TITLE:             Persian Dreams
AUTHOR:            Claire (Charlton@cobweb.com.au)
RATING:            PG-13, A
PAIRING:           Quinnan/Stamp
DISCLAIMERS:       The honour of ownership goes to Thames
                   Television - not me.
SUMMARY/SPOILERS:  This is a follow up (of sorts) to
                   Siamese Lament and
                   extreme liberties have been taken with
                   the episode "Looking after your
                   own".  Basically, Rage, Impatience and
                   Arrogance have been lifted from the
                   episode and the rest is a flight of
                   fantasy!

Thanks as usual goes to Kel...

===============
PERSIAN DREAMS
===============

What a day.

Never before in my life have I experienced a day like
today.  Never before
have I fallen prey to such a wide spectrum of emotions.
Never.

I feel as though...

No.  I couldn't begin to describe how I feel.

=== Pleasure ===

The day starts off promisingly.  I'm assigned with him in
the area car. Just me and him in the car for the entire
shift.  I'm delighted.  We haven't been assigned together
for ages.  The day was looking good indeed.

For a brief while it remained good too.  I'd recovered
sufficiently from my disappointment at the whole Tea Dance
thing and was revelling in his company.  It felt so good to
be able to just sit in the car and chat aimlessly about
blokey/matey things: football, cars, the pub, other
officers.  As he drove, eyes fixed on the road ahead I'm
able to sneak glances at him out of the corner of my eye.
He is so in control.  The car as if it were a natural
extension of his body.  I was enjoying my self.

Then it came.

The radio crackles into life.

"All units, Waterman's Road, officer injured, urgent
assistance required."

=== Rage ===

We're first on the scene.

Some toe-rag has beaten up June Ackland.  I feel all my
good spirits leak out of my body as I see her on the
stretcher.  Not even standing next to him could restore my
feelings of good will.

I don't need to look at him to know that he felt the exact
way I do.  All around me were officers with the same stony
expression on their faces.  Steve Loxton looked like a
thundercloud and I almost wish that he would get
to the bastard first.

But no.  I want him.  I want to get the bastard who did
this to June so much.  A promise of thinly veiled violence
so real that I can already feel the toe-rag's apprehension
as I cuff him and slam him into the back of the
car.

Everything else is forgotten.  I don't care who I'm in the
car with.  The only thing that is real to me at that point
in time is nicking the scumbag.  Making him pay.  Attacking
a female officer is simply unforgivable.

=== Impatience ===

Naturally the race is on to see who could nick him first.

I'm  blinded by my need to win the race and nothing else
matters.

Steve and Mike somehow find out that the likely suspect was
a resident on the Avalard Estate.  Tony's just turned the
area car around in order to go there when a second call
came over the radio.  A burglar alarm was going
off at an off-license on Regis Street.  Who cares?  I
convince him to go via the Avalard.

No joy.  We can't find the bastard so we made our way back
to the off-license.  Everything looked fine, which just
about makes my day.  No sign of a break in.  Tony wants to
go around the back to take a look but I scoff at the idea
and we return to the Avalard.

He shouldn't have listened to me.  We only just make it
back to the Estate when another call regarding the off-
license comes through.  The key holder had just arrived on
the scene only to find that the back of his shop
had been broken into.  So we turn the car around again and
return to Regis Street.  He was taking this better than me.
Personally I couldn't give a fuck about some poxy off-
license.

The owner on the other hand did give a fuck and was
somewhat indignant about our apparent lack of interest.  I
was busy making up some bullshit excuse when we heard that
the suspect had been spotted.  The excuse dying on my lips
as I hurry back to the car.

"Come on."

We quickly spotted him and set off in pursuit.  Again the
radio crackles into life.

An assault was taking place merely metres away from where
we were.  We could see it.  Some poor sod lying on the
ground with another man standing over him.  He wants to go
over there.  I don't.

"Mike and Steve can sort that out."

I'm not letting the other scumbag get away.

=== Arrogance ===

We got him.

