FANDOM;     The Bill
AUTHOR;     Kandie
TITLE;      "Faster and Faster"
PAIRING;    Loxton/Slater
RATING;     PG
SPOILERS;   Major for "On the Hurry Up".  One of the best eps ever
            written.    In fact if you haven't seen it, you're really
            going to hate me !
DISCLAIMER  Do I own these characters ?  Only in my dreams.  No
            infringement, no profit.
CATEGORY;   Pre-slash.  Call it "Missing scenes," with a healthy dose
            of angst.
NOTE:       *---* Indicates thoughts.
FEEDBACK;  kandie@tinyonline.co.uk
THANKS;    To Lisa for beta-ing and virtual vodka!



Steve Loxton slammed his door shut.  He took some bitter satisfaction
when the force of the door closing curled up the poster at the entry
way.  He gazed at the spiralled edges for a moment, then, with a
viscous swipe, he tore the poster from the wall crushing the paper in
his fists.  "Never really liked Lambs anyway." he whispered to himself.

He discarded the ruined poster and continued into the room.  He sat
down heavily on the narrow bed and clasped his knees.  He sighed to
himself.  Today almost qualified  for his Top 5 worst days ever.

***

Everything had been going fine, right up until Sierra 1 had been too
far away to respond to a "Suspect's on."  Loxton and Quinnan had heard
Slater respond.  Steve knew Slater was on his own today, and Steve had
been irritated.  Did the guy have no concept of danger, or even
procedure for that matter?  That's why they had the Area Cars.  Steve
had altered course to bring them closer to the vicinity of the call,
just in case they were needed.

He had been hard pushed to conceal his glee when Sierra 1 had come
across Slater's Fiesta ploughed into the back of a parked car.  His and
Quinnan's humorous asides had been met with defensiveness from Slater.
Understandable really.  But when that woman had said a one-armed man
had thrown a bottle at the car ...  Steve had wondered.

***

Nick Slater rinsed his teeth and put the tooth brush back in its
holder.  He turned out the overhead light and flopped down on his bed.
God, he was tired!  Still, not a bad day, all in all.  Slater reached
out and turned off the bedside lamp, settling back with his hands
clasped behind his head.  He stared into the darkness.

He could have had a more auspicious start to the shift - being run off
the road due to a flying bottle was not his idea of fun, but at least
the car-pool sergeant had agreed that it was not his fault and he'd
avoided a suspension.  "A little chat," with Monroe about the
procedures concerning the use of "blues" was, likewise, way down the
list of highpoints for the day - but catching the guy, arresting Jimmy
Peake.  That made it all worthwhile.
He could have been killed.  As could Polly, or Tony.  Not to mention
the poor sod who had ended up with a brick through his car window.  A
grin spread across Slater's face as he remembered Stamp's description
of his "masterful" driving.  Sure, it was okay to smile now.  Now they
were all safe.  Now that they had the man who was out to punish them
all locked in a cell.

Slater's grin faded.

What about Loxton?

It was Loxton's fault the Relief had been put through this ordeal.  It
was his mistake.

Had Loxton tried to help ?  Had he given any pointers, any hints, any
clues as to why a kid would suddenly try to beat the police ?

No, he hadn't.

Slater straightened up.  He sat in the darkness, going over every
detail.

When he'd crashed into that parked car, he'd expected a ribbing from
his colleagues, and he'd got it; Quinnan and Loxton were not known for
their tact and diplomacy.  But when the slightly drunk looking woman
had said that the man who had thrown the bottle at the car only had one
arm ...

Nick frowned and tried to remember how Steve had looked.

*Normal* he decided.

***

As soon as the orderly at St Hugh's had said the nurse had been
assaulted by a one armed man, Steve knew it was Jimmy Peake.

He'd asked if the suspect had an accent, and tried to ignore Quinnan's
concerned look.  He'd almost thought that he was wrong when the orderly
had said he hadn't noticed - but then the orderly changed his mind
saying there was a twang in the voice.  Loxton asked if it could have
been a Liverpool accent, and the orderly was now fairly sure that it
was.

