Title:            Untitled
Author pseudonym: Panda
Pairing:          Stringer / Loxton
Rating:           PG-13 – pre-slash
Spoilers:         Set immediately after the episode "Trivial
                  Pursuits" (Feb 93)
Warning:          Implied child abuse…  Do not read if this offends.

Disclaimers:      Characters mentioned belong to Thames / Pearson.


= = = = =
Untitled
= = = = =

Damn you Reg Hollis, I think to myself as I sidle slowly down
the corridor of the section-house.  I’m taking my time in the
vain hope that by the time I reach my destination I will know
what I am doing.  The pessimist in me tells me that I don’t
have a prayer, that I will probably stick my foot in it and
that it is my own silly fault for letting Reg get to me.  I’m
a relatively happy-go-lucky person by nature but in this
instance I am inclined to believe my pessimistic side.

"It’s your duty as Fed Rep."  "I think you have to do it."
"Maybe you don’t take the role seriously."  Reg’s snide
comments ring in my ears as I walk.  My favourite being,
"Right now he probably needs a shoulder to cry on."  Shoulder
to cry on?  I’d nearly laughed in Reg’s face.  Shoulder to
gnaw on would be more like it.  I doubt I’ll even get through
the door let alone get in shoulder patting distance.  Quite
frankly I’m of the opinion that if I merely get the door
slammed in my face then I’ll be doing all right.

The comment that did it - as I’m sure Reg knew it would - was,
"Now, If I were still Fed Rep…"  He didn’t even need to say
anything else.  "Fine," I’d muttered through clenched teeth,
"If I’m not seen in the morning you’d better arrange a search
party."  I then stalked out of the kitchen, a picture of
determination, until I was out of his sight and then I started
to dawdle.

Now, much to my disgust, I’m nearly there.  I can see the door
to his room and it seems to be beckoning to me mockingly.
There’s no light coming out from under it which leads me to
think that he’s in bed.  A reprieve!  Excellent, I immediately
think and am about to sneak off to my own room when something
stops me.  For some reason I suddenly feel as though I am
being watched.  This surprises me for all of thirty seconds
until I remember Reg.  I almost laugh.  Without even having to
turn around I’m positive that Reg is at the end of the
corridor watching me.

I now feel caught between a rock and a hard place.  On one
hand I have Reg just dying to get some ammunition in his, ‘I’m
really the best Fed Rep you could have’, campaign and on the
other hand I have the prospect of getting Steve Loxton out of
bed.  Unfortunately my favoured option of disappearing in a
puff of smoke is simply not going to happen.

Shit.  I truly wish I was safely in bed.  Neither option has
any great positives.  It’s not that I don’t like Steve, I do,
it’s just that I know for a fact that he isn’t going to
appreciate my presence.  More to the point, he is not going to
appreciate the few lame words of advice I’m going to attempt
to offer.

Still, the prospect of being on the receiving end of Steve’s
admittedly hot temper seems to be vaguely preferable to having
to placate the rest of the nick after they hear from Reg that
I allegedly bottled it.  Truly, there are times when I wonder
what makes Reg Hollis tick.

Standing straight and squaring my shoulders in order to give
Reg as good a performance as possible, I knock loudly on
Steve’s door.  Not surprisingly there is no response and I
have to repeat my action.  The second knock is successful and
a light appears under the door.  Sounds of slow movement begin
to emanate from within the room.  In a moment of extreme
paranoia I tell myself that with his mood will be worsening
with each step closer he takes.

I want to step back from the door but am too aware of Reg’s
eyes on me to move.  Eventually the door opens and Steve pokes
his head out and, as suspected, scowls at me.  "What do you
want?"

Good question.  An obvious question even.  None-the-less a
question that, thanks to Reg Hollis - Super Sleuth, I suddenly
don’t have a prepared response to.  Without pausing to let
rationality stop me, I push past Steve and mutter at him that
unless he wants a visit from Reg, he’d better let me in.

Steve, who I assume had less than two minutes ago been asleep,
hasn’t a hope against my sudden desperation.  He steps back
more in self preservation than in agreement.  Quickly I shut
the door behind me and find myself standing, flat footed, in
his room.  Steve is still scowling at me.  I try to ignore the
fact that if by chance he hadn’t been in a bad mood at being
woken up, he would now be mightily pissed off at being shoved
backwards into his room.

