Title: A Copper's Instinct
Fandom: Hot Fuzz
Characters/Pairings: Nicholas/Danny, Nicholas/OC, Doris, Bob, Andes, Saxon, Turners, OC
Rating: PG-15
Chapter 7 "Blurr..."
Alright. So he had a raging headache and there was a pool of soaked-up drool under his face and his arms were stiff and numb and even the noise of his own voice hurt.
It wasn't the end of the world.
“Morning, Nick,” said Kinnell's voice, from the other side of the room. “Don't try and move too quickly, now, you might be a bit stiff. Sorry about that.”
"Alex." He couldn't remember exactly why, but the name was like poking a novacained tooth with his tongue. His arms still weren't moving, so it was more comfortable to keep his face pressed facedown into the couch. Darker, too. "What're- what're you doing here?"
“Well, you invited me in last night, but specifically? I think we should have a little talk.” A quiet crumple of cushions suggested that Kinnell was sitting down comfortably on something.
"Mnngh?" His hands were cuffed. Regulation rigid cuffs. Why were his hands cuffed?
“How're you feeling?” asked Kinnell, gently. “If you need some more time to shake it off, that's fine with me. You weren't skimping on the juice yesterday, and people like you don't exactly tend to be great at handling it.”
A quiet click.
“Thing is, though we're sort of on a bit of a schedule, here. We've only got a few hours before we're both supposed to be at the station, and we do need to talk.”
Nicholas was quiet at this. Why the fuck was he cuffed
"People like- What, short with a fast metabolism?"
Kinnell gave a short, huffing laugh.
"Short, fast metabolism, incredibly developed olefactory sense, something of an excess hair problem three nights a month... the whole package. I know what you are, Nick."
"B-bullshit."
"No, I'm afraid it really isn't. I was almost certain as soon as I spotted you in London in March, but I'm sure now. You're an absolutely classic example of a type-A lycanthrope. I was just looking through your photo album..."
Nicholas started to struggle, despite the headache and the absolute uselessness against the strongest handcuff design in the world. How dare he how dare he?
"It's a photo album of my mum's favorite German shepherd, you ass. Let me the fuck go-"
"I will, if you co-operate. I don't believe you really knew how careless you were being, just like I don't believe your mum was congratulating her favourite German shepherd on getting into Hendon. A German Shepherd that bears a striking resemblance to an American Red Wolf, wouldn't you say?" The sound of pages turning, "Cute."
Nicholas sputtered, red in the face. "That's none of your business, Kinnell, put it back."
"C'mon, Nick. How many times have you been acting under a search warrant, and the homeowner's told you to leave a piece of evidence alone, leave it, put it back, it's none of your business? Good few times at least, yeah? And I bet you tell 'em exactly what I'm telling you- sorry, I can't do that. Not that I'm calling you a criminal. Far from it. I don't want to make this any more difficult than it has to be, believe me."
"What the fuck. Kinnell, I'm your senior officer. I treated you like a friend." The couch was making humiliating little squeep, squeep noises in his struggle. "Ha ha, very funny, joke's over, let me the fuck go-"
"Nick, I don't blame you for being angry, but I really suggest you calm down, because right now? I'm the best friend you've got."
"The hell you are." Nicholas got his knees under him and staggered off the couch, crashing his shins into the coffee table- again, apparently, the bruises were layering. If he could just make a break for it, knock Kinnell over in a headlong rush, maybe, and make for the station and a spare key...
Kinnell was out of his chair in a quick, fluid movement, avoiding Nicholas's disoriented charge with ease. One hand caught his upper arm from behind, the other pressed against the middle of his shoulderblades, still quite gentle right up until a sudden startling burst of violence slammed him against the wall, Kinnell's weight bearing up crushingly against his back. He was frighteningly strong.
An art print jumped off its hook, shattering against the skirting board in an ear-hurting clatter of glass.
“Where're you going to go, Nick?” said Kinnell, in his ear. “Station? Yeah, that'd work, if you could run faster than I could make a phonecall. That's all it'd take- one call, and you'd have a hell of a lot more to worry about than a pair of Hiatts, I promise you. Don't make me do it.”
He gave Nicholas's wrists a warning tug. “And whatever you do, don't try to change in the cuffs. You'll break both your arms. It's not nice to have to witness, and I'm thinking it's a bloody sight worse to experience. Now, your choice. Run like an idiot and take the consequences, or sit back down and listen to what I've got to say. What's it gonna be?”