Quinnan wanted to put out the name right away.  As he said, just how
many one-armed Scousers were there running around London?  But Loxton
was having none of it.  No one had actually named the suspect, they'd
already put out the description, that would have to do.

Then Slater had arrived.  In a taxi, no less.  Sticking his nose in
where it wasn't wanted.

Loxton growled.  "Git." he muttered.  "Why couldn't he leave it alone
?"

But he knew the answer.  Slater had been Peake's first victim.  The
first recipient of Peake's attempts to get back at the Police.  In
fact, it had probably been Peake's success in forcing Slater off the
road that had given him the idea of engineering all those calls, just
waiting, hoping, that the one man he wanted hurt would come along
eventually.

Loxton shuddered, considering how many abandoned 999 calls the station
had received.  Peake had really been out to get him - and could Steve
blame him?  No, not if he was honest with himself.  If it had been him
...

Steve shrugged his shoulders, trying physically to shake off the guilt.
He had done what he was trained to do.  He'd been professional.  The
inquiry had vindicated him.  It was an accident.

"An unforeseen outcome of a routine manoeuvre."  Steve nodded to
himself.  The Board of Inquiry had said that.  Loxton had been
grateful.  But he had known that Jimmy Peake wouldn't be.

***

Slater had expected a load of "Fugitive" jokes at his expense, but none
were forthcoming.

The car-pool sergeant had arrived and Slater was more concerned with
the thought of an involuntary holiday than who had thrown the beer
bottle.  It was only later, when he heard that a nurse had been
assaulted at the hospital by a one armed man, and when he heard Polly
and Tony describing how they were almost forced from the road because
of another flying missile, that was the moment connections were made.

Slater shook his head, partly in sympathy, but mostly in anger.  Yes,
he'd made the connections.  No thanks to Steve Loxton.

Slater's lips thinned in anger.

Loxton could have stopped the campaign at any time.  All he needed to
say was that he thought it was Jimmy Peake who was targeting them.
But, no.  Loxton has to pretend that nothing's wrong.  Abandoned
emergency calls, bottles, bricks thrown at police cars.  Nothing
unusual there.  Just another day at the office.

Someone else has to clear up Loxton's mess.  Someone else has to go
trailing through forgotten incidents.  Some one has to go visit the
last known address of one James Peake.  Some poor bastard has to put up
with the barely concealed hostility of his relatives ...

***

Loxton slowly undressed.

Shirt and socks were tossed  unceremoniously onto the bulging hamper.
* Need to do a wash. *  Loxton turned to the wardrobe calculating the
number of his shifts as opposed to his clean shirts.  * Tuesday.  *  he
decided.  * I'll last 'till Tuesday. *

Steve looked down at the wardrobe floor.  Skulking in the shadows was a
barely started bottle of whisky.

Steve looked at it for a moment, debating with himself, then he reached
for the bottle, mind made up.  Today, very definitely, qualified.

***

The "Tally Arms" was crowded, mostly with off-duty police.  Terry did
not mind.  He wasn't sure exactly when his pub had become a subsidiary
locker room to the Sunhill nick, but he didn't really care.  It
certainly cut down on the fights.  Okay, lock-ins were now a thing of
the past, but at least he was home at a decent hour.  Besides, he'd
known people who couldn't wait for opening time, he'd known people who
dreaded closing time, but no other group of people could cram their
socialising into a few hours and afford to pay their tab.

Terry acknowledged Boyden's wink and added another round to the slate.

"Cheers, Sarge!"

The drinks were swiftly scooped up.  Quinnan hefted his own pint.
"Here's to one-armed bandits!"

A chorus of cheers sounded.  But Page tugged Quinnan's arm urgently.
"Steady on, Dave!"

"What ?  Wha' di' I say?"

"One-armed bandits?"

"What of it   We had a result today!  How many assaults are cleared up
inside of two hours?"  He took a swig of his pint.

Polly let go of his arm, looking at Quinnan as if she'd never seen him
before.  "Peake's seventeen.  He stole a car. D'you really think he
deserved to lose an arm for it?"