I stare at Steve as a thousand and one unsuitable things to
say fly around my head. He’s wearing navy blue cotton pyjama
bottoms and a faded green t-shirt.  Unimpressed expression
aside, he looks tired and dishevelled from bed.  "Get you out
of bed, did I?"  The words are out of mouth before I can stop
them.  They seem to hang in the air as Steve’s expression
gives way to sheer amazement.  He looks at me and slowly
shakes his head.

"Can I help you, Barry?"  Sarcasm positively drips off his
tongue.  I take the time to yet again mentally curse Reg
before I answer.  "Ah…  Reg… Ah… *I* thought as Fed Rep that
maybe you might have needed to talk to someone about what
happened today."  I finish hurriedly and wait for the
outburst.

I don’t have to wait long.  "Talk to someone?  Why, pray tell,
would I want to talk to someone?  In case it has escaped your
attention I was, note past tense, asleep.  Does that to you
say I needed to talk to someone?"

Wonderful.  I’ve now managed to really tick him off.  Steve
glares at me, arms folded across his chest, waiting for a
response.  I know the longer I take the angrier he’ll get so I
sprout the first thing that comes into mind.  "I just thought
that, as being held at gun-point can be a rather disturbing…"
I don’t get to finish as he interrupts me.

"Rather disturbing?  Rather fucking disturbing?  Christ,
Barry, don’t overestimate or anything."  Steve punctuates this
with a snort and a few more shakes of his head.  He opens his
mouth as if to continue then appears to think better of it.
Turning, he walks over to the window and presents his back to
me.

I sigh, glance behind me in fond farewell to the door and
prepare to batten down the hatches.  Rationality departs
without so much as a swan song as I walk over to Steve and
place both of my hands on his shoulders.  The action is meant
to be comforting and I am totally unprepared for the reaction
it provokes.

Steve’s whole body stiffens and he hisses, "Don’t touch me!"
as he wriggles out from beneath my touch.  Quickly moving out
of my reach, he glowers at me.  He now appears livid.

I stare at him as my confusion reaches new levels.  I really
have no idea what to do.  "Just don’t touch me."  Steve
repeats himself and looks at me as if I’d just offered him my
services as a rent boy.  Maybe…  I begin to wonder what Steve
thinks of me and my confusion gives way to slight anger.

"I thought you were joking earlier, but obviously I was
wrong."  The contempt in my voice nearly matches his.

Steve looks perplexed at my change of tone.  "What are you
talking about?"

"That comment in the car about…" I can barely bring myself to
say the words.  "Shirt-lifters.  I didn’t think you meant it
so derogatively but now… now I reckon you did."

"Well, I didn’t."  Steve answers defensively.  His hands are
on his hips and he is glowering at me again.

"Did too."  I glower back at him.  "In fact, I bet you’re
homophobic."

"Homophobic now?"  He laughs.  A short, startled laugh that
echoes throughout the room.  "If I was that homophobic do you
honestly think that I’d work with you?"

Oh my God, where did that come from?  My anger crumbles and I
stare numbly at the floor.  An absurd part of me almost hopes
that Reg is listening outside of the door as he’d really have
something to talk about now.

"Barry?"  Steve doesn’t move but his voice is quiet and a
quick glance up from the floor shows that his stance is more
relaxed.

"How’d you know?"  I whisper, finally managing to find my
voice.  I’d always been so careful to hide my sexuality from
the job that Steve’s declaration that he knew simply knocks me
for six.  I can hardly believe it.

"Just knew.  Somehow.  I may be ignorant of a lot of things
but with you I’ve always known."  He pauses before continuing
a little more defensively.  "Don’t worry though, I’m not going
to tell anyone.  What you do in your spare time is your
business, not mine."

Sighing, I drag my eyes away from the floor and try to meet
his,  I succeed for a moment before he looks away.  "Thank
you."  Using extreme will power I quash an insane desire to
hug Steve.  I think if I did he would probably flatten me.
Instead I let curiosity take a hold of me.  "Why’d you react
the way you did when I touched you then?"

An expression that clearly reads as ‘none of your business’
crosses Steve’s face but he replies anyway.  "I… I don’t like
to be touched when I’m not expecting it."  This is said in a
way that doesn’t invite further comment.

I decide to change tact.  "If your not homophobic - and I
believe that you aren’t - then why make that shirt-lifters
comment at all?"

"What is this, Barry?  Twenty questions?  Because if it is,
I’m not in the mood."  I can’t tell whether it is because
Steve is tired, or annoyed or if there is something else that
is suddenly making him sound - and look - uncertain.

"Please?  I just want to know."  I think I’ve blown it once
and for all when Steve suddenly walks past me and sits on the
edge of the bed.  But no.  After running his fingers through
his hair and sighing, he answers.

