Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's stupid. It’s really fucking stupid. Of course he’d fall through, that‘s just Carl’s luck.

Now, he’s paying for that stupidity, sitting in the passenger seat of that shitty ford escort while Akram continues to search the boot for dry clothes. Carl knows there is none, but appreciates the effort nonetheless.

“You’ll have to strip anyway, no clothes are better than cold ones.” Akram sighs, having given up his hunt.

“Yeah. I know that, just give me a second, my fingers are like fucking icicles” he fumbles with the buttons on his shirt, his fingers frozen stiff from the cold. “Fuck!”

“Here, I will help.” Akram finishes unbuttoning his shirt, then shucks off his own jacket and pulls it over Carl’s shoulders.

They’d been in pursuit of a suspect, Morag Wilson, the two of them had shown up at her door to ask some questions about the disappearance of her husband, nearly a decade ago. However, the second she’d seen the two of them, she’d bolted. She’d run in her slippers over a frozen lake and the two of them had tried to follow when Carl had fallen through the ice. Akram had quickly given up the chase to pull Carl out of the icy waters. They could get her another day.
The water was hardly deep enough to drown but they were currently experiencing a classic Scottish spring. It was -6 and still refusing to snow, as had been the case all winter.

Carl undoes his own belt, letting Akram take over to pull off the frozen jeans, before stepping back and turning away, “I will let you finish.”

“I’m not getting my dick out with you here.” Carl may be hypothermic, but he’d still like to retain some decency.

“Mmm,” Akram hums in acknowledgment. “Personally, that is the place I would least like to get frostbite.”

“Aye, fuck off.” He concedes, and does an awkward shuffle to take off his boxers. They get thrown in the back with the rest of his sopping wet clothes. They’ll be frozen by the time he gets home.

Carl debates for a minute—as much as he can anyway, he can almost feel his thoughts slipping away from himself, god he’s so tired—if he really cares about flashing Akram. He decides that even in his state of delirium, he does, and moves the jacket to cover his front, and can’t resist burrowing into it and its soft scent. He could sleep like this. Sleep sounds nice, it would be so easy to just close his eyes and let the cold take him…

He vaguely realises that Akram is pulling his legs into the car and buckling his seat belt. He hears the door shut and the car rumble to life.

He’s woken up some time later—it can’t have been that long—by Akram shaking his shoulders, “You need to stay awake Carl, we're going to the hospital.”

“No, no hospital. Please.” It's so much work to force the words out, his whole body is frozen solid now, his bones are cold. He didn't know that was possible. “Just, take me home.”

He doesn't hear Akrams's response.

The next time Carl awakes , he realises he's in his own bed, fully clothed—when did that happen?—and smothered in what must be every blanket in the house.

“He's still freezing.” Akram, Carl identifies his soft tones with ease, but who is he talking with?

“Are you sure we can't take him to the hospital?” He tries to concentrate on the other voice, but finds his thoughts slipping away again.

“Yes.” Is he closer now? Carl tries to open his eyes, it's too much effort.

Sleep lures him back.

Faintly, he hears the door shut, and shivers as he feels the weight of the blankets leave him, only to be replaced with a solid warmth.

Carl wakes slowly, feeling rested for the first time in a while. His body is full of tension. He stretches and rolls over, just to discover that his personal heat mat is really a warm, solid, body. Oh that's nice, he nuzzles closer and starts to drift off again.

Wait. His eyes flutter open—they can do that now, good to know—and his head turns, to be met with the sleeping form of—“Akram? What the fuck?”

Akram wakes with a moan and rubs his eyes. “Morning.”

“Akram? What the hell!” Is he dreaming?

“Do you not remember?” Akram frowns.

Remember what? Fuck, what did they do?

“You were hypothermic.”

The memories flood back to him: Akram pulling him out of the lake, helping him in the car, carrying him to his room… “Oh what, and the only way to save me was to spoon me?” Carl, of course, knows the risks of hypothermia, and what it can do to a person. He has no reason to ask, aside from the fact that maybe he wants to tease Akram, maybe he wants to see him blush.