Polly stood up, but Dave grabbed her wrist in a steel grip.  His eyes
were glassy, but there was conviction in his voice. "We didn't know how
old he was.  We didn't know what would happen.  All we knew was that a
car had been stolen, and the driver wasn't stoppin'."  His grip
loosened and he gazed off, apparently towards the fruit machines, but
Polly knew better.

"He went through three red lights" continued Quinnan, "Missed a push-
chair by that much," he held up his thumb and forefinger only a
centimetre apart, "That's who your heart's bleeding for."

Quinnan again reached for his drink.  He glanced back towards the rest
of the crew who were still celebrating.  "It had to be done." he said
quietly.

Page followed his gaze.

Police, no, people, cutting loose after a hard day.  Just like any
other office, just like any other job...  She watched as Dave drained
his pint.

"Need another," Quinnan mumbled.  He made his way to the bar on
unsteady feet.  Polly watched him go.

***

Loxton turned onto his side.  Then he decided he'd be more comfortable
on the other one.  He switched over.  Not one iota of difference.  He
was still wide awake.  Wide awake, and seriously pissed off.

He couldn't believe it.  Alcohol was supposed to put you to sleep,
wasn't it?  He did not deserve sleepless nights.  What was the matter
with him?

***

He'd yanked open the driver's door and demanded that the occupant get
out.

But Peake hadn't moved.

Loxton had checked for a pulse.  It was steady enough, not great, but
serviceable.  That's when he saw Peake's arm crushed under the hand
brake.

"Sierra Oscar from 353.  Ambulance required, Jamaica Lane."  He
squatted down beside Peake, grimacing at the twisted metal pinning the
boy's arm, "Better send the Fire Brigade as well.  We might need
cutters."

Loxton had actually tried to comfort the kid, could anyone believe
that?  He'd held the good hand while they were waiting for the
ambulance.  The kid had looked right at him.  "Got me, huh ?"

"Sshh."

Peake's eyes had closed,  "They left the keys in the car."  His lips
had turned up in a faint smile, "How stupid is that ?"

"Pretty dumb." Steve had agreed.

"Nice car, 'though."

"I've always preferred Lambhourginis."

"Yeah, but no one's thick enough to leave their keys in a Lamb."

"You'd be surprised."

Peake had laughed.  "Maybe I'll get lucky."  But his luck had run out.

Loxton had been right.  They had needed cutters, but not for the car.
For the kid.

***

Loxton sat up sharply.  He looked wildly around in the darkness, hands
flailing for something concrete to hold on to.  His fingertips brushed
across glass, and he felt a bottle begin to tip.  With lightening
reflexes, Steve steadied the bottle then raised it to his lips.  He
took a few deep gulps, before the gagging impulse kicked in.  Steve
swallowed, attempting to bring his bile under control. *Remind me never
to leave an open bottle of alcohol beside the bed again.*  he
admonished himself.  He set the bottle on the floor and sank back into
the pillows.

Just how bad could it be?

Well, he was definitely drunk, but Steve wasn't sure if that was a pro
or a con.  They had Peake in custody - Pro, Steve decided.  No one on
the Relief had been hurt - Pro.  Slater had figured it out - Con, con,
con ...

Loxton couldn't bear it.  Of all people!  It had to be Slater ...

***

Slater pulled back the quilt and sat on the edge of the bed.  He could
feel his temper rising.

What thanks did he get?  He'd saved Loxton's life.  And Quinnan's too.
And still, Sierra 1 had ignored his calls, even when he was trying to
warn them, trying to tell them that Peake had set an ambush.  They'd
actually ignored him.

Slater gripped his knees to keep him from punching the wall - the wall
did not deserve it.

Nick could imagine what Steve was going through.  But it still did not
excuse Steve's actions.  Sierra 1 had received his transmissions, Nick
was sure of that.  But they'd ignored him.   He could have been
injured, he could have been in real trouble - and they'd ignored him.

"Gits" whispered Nick.

