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slusheeduck · 1 month

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Dubious Associates

Sid's always had a feeling there was a little more than just antagonistic, insufferable lawfulness when it comes to how Inspector Sullivan feels about him, and he's proven right exactly twice: once under extreme duress, and once right as they say goodbye.

Chapter 1: Evidence

“709, Frankie the Fence. I made the arrest.”

Sid half-listened as Sullivan searched. Too much talking for a good job, but still. Not like he couldn’t make good use of his own time in here.

“Well, well, what do we make of these?” Sullivan held up a pair of shoes, a smug smile on his face. Sid glanced over them, unimpressed.

“Frankie the Fence has size ten feet.”

“Frankie the Fence is a woman.”

The sheer, almost manic victory in Sullivan’s usually dour face might have been amusing, charming even (if Sullivan could ever be charming). But not in an evidence room where, Sid was pretty sure the inspector hadn’t registered this yet, they were breaking and entering. He blew out a breath, cheeks puffing out.

“Come on,” he said, voice low. “We have not got time for this.”

All at once, Sullivan popped back up. His eyes went to Sid, then to the evidence shelf. He was a sharp one, for a copper, so by the time their eyes met again, it was clear he’d picked up on Sid’s own bit of shopping.

“Put that back.”

Sid’s gaze didn’t so much as waver, even as Sullivan’s eyes swept down to the back in his hand before looking back to the shelf. (Funny, how this inspector’s once-overs always looked more interested in the whole of him than Valentine’s ever had.) But when Sullivan’s eyes traveled back to his, he let out the smallest hint of frustration as he held the bag up.

“This evidence will get me six months in the poke. The way I see it, you owe me,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice low enough to keep from being heard.

“The debt doesn’t extend to the theft of your evidence,” Sullivan said through his teeth.

Sid’s eyes casually went down to the shoes. “Says the man holding stolen evidence in his hands.”

Sullivan stood up straighter, puffing up with his usual righteous indignation. It’s funny, normally, when Sid can get under his skin, but right now it’s unfortunate, because said indignation made him loud. “The distinction being, I’m innocent and you were caught fair and square. Put it back.”

There wasn’t much room to get in Sullivan’s face back here, considering they were already practically nose to nose, but Sid did try to get the air of it as he said, “Or what, you’ll raise the alarm?”

Sullivan’s chin jutted out, the sharp, stilted inhale that typically came before a self-righteous screed escaping him. While this would normally be an excellent time to rile the inspector up to boiling point, this was, in fact, a job, and keeping a cool head was essential, even as he could feel Sullivan’s frustration radiating through the whole room.

But before he could get so much as a word out, a voice floated in from the other side of the door—one Sid didn’t recognize, but given the wide-eyed, panicked look that crossed Sullivan’s face, he could pretty confidently guess it was Trueman. (He wasn’t the Father, of course, but contrary to popular belief, he could, in fact, put two and two together.)

“Open the door, Sergeant. I think I heard voices.”

They both moved quick. Sullivan turned, tucking the shoes against his chest. Sid put the evidence back where he’d grabbed it, lip curling in frustration. He might’ve pulled it off if Sullivan hadn’t—no time for that, not with keys jingling on the other side of the door. He dove down to sit beside Sullivan; the inspector had tucked himself up around the corner. Not a great hiding spot, so Sid merely tucked his legs up and waited for the inevitable.

“No-one signed the key out. I’ll take a look around, sir.”

That was Goodfellow. Not too bright, but decently lived up to his name when he wasn’t toadying after Sullivan. As Sid settled back, he had to admit to being a little curious what would happen when they were caught. Clearly Sullivan was, too, given the way he was practically shaking beside him.

It was tempting, of course, to sneer at the state of him, but Sid kept his gaze down. He didn’t like the inspector, let’s get that clear. But…well, honor among thieves, he supposed, and Sullivan—at least for this moment—was in with him. And yeah, it was a little gratifying to see the inspector on his side of the law for once. But he was a prideful man, and this was a hell of a fall. Now, he was frightened, desperate—Sid was careful not to look directly at him, to let him keep a small shred of his pride, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sullivan clutching the shoes like a teddy to his chest.

Nah, he couldn’t kick him while he was down. If they got out of this, it’d ruin the fun of riling him up. Besides, Sid could remember all too well how he’d done on his first job—he’d been just as spooked.

Footsteps came round the corner, and Sid finally lifted his eyes to look up at Goodfellow. Well, jig was up. Both he and Sullivan stared up at the sergeant in silence, the slightest noise from beside him suggesting the inspector was mouthing something. Goodfellow stared down at them for what felt like a lifetime.

“All clear, sir,” he finally called, sparing one last glance to Sullivan before he made his way out.

When the door shut behind him, Sullivan sagged down in relief, practically going limp against Sid as he relaxed. Sid kept his eyes on the door, body tense as he listened for their footsteps to fade away. Once it was silent again, he caught Sullivan’s head turning to look at him. Sid met his eyes, finally. He was about to say they ought to get up and moving, but then Sullivan lunged at him.