“Yes sir.” Akram replies, unshaken by the question. A shame.

Carl rolls back over and goes to stand up, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back into the other man.

“No, rest. I will get you food.” Akram’s lips brush the back of his neck. Far too briefly.

He doesn't argue. He watches as Akram leaves, dressed only in his boxers—oh what Carl would do to see that a thousand times over—he can’t help but let his eyes linger.

When did that start? The lingering, eyes staying in places longer than they should, brief touches lasting a second past what was natural. How long have they been playing this game? Weeks, months? Carl has been going mad trying to figure out what it is they are really doing.

He’s supposed to be more observant than this. He should be able to see through these things, be able figure this shit out before it gets too far, before he gets attached. Akram, though, is a step ahead of him at every turn, the second Carl thinks he has it figured out, has assured himself it was just a mistake, that he is misreading it. Akram throws another curveball. It’s subtle, and slow, he recognises that Akram is waiting for him to make the move, waiting for him to… to do what? How does he really know that he’s not imagining this all, that he’s not just so lonely that he would make up stories of Akram leaving subtle hints and teasing remarks, that he’s not reading into it too much, could he really trust his own mind? Who is he to think that someone like Akram would ever be interested in him?

Akram comes back a short while later, interrupting Carl’s spiral, with buttered toast and a pint glass of juice. Their hands brush.

A beat.

“Did you microwave the fucking juice?”

Akram looks at him, and for the first time seems sheepish. “Jasper said you’d like it.”

Of course he did. “Tastes like medicine.” Carl grumbles, but he takes another sip anyway. Neither of them moves. “Akram I—”

“We’ll have to find her again. There’s no doubt she’s already fled.” Akram interrupts, breaking the moment and looking away, “I’ve already asked Rose to look into her family and friends, to see where she could have gone.”

“Right, of course.” The case, he’d forgotten about that.

Chapter Text

They don’t talk about it.

It doesn’t take long for Rose to track the suspect down, when Carl is finally allowed to return to work—he’s tried to come in for the last two days, but both times has been stopped at the door by his co-workers, and given direct instructions to ‘turn his ass around and go back to bed’—she hurriedly trots up to his desk, file in hand.

“She’s staying at a hotel in Dunbar—” She begins hurriedly.

“Great, what are we waiting for, then?”

“—but, I've discovered she has a witness protection order.” She finishes.

“Ah.”

“If we just go banging on her door, we could be attracting unwanted attention to her.”

He huffs, “It’s fine. We’ll deal with that later if we must. First we question her, take her in if we have to. You stay here, keep looking for more leads. I’ll take Akram to the hotel.”

-

The hotel is fairly unassuming. In all honesty, Carl would never guess it iss a hotel if he was to walk past. It is clearly a converted block of flats, a set of old tenement buildings that looks a bit worse for wear. The bushes that line the small gardens are all dead or dying. Carl hadn't realised you could kill those bushes.They always seem to stay that bright green colour with very little maintenance.One windowsill is held up by wooden planks, but thankfully, that is the other side of the building. Carl can deal with a lot of things, but a building that looks as if it might fall down any minute? No thank you.

They arrive at Morag Wilsons's room. The door is an ugly shade of red, with chipping paint, and a rusted lock; he could probably kick it in if they needed to.

“Maybe we should take a more tactical approach? I can go around to the back, watch the window in case she tries to run off again.” Akram seems on edge, like an animal who can tell something has been in his territory. He is restless, and has been the whole journey over.

Carl rolls his eyes. “No, stay here.” He takes a step back and gestures for Akram to knock. He tends to have Akram start the questioning these days; most people respond better to him. Carl can hardly blame them.

“Ms Wilson? Police.” They wait a minute, nothing. Akram presses his ear to the door, and frowns, before stepping back and again, “Ms Wilson. Police, open the door.”

The door cracks open a few inches, still blocked by a chain. Morag Wilson's beady little eye could be seen, pressed up against the gap. She frowns when Akram steps into her view.