He'd gone all out.  He'd realised that it was definitely Peake who
wanted revenge.  Revenge on the policeman who had forced him off the
road, and anyone else in uniform while he was at it.
Peake did not care, hell, he probably wasn't entirely sure about what
he was doing.  He was just a kid, he'd only nicked a couple of cars
before, and, as his sister said, it wasn't as if he was big time.

But he'd gone into a wall.  He'd been driven into the wall by Steve
Loxton.  And the rescue services had to cut his arm off to free him
from the car.

Nick wondered how he would have felt if it had been him.

Bad enough to drink heavily?  Definitely.  Angry enough to throw a
bottle at a passing police car?  Probably.  Hell, he was just about
angry enough to throw bottles at Loxton and Quinnan already.

Slater stood and scrambled into his tracksuit bottoms.  He could not
find the matching top and instead grabbed his jacket fleece.  It wasn't
as if it was an job interview.  All he wanted was an explanation.

***

Steve groaned as the door shook under some toerag's knocking.  He
grabbed his pillow, raised it over his head for a moment, then buried
his face in the mattress, bringing the pillow back down over his head.
"Go away." he muttered.

The knocking continued.

* They'll give up eventually. *  Steve promised himself.

***

Slater pounded on Loxton's door, becoming more angry with every hit.
"Who the hell does he think he is?"

***

Loxton threw the pillow aside and tried to gather his alcohol-addled
wits.

Someone seemed to be determined to batter their way into his room.
*Their mistake.  I'm not in the mood.*

He lumbered to his feet and crossed to the door.

***

As the door opened, Slater had to pull back his fist to avoid
connecting with Loxton's jaw.

"You!" Steve slurred.  "Should have known it was you.  What d'you
wan'?"

Slater recoiled as he smelt the alcohol on Loxton's breath, all his
clever speeches evaporating.

"Are you all right?"

Loxton made a great show of looking up and down the corridor.  "I was
perfectly fine until some bastard started banging on my door."

Slater sighed.  "You're drunk."

"Give the proby a prize!"  Loxton sing-songed into the corridor.

"I'm not a probationer anymore." Slater declared.  "And you need help."

Loxton snorted.  "Not from you!"

"I'm all you've got." Slater said.  He gestured back towards Steve's
room.  "May I?"

Loxton blinked uncertainly, but Slater was already over the threshold.
"Just like you.  Pushy, pushy, pushy."

"What d'you mean ?" Nick asked, genuinely interested.

Steve pushed the door shut and fumbled with the chain.  "I mean pushy."
He turned away and stumbled towards the bed.

"I'm not pushy.  Not unless I have to be."

"Exactly!"

Steve collapsed, half on the bed, half off it.  Slater moved to catch
him, but Steve waved him off.  "I'm fine."  he snapped, "Just tired."

"Yeah, tired and emotional" said Slater, using the infamous euphemism
of the press.  He swung Steve's legs back onto the bed and covered him
with the quilt.

Loxton turned his head away, eyes already closing.  "Why couldn't he
just stop?"

Slater took a ragged breath.

He'd come here to have it out with Loxton - he had wanted to know why
they'd ignored him when he'd called on them directly.  He'd been ready
for an argument, even a fight, and what had he got?

Someone more damaged than he had been.

Nick sadly looked down on his sleeping colleague.  *So much for nothing
to say.*  He bent down and plucked the whisky bottle from the floor,
sloshing the dregs around.  "And this doesn't help."  His eyes widened
as he took in the low level.  *For Christ's sake, Steve!  Hope it
wasn't full when you started!*  He capped the bottle and put it away
out of harm's reach, then turned back to the bed.  Coherent
conversation was definitely not an option.

Loxton was flat on his back, face twitching.

