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Worlds Collide

Douglas FitzJames

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OOC: Continued from here and here.


"You're taking your life in your hands with that, you know half these places break health codes." Constable Hale observed, sitting sideways on his parked patrol bike and watching Douglas lick the juice from a late night kebab off his long fingers.


"Haena kilted me yet."* Corporal FitzJames pointed out laconically, wiping his hands on his trousers.


"I'm sure there's a rule somewhere that says you're only allowed to eat those things when drunk." Hale added dryly.


"I kin get drunk if ye like."** Douglas replied easily. Both bike cops were often on patrol together were and accustomed to each other's company.


"Yeah, the Sargeant would love that." Hale drawled. Douglas had turned up to work drunk once, and the verbal butt-kicking Whitehurst had given him had been the talk of the station. He'd only done it the once. Of course, turning up hung-over was an entirely different matter. That was almost a certainty.


Sounds of revelry drifted on the lazy night air and just as the two cops were enjoying their moment of ease a loud revving of engines followed by the squealing of tires was heard nearby.


"Foock"/"Not again!"


Hale and Douglas looked at each and jammed on their helmets and gloves in unison. The big Scotsman thumbed the button on his bike glove that activated the bluetooth pickup in the helmet even as the pair started their own engines. "FitzJames to Base, we hae ano'er foockin' drag race, same place as las' week." He snapped, not even waiting for the acknowledgement from the station which came a moment later as he kicked his bike into high gear and shot off along the street with Hale on his tail. One thing you could say for police bikes, however bulky they might be, they had guts. "Git a couple o' cars doon here." ***


"Copy that Corporal, we're sending two squad cars out. You and Hale are not to enter the situation without backup." That sounded like Gillis.


"Hurry the foock up then!"# Douglas snapped, having no intention of waiting for the cars. They would take far too long. There had been a rash of street racing recently. They'd broken one up in the exact same spot the previous week. A couple of days later in another part of the city they'd been too late, the race had run, a car had skidded out of control on the ice and slammed into the sidewalk. The teenager behind the wheel had lived; the three pedestrians he had hit hadn't. Douglas was amazed that these idiots had come back to the same spot as before. Dogs to their vomit, fools to their folley.


There were of course laws against street racing. There were laws against most dangerous activities. There were laws against theft and fraud and keeping your neighbours up all night; against trafficking in drugs and stolen items and people. Laws against crimes so big and complex that you needed to own a company to even be eligible to commit them, and against crimes like murder and rape which hailed from humanity's most primitive past and urges. Not that they were likely to see many of those tonight of course, the more interesting crimes tended to happen behind closed doors.


But when it came to on-the-street policing, the most important law was the law against stupidity in public places. Lots of people did mildly illegal things every day, but when people did stupid, annoying, dangerous shit in a public place where it was going to upset or even injure other people, then that unwritten law was all a cop needed to arrest them and throw them in the back of the car and work out what to charge them with on the way to the station. The metaphorical book was several inches thick, they were bound to be guilty of something. And if they weren't doing something stupid right at that moment there was always the oxygen theft sub-clause, cross-referenced to such documented crimes as loitering with intent and public nuisance.


They had only been a couple of blocks away, and they rocketted down an alley-way just as several cars were visible as a colourful, high-speed blur going past the other end. Douglas didn't even slow down, he could hear the sirens approaching from the other direction, and knew that the patrol cars would be coming up the street that the race was running down. Flicking on the bike's lights and sirens Douglas took the corner out of the alley on a half-inch of rubber, seriously endangering his knee, and sped after them.


There was a screetch of tires as the race ended and the racers hit the breaks. No doubt they could see the lights of the cars in the distance. Douglas and Hale came to skidding halts behind the four cars, locking them in, and jumped off their bikes. The car doors opened and it looked like some of the drivers were thinking of doing a runner.


Douglas removed his helmet, six and a half feet of Scotsman in official blue looking decidedly smug. "Luiks like th'party's o'er lads."## He drawled, ignoring the other party-goers behind them.


That probably would have been the end of it had not the big, tatooed driver of the green and silver car decided to throw a punch at him.



* "Hasn't killed me yet."

