Открыть фик целиком в отдельном окне
~~~***~~~
Peter Axon loved his loft, really loved it. The small outside courtyard paved with flagstones looked over an older part of the city and a few well-tended pot plants swayed in the cool night air. From here, he could imagine he could see the world. Problem was right now he hated that world. He’d lost friends today and the bottle of beer made its way to the trash can along with several others. He frowned, ran his hand through his hair and went to bed. Nothing to be done Elsinger had said. The Office would take care of it, but the truth was there was nothing to take care of. It was too late and he ached, the hollow empty sound of platitudes that were meaningless and trite.
~~~***~~~
Vaughn looked at the clock again, four am. He wondered if he should just let the guy sleep it off and then ring, but a quick look into the drunk tank and he decided against it. Sam was a good girl; she’d never done drugs before and got scared. If it hadn’t been for the OSIR guys she’d have died and he owed them one. Maybe this would begin to take care of the debt.
~~~***~~~
Peter sat bolt upright and peered at the clock. He hated midnight calls, more he hated four am calls and thought bitterly about ignoring it.
“This had better be good.” He growled down the phone.
“Dr. Axon?” The voice was vaguely familiar and Peter tried to remember where he’d heard it before and gave up the unequal task.
“Yeah. Who is this?”
“It’s Vaughn Johnson Boston PD. We met awhile ago.”
Peter’s face cleared. “Sam’s dad?”
“Yeah. Look sorry to wake you but do you know a guy called,” there was silence on the line as the cop looked at the ID, “Connor Andrew Doyle?”
“Doyle?” Peter spat the name coldly. “Yeah sure, what’s up?”
“Friend of yours?”
“Colleague why?”
“Got picked up after a bar brawl, local PD want to press charges but we got enough to do, thought you might like to come and get him before they process him.”
“Bar brawl? Connor?”
“Not supposed to do this, but that boss of yours doesn’t look like the forgiving type and Doyle’s a little busted up.”
“Thanks Vaughn.”
“No problems, you might like to bring him a jacket.”
“On my way.” Peter put the phone down and dressed, before grabbing an extra jacket and his car keys.
The drive to the station wasn’t long, and in the early morning it was even shorter, he put his foot down and stopped outside, taking the steps three at a time.
“Hey Dr Axon.”
“Peter.” He corrected the middle-aged officer. “How’s Sam?”
“She’s good, actually she’s better than good. Gonna be valedictorian for the school year.”
“Hey that’s great. So where is the Professor?”
Vaughn worried his bottom lip, been in the job too long not to notice the tension in the young man’s back and the flinty glare to his eyes. “You two don’t get along?”
“He’s my boss.”
“Case Manager?”
“Yeah, I take it you haven’t told Elsinger about this?”
“No. Personally I don’t like the man, thought if Doyle was a friend of yours I could return the favour.” Vaughn rapped on the security gate for the guard and led the way down the dark corridor. The odour of excrement and vomit made Peter nauseous.
“I’ll take care of him. Any charges?” Peter asked as he peered into the tank and saw a very dishevelled figure huddled at the top of a bunk, his shirt all but gone, blood staining his face and his left eye already beginning to swell and colour.
“Harry wants you to pay for his dry cleaning; other than that, no.”
“Classy digs.” Peter muttered as he walked into the room and tapped Doyle on the shoulder.
“Oh great.” Doyle greeted him sourly.
“Thanks I love getting up at four am to rescue you too. You’d rather I call Frank?” Peter glowered.
“They haven’t already?” Doyle slurred his mind still fuzzy from the booze.
“No and they won’t if you come with me now.” Peter insisted and helped Doyle to his feet as he swayed. Axon wrapped the leather jacket around the smaller man and with an arm around his waist walked him outside. “The Boat House is the rough end of town for you isn’t it?”
“Obviously.” Connor swayed again as the cold night air hit him in the face and the colour drained from him.
“Jeez, if you’re going to puke can you do it in the gutter?” Peter hoisted him up heedless of the yelp of pain that made Doyle stiffen in his touch.
“No I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Anyone at home to look after you?” Peter’s touch became soothing as he belted Connor into the car and wrapped a blanket around the shivering man.
“No. I’ll be okay, go home, sleep, aspirin. Die quietly.” Connor offered.
Peter chuckled lightly before he made his decision. “In your condition? Fuck, if Frank finds out I left you like this he’ll kill me.”
“I’ll be okay Peter, don’t panic.” Connor answered tiredly.
“Yeah sure. My place or you can walk home.”
“Your place.” Connor nodded and fell into sleep.
Peter smiled, despite his arctic fa?ade and the constant dismissal, Doyle looked remarkably young and approachable in his sleep and Peter felt the first faint stirrings of a desire he hadn’t had for many years. He reached out a hand and gently caressed Connor awake.
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