“We just have some questions for you, ma’am.” Akram begins, his voice gentle. Yes, this is why people like him more, he's much better at putting on the whole ‘good cop’ act than Carl could ever be.

“Ye dinnae look like a cop! Sae unless ye have a warrant, ye kin fuck right aff! Ah'm nae telling ye shit.” She growls, scowling at him. Her accent is so heavy that even Carl struggles to make some of it out.

Akram tries again, “Do you know that we’re reopening your husband's case? If we could just—”

“Micky was a terrible man, ‘nd I’m glad he’s deid, but ah dinae fucking kill him!” Ah, Micky, that was his name, Carl could never remember.

“Just five minutes of your time ma’am, please” Carl interjects, coming out from behind Akram.

She pauses, giving Akram one last dirty look before her features soften slightly as she scans Carl up and down. Then shuts the door in his face.

They turn to leave—looks like they’ll have to wait for a warrant—when they hear the telltale clink of the chain, “Well? Come in then.”

She steps aside and lets them in, locking the door and putting back the chain behind them. It's a fairly plain room, decent though, for a motel. He scans the room, taking in his surroundings, what can they tell him? Not much, she’s clearly arrived recently, her suitcase sits on the bed fully packed, or maybe she was just leaving? His eyes are then drawn to a toy dinosaur peeking out from under the couch, curious, he walks over to pick it up. “Tea?” His action is interrupted by the offer.

“No, thank you.” The two of them reply in unison.

She nods and offers Carl a seat, she takes the other, “Ah dinnae ken whit yi'll want me tae tell ye, ah telt the cops everything last time. 'twas ten years ago, they didnae fin' anything then 'nd ah dinnae ken whit ye think you’ll find noo.”

“We’re from a new department,” Akram starts from behind him, “one dedicated to reopening and solving cold cases. I assure you that if we didn’t truly have reason to believe we could solve this, we would not be here, we—”

“Oi! Haud yer wheesht would ya? I'm talking to the actual cop here, nae ye, ye fucking terrorist!”

Akram doesn’t so much as flinch “Ma’am—” he tries again before being interrupted, by Carl this time.

“You’re under arrest, for the suspicion of murder, and harassment of a police officer. ” He stands and walks swiftly over to her “Get up.” Carl growls. He grabs her hands behind her back, and tightens the handcuffs, perhaps a little more than necessary.

“Wha- you cannae do this! Ah didnae dae nothing! Ah ken mah rights.”

As they leave, Carl takes a last glance of the room. The toy was gone, had he really just imagined it? He must be losing his touch.

He stops Akram before they leave, grabbing his shoulder and leaning in to whisper, “Check the room.”

-

Morag Wilson wasn’t alone, Carl realises far too late when he turns back to look at the motel and sees a face peering out from behind the blinds of room 221. “Ah, shit.” He goes to speak with the officer who had turned up to whisk Ms Wilson away, just to watch him driving off around the corner. He sighs, and leans over Akram's shoulder, “Akram, I thought you checked the room.”

“I did.” He turns to look at Carl, who realises now that their faces are now incredibly close together, he can smell the coffee and mint on Akram's breath.

He pulls away. “Well you did a pretty shit job of it, someone’s in the fucking window”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let's go!” He gives the window one last glance, and feels the chills run down his spine. The face is gone now. He can't help but feel a familiar sense of dread.

They creep back up the stairs, and position themselves by the door, which now sits slightly ajar. Carl draws his gun from its holster—he'd gotten his license after the second shooting, Moira hadn't been thrilled, and had been very firm in the fact that it was a case of “one shot and I'm taking it straight back”—and takes a breath, this situation feels all too familiar. He locks eyes with Akram and nods, they prepare themselves for the worst. Another deep breath, as he puts his fingers up, three… two… one!

They burst into the room, Carl in front with his gun held up, and Akram at his shoulder with a knife—wait, where did that come from?—a quick scan of the room reveals nothing, Carl takes the lead and signals Akram to check the closet, as he slinks silently over to the bathroom door, the door is locked, light illuminates the edges of the door, and when he listens closely, he can hear the faint buzz of a fan.