** "I can get drunk if you like."

*** "FitzJames to Base, we have another fucking drag race, same place as last week. Get a couple of cars down here."

# "Hurry the fuck up then!"

## "Looks like the party's over."

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Mirtel Christabel giggled happily as the man that had suggested she start the race entertained her with some anecdotes between plying her with compliments. Certainly the people here dressed very colourfully and you had to look past an odd piercing or too, but everyone seemed to be very nice. It was just like she was always telling to her students. One shouldn’t judge a book by its cover and a person by her clothes or skintone. Well, now she wasn’t just preaching anymore. She was actually out looking past different hobies and outfits and getting to know actual people. She felt really well about it actually. “Oh, all the cars were pretty, but I think I liked the purple best. It looked almost royal,” she offered her opinion when the man asked her to and tilted her head to the side as she worriedly glanced towards the direction where the cars had disappeared to. She so hoped all the drivers had had the time to properly put on their seatbelts.


The appearance of the police took Mirtel by surprise. Blinking curiously as the two bike-officers arrived with flashing sirens she didn’t join the crowd suddenly jostling to get away. No, Mirtel had been a good girl all her life, taught to respect and listen to police officers. She had never had anything to fear from thepolice so she doesn’t flee. Stepping aside so as not to get underfoot to the fleeing crowd she hesitated, not sure what to do. She doesn’t want to get in the way of the officers doing their work but she had been having fun and she certainly isn’t ready to go home yet either. Biting her lip, Mirtel stands still and hesitates, trying to decide what she should do.


“Watch out!” she yelped with genuine startlement and taking a a half-step forward when the driver of one of the cars attacked the officer. She supposed the polife officer could take care of himslef or he wouldn’t be in the police, but that doesn’t stop her from biting her lower lip in worry and quickly glancing around for something that she could use as a weapon to subdue the driver before the officer got hurt. One didn't stop being a good girl overnight.

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Rebecca -now Nell- had been perfectly happy to mingle through the crowd by her sister's side as a strangely contradictory matched set. Ruth -now Livvie- was a svelte platinum blonde in tight leather pants and jacket with a bright red silk halter top. Nell was short and curvy with tight brunette ringlets pinned into a twist, wearing a sleek leather coat longer then her green velvet mini-dress and knee-high boots over fishnet stockings. She was playing the arm candy translator for her sister tonight, paraphrasing the Swedish into English and running interference so Livvie could get a better read on the potential new talent. This was such a fun way to unwind from a night with snotty supercilious blue bloods!


She should have known that everything would go to hell. Lights and sirens erupting out of the darkness were enough to make anyone with a healthy sense of shame and self-preservation run. Breaking character for a moment, Nell and Livvie grabbed each others hands to keep from getting separated, though Livvie was entrenched enough in the persona to rant and rage in Swedish about how idiotic the children were for not knowing how to rotate their sites properly. Looking over her shoulder, Nell swore to see who it was. "Bloody hell, it's the Giant!" They knew the Scotsman by reputation and liked him despite his profession, thinking that he would only need a good hard nudge to make a wonderful criminal. She swore louder at noticing the pretty pink airhead just standing there like a lump on a log. "That moron! Run, I'll meet you at the car." Dropping hands, Livvie went into evasive maneuvers and swiftly sprinted into hiding. Nell darted through the crowd and ran to the silly babe who'd dropped the starting flag, keeping a hand on the stun gun in her coat pocket.


"Run, you stupid bint! Aw hell." Dammit, why did Big Mike have to feel like getting in a fight with the law tonight? The boys in blue would have a hard time of it if his pals got involved too. It would be better to end this quickly and hightail it out before the rest of the squad arrived for mop-up. Snarling in frustration, Rebecca/Nell pulled out the boxy piece of plastic and lunged forward to jab the metal prongs into the tattooed idiot and drop him with a good jolt.

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There were yells and squeals as the party broke up rapidly behind them, those with guilty consciences racing to get away from the bad news in blue. There were however only two cops and a lot of party goers, not to mention the four drivers in the race. They weren't good odds and Hale on his own would probably have done the sensible thing and waited for backup, thereby potentially losing the culprits. Douglas on the other hand was known for having more balls than brains.


The block was reflexive but although Douglas was taller, Big Mike was more muscular than the rangy Scot and he could feel the power in the man's punch. He automatically grabbed the man's wrist to work the pressure point but Mike seemed to barely feel it. This might not go well. It didn't help that the second blow, aimed at the cop's stomach, included a flick-knife in it's nasty delivery. Bright blue eyes caught the gleam of metal and Douglas brought his right arm down to guard his stomach just in time, stopping the nasty blow but a tell-tale sting on his arm through the adrenaline told him he hadn't got away scot-free.


