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perpetual_motionTitle: Duty, of a Sort
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Law & Order UK
Pairing: Ronnie/Matt
Rating: PG
Summary: Matt, Ronnie, and a smidge of undercover.
Disclaimer: Lies and bullshit, as always.
Author's Notes: Did not find a Britishisms beta, but if you spot something, let me know.
Duty, of a Sort
By Perpetual Motion
“He frequents a club a dozen blocks from his flat,” Matt tells DI Chandler. “Apparently, he’s there most nights.”
“We’ve waited on his stoop for four days. He’s got no known associates, friends, or family,” Ronnie adds.
“I’m not sending you into a crowded club with a half-dozen PCs for one man,” Chandler states firmly. “One of you dress the part and go after him.”
“Shit,” Matt says before Ronnie even looks at him.
Ronnie laughs. “Don’t be so glum!” He pinches Matt’s cheek and chuckles again when Matt bats away his hand. “Be grateful to be young and pretty.”
Matt pulls a face. “Thanks,” he says, the venom running off his voice.
“I’ve an eye pencil, if you’re in need,” Chandler interjects.
Matt rolls his eyes and turns towards the door. “It’d be the wrong color,” He calls over his shoulder.
There’s a moment of silence in the office. “How would he—” Ronnie holds up a hand. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
Chandler’s laugh follows him out the door.
*
“Don’t you look the tart,” Ronnie quips when Matt walks out of the locker room.
“Shut it,” Matt says, pointing a finger. “This is above and beyond. Show a little respect.”
Ronnie looks Matt up and down. “Looks about the same to me.”
“This is what the kids where nowadays, old man,” Matt informs him.
Ronnie gives him a second look. The jeans are the same as is Matt’s watch, but his shirt is untucked, unbuttoned to the fourth button, and tissue-paper thin. Three drops of water, Ronnie thinks, and you could see straight through it. “Medal,” he says, tapping his own chest.
Matt reaches behind his neck and works the clasp on his St. Christopher medal. “Thanks, mate.”
“Might as well wear your badge flat on your forehead you forget that,” Ronnie says.
“Yeah, yeah,” Matt grouses. The clasp comes free, and Matt catches the necklace in his cupped hand. He re-clasps the chain and holds it out to Ronnie. “Best not have it on me.”
Ronnie takes the medal, warm from Matt’s hand, and tucks it into his pants pocket. “Don’t do anything stupid, yeah?”
“Course not,” Matt says, giving Ronnie a grin.
*
“What’d I say?”
Matt lifts the ice bag off his face and tries to glare at Ronnie. He grimaces. “Shut up.” He puts the ice bag back into place.
“I said—”
“Shut up,” Matt repeats. “My head’s pounding enough with you being an arse.”
“Wouldn’t be pounding quite so terribly if you hadn’t tripped over your own feet.”
“Fucking industrial club locations,” Matt mutters as Ronnie laughs. “A little pity, please. I’ve been injured in the line of duty.”
Ronnie sits on the edge of the bed and lifts the ice bag. He leans in and inspects the black eye that’s blooming from Matt’s brow to the middle of his cheek. “Maybe you should have kept the medal.”
Matt chuckles at that and sighs when Ronnie replaces the bag. “Then I’d have gotten punched when I walked in the door.”
“You got him,” Ronnie says, pride underlying his voice.
“Face still hurts.”
Ronnie reaches into his pocket and pulls out the St. Christopher medal. He places it on the nightstand and kisses Matt as he straightens up again. “Terribly hard life you lead. Being a copper. Falling over your own feet. Devoted partner to nurse your wounds.”
“As long as I let you laugh at me.”
“Small price, I’m sure,” Ronnie says.
Matt closes his eyes and smiles. “It’s all right.”
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Law & Order UK
Pairing: Ronnie/Matt
Rating: PG
Summary: Matt, Ronnie, and a smidge of undercover.
Disclaimer: Lies and bullshit, as always.
Author's Notes: Did not find a Britishisms beta, but if you spot something, let me know.
Duty, of a Sort
By Perpetual Motion
“He frequents a club a dozen blocks from his flat,” Matt tells DI Chandler. “Apparently, he’s there most nights.”
“We’ve waited on his stoop for four days. He’s got no known associates, friends, or family,” Ronnie adds.
“I’m not sending you into a crowded club with a half-dozen PCs for one man,” Chandler states firmly. “One of you dress the part and go after him.”
“Shit,” Matt says before Ronnie even looks at him.
Ronnie laughs. “Don’t be so glum!” He pinches Matt’s cheek and chuckles again when Matt bats away his hand. “Be grateful to be young and pretty.”
Matt pulls a face. “Thanks,” he says, the venom running off his voice.
“I’ve an eye pencil, if you’re in need,” Chandler interjects.
Matt rolls his eyes and turns towards the door. “It’d be the wrong color,” He calls over his shoulder.
There’s a moment of silence in the office. “How would he—” Ronnie holds up a hand. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
Chandler’s laugh follows him out the door.
*
“Don’t you look the tart,” Ronnie quips when Matt walks out of the locker room.
“Shut it,” Matt says, pointing a finger. “This is above and beyond. Show a little respect.”
Ronnie looks Matt up and down. “Looks about the same to me.”
“This is what the kids where nowadays, old man,” Matt informs him.
Ronnie gives him a second look. The jeans are the same as is Matt’s watch, but his shirt is untucked, unbuttoned to the fourth button, and tissue-paper thin. Three drops of water, Ronnie thinks, and you could see straight through it. “Medal,” he says, tapping his own chest.
Matt reaches behind his neck and works the clasp on his St. Christopher medal. “Thanks, mate.”
“Might as well wear your badge flat on your forehead you forget that,” Ronnie says.
“Yeah, yeah,” Matt grouses. The clasp comes free, and Matt catches the necklace in his cupped hand. He re-clasps the chain and holds it out to Ronnie. “Best not have it on me.”
Ronnie takes the medal, warm from Matt’s hand, and tucks it into his pants pocket. “Don’t do anything stupid, yeah?”
“Course not,” Matt says, giving Ronnie a grin.
*
“What’d I say?”
Matt lifts the ice bag off his face and tries to glare at Ronnie. He grimaces. “Shut up.” He puts the ice bag back into place.
“I said—”
“Shut up,” Matt repeats. “My head’s pounding enough with you being an arse.”
“Wouldn’t be pounding quite so terribly if you hadn’t tripped over your own feet.”
“Fucking industrial club locations,” Matt mutters as Ronnie laughs. “A little pity, please. I’ve been injured in the line of duty.”
Ronnie sits on the edge of the bed and lifts the ice bag. He leans in and inspects the black eye that’s blooming from Matt’s brow to the middle of his cheek. “Maybe you should have kept the medal.”
Matt chuckles at that and sighs when Ronnie replaces the bag. “Then I’d have gotten punched when I walked in the door.”
“You got him,” Ronnie says, pride underlying his voice.
“Face still hurts.”
Ronnie reaches into his pocket and pulls out the St. Christopher medal. He places it on the nightstand and kisses Matt as he straightens up again. “Terribly hard life you lead. Being a copper. Falling over your own feet. Devoted partner to nurse your wounds.”
“As long as I let you laugh at me.”
“Small price, I’m sure,” Ronnie says.
Matt closes his eyes and smiles. “It’s all right.”