Akram comes up behind him, and uses the edge of his knife to click open the lock. No reaction from inside.

“Police! Get down on the ground!” Carl pulls open the door and yells with his gun held up, pointing it directly at—”Oh shit.”—a young boy, no more than seven years old.

Fuck. He's pointing a gun at a child. Carl’s hands shake as he lowers the gun and takes his finger off of the trigger.

The kid’s hyperventilating, fuck.

Akram’s demeanor changes immediately, he drops the knife, steps towards the kid, and gets down on his knees, “Hey, hey you’re okay. My name’s Akram, what’s yours?” He speaks in a soft voice, as if he was comforting a wounded animal.

Carl holsters the gun, but other than that, he doesn’t move. He can't.

“Riley.” The boy eventually gets out.

“Riley?” He can hear the smile in Akram’s voice, even as he watches the man's shoulders shake with rage. “That’s a good name, who are you here with Riley?”

“My—my Mam.”

“Do you know who we are, Riley?”

“You’re the cops, my Ma told me that cops are no good. That they don’t do shit, I’m not allowed to say that word though, so you cannae tell her I said that!”

“We won't, I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Riley offers out his finger to Akram, he takes it.

“Pinky promise.”

And then, Carl can move again. He leans down to whisper in Akram’s ear, “I’ll call child services.”

When he returns, Akram and the boy are sitting on the bathroom floor, legs folded, playing with a set of toy dinosaurs, Carl recognises the blue one with the spikes as the one he’d seen in the main room.

“You were under the couch earlier, weren’t you?” Carl queries.

“Uh huh, Mam told me to stay super quiet.”

“Well you did a great job of it, we didn’t realise you were there.” God, it’s been so long since Carl interacted with a kid, he has never been good with them. He remembers when Jasper was this age, before he grew up and started to hate him, part of him wonders where it all went wrong, when was Jasper’s breaking point?

“She said, she said that if I made a peep, the bad guys would get me.” Whispers Riley, “I’m really good at being quiet now, I wasn't when I was wee.”

“Who are the bad guys Riley, the cops? Are we the bad guys?”

“Well…. Yes, but not these ones. They're different bad guys.”

“And these bad guys, do they come to your house a lot?”

“Oh aye, all the time. Ma says I’m not to talk about it though.”

Carl was aware they were getting into murky waters here, by asking Riley these questions without an appropriate adult around. While he doesn't normally care about bending the rules, he'd already arrested someone today with next to no evidence, and pulled a gun on a child. There was no need to add anything else to the list of reasons Moira wanted to fire him.

Akram seems to realise this too, and jumps back in to ask Riley to play with him again. Carl can't help but admire the ease with which Akram settles into the playful, fatherly role.

He’s been a shitty excuse for a stepfather, he knows that, he always has. It's never bothered him before now, he's hardly been aiming to be, “the dad who stepped up,” but now, as he watched Akram and Riley together, he began to wonder what it would be like to have a son, and not just a roommate.

He remembers when he first met Jasper, he was just seven years old and full of childlike wonder and joy. While other young kids would have been upset about their mum’s starting to date again, Jasper was thrilled. He was so happy to meet Carl, he'd bounded up to him, a grin splitting his face and asked ‘Are you my dad now?’ Jasper today would never so much as consider calling him Dad. Carl knows it's completely his fault.

Carl picks up the yellow dinosaur, and starts marching it along the edge of the bathtub, making it eat Riley's hair.

“Bad dino!” Scolded Riley, pulling away to tell off the dinosaur.

“Rawr!” went Carl, getting more and more committed to the game now. He turns to look at Akram—for approval, perhaps?—who's staring at him with a soft smile, and a curious look.

Akram's dinosaur then joins the attack on Riley, nibbling at his knees. The young lad breaks down into a fit of giggles, “Stop it!” He gasps between laughs.