"I'll listen," snarled Nicholas, breathing hard, who was only trying to stay angry because it was a hell of a lot of a better option than whimpering in sweat-drenched fear. His right foot came up slightly, unnoticeable. "After I give you a few decent bruises."
The foot came down, hard, on Kinnell's boot. It probably didn't hurt him much, other than the slight pinch, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Nicholas used the firm purchase Kinnell was so graciously giving him by pressing him into the wallpaper to keep balance and use his other leg to kick-kick-kick backwards, a nasty down-and-scrape on Kinnell's pinned shin with the sharp edge of his heel.
“Ahfuck-”
Kinnell didn't pull back or shift his weight- with Nicholas pinned, he couldn't afford to. He kept the pressure up on his shoulderblades, curled his other fist, and punched him, twice and hard, in the back. Quite high up and over his right kidney, in a precise spot which wouldn't endanger any floating ribs or leave a mark anywhere anyone could see- but would sure as hell have an effect.
Nicholas groaned, sagging against the wall. That sodding hurt, and he wouldn't get another chance to hit him again if Kinnell kept that up. He arched backwards, ramming the solid back of his head into Kinnell's too-close face like an unorthodox football move. C'mon break his nose break the pretty bastard's nose-
But Kinnell moved with him, twisting sideways, and with nothing behind them to bounce off Nicholas's backwards lunge turned into something he couldn't control, and Kinnell followed him all the way to the floor in a brutal throwdown that slammed his arms and his back, recently-assaulted area first, into the carpet with winding force.
"Don't- try that again." Kinnell's arm was across his throat. "Last warning."
"What're you gonna do?" wheezed Nicholas, feeling the shock and pain and disorientation from what felt like the house lurching over on its side without the privelage of fucking hands to catch himself with- to properly fall- thrumming through every hungover nerve in his body. "Kill me?"
And then the powers of clenching fear and unstable evening's worth of acid in an stomach and the migraine combined to form Captain Projectile Vomit.
“Oh, for God's sake,” said Kinnell, and for the first time it was more than just a statement of fact; he sounded annoyed. It was likely that he found being painted as a murderer just as aggravating as being spray-painted with vomit. He let up and dragged Nicholas into a sitting position against the couch, away from most of the mess. “Of course I'm not gonna kill you. Jesus.”
"Sorry," mumbled Nicholas, who apparently was programmed to apologize to anyone he sicked up on, regardless of whether or not that anyone had up until then been using excessive restraint and force on a helpless, hungover Nicholas. He wiped his mouth on his shoulder, grimacing.
"Stay put," Kinnell told him. "I'm not kidding- stay." He got up and went into the kitchen, rubbing his elbow, which he must have knocked against something while assisting Nicholas's fall. Faintly, the sound of water drumming into the kitchen sink filtered into the living room.
Nicholas stayed, knees crouched to his chest, fighting any further nausea. "No paperwork when you arrived. Who the hell are you?"
The water shut off and Kinnell reappeared, cuffs and shirtfront spotted wet but clean, wiping his face with a cloth. “Hallelujah, a sensible question. I'm exactly who I said I was, and I'm pretty much real CID, as well. More or less. Not from Canterbury though... although if you had followed it up you would have reached several people ready to swear that I was and that they'd worked with me personally. We're very thorough that way. Do you want some water?”
"If I can watch you pour it from the tap." Nicholas was feeling very faintly miserable under the terror. He hated sick, hated it being stuck to people, hated the smell of regurgitated alcohol. Thank god he at least didn't have a great big bushy beard. "Who is we."
Kinnell sighed and put the glass of water he'd brought with him down on top of the telly. “I'm not moving you again until we've got a few things sorted out. You can have this or wait.”
He hooked a foot round the leg of the coffee table and dragged it back until he could perch on it and face Nicholas without coming within range of his legs, then settled himself, taking a good deep breath. “I work for a covert government agency known as Alpha. We answer to the JIC, but only loosely, apart from that we have no affiliates, no higher power. Alpha is the only agency completely devoted to the identification, research and welfare of people living with lycanthropy in the United Kingdom. I'm a field agent, and it's my job to find people who've slipped through the cracks in the system. They call us Fetchers. Daft name, if you ask me, but... yeah, I suppose it sums it up pretty well.”
