thinks they might have been a victim of yours to come forward, with a promise they’ll be listened to and believed, we’ll see how many years in jail we can get for you.’
. . .
Ben sits on the sofa with Christian’s head in his lap, combing his fingers through the black hair whilst slowly making his way through a very nice, peppery, Malbec. Christian’s been silent for a while, coming to terms with what Alex Jackson told him. At least that’s what Ben has assumed is on his mind….
‘What if the wormhole isn’t the only thing being manipulated?’
The question takes him utterly by surprise ‘How do you mean?’
‘What if we are too? Someone deliberately activated the downlink this morning, made sure I’d see those three images. Someone knew the significance.’
‘We would know.’
He watches Christian close his eyes and rub his forehead as if in pain. ‘You honestly think we’re sitting in a lab somewhere, at some indeterminate time in the future, sending pictures back to ourselves?’
‘I think it’s as valid a theory as any other.’ Christian’s hand finds his and squeezes it. ‘Is the downlink off again?’
‘Yes. But I can’t guarantee it’ll stay that way.’
‘Did the command come from Amelia’s computer?’
‘No. I don’t know how it was sent to the satellite.’
‘Can you find out?’
‘I can try.’
He gazes down into Christian’s eyes. ‘Sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘For acting like a detective and not your boyfriend, lover… someone who cares for you. You’ve had your life turned inside out today.’
‘I’m okay.’
He doesn’t quite believe that. ’How did you feel when he told you nothing happened?’
A soft sigh. ‘Relieved. Utterly relieved. And at the same time, terrified that he’d planned it.’
Lifting Christian’s hand to his lips, Ben kisses the backs of his fingers. ‘Planned it, but didn’t go through with it.’
‘Because I threw up. He would have done, otherwise. How many men do you think he’s assaulted over the years?’
‘We might never know. But we’ll make it as easy and as painless as possible for them to come forward.’
‘I know you want to protect me, but if there’s anything I can do….’ Ben knows what it would cost him to testify, how difficult the offer alone would have been to make.
‘I promise I’ll give you the choice to help, if it arises.’
‘Thank you.’
Ben leans down and touches his lips to Christian’s. ’You know, if it does turns out to be us, I’ll give myself a very hard slap when I meet myself.’
Christian smiles, clearly amused by the idea. ’You won’t meet yourself. You’re not time travelling. You’ll just… become that man over time.’
‘Okay. So I’ll give myself a slap as soon as it becomes obvious I’m involved.’
‘I’ll do it for you, if you want.’
He laughs. ‘Well, thank you.’ He strokes his hand across the front of Christian’s black jumper, feeling the heat of him through the expensive wool. ‘What would happen, do you think, if you could travel into the future and meet yourself?’
‘You’d turn into peanut butter. Everyone knows that.’
‘Peanut butter? Is there a scientific basis for that theory?’
‘It’s basic quantum mechanics. The Pauli exclusion principle states that two or more identical particles can’t simultaneously exist in the same quantum state. In layman’s terms, the universe won’t allow two instances of you to exist, so it turns one of you into peanut butter.’
Ben stares at him, and he stares back. ‘Can we at least agree there’s no such thing as basic quantum mechanics?’
Christian’s hand comes up to curl around the back of his neck, thumb tracing the bearded line of his jaw. ‘Touch me?’
He grins. ’With pleasure.’ Sliding his fingers up under the hem of the soft jumper, he makes light work of the belt, button and zip, narrow hips lifting to help him ease the Levis down far enough to free Christian’s semi-hard cock, palming it. ‘Why am I not surprised that quantum physics talk turns you on?’
‘You turn me on.’ He presses up into Ben’s hand, silent gasp escaping him when Ben gives a gentle twist of his wrist and slips his thumb over the smooth tip.
‘That’s lucky, because my knowledge of quantum science begins and ends with Schrödinger's cat.’
‘What do you know-‘ his voice catches as Ben strokes him, ‘-about Schrödinger's cat?’
‘Not much.’ He mentally runs the words through his mind. ‘Just that it’s a hypothetical experiment that poses the question of when quantum superposition ends, and reality resolves into one possibility or the other.’ Wide eyes gaze up at him with something not too far from awe. ‘Don’t look so surprised. I can read.’
‘Do you-‘ another gasp, ‘-know what quantum- superposition even means?’
‘I’m guessing,’ he strokes Christian’s cock with luxurious, slow, movements of his hand, ‘it’s when two possibilities exist at the same time, distinct from one another, until the superposition collapses into either one, or the other-’ When Christian comes over his hand, it’s one of those perfect little moments in his life that he’ll never forget. ‘What I don’t understand,’ he murmurs, stroking him through the aftershocks, ‘is why one of them doesn’t turn to peanut better.’
. . .
Much later, with Christian asleep next to him, Ben lies awake trying to come to terms with the idea that once again they’ve changed the future. On other occasions, there have been consequences. Tonight, a serial rapist is in custody, and this time they’ll make the charges stick. He can only hope they haven’t caused something bad to happen at some other time, in some other place, to some other person.
Christian turns over in his sleep, face mashed into the pillow, hair falling across his eyes. Being careful not to wake him, Ben combs it back into place, wondering how high a price he would have willingly paid to give his lover the closure tonight’s brought. Making the arrest had felt bloody good, there’s no denying it, it’s why he joined the police in the first place; to put criminals behind bars. As much as he would have enjoyed hanging Alex Jackson out of the forth floor hotel room window by his feet, watching him as he was booked, the reality of his situation slowly dawning, had been way more rewarding.
His life now is almost unrecognisable compared to his life a year ago, and it’s all down to the man snoring softly beside him. The future, as Christian would put it, is as unknown a thing as it’s ever been, but Ben wouldn’t change it, and he’ll fight tooth and claw against anyone who tries to take it from him.