By the time child services arrive, an astounding two hours later. Riley is curled up on Carl’s lap, fast asleep.

Carl gives him a soft shake. “Hey Riley, it's time to go.”

The boy stretches and rubs his eyes. “Huh?” His voice is small and heavy with sleep.

“These people are going to take you to a place that will look after you while your mum's away.”

“Oh. I thought you were going to look after me?” Tears start to sparkle in Rileys eyes, Carl can't bring himself to respond, instead, he helps him to his feet and gives him a hug.

The older looking child services officer helps him gather up his toy dinosaurs, and Akram joins to help the two of them pack the suitcase.

“Thank you for watching him, you wouldn’t believe the number of times we’ve turned up to a house after an arrest and the children are alone.” The other officer tells him, a bittersweet look on her face.

Carl watches as Akram has Riley sit on his case so he can zip it up, “Yeah, well Riley’s a real special kid.”

The woman smiles, and nods in Akram’s direction, "Do you and your husband have kids of your own?"

Startled by the question, “I—uhhh” was all Carl could get out before Akram appeared behind him.

The lady smiles. “I was just thanking your husband here for taking such good care of Riley.”

“My husband?” Akram casts Carl a questioning look, then grins. “Yes, he’s great with kids. C’mon dear, we should be getting home.”

Then, to Carl’s surprise, Akram takes his hand as they walk off. They say nothing as they go back to the car, then when the doors shut, Akram breaks down into peals of laughter.

When Akram finally catches his breath, he asks “Wh—What was that about?”

“I don’t know! She just assumed we were together, she asked me if we had kids!” Carl slumped his head into his hands, mostly to hide the blush on his face.

“And you didn’t correct her?”

“I panicked!” he turns to look at Akram–

–who is currently bent over laughing, with tears in his eyes.

“Right fuck off, it’s been a long day.”

Akram wipes the tears from his eyes as Carl starts up the engine, and the car pulls away.

Chapter Text

They arrive back at the station a short while later, the car trip is spent mostly in silence with the occasional chuckle from Akram, who still hasn’t let go of what Carl has now dubbed ‘the incident’ in his head.
The office is just as they left it; boxes of files against one wall, stacks of chairs against the others, Carl's desk is strewn with paper and half-finished coffees, while Akram's is completely clear, everything neatly organised into drawers, just as he likes it. Rose sits at her own desk, typing away at the laptop; she doesn’t so much as glance up when Carl slams the door shut.

“So, Rose,” Carl begins with an accusatory tone. “Care to tell me why you left out the fact that Morag Wilson has a son?”

“She doesn’t even have custody of him, hasn’t for years. I didn’t think it was relevant, there isn’t even much on file about him.” Rose is used to Carl’s moods by now, having worked with him for far longer than most people would tolerate. She’s stronger than many will give her credit for, not that he will admit that.

Carl and Akram exchange a knowing look. “Well, that explains some things.” He pulls out his chair with more force than necessary, throws his head into his hands, and groans. “I’ll need to talk to Moira now. Wilson said she’s fuming.”

“Well, you did point a gun at a kid,” Rose supplies unhelpfully.

Carl throws his hands up. “I know! I was there!” He pauses and turns to Akram, narrowing his eyes. “How does she know?”

“I felt it necessary to warn her,” Akram replies, still wearing that little smirk on his face, how infuriating.

“Warn her! Why would she need to be warned? I’m hardly going to come in here, waving guns about, am I?” He stops himself as he realizes that Akram was referring to his temper, not the gun. “You two are insufferable.”

He stalks upstairs in a huff.

-

“You can’t just arrest people because they hurt your feelings, Carl,” is the warm greeting Carl receives as he enters Moira’s office.

“Really?” He laughs, taking a seat. “I thought that was exactly what the police do.”

If looks could kill, Carl would be a dead man. “You pointed a gun at her wean! You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t sue.”

“You mean the kid that she kidnapped? I think she’ll have a rather hard time suing us from prison.”