Nicholas's nostrils flared. Years of the nameless, faceless, terrible people called 'They'; shush, They'll take you away, I'll never see you again, I won't be able to protect you from Them and They could use you to trace me and do the same... Nicholas, there's much worse things than death.
"No higher authority? Sounds more like the Spanish Inquisition running around with its head cut off."
Kinnell continued. His words were well-chosen, well-rehearsed. “Alpha isn't a company, it's not privately owned, it's got no hidden agenda. I'm a public servant, just like you, and the people I work for want the exact same thing you want; to make sure the general public are safe and protected. Keeping the peace. It's a bitch to have to say this, Nick, because I know how much you value what you do, but it's people like you who endanger that peace. It's not your fault, but it's true.”
"That's a spiel if I ever heard one. What've I been endangering, lately, that's such a threat to your people? Cult conspirators? Bike thieves? Traffic law violators?"
“Two factors,” said Kinnell. “Firstly, you might be caught out. Say- okay, going out on a limb, I know- but say you told someone.” His keen eyes were fixed on Nicholas's face. “Someone you trusted with the secret. Fair enough, you're a good judge of character. But say the unthinkable happened and they told someone- and that someone wasn't that happy with the idea- and maybe somewhere along the line one of these hypothetical someones came up with some proof...” He shrugged. “Alpha does all it can to help keep the secret- help keep people like you safe- but it'd only take one major leak to ruin it for the rest of you.”
Nicholas refused to blink. "And I suppose this Alpha is doing this out of the very goodness of its heart, is it. What's the definition of safe, here?"
“Nick,” said Kinnell, very patiently for a man who still had flecks of puke on his cuffs, “we're the government. On the whole, we like people getting along. We also like avoiding front-page headlines, flash-mobs, and people getting their houses firebombed.”
"I meant, what does it want me to do," snarled Nicholas, beginning to shake in his hands and wrists, "to keep people 'safe'. Since I'm such a threat and all."
Kinnell smiled, politely, as if Nicholas had just made a not particularly funny joke. “They'll just want to ask you some questions to start off with, do a psych assessment... obviously, the Met and Gloucester Police already have extensive files on you, so that'll save some time. I'm going to ask you to come to HQ with me. It's in London, Battersea, actually. We'll go tonight.”
"I get the feeling there is a very big 'And' here."
Kinnell shrugged. “And then you're out of my hands. They're not going to hurt you, Nicholas. Please try to understand- you've got a condition, a congenital medical condition that makes you a concern, but you're still a human being and, more importantly, a British citizen. They won't even so much as take a blood sample- you gave one already, along with your fingerprints, as per routine. All they're gonna do is take you off my hands at Battersea, and help you work through the three R's.”
"And after I work my way through this utterly pointless program, I can come back to Sandford, with absolutely nothing different from before, and forget you ever existed."
"Ouch," said Kinnell. "A hit, Nick, a very palpable hit. Anyway, no, it doesn't work quite like that. Alpha's gonna want to set you up somewhere a little closer by. It's standard procedure. Hey, you said yourself that the only reason you stayed here is that you hate moving- maybe it'd help if you just considered this a bit of compulsory motivation?”
"The reason I hate moving," snarled Nicholas with septic breath, hating every reminder that he'd ever treated Kinnell like a friend, "is because I don't want to become so weighted down in bureaucracy that it will interfere with my job, or, or have anyone else interfering with how I'm supposed to be doing it. The Met tried to do that, Kinnell. I'm a police officer. I'm meant to be policing."
“The thing is, you've lived your whole life without knowing that there are rules set up for people like you. That whole thing about ignorance of the law, remember? You can't just pretend you know better than Alpha because it suits you. They have records going back decades, data, scientific research. There are reasons why it's not a good idea for a type-A lycanthrope to be in a high-profile public-service job like yours. You've had a really remarkable career, and I'm betting that the Met and Alpha will do their absolute best to re-integrate you somehow...”
Nicholas's mouth dropped open in horror. "I- Re-integration?? What the bloody hell are you playing at, Kinnell? I'm not a criminal, or, or, or, a drug addict. You can't just- just retire me whenever you bloody feel like it!"
Kinnell sighed and rubbed his chin, where a faint prickle of stubble was beginning to show. “As I said, it's out of my hands. I also said that nobody's calling you a criminal.”