Nothing can stop my overwhelming sense of victory.  Not
even the fact that the we get hauled in front of Chief
Inspector Stritch.  He had his bat phone on all morning and
was aware of our little mishap in regard to the off-
license.

Stritch gives us some spiel about how he once pounded the
beat and blah,  blah, blah, being all very serious.  Then
he thanked us for catching June's attacker.

I felt invincible.  Even Stritch was insignificant in my
moment of glory.

We didn't get in trouble for the off-license and we got the
bastard who attacked June.  Life was surprisingly good.

=== Shock ===

After shift a bunch of us go to see June at St Hughes.  I
am still on a high and have hardly heard a word that
anybody has said all day.

Until I hear Mike tell June, "The guy snuffed it," that is,
the guy we ignored as we raced after June's attacker and
had he been attended to earlier probably would have
survived.  He was married and had just become a father.

Oh God.

All the arrogance slides away and I feel as if I am going
to be sick.  The walls are spinning around me.

My fault, my fault, all my fault.  The man died because of
me.  If Tony had listened to me the man would probably be
still alive.  His baby would still have a father.  My
fault, all my fault.

"Hey Dave, are you all right?"

His voice.  I'm dimly aware that he is speaking to me.  His
voice full of concern.

"You don't look too good.  Do you want to sit down?"

He moves towards me.  I move back.  Not now.  Not when I
feel that I have the mans blood on my hands.  I force
myself to answer.

"I just need some fresh air so I'm gonna walk back to the
section-house."

I lurch towards the exit before he can answer.  Their
voices barely register in my shell-shocked mind.

"He's going to walk all the way to the section-house?  He
must be fitter than he looks."

"Lay off Steve.  He doesn't look well.  Should I go after
him?"

"Nah.  He's old enough and certainly ugly enough to look
after himself."

Once out of the ward I virtually run until I am outside in
the blessedly cool night air.  I breathe deeply and force
my mind to go intentionally blank.  I don't want to think
about it.  I am not going to think about it.
Murderer.

=== Pity ===

I don't recall the walk back to the section-house.

Once safely ensconced in my room I find my resolve not to
think about it faltering.  Just as I was helpless in
letting rage and impatience govern me earlier in the day, I
am helpless in the face of the grief that overwhelms
me now.

Deep down I know I'm not responsible for the man's death
but still I feel guilty.  It wasn't my hand that held the
knife that delivered the fatal wound but it was my rage
that ignored his plight.  If only Tony hadn't listened to
me.

He'd wanted to go the man's aid, I know, and yet he choose
to listen to me.  It was almost as if he wanted to please
me.

At any other time I would have found this thought
delightful.  As it is, it just causes me more guilt.  What
if he blames himself for the man's death too?

I decide to go to bed.

Hidden deep in a drawer are a pair of pyjamas that I have
had for years.  They are very fluffy flannelette and maroon
in colour.   I don't remember if I bought them or if
somebody bought them for me.  I don't let anybody
see me in them.  I only wear them when I am sick or when
I'm wallowing in self pity.

It's these pyjamas I put on before getting into bed.

I am hoping to fall asleep quickly.  A deep, dreamless
sleep to obliterate the waking nightmare.  Surprisingly I
do.

It feels as though I have only been asleep for moments when
I find myself waking to a noise coming from out in the
corridor.  Someone is knocking on a door.

I nearly forget to breathe when I realise that it is my
door.

Shit.

I curl myself up even tighter and pray that whoever it is
will go away.

"Hey Dave.  Are you in there?"

Oh God.  It's Tony.  My breathing becomes so erratic that I
start to cough.  I feel as though I am going to choke.

[cough]  [splutter]  [wheeze]

"Are you all right?"

The only answer I can offer is another coughing attack.  I
don't know what I sound like as I can hardly hear a thing
over the beating of my heart.

"I'm coming in.  You're really beginning to worry me."

Oh fuck.

I curb my coughing attack long enough to complete the only
plan my mind is capable of thinking of at this point.  That
is, pulling my duvet over my head.

I've only just completed this action when I hear him
entering the room and turning on the light.  I suddenly
regret that I never lock my door.