“That’s… a separate issue.” Moira looks almost sheepish now, Carl decides that she definitely knows more than she's letting on.

“A separate issue? Is that a fucking joke?” He lets out an outraged growl, “You’re as bad as the rest of them!”

“Don't think for a second that you've got the high ground here!” She rises with her hands on the desk. He sits back, meeting her eyes, and preparing himself for the oncoming lecture. “I want a full report of the incident on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. This is the sort of shit that can get you fired, Carl. You entered a private establishment without a warrant, arrested a woman with no probable cause—Oh, and to make matters even worse, you didn’t even read her her rights—and pointed a gun at a child! I can't protect you forever.”

Carl rolls his eyes and slumps further in his chair, like a scolded child.

“The only reason we’re keeping her in custody is because she was already wanted for Riley’s kidnapping. It has nothing to do with your case, so you have no right to go anywhere near her, you hear me?”

It’s at this point that his temper gets the best of him, there’s only so long he can keep quiet. He sits up, outraged. “Oh c’mon! I’m the one that arrested her, and I can’t interview her? That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Don’t argue with me Carl, I’m the only reason you still have a job.” He huffs and stands to leave. “And Carl?” She calls after him, her voice has the sharp edge to it that he’s grown accustomed to. “I hope you know that you’re not keeping that gun. I want it handed in by the end of the day!”

-

Carl shuts the front door with a soft click, he knows Martin will be fast asleep at this time—“Nine o’clock is scientifically proven to be the best time to go to bed for optimum rest!”—so he does his best to keep quiet as he peels off his jacket, and awkwardly kicks off his shoes.

He walks into the kitchen, surprised to see that Jasper is sitting at the table with his head in a book. Carl considers offering him some help; he didn’t do too badly in school, “You're doing your homework?”

“Well, we had an agreement, didn't we?” Jasper snaps, clearly in one of his moods. That’ll be a no to helping him out then.

“Look, Jasper, about that—”

“Not tonight Carl, please. I'm going to bed.” He stands and stalks off to his room. This is a familiar set up nowadays; Carl entering a room, and Jasper immediately leaving. He’s never minded it so much before.

Carl's shoulders drop. “Yeah, okay. I'll see you in the morning.” He fidgets awkwardly with his hands, unsure what to do.

Jasper pauses in his doorway and turns back for a moment, “Goodnight, Carl.” There's an ever-present cold shadow that lays across his face these days, making him look far older than he is. Carl realises now that he's the one who put it there, why has it taken him so long to notice?

He needs a drink, Carl decides, opening the cabinet and grabbing the three-fourths empty whisky bottle, ignoring the fact that someone has definitely drunk some since he’d last touched it; he doubts it was Martin. He goes for a glass, then changes his mind and brings the bottle to his room.

A while later, he has no idea how long, when the bottle has run dry; Carl reaches for his phone, and with fumbling fingers, calls a familiar number.

“Carl?” The voice on the end of the line is heavy with sleep, clearly he’s been awoken by the call. “What’s wrong? Is it about the case?”

“No.” Suddenly he regrets calling; it’s so stupid of him to wake Akram up for something so small. “No, it’s about Jasper.”

“Jasper? Is he okay? I can come over right now.” He hears shuffling in the background as Akram throws himself out of bed, ready to jump into action.

“No, Akram, slow down. Everything’s fine. I just—I just need some advice.” Yep, this was a stupid idea, why on earth did he think he could just wake Akram up in the middle of the night?

“Advice? I can do advice.” Is the response that comes, putting Carl’s worries to rest.

He takes a deep breath, “I was thinking, after Riley, that I should be trying to connect with Jasper more, we’ve lived together for years now, he’s my step-son, so we should be doing better than… this.” He trails off, struggling to find the right words for their relationship. “But the second I walk into the room, he leaves. I just don’t get it, he’s tried reaching out for so long, but now the second I try; he’s completely uninterested!”

“That’s just how teenagers are, Carl. You can’t force them to do anything, it needs to be their idea.”

“What? How do I work with that? I’m not a fucking psychologist.”