Angrily, Nicholas rapped the rigid bridge of the cuff against the leg of his sofa. "Then why are you treating me like one?"
“For the same reason you restrain anyone you come across in a drugs bust- good ol' fashioned caution. Not to mention experience. This part is always a little dodgy. I've been attacked, I've been stabbed with a pencil, I've had a fish tank thrown at me and I've been hit by a fucking Moris Minor. You yourself tried to attack me, and you're no helpless victim. At the end of the day, you people just don't want to hear what I've got to say. As much as I respect you personally- and, seriously, Nick, I do- I'd've been an idiot to try and go ahead without taking precautions first. As soon as I can trust you to act sensibly, I'll let you out the cuffs.”
"And what you want me to listen to is you telling me not that I should resign and move to some... invisible ghetto, just so I'll be more under the influence of your employers, but that I have no other choice."
“Nick, seriously, it won't be that bad,” Kinnell said. “There's no call to be melodramatic. What've you got here, when it comes down to it? Your team don't listen to you. They don't even listen to each other. You're tired of playing nanny to a bunch of plods who never had to think for themselves before you came along. I'm not making any of this up, Nick, you've been telling me about it all week.”
He sighed, again. “You always have a choice. It's just that the alternative isn't exactly that ideal, that's all.”
"Oh? And what's my alternative?"
Kinnell pulled a face. “Well, I'll have to tell them that you refused to come with me. They'd have to consider you still at large. That means your case goes to the second line of investigation. They'll look at your history, your record, go through everything with a fine-tooth comb, looking for anything that might be relevant, and I do mean absolutely bloody everything. Just... any fact, any incident, any decision you've made which might have been influenced by your condition. With most people, there probably wouldn't be much to find, but in your case...”
He breathed in, sharply. “All those injuries, the property destruction, those two deaths... the fact that you were cleared of any improper conduct at the time won't mean much to them, I'm afraid. If they can't have you this way, they'll cast the net wider- they'll look at your colleagues, your ex-partners...” He cocked his head on one side. “Your family.”
The hair stood up on the back of Nicholas's neck. His mother- no. Kinnell didn't actually know that, did he? If he had, he'd have been making direct threats, wouldn't he? Call his bluff with one of his own-
"Half of that family is missing, Kinnell, if you remember. And you'll leave my co-workers the hell alone. They've been through enough with their previous superior to trouble them with anything more from me."
“Yeah, I bet it must've been pretty hard to find out their Chief'd been lying to them the whole time,” said Kinnell, politely. He glanced down at his watch. “Putting his own needs over theirs, breaking guidelines left, right and centre...”
"Fuck you," whispered Nicholas, looking down and away at the carpet. "It eats at me."
"Well, it's up to you to put a stop to it, Nick," pressed Kinnell. "Finish up here, come with me tonight and make a fresh start. Stop trying to pretend you don't need what Alpha has to offer."
He leaned back. "Or... don't, and watch them all suffer- more- because of you. I'm sorry to have to be so blunt. Like I said, I really do like you. It's been nice to be here, a nice change, and I'd hate to see you make the wrong choice."
"I don't need anything Alpha has to offer me," said Nicholas, slowly. "I don't need to lose my job, I don't need to move back to the city, I don't need the interference and I definitely don't need you. But I'll go with you anyway."
Kinnell grinned at him. It was all the more unsettling an expression because it looked indecipherably genuine. “Great! Good man.”
He stood up, stretched, checked his watch again. “Eight. Should give you plenty of time to get cleaned up, so I'll let you get on with it. Just bear in mind, if you run, it's straight out of my hands, and... well, all that implies. Okay?”
"Thought you were like me," muttered Nicholas as if he couldn't hear, head hung low. "Thought you were flirting."
“Yeah, got to admit, you gave me one heck of a shock back there,” said Kinnell, lightly. “Figured out you were gay, sure, but I thought you were more, well, attached than that. Live and learn, I guess.”
He took the handcuff key out of his shirt pocket, circled the couch, and carefully unlocked the cuffs by leaning over the back, so that by removing them and stepping away, he was keeping the couch between himself and Nicholas.
“No hard feelings, Nick,” he told him. “I'll see you at the station.”
"M'not gay," whimpered Nicholas as the door shut, hugging his knees to his face with freed hands, overwhelmed with the absolute stink of himself and too paralyzed with self-disgust to rectify it.
Chapter 9