His hand scrambled against the side of Sid’s head, catching his ear before going to his neck, and he tugged the other man forward to crash their mouths together, all teeth and adrenaline. Somewhat shamefully, considering his reputation, it took Sid a solid ten seconds to realize that the inspector wasn’t attacking him; he was kissing him.

This...wasn't as much of a surprise as Sid thought it should be. After all, there had been looks, and he'd always had a feeling there was something more than sheer morality that made him Sullivan's favorite target. But all the same...things suddenly got a whole lot more interesting.

Not that this was the time, though. It took a great deal of strength—literally, Sullivan had a hell of a grip—to pull himself back. Sullivan’s eyes were bright, and his chest heaved as he gripped Sid’s collar. Sid kept a hand on his chest, just in case he dove in again.

“We need to get out of here,” he whispered, voice clipped and nose still brushing Sullivan’s. He nodded to the window. “You go down first, and keep your head down.”

Sullivan swallowed, throat bobbing, and he seemed to come back down to earth. He nodded, then carefully stole to the window. Sid followed, watching the inspector go down before he followed. He shut the window after them—the crowbar had left it a little worse for the wear, but hopefully Sullivan would be back in business by the time anyone noticed.

Sid was quick to pull down the ladder, silently directing Sullivan to dump out the water from their cover bucket. He watched him as he did, noting the way he shook. Ooh, not good. He wasn’t handling this well—granted, the kiss kind of gave that away. As Sullivan turned back around, he nodded for him to follow after him.

Now, time for a detour.

He, of course, knew all the best ways to slip out of sight. So, with a sharp whistle, he directed Sullivan down a narrow alleyway, ladder just able to pass through with them. No windows on either side, and hardly noticeable provided they didn’t make much noise. All at once, he stopped and propped the ladder against the wall.

“What are you doing?” Sullivan hissed, voice shaking. “We need to get back to the presbytery. I need to figure out what Finley’s shoes are…”

And time to help get him grounded.

Sid was much smoother than the inspector had been, hand easily resting on the other man’s neck and thumb directing his jaw up for a deep kiss. This time, Sullivan froze, and Sid mentally cursed as the bucket went crashing to the cobblestone. But it certainly wasn’t enough to get either of them to stop.

Sullivan’s free hand gripped Sid’s collar again, tight enough to threaten to tear it, and he pushed into the kiss with all the dogged energy he’d had in the evidence room. Sid coaxed him back against the wall, one arm propped against it. Meanwhile, Sullivan’s teeth teased at Sid’s lip, tongue meeting his without a bit of hesitation.

All at once, he pulled back, breathing hard and eyes bright. “What are you doing?” he asked, belatedly.

“You were about to break. I’m getting your head on straight.” Sid paused. “Well, in a way.”

“I wasn’t about to break.”

“You’re a shit liar.” Sid’s head dove down, lips going to his jaw. “And anyway, you started it.”

Sullivan swallowed, head falling back. “It’s…adrenaline. That’s all.”

Sid snorted, right next to his ear. “Sure, tell yourself that. We can both pretend you haven’t been practically undressing me with your eyes every time you give me a once-over.” He gave the lobe of Sullivan’s ear a sharp bite—not as playful as he’d done with others, for obvious reasons, but the shuddering breath the inspector let out was very gratifying.

“This is illegal,” he finally whispered.

“Gonna arrest us yourself, then?” Sid murmured in his ear, then pulled back with a shit-eating smirk he couldn’t force down. “Oh, wait. Can’t do that right now, can you?”

Sullivan stared hard at him, then pushed forward. Sid fell back against the other wall as Sullivan dove down to his neck, biting and sucking at the skin like a man possessed. Sid, melting back, didn’t fight it in the least. Not only was it very nice, but he was pretty sure he’d seen less repression in all those priests-in-training at the Father’s old seminary.

Sullivan let out a frustrated grunt as he tried to work open Sid’s coveralls one-handedly, and he automatically brought up his other hand to get at the button. And that was when the shoe dropped—literally, in this case. He pulled back, startled back into the moment by the noise, and he stared up at Sid with pupils large enough to nearly swallow up the blue. They both breathed hard, staying still, but Sullivan finally ducked down to pick up the shoe.

“There’s something inside,” he said, trying not to sound breathless as he stood back up. Sid adjusted his collar as he watched him dig in the shoe, only to pull out a small slip of paper.

“What is it?” he asked, idly rubbing at his sure-to-be-bruising neck as Sullivan looked it over.

“Left luggage ticket,” Sullivan muttered. “For a briefcase.” He paused, eyes darting back and forth. “The expose, that must be it.” He looked up at Sid, holding the paper up. “And that briefcase is the key to my innocence.”

“Then we ought to get back to the presbytery,” Sid said, going to grab the ladder. “Might want to get yourself back into order; Mrs. M’s bound to notice otherwise, and that’s not a conversation you want to have.”