Slater glanced back at the bottle, then towards Steve.  *What if he
throws up?*  He shook his head and reached for Loxton, attempting to
turn him onto his side.  But Loxton was having none of it.  An arm
snaked out catching Slater a glancing blow on the chin.  He stumbled
back in surprise.  "Suit yourself," Nick growled.  He turned away and
made for the door.  He had his hand on the door knob when he glanced
back one final time.  His shoulders slumped.  *Can't leave him like
this!*  His hand dropped from the door handle and he moved into the
room.  He cleared a pile of car magazines off a chair and settled down.
Loxton hadn't even opened his eyes.  It was going to be a long night
...

***
Loxton was driving at high speed, throwing the car through the turns,
more instinctual than technical.  The car seemed to be an extension of
his body - a blink and he was turning the steering wheel, a breath and
he was down-shifting the gear stick for the corner, a feral smile and
he was accelerating again.  He could feel the adrenaline rushing
through his body.  It didn't get any better than this ...

Quinnan's voice kept up a steady monotone above the sound of the
engine, relaying their position to base.  Both of them winced as the
Rover sped through a red light, missing a woman with a push-chair by
scant inches.

"You're drunk."  The voice came out of nowhere.

*What's he talking about?*

Loxton glanced towards Nick Slater in the passenger seat, not wondering
when and how Quinnan had disappeared.  "He's going to lose it."

The car in front of them turned into a side street, tyres screeching in
protest.  Loxton followed, seeing the street sign for Jamaica Lane
flashing neon.

"This ends now." he said aloud.  He edged the police car's nose up to
the bumper of the Rover in front.

"Steve! Wait!"  Loxton ignored Slater's cry of alarm, and yanked the
wheel hard to the side.

The Sierra swerved into the car, but Loxton kept control, falling back.
"That'll show him," he said with satisfaction.  He risked another
glance at the passenger side.  "He'll stop now.  He has to."

But the car was empty.

Loxton looked out the wind-screen in confusion.  The Rover he was
chasing bounced off one wall then the opposite one.

"Keep it together." Loxton pleaded.  But the driver hadn't heard.
Loxton watched in horror as the car skidded out of control, crashing
into the wall before rebounding again, then skidding forward on its
left side.

This was not happening.  It couldn't be.  But there was the car,
sliding forward on its own momentum, sliding forward towards Slater.

Loxton blinked, bewildered at Slater's sudden re-appearance.  "Get out
of the way!" Steve screamed.

Slater was oblivious.  He stood right in the path of the oncoming
vehicle, waving his arms for it to stop.

Loxton held his breath as he braked.  He skidded slightly as he pulled
up, but that didn't bother him.  He was more concerned about seeing if
Slater was hurt.  He scrambled from the car.

There was no one there.

Steve looked back at the wreckage of the Rover.  Slowly, unwillingly,
he moved towards it.  He could hear the engine as it cooled down.  He
opened the driver's door.

"Got me, didn't ya ?"  Slater's bloody  face stared out at him.  "Teach
you to ignore me."

"I didn't mean it.  You just didn't stop."  Steve begged.  He jerked as
he heard the high-speed whine of a chain saw.  He looked behind in
fear.

"Got to come off," the impersonal voice of the Fire Brigade officer
said.

"No!"

Loxton stumbled back against the wall.  The sound of the chain saw
intensified.  Slater looked placidly over the fireman's shoulder,
"Always preferred Lambs me'sel'."

Steve couldn't stand it.  This was all his fault.  How could he have
allowed this to happen?  Why didn't he listen to Slater's warning?
Steve's pride in his driving faded fast, lost beneath the sounds of
machinery whirring and bone cracking.

***

Nick Slater jerked in his chair.  He looked around in confusion.  Had
something woken him?   He looked towards the bed.

Loxton had shifted position.  Instead of lying on his back he was now
falling forward, his arm trailing on the threadbare carpet.

*At least he won't choke in that position.*

Gently, Slater pushed Loxton's arm back into the bed, making sure it
was covered with the quilt.  He sank back into the chair.

***

Loxton stood over the stretcher.

"Will he be all right ?"

Slater sat up as they loaded him into the ambulance.  "Never better !"
he cackled.  He waved his severed arm at Steve.  "See?  Didn't hurt.
But I'll hurt you!"