Letting go of the man's wrist Douglas grabbed his jacket and brought his knee up, hard, and his forehard down, showing Mike how they kissed in Glasgow. Should have kept my helmet on. The knee in the groin and the head-butt weren't the man's only woes, he convulsed just as Douglas let him go, and dropped to the ground.


Deciding the odds were bad enough Douglas drew his pistol and flicked the safety off, but Big Mike wasn't moving and that nasty little click gave the other drivers pause too. Fuck-me blue eyes scanned them, registered that Hale also had his gun on them, then turned that gaze to the sassy little brunette with the illegal taser in her hand, obviously the reason for Big Mike's convulsion. Those eyes narrowed, but he nodded in acknowledgement. "Tapadh leit. Now hou aboot ye put that awa' lassie, an' I'll pretend I didna see it."* He said quietly, before Hale noticed.


At that precise moment the two squad cars arrived, flashing lights turning the scene into hell on acid and disgorging police left, right and centre. Gillis had scrambled half the station. "These 'er them lads, an' we hae witnesses."** Douglas yelled, indicating the four including Big Mike, who was now throwing up. Douglas took a step back to avoid getting his boots dirty. He and Hale had witnessed it if no one else, but hopefully some of the fine people still hanging around would step forward. The race cars would be impounded and their drivers given a free ride to the station.


Glancing around there was an attractive young lady in a pink wig who seemed rooted to the spot and had presumably seen the whole thing. And the young lady with the illegal taser. Douglas safetied and holstered his pistol and turned to look at her more closely. Had he seen her some place before? "D'ye hae a name lassie?"*** He asked her, a loaded question from a cop if there ever was one.


Glancing over at pink-wig, he motioned her closer. "Ye saw th'hale thin', didna ye lassie?"# He suggested hopefully. He'd far rather get statements from these two than some of the dodgy stragglers hanging around. Both had that well-to-do-playing-dirty look that said they were unlikely to be hardened criminals or give him too much of a hard time, which just showed how much looks could deceive, but then they all made assumptions.


As he asked the pain in his right arm became more insistant, just above his elbow, and the automatically questing fingers of his left hand found the hole in the leather, just before the bike armour beneath it, and came out with blood on them. He looked down at them. "Faidh mun."##


Glancing down at Big Mike, Douglas considered giving the man a fractured rib to remember him by, but there were too many people watching. "Ye kin add 'Assaultin' an' officer wi' an' edged weapon occaisionin' grievious bodily harm' tae this 'un's charge sheet."### He said to Hale, holding his fingers up to prove it. Just his bloody luck. He hated Christmas.



* "Thank you (diminutive form). Now how about you put that away girl, and I'll pretend I didn't see it."

** "These are them boys, and we have witnesses."

*** "Do you have a name girl?"

# "You saw the hole thing, didn't you girlie?"

## "Fuck."

### "You can add 'Assaulting an officer with an edged weapon occaisioning grievious bodily harm' to this one's charge sheet."

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Mirtel Christabel levelled a disapproving look at Rebecca. “Really, this is no time to forget one’s tongue,” she gently reminded the strange girl to mind her language and not to swear. Manners were second nature to Mirtel Christabel and something she could fall back on in any situation without even having to think about it.


Not wanting to get in the way, Mirtel didn’t dive into the fray as the coarse tongued girl did but she did grip her purse a bit tighter just in case. A woman could always depend on her purse and Mirtel wasn’t above whacking someone over the head with hers. The appearance of a knife in the fight made her gasp and bite her lip worriedly, but thankfully the tall officer seemed to have the situation under control and a moment later the driver of the car went down. The officer said something to the girl who had sworn before before turning her attention to Mirtel. The officer calling her over made Mirtel shake off her hesitance of what to do. The nurturing instinct that served her well as a teacher kicked in and she started forward. “Are you alright?” she asked Hale, smiling at the man when he responded in the affirmative before turning her attention to Douglas’ wounded arm. Not the least bit intimidated, although Douglas was armed and had shown that he could handle himself in a fight and the top of her head came level only with his shoulder, Mirtel took hold of his elbow with one hand and slid the fingers of another under the flap of his leather jacket to ease it off Douglas’ shoulder and down over the wound. Once the jacket was off, Mirtel carefully angled Douglas’ arm towards the light and inspected the wound while blowing gently on it, much like she did when some boy in her class scraped his knee.