He glanced back at Sullivan, smiling a bit, but it faded as the inspector stiffly put the paper in his pocket. He cleared his throat, pointedly not looking at Sid as he smoothed his coat.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he said, voice quiet and short. He bent down to pick up the other shoe, and the familiar hard expression was back as he finally lifted his head. “You are being charged for theft when this is over, and I’ll be the one ensuring you go to prison. Like you deserve.”

An odd sort of pang went through Sid’s chest at that, and he stared at Sullivan for a moment before he let out a sharp breath. “And just when I thought we were chums,” he drawled out, then pushed past Sullivan to lead the way. “Keep your head down. I know a shortcut back.”

Funerals weren’t exactly Sid’s favorite thing, even less so when he didn’t know the deceased. But it did feel right to go to DC Albert’s. The kid had done a lot for this case, and paying his respects was the decent thing. And, for all of his faults (and there were plenty), Inspector Sullivan—reinstated and decked out with all his various medals and finery—seemed to recognize that too in the speech he gave. And, perhaps, he’d even turned over a new leaf; at least, that’s what Sid, Lady Felicia, and Mrs. McCarthy silently hoped for as he pulled Father Brown aside after the Mass. Sid was even playing with the idea of inviting him out for a pint to celebrate.

“I thought you’d like to know,” he said, voice low. “Sir Jeffrey Greensleeves has been charged with accessory to murder, and Chief Constable Busby with perverting the course of justice.”

“And Inspector Trueman?” Father Brown asked.

“Gone.”

“And that’s an end to this horrible business, I hope,” Mrs. M interjected, firm enough that any Illuminati within earshot would think twice before causing mischief.

Sullivan glanced over at her, then looked back to Father Brown. “There is something I’d like to say, Father. Grateful as I am for your assistance…”

Father Brown smiled.

“…nothing that’s happened will change my opinion of you…”

The smile faded.

“…as a somewhat dangerous and subversive influence. By rights…” Sullivan glanced over at the three huddled nearby. “…I could have you all arrested.”

“Go on, then,” Mrs. McCarthy challenged, but Sullivan was unswayed.

“If you imagine this will in any way color our future dealings, or that your meddling in police matters is any more welcome, you are sorely mistaken.”

“I see,” was all Father Brown said, placid as ever even though the disappointment was clear on his face. That alone was nearly enough to get Sid winding up his arm to knock those stupid medals right off of Sullivan’s chest. But then, the Father wouldn’t like it very much if he did. So he stayed put as Sullivan turned to walk off, having the audacity to tip his hat as he did.

“Well, that’s gratitude for you,” Lady F. said, more than loud enough for Sullivan to hear. But the inspector needed something a little more direct after pulling off a stunt like this to the dubious associates that had saved his hide.

Sid stepped forward, hands clasped—it was the only way he’d keep from popping Sullivan in his stupid jaw. All this work, all of their sticking their necks out, and this stupid blighter was still too goddamn proud to admit that he’d needed their help. Not to mention the evidence room, and the alley, and… “Yeah, thanks for nothing, inspector. Guess I’ll see you in court.”

Sullivan paused as Sid spoke. His head tilted slightly, and he slowly turned to face them again. Sid, chin lifted, waited for the reprimand, the gloating.

Sullivan met his eyes for a moment, and he shifted back and forth, legs restless as he wrung his gloves. Finally, he said, “I’ve been informed that due to an…administrative error, the evidence in question has been mislaid.” The words came out awkward and stilted—the bloke really could not lie to save his life. But Sid (and Lady Felicia, and Mrs. McCarthy, and Father Brown) were listening all the same. It took Sid a moment to register what exactly that meant, but Mrs. M’s big smile helped clue him in as Sullivan added, “Isn’t that right, Sergeant?”

Goodfellow stared.

“Sergeant.”

He caught on, too, and lived up to his name. “Oh! Right, sir. Yes, sir.”

“Which means,” Sullivan continued, ignoring Lady F.’s smirk, “we will be forced to drop all charges on this occasion.” His eyes locked on Sid’s, and Sid was careful not to smile as he fiddled with his own gloves. “But rest assured, Mr. Carter, we will not be nearly so careless in future.”

At that, Sid’s lips did turn up, just a bit, as he nodded, with one deep one added as a silent “Thank you”. Sullivan started to turn, keeping his eyes on Sid until he finally snapped his head forward.

“I want a full investigation on how this was allowed to happen, Sergeant. Heads will roll, mark my words,” he blustered. Oh, bless, he even included a little indignant shake of his gloves. Definitely laid on far too thick, but Sid was hardly going to complain about it as he shared a grin with the group.

And, maybe, he’d rethink buying Sullivan a drink next he saw him…as thanks, of course.

Chapter 2: Conclusion

#father brown #sid carter #inspector sullivan #sid/sullivan #NEVER THOUGHT I'D BE IN THESE TAGS BUT THAT'S WHAT INSOMNIA WILL DO TO YA #They should have kissed in the evidence room #I had to fix that #two-shot #missing scenes

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