"It was an accident!"  Steve spluttered.  But Slater continued to wave
the dripping arm.  "Yeah, that's what they all say !"  He threw the
limb from the ambulance as the doors closed.

Steve could hear him laughing as the ambulance drove away.

Loxton looked down at the arm lying on the road.  He felt sick.

***

Slater turned uncomfortably in the chair.  He sat up checking Loxton's
position.

Steve's face was creased in a frown.  He was swallowing rapidly.

Nick recognised the tell-tale signs.  Frantically he looked around for
a container, and had to settle for a chipped coffee mug.  He dived
forward and held the mug under Loxton's lips.

Loxton's stomach muscles heaved, a thin stream of watery fluid splashed
into the cup.

Slater gently stroked the bowed head, "Keep going, get it all out."  A
second later he regretted the command as Steve continued to vomit into
the cup.

Slater straightened up and crossed to the wash-hand basin.  He dumped
the mug, running the cold tap at the same time.

"Sorry, Nick."  Steve mumbled.

Slater looked back.  "Don't worry about it."  He brought back a tooth
mug filled with cold water.  He squatted down beside Steve's drooping
head.  "Can you manage this?"

Loxton's stomach hitched again.  "Too soon." he gasped.

Slater grabbed for the coffee mug, but Loxton only swallowed quickly.
"Think that's it."

"Sure?"

"Nope."  Steve sank back miserably against the pillows.  He closed his
eyes, trying to ignore the sea sick feelings.  He was not sure which
was moving - him or the room.

"Neither" a soft voice promised.

"Uhh?"

"You're perfectly still.  So is the room."

"You think?"

"I know."

Steve tried to open his eyes, but only managed it half-way.  It was
enough to recognise Nick Slater kneeling by his bed.  Steve groaned.
"Don't you ever give up?" he muttered weakly.

"Only on Fridays" Nick returned.

Steve's eyes closed again.  It was easier to imagine himself still when
he didn't have the room's walls swaying from side to side, the same
went for the image of Nick Slater.  "Can't get away from you, can I?"
Steve mumbled.

"You tried hard enough this afternoon."

The words were muttered quietly, but Steve still flinched at the
bitterness in Slater's tone.

"I said I was sorry."

"You?  Sorry?" Nick bit his lip even as the words fell from his mouth.

Loxton forced his eyes open.  "You're right.  I'm not sorry."  He
struggled to sit upright, gave up,  and instead settled for clasping
Slater's face in his hands, forcing Nick to lean in close.

"I caused the crash," Loxton said with a desperate intensity.  Slater
could only blink stupidly at him.  "I thought it would be okay.  From
the way he was handlin' the car, I thought it was a professional thief.
He wasn't supposed to lose control.  He wasn't supposed to crash.  But
he did.  And I have to deal with that."  Loxton's fingers fell away
from Slater's cheek-bones, releasing  Nick's head.  Nick sank back on
his haunches.

"You think you are?" Nick questioned softly, nodding his head towards
the bottle.

Steve shrugged.  "It's better than seeing a shrink."

"Really."

Steve could hear the sarcasm in Nick's voice.

"Yeah, really," he growled.  Nick sighed and moved back.

"Whatever you say."  Slater rested the glass of water on the bed-side
cabinet.  "Steve .." he began.

"Don't start, Nick."  Loxton's voice was weary.  "I've been there, done
that."  His head turned away, "I'm sorry.  Of course I'm sorry.  But
what d'you want me to do?"  Steve's voice dropped even lower, "It's not
as if I can sew his arm back on is it?"  Loxton's eyes fell shut.

Slater gaped.  In his wildest dreams he'd never imagined Steve Loxton
being able to apologise for anything.

Loxton's eyes snapped open and his gaze locked with Slater's.

"And I'm sorry I nearly ran you over ..."  Nick shrugged.  "And I'm
sorry I ignored you."  Steve's voice faded as a healing sleep claimed
him, "I really didn't want to do that ..."

The eyes closed and Nick could hear even breathing.  Slowly he got to
his feet, and gently pulled the quilt over Steve's shoulder.  He paused
for a moment staring intently at his colleague.