“Just start slow, do little things to show that you care, and eventually he’ll pick up on it. You can’t go too fast.”

How is Akram so good at this? Fatherhood has never come naturally to Carl, it’s always been a battle for him, as it so clearly was for his father. Now though, he begins to wonder if that isn’t how it’s supposed to be. “God, how did we even get here? If I’d just tried a bit harder when he was young, he wouldn’t have turned out like… this.”

“It doesn't matter how good of a job you did or didn't do. Teenagers are always going to pick fights, it's part of growing up and becoming independent.” His voice is soft and reassuring, Carl can feel his stresses melting away as he speaks.

“I didn't. I always respected my father.”

Akram hums in acknowledgment , “You respected him, or you were scared of him?”

“Ha! Is there a difference?” Carl snorts, shaking his head. “My dad didn't abuse me, if that's what you're getting at.”

“I didn't say that.”

Carl shifts uncomfortably, he doesn’t like where this conversation is going, this was feeling less and less about Jasper, and more about him. “You were definitely thinking it though, is that what you have in your head, why you think I'm fucked up?”

“I don't think you're fucked up Carl.”

“Don't bother lying to me, Akram. I know what people say about me.” He hears their whispers, how they talk about him when they think he can’t hear, or maybe they know and just don’t care.

“Well I'm not them, am I? We all have our pasts Carl, I don't ask or speculate about yours. I—respect you too much for that.” Carl’s breath hitches, for a second he could have sworn—no, no point in getting his hopes up.

Nevertheless, Carl can't help but let a smile sneak up on his face. He's glad Akram can't see him right now, “I respect you too, Akram.”

-

Their next lead brings them to Glasgow, a place Carl is becoming increasingly familiar with. As they stroll down the main road to the local station, Akram pauses every now and then to take a photo of the birds. “My youngest daughter has become obsessed with them, I promised her I would find as many different types as I could.” Carl can’t help but feel jealousy begin to bubble up at the mention of Akram’s daughter; Jasper would never ask something so innocent of him.

The sun is shining, for once, but there's still a slight chill to the wind. All in all, it's a calm day, Carl can feel himself starting to relax, something that's happening more and more these days.

It's because of this relaxed state that Carl lets his guard down and forgets about the sensitive case file he's carrying, so it’s quite the shock when he suddenly feels it being yanked out from under his arm. The pickpocket immediately pivots and runs back the other way, gaining precious seconds on the two men.

“Oi!” Carl calls out, momentarily stunned before Akram takes off into a sprint after the man with Carl not far behind him.

Carl can admit that he's not quite in his prime these days, and quickly drops back to a jog with gasping breaths as he realises that Akram's got this in the bag.

Carl’s never been one to admire another man's figure, but he can’t deny how beautiful Akram looks, even as he’s hunting down a criminal—especially as he’s hunting down a criminal—the determination in Akram’s strides as he catches up to the robber stirs something inside him that he can't quite name.

They take a sharp left down an alleyway, catching Carl off guard, he blindly follows them—

—and promptly runs headfirst into a pole.

“Ow, fuck!” Carl exclaims, clutching his forehead as he collapses onto the ground, “Uggh, who the fuck put that there?!” The wind is completely knocked out of him, he gasps for air as the world spins around him and he tries, and fails, to stand. His vision fades in and out, black spots freckle the sky; he’s pretty sure that’s not normal. He tries to stand again, only to be pushed back down by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Slow down, you’ll just hurt yourself again.” Akram, his light at the end of the tunnel, brings him back to himself with nothing more than his voice and firm touch. He can breathe again, and slowly but surely, the world blinks back into focus.

“The—the file.” Has he really done it again? Did he really lose potential evidence because he couldn’t look where he was going? When did he become so fucking oblivious?

Akram grins, and pulls his other hand out from behind his back clutching the file. Carl pretends he doesn’t see the blood on the cover along with Akram’s scraped up knuckles. The less he knows about what Akram did to that pickpocket, the better.