“You will need to show it to a doctor, but I can bandage it for now. Don’t worry, I know how to do it and it’ll feel much better once it’s bandaged,” Mirtel Christabel encouraged Douglas, quickly folding the ripped sleeve of his jacket and pressing it on the wound before directing Douglas to hold it in place with his other hand. With preliminary pressure on the wound, she took the chance to quickly look around. It didn’t seem likely that the bike the officer rode had the necessary equipment but the police cars would surely have a first aid kit. “We’ll bandage it in the car,” Mirtel Christabel decided with a nod. “Hold the jacket against the wound and come along,” she instructed Douglas and without looking behind to see whether the tall officer was following or not headed over to the police cars.


“Excuse me,” Mirtel smiled at a police officer at the car, “Hi. Could you give me the first aid kit, please?” The officer looked at her with amusement but after glancing over her shoulder popped the trunk open and handed the kit to her. “Thank you. Merry Christmas to you,” Mirtel wished the man with a bright smile that only widened when the holiday wish was returned and the officer helpfully opened the backdoor of his car as well. “Just sit down and rest against the seat if you want to. But let me know the moment you start feeling woozy and want to lay down,” Mirtel instructed Douglas in the good faith that he had followed her while opening the first aid kit and thankfully discovering that it was orderly and had everything she’d need in it. Turning her head to peek at Douglas, Mirtel pursed her lips at him and sent him the same stern look she usually reserved for her third graders when they were misbehaving: “Well, go on then. Sit down.”

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  • 2 weeks later...

Adrenaline burned acidic across her nerves and veins, reducing the fray to rave-esque strobe light snapshots and erasing Pinky's prudishness from her mind. Punch and block, flash of blade, splash of blood. Big Mike's seizure almost shook the stun gun out of her hand before the big cop's impersonation of a goat brought him down. Breathing rapidly and feeling nauseous, Rebecca stared down at her sister's frenemy before the nasty click of a gun safety drove her a step back and snapped her head up to gaze into electric blue eyes. Her mind took a moment to register that the Giant's hostility wasn't directed at her before she shoved both hands into her coat pockets and beamed up at him with sugary false innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Officer."


Just in time, too. She raised a quizzical eyebrow as uniforms flooded the scene, trying to maintain a facade of confusion while her mind raced. How quickly could she get out of this, which persona's cards were stashed in what part of her outfit, how long would Ruth wait before charging in after her. They both had unfortunate white knight streaks that sometimes caused them to leap before they looked, a tendency that Rebecca was currently cursing to high heaven. Sweet Lightning, did Dispatch send out the whole damn shift or what? Oh wait, the Giant was focusing his attention on her again. Damn, damn, coal-burning damn. She grinned up at him cheekily, deciding to enjoy herself a little and hope that it kept them off the scent. "Be a right funny bird if I didn't, wouldn't I? Parents named me Rebecca, but you two can call me whatever you like." She cast an appreciative glance towards handsome blond Hale before giving Douglas a lascivious once-over. It wasn't that she didn't trust that skeevy Chaos bugger to have crafted an identity that was anything less then a masterpiece, but she wasn't wearing her Nell hair and she really didn't want to give the PD an angle to connect her various personas with. Her face was already plastered all over certain corners of the media, anyway, that plus the cameras that were all over the city would make it very easy to independently verify an identity.


Pinky's medical instincts had Rebecca chuckling. What the hell was a little mother like that doing in a place like this? And why the hell had she thrown herself back into harm's way trying to protect her, anyway? A silly little ball of fluff like that didn't need mere mortal protection, she had the whole universe pulling for her. Abandoning the Giant to his fate, Rebecca picked her way carefully over the cracked pavement to Hale, not-so-accidentally amping up the sultry in the sashay already induced by the high heels. She smiled up at the handsome officer and tilted her hip and shoulders just so to give an impression of unintentional sex appeal. One did not spend that much time around models without learning a thing or two about body language. "So how does this work? I tell you what I saw and you send me off on my merry way?"

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