"I just didn’t like what I saw and I mustn’t have been
thinking that clearly, okay? I didn’t mean it in relation to
you, or even them for that matter… I… I was just angry."
Steve stops, sees me looking at him expectantly and sighs
again.  When he next speaks he sounds agitated.   "I just
can’t stand seeing victims…  Victimisation of any sort makes
me feel ill.  Okay?  Is that what you wanted to hear?"

I don’t respond.  Not knowing what I wanted to hear, I can’t
answer that.  I’m a little surprised by Steve’s reasoning
though.  It almost sounds to me like he’s drawing from past
experiences and, well, he’s never struck me as the sort to
have ever been a victim.  With nothing to lose, I seem
compelled to make the following comment.  "You sound like you
could be talking from experience"

Steve winces.  He doesn’t respond for what seems like ages and
like me earlier, stares at the floor.  Finally he whispers,
"Maybe," and my surprise rises a notch.  I know I could be
playing with fire here but my curiosity - and I hate to say
it, disbelief - is well and truly alive and I push on
regardless.  "You?  A victim?  I don’t believe it"  My words
come out too derisive and I cringe when Steve looks up at me.
Instead of looking angry, he suddenly looks very, very
vulnerable.  I tell myself futilely that it’s the light and
not unshed tears that are making his eyes bright.

"It’s a bit different when you are nine years old…  You don’t
really have any choice in the matter…"  Steve’s voice is just
above that of a whisper.

Oh fuck.  What the fuck have I bulldozed my way into here…  I
desperately search for something to say and, as usual tonight,
come up pathetically short.  "Look, Steve…  I’m sorry…"  I
know I sound lame but don’t know what else to say.

Steve just looks at me, blinks a few times and slowly shakes
his head.  "Don’t apologise.  You have nothing to be sorry
about.  It was a long time ago.  I shouldn’t have said
anything."  He won’t look at me and I begin to feel awkward.
Standing up, I’m in the dominant position and this adds to my
discomfort.  I decide to take a chance.  Moving quickly,
before nerves or common sense get the better of me, I go over
to the bed and sit down next to Steve.  He looks momentarily
startled, then realises that I’m still outside his personal
space and goes back to staring at the floor.

"Do you want to talk about it?"  I suspect that unconsciously
at least he must want to get it off his chest.  I also feel
that as I appear to be the cause of the confession it is only
right for me to hang in there.

Steve surprises me.  He doesn’t protest like I fully expected
him to.  Without raising his eyes he starts to speak, his
voice so quiet that I have to strain my ears in order to hear
him clearly.

"I was nine when it started.  My father died when I was seven
and after two years of seeking solace through the bottom of a
whisky bottle my mother remarried.  At first I was indifferent
to him.  He wasn’t my father so why should I care?"  Steve
pauses, takes a few deep breaths and continues.  "The first
time…  The first time I was so petrified that I was absolutely
helpless.  He was so big and smelly and… and *rough*…"
Abruptly he stops, buries his head in his hands and breathes
raggedly.  I’m torn between wanting to comfort him and just
leaving him to it.

Going from past experiences with Steve, I decide to leave him
to it.  It works.  After a brief period he pulls himself
together sufficiently to go on.  "It went on for two years,
until I was eleven.  Then…  then I was given a Swiss Army
Knife for my birthday and that was it.  He came in, drunk as
usual and I pulled the knife on him.  Told him that if he ever
so much as looked at me again I was going to cut it off…  It
worked.  He was gutless enough to believe that I’d do it."  He
looks up at me shyly through tear-stained lashes and adds, "I
slept with that knife under my pillow until I left to join the
army."

"Oh, Steve."  I murmur pathetically, wishing desperately that
I could do something - anything - to take away the hurt.  It
makes sense now why he is so rabidly against, even more so
than any other officer, child abuse of any form.  I want to
ask him whether he ever did anything about it but don’t really
think that it is my place to ask.  Deciding to be as tactful
as possible, I request his permission to ask the question.

He slowly shrugs his shoulders and replies, "Why not?  There’s
nothing else to really add."

"Did you ever do anything about it?  You know, tell someone
or, oh!  I don’t know, seek revenge or something like that?"

"Tell anyone?"  He snorts.  "No.  There was no-one to tell.  I
was the youngest by ten years and both of my sisters had
already left home.  As for my mother… I suspect she knew and
simply didn’t want to do anything that may upset the status
quo…"  Steve pauses before spitting out, "They’re still
together.  Isn’t that just fucking precious?  I haven’t seen
them for years and don’t care if I never see them again."