Carl realises what a compromising position they’re in, his back rests against the culprit pole, his legs lay spread while Akram kneels between them, god he’s so close, he could just—

He’s distracted from that thought as he feels a shard of glass spiking into his thigh, but he can’t bring himself to move, not because he can’t stand—although that is a contributing factor—but because he doesn’t want the moment to end.

Carl thinks back to a week ago, when Akram pulled him out of that lake and had to peel the clothes off of his shivering body. The situation feels so similar, how did they get here again?

“You alright there mate?” Calls out a guy peering around the corner, pulling them out of their bubble.

“Aye, all good here.” Carl grumbles in response, taking Akram’s hand and letting himself be pulled to his feet.

-

The lead itself provides them with no new information, and in Carl’s opinion, is not worth the massive bruise and minor concussion he now sports. He blunders through the consultation with a sore head and blurry eyesight, by the end, he can hardly remember what the case was about in the first place.

Akram insists on driving, much to Carl's protest, but eventually wins when he uses Carl’s inebriated state to his advantage to grab the keys and jump into the driver's seat. Carl, seeing how easy it was for Akram to get the upper hand, relents and slumps into the passenger side.

Time blurs together as he lets himself go into a state of half sleep. He’s not sure how long they’ve been driving for when Akram pulls into a service station to fuel up and shakes Carl’s shoulder, “Carl? How’s your head?”

“‘T’s fine.” He mumbles, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth.

Akram squints at him, or at least, that’s what Carl thinks he’s doing. He’s finding it hard to concentrate, his vision is blurred, and everything is splitting into two. “This is the second time we’ve pulled over, do you remember the last time?” Akram almost sounds upset, has he disappointed him?

“Yeah, yeah of course.” He can’t trust his own memory right now, he barely remembers getting into the car, did they stop? He’ll take Akram’s word for it.

“That’s funny, because I don’t.”

Oh shit, he’s been caught. “Ah.”

Akram wipes back Carl's fringe to get a good look at the bump. “Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

“No.” He fell for the oldest trick in the book, if Akram’s hand going through his hair didn’t feel so nice, he’d throw a strop. Akram fixes Carl’s hair, but doesn’t remove his hand just yet, he pauses, then cups his face and lets his thumb brush over Carl's lips. His hands are calloused and scarred from years of abuse and labour. His touch, though, is gentle; he holds Carl’s face like it’s the most precious thing he’s seen. Carl can’t recall the last time he’s been touched like this, with this softness.

Akram tilts his head, considering his options. “Okay, wait here.” Then he takes his hand—which at this point Carl had leaned his whole weight into—away, making Carl forget himself and whine at the loss. The car door is far too loud as Akram shuts it upon his exit.

Carl shifts uncomfortably, his clothes cling and scratch at his skin. The sun glares down, blinding him, making his already pounding head somehow more painful. He lifts a hand to cover his eyes, hissing as fingers brush the bruising, he can feel the heat that radiates from it, and the slight swelling starting to bubble up. The pain has him gasp for air that doesn’t come, he claws at his collar, fumbling fingers knock the buttons, trying to free his throat from the tight noose. Hot pin pricks spike uncomfortably all over his body, it’s as if someone set his nerve endings on fire. Squirming around, he tries to adjust, pulling himself out of the seat, only to fall straight back into it as his aching body gives out. He’s in more pain than he realised.

The door opens with a soft pop, signaling Akram’s return. Has it been that long already? “I got frozen peas and medicine.” He pulls a packet of paracetamol and a bottle of water from his jacket, popping the pills out of the soft film before pressing them into Carl’s palm.

He takes the pills, chasing them with the water in hopes to clear the chalky taste from his mouth, instead he gags at the taste of chlorine, he’s never understood how people stomach bottled water, he hands the bottle back, in an attempt to escape the chemical smell.

“Okay?” Akram queries, as he presses the frozen peas to his head.

He parts his lips, trying to form a response, but his tongue lies heavy in his mouth as if made of concrete. Instead, he gives a small nod of defeat, and lets sleep take him.