"Too much." he whispered.  He could have been referring to the alcohol,
the psychological damage, or the implications of Loxton's last
statement, but Slater was not sure which.

Satisfied that Loxton was in no danger, Slater left the room, closing
the door softly behind him.

***

*How many policemen does it take to change a lightbulb?  Every soddin',
bleedin' one of them ...*  Loxton shuffled into the sectionhouse
kitchen, senses assaulted on all levels.

Sight - Quinnan in his boxers, perched on a chair on a table,
attempting to replace the starter on the strip-light ...  Loxton closed
his eyes against the vision.

Sound - Jeers, cat-calls, - "Need a longer reach, Dave!"  Loxton wished
he had the foresight to block his ears with cotton-wool.

Smell - Bacon frying ...  Steve's stomach rolled in disquiet.

Taste - Peppermint ... not quite disguising sour bile lingering in his
throat

Touch ...

Slater's touch.

"Didn't think you'd be up!"  Nick gestured at the impromptu
entertainment.  "Glad you didn't miss it!"

Loxton only nodded, shrugging off Nick's hand.  He headed for the
'fridge, one thought and one thought only in his mind - *Water, icy
cold water.  By the bucket-full*  He missed the fleeting look of
concern coupled with disappointment that crossed Slater's face.

***

Steve sat down at an unoccupied table and tried to tune out the sounds
of his colleagues.  *It's too damn early for bloody comedians.*  He
took small sips from his drink, reflecting that he had noone but
himself to blame for his current state.  By tonight he'd be back to
firing on all cylinders, all problems dealt with; Most of them anyway,
some of them maybe ... "You think you are?"  Slater's voice came from
his mind.  Steve sat up sharply, spilling the water from the glass.  He
looked up, straight into Slater's eyes, and their gazes locked.

***

Slater watched as Loxton sipped from his glass.  He was tempted to go
over to Steve.  See how he was feeling, maybe tease him a little about
over-indulgence ...  But from the expression on Steve's face, Nick knew
he'd be on a hiding to nothing.  Steve Loxton did not need Nick Slater
to point out the obvious.  He was about to look away when Steve jerked
and looked up, catching and holding his gaze.  *That's practically a
RSVP.*  Nick moved to join his colleague.

***

Hurriedly Loxton lowered his eyes.  *Oh God, he's coming over.*  *You
did say he never gives up.* another part of his mind answered.

***

"How's the head?"  Slater was glad that things had quietened down
enough for him to ask the question softly, although the unforgiving
lighting was doing nothing for Steve's complexion.  He looked like a
poster child for the Dangers of Drink.

"How d'you think?"  Steve mumbled, still not looking at him.

"Like a land-mine went off just above your eye-brows?"

Chirpy.  Slater sounded chirpy.  Chirpier than a bloody Starling on the
first day of Spring.  Loxton dragged his eyes back up to Slater's face,
disdain oozing from every pore.

"Ah, there he is!"  Slater chuckled.  "I was beginning to think that
the caring, sharing Steve Loxton I know and love was gone forever!"

"Don't push it," Steve growled as he took another sip of his water.

"Well, you said I was pushy," said Nick lightly, his heart contracting
slightly.

"So I did."  Loxton's expression softened.  "But then, only when you
need to be."  Steve smiled at Nick, drained his glass and eased his way
from the kitchen.

***

Nick could not stop himself watching Steve's figure as he headed back
to his room.  He grabbed for his mug of tea wishing there was something
stronger in it.  He let the hot liquid fall down his throat, almost
gagging as his mouth heated up.  The movement was enough to bring his
eyes up to the level of the back of Steve's head.

***

Loxton turned.  Some sixth sense told him that Slater would still be
watching him.  Loxton smiled in triumph and winked.

***

Slater glanced away and by the time he looked back the corridor was
empty.  He swallowed and fought to bring his heart rate under control.
He grinned happily to himself.  Maybe Loxton wasn't such a bad guy
afterall.

THE END