I chose to keep silent in the hope that he will continue on
his own accord.  After about a minutes or so silence, he does.
"As for revenge?  Not.  Not really.  I… I almost… I was going
to… but found that I couldn’t.  The night before I left for
the army I came out of the pub and started to walk home.  I
soon discovered that he was weaving his way along in front of
me and contemplated simply having a go.  The ideal opportunity
presented itself when he stopped to take a leak down an alley
way but I just couldn’t do it.  He disgusted me so much that I
didn’t want to lower myself to his level…"

Steve finishes and placing both hands on the bed, leans back.
He looks exhausted and his expression clearly reads that as
far as he is concerned the subject is now close to being
finalised.  Shut away to be forgotten about again.  He half
smiles at me.  A tired smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
"I’ve never told anyone any of this…  It’s not something I
care to dwell on.  I bet you’re sorry for ever knocking on my
door…"

"No."  I answer slowly with a shake of my head.  I nearly add
that it is better out than in but thankfully realise that I
would sound like a text book and manage to keep quiet.
Deciding that it is probably for the best to retreat and leave
Steve with what is left of his dignity, I dig around in my
pocket for some change.  "Anyway, I still have to pay you for
the ice-cream, remember?"

Steve looks at me blankly and then laughs.  An actual real
sounding laugh.  "Forget it.  Let’s face it, whatever I may
think of counsellors you’ve probably just saved from spending
a small fortune on them in the future.  If you’re lucky I
might buy you another one tomorrow."

"Yeah?"  I smile before turning serious again.  "You can trust
me, Steve.  I won’t say a word to anyone about any of this.
Nor will I ever raise the subject."  I feel as though I have
to say this.

"I know.  I trust you."  Without getting up he suddenly lifts
his feet off the floor and wriggles back under the duvet.
Subject well and truly finished.  Case closed, you can go now
Barry, is what it feels like.

I don’t really want to leave him but nor do I want to appear
as though I am pressuring him.  I turn to leave.  "I suppose
I’ll go now…"  I pause and then blurt out, "Are you sure
you’ll be okay?"  I immediately regret this and open my mouth
to apologise profusely when Steve beats me to it.

"I’ll be okay, probably…  I have no choice really but, Barry…
you can stay… If you’d like…"  Steve sounds unsure of himself
and I stare at him dumbfounded.  "Maybe… I don’t think I want
to be alone tonight."

My voice comes out as a stammer.  "Are you sure?"

"Yes.  As I said, I trust you and I wouldn’t say that if I
didn’t mean it…"  I believe him.  Of all the people at Sun
Hill, Steve is the most reliable when it comes to meaning what
he says.  "Come on, I want to get some sleep."  He moves over
to the far edge of the bed and flings the duvet back.  "I
don’t bite,"  he adds when I don’t move.

I doubt the evening could get any more peculiar if it tried.
"You do of course realise that if Reg catches me coming out of
your room in the morning that the entire nick will know within
ten minutes…"  I give him one last chance to change his mind.

"Good."  Steve yawns.  "We’ll do it as an experiment then - to
see how gullible Reg really is."

It is now obvious to me that he doesn’t care in the slightest.
With this is mind I turn off the bedside lamp, strip down to
t-shirt and boxers and get in alongside Steve.  He shoves a
pillow at me.  The bed is a wide single and I think to myself
that if I don’t move a muscle all night I can probably succeed
in not touching Steve at all.  I have no idea what he wants
and I have no desire to overstep boundaries, especially not
after what he’s just told me.  He yawns again, rolls over onto
his side, with his back to me and effectively solves my
dilemma.

"Hold me."

It comes out as a whispered plea.  I have no choice but to
obey.  Surrendering myself, I roll over onto my side and drape
my arm over Steve.  Pushing back onto me, he sighs contentedly
and promptly falls asleep.

I have no idea how much confessing has taken out of him and am
glad that he trusts me enough to not only unburden himself,
but to also share his bed with me.  I also have no idea what
is going to happen in the morning when Steve wakes up and
remembers everything.  My paranoia attempts to bubble to the
surface but with a determined effort it I quash it.  What will
be will be.  There is no point in pre-empting anything.

After tonight I doubt very much whether anything Steve could
say would surprise me.  The comfort I feel curled around his
slim body soon overwhelms me and I too fall asleep.  My last
conscious thought being that I wondered whether Reg would
count this as a proper Fed Rep duty…

~end~