=== Joy ===

"Dave, are you under there?"

I don't answer.  I can't answer.  I seem only to be able to
communicate in coughs.

[cough]  [splutter]  [cough]

I doubt he will be able to translate that as, "I'm fine,
thank you for your concern but you can go now."

I'm right.

"Look Dave, you're really worrying me.  What with running
out of St Hughes like that and now this ...  Not to mention
that you appear to be hiding under your duvet."

He's voice gets louder as he is talking and I'm afraid that
he is making his way over to the bed.  The fear becomes a
reality as I feel him sit down on the side of the bed.

"Are you going to come out from under there?"

When I don't answer he starts to stroke my body through the
duvet.  From shoulder to hip and back again.  As if he were
petting a cat.  I'm so surprised that even the coughing
dies on my lips.  The only sound I am capable of making is
a whimpering noise that I'm helpless to control.

"Come on Dave.  Come out from there."  Stroke, stroke.

"I can't."

I finally manage an answer.  My response comes out all
muffled through the duvet.

"Why not?"

He sounds so concerned.

"Because...because a man died because of me."  I realise
that this hardly explains why I am under the duvet but it
is the best I can come up with.

"What?  What on earth are you talking about?  What man?
And would you please come out from under there?  I can
hardly hear what you are saying."

I hesitate.  I don't particularly want to come out from
under the duvet but it's beginning to get rather hot in
there and he obviously isn't going to leave.  I wriggle
slightly and immediately wish I hadn't as the movement
dislodges his hand from my hip.

It's too late to hope for a better course to follow so my
head emerges slowly from under the covers.  I don't want to
think about what I must look like as I poke my head out and
blink my eyes in the light.

It is all becoming too surreal.

I finally focus and note that he looks truly concerned.
Concerned?  For me?  I can hardly believe it.

"Good.  Now that you are out you can tell me what you were
on about."

So I do.  Spilling it all out.  Everything.  The rage I
felt at June's attacker, the impatience I felt and mistakes
I made in our search for the suspect, then the arrogance
that came with our success and finally the pity
that overwhelmed me when I heard of the man's death.  As I
finish I am somewhat disgusted to note that I can no longer
control the tears that have been threatening since I left
St Hughes.  It has all just become too much.

It's hard to concentrate on his response through the tears,
but somehow I do.

"You daft bugger, you weren't responsible for his death."

I pause my sniffling at this.  He looks satisfied at my
reaction, puts his hand back on my hip and continues.

"Mike got it wrong.  The bloke was dead before he hit the
ground.  I asked the doctor because I had my own doubts and
she told me that there was nothing anybody could have
done."

I'm not sure I can believe this.

"Are you sure?"

I dare to hope and pull myself further out from under the
duvet until I am propped up on the pillows, looking at him.

"Absolutely."

I am momentarily disappointed as he takes his hand off my
hip.  Perhaps he is going to leave?  My disappointment dies
a quick death as he
brings his hand up to my face, gently wiping away my tears
and then cupping my chin in his large, surprisingly soft
hand.

"Oh Tony...," I murmur.

"Shhh Dave, it's all right.  It is all all right," and he
leans down as if to kiss me.

He does kiss me!

I nearly squeal with pleasure.  It's so gentle and so
sweet.  It's all I ever wanted it to be.  I'm so surprised
that I nearly forget to kiss back. Almost...

He breaks the kiss first because he has something else to
say.

"So you see, everything, and I mean everything, worked out
fine, so you can stop blaming yourself and move over."

I do as he says without even thinking of why.  My mind
isn't capable of much productive thought at the moment and
what little thought it was capable of quickly shuts down as
it dawns on me what he is doing.

He's moved from the bed and is swiftly removing his
clothing.  Once he is down to shorts and t shirt he turns
the light off and gets into bed with me.

I am suddenly so happy that I'm struck dumb.  This is
obviously not a deterrent to him as he leans forward to
resume the kiss..., not before one last comment though...

"Love the pyjamas Dave, very sexy."

I can only offer a purring noise in response.

What a day.

~End~