This is very much a what if? kind of fic. The show is focused on the work lives of the three detectives, we don't know anything about any of them outside of the job. This is my idea of what, maybe, DS Jack Weston gets up to outside of work. Something he says in episode two, about telling his sister everything, triggered this one shot. The character of Jack Weston belongs to the relevant people, the rest are my own creation. Liberties were taken, fun was had. Written with the barest of edits but I hope you like it. 

Post Mortem.

He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally spent.

The sky is slowly changing from a deep navy to a gradually lightening purple blue as he pulls up in his parking spot outside of his flat, a building his mam has proclaimed to be nothing better than a collection of posh rabbit hutches. He kills the engine and the burble of the night shift radio dj instantly ceases as he unhooks his seatbelt and just sits there. He’s very tempted to just pull the seat back and sack out there and then but he has a perfectly good bed in that rabbit hutch of a flat. He squints at the building, six storeys high. Apart from porch lights, it’s in shadows; no one will be stirring for another hour at the very least. He takes a deep breath and slowly gets out.

He stretches his spine as he locks the door and it belatedly crosses his mind that the dickhead who lives in the flat across the hall from him has had the foresight to not park in his spot today. He wonders whether the quiet word or the flash of the warrant card had done the trick. Flashing the card wasn’t really allowed but he had been sick of having to park somewhere else just because his neighbour had friends over and someone there had pinched his spot. Over and over again. Since he’d flashed the card and had that quiet word, it hadn’t happened again. Word seems to have gone around that one of the residents of the block is a copper.

He’s grateful for the peace and quiet today as he lets himself into the building, oh he’s happy to chat and charm when the mood takes him but there are times, like right now when he just doesn’t want to engage.  He wants to get into his flat, lock up and face plant for a few hours.

He lives on the top floor of the block and on a clear day it affords him great views right across to the city. He sometimes likes to sit, nursing a coffee and just admire the view, let his thoughts slide away and just chill. He can’t remember the last time he did that, work keeps him ridiculously busy these days.

He closes the door behind him and hears the lock click into place and he walks slowly towards the living room at the end of the short passage, shedding his keys, his jacket and finally his shoes along the way.

He pulls his mobile phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and he checks it. No new messages or texts and he clicks it off but doesn’t switch it off. It’s his only contact with work and his lifeline. He looks around his living room, small as it is with a dark brown leather sofa and arm chair, a low slung wooden coffee table, a couple of sports magazines and a newspaper from sometime in the last week discarded on it. He has a large screen TV, a sky plus box with a sports subscription attached and a DVD player. It crosses his mind that the sky plus box will be full of shows, movies, rugby matches he’s been meaning to catch up with when he has some spare time but lately that spare time hasn’t been very forthcoming. He frowns, then turns and heads for his bedroom. He needs to sleep. He can’t remember the last time he did sleep, the last few days have blurred into each other.

His bedroom is enough for him, the room not too big, large enough to hold his bed, a wardrobe, a bedside table and a book case. He pays them no mind as he plugs his phone into its charger and sits down on the side of the double bed, stripping off clothes as he does so until he’s just sitting in his pants. He looks down at his feet and he blinks. He should really get off his arse and brush his teeth. He looks over his shoulder at his bed, his warm, inviting cosy bed.

Shit, he’ll brush them later when he gets up.

He slides beneath the duvet and lets the exhaustion claim him.

He wakes up a few hours later to silence, to quiet. He feels consciousness impinge and he slowly lifts his head and squints. Several thoughts cross his mind at the same time; where is he, what day is it, is he late for work and he’s absolutely fecking starving.

He checks his phone; no missed calls so work haven’t been in touch. The boss said to take the rest of the day unless something came up. He’s grateful for the down time however short it may end up being. He’s no good when he’s knackered and he’s been close to burn out these last couple of weeks, it would seem a sizeable chunk of London society wanted to get into or cause trouble. He notices that he’s got a few texts and he flicks through them cursorily before exiting out of the app. Some he’ll get in touch with first chance he gets, others not so much. He drops his phone back on the bedside cabinet and stares blankly ahead for a moment or two before the demands of the day begin to intrude.

He showers, a short burst of hot water, soap, shampoo, teeth brushed and he’s out again in less than ten minutes. He hitches the towel around his waist as he wanders back into his bedroom and towards his wardrobe where he extracts a clean t-shirt, a pair of combat pants and the requisite underpants and socks. He dries himself down and dresses, pulling long fingers through wet hair; he can’t be bothered to look for a comb just now.

Breakfast is a slice of toast and a cup of black coffee as well as a reminder to get some shopping done in the near future. The cupboards are more than bare, they’re neglected. He sits on the sofa as he munches on his toast and sorts through the mail he hasn’t had time to deal with for the last week or so; bills, junk mail, a postcard from a mate on his jollies in Cyprus the lucky sod and he reads the hurried scrawl on the back with a half-smile on his face. He drops the missive onto the coffee table and sits back. He sips at his coffee.

The intercom buzzes and it’s loud and intrusive. He frowns at the interruption, wondering who the hell it could be. He’s tempted to ignore it but whoever it is just won’t give up. Three long presses and his frown clears as he recognises the code. He gets up and heads to the box beside the door and he presses the button.

“You took your time, did I wake you?”

He grins. “Not quite. What are you doing here?”

“I rang your work, they told me you were off. Let me in you sod, it’s freezing out here.” He chuckles and presses the requisite button and at the same time he opens the front door and he waits for her to appear.

She appears five minutes later and she’s carrying half a dozen carrier bags from the local supermarket. He sighs and goes to her, bare foot and relieves her of all but two of them.

“What the hell d’you think you’re doing?” he mutters. She looks at him and she smiles.

“I know you Jack, your fridge, freezer and cupboards will be empty.” He looks back at her.

“You shouldn’t keep doing this, I’m a grown up,” he reminds her as they enter his flat. Jennifer Weston sighs as she closes the door behind her and follows him down to the kitchen.

“It’s what big sisters are for Jack, I have a day off, you have a day off and it’s been an age since I last saw you.” She rests the bags on the kitchen table with the others and shrugs off her coat.

“You shouldn’t be running after me is all that I’m saying. How much do I owe you?” He heads into his bedroom to retrieve his wallet.

“Call it a treat from me,” Jennifer calls after him and he stops dead and pivots around. He shakes his head.

“You’re a single mother, you can’t go around spending this kind of money on me, not when you’re working to keep a roof over yours and Olivia’s head. How much do I owe you?” Jennifer sighs theatrically.

“Fine, have it your way. Call it fifty quid and we’ll be even,” she tells him. He watches her for a second or two before he turns and goes into his room.

When he emerges, he has a wodge of cash in his hand and he pushes it into her hand. He watches her open it and see the four twenty pound notes. Her eyes go round in shock and she peels two of them off and holds them out to him.

“There’s far too much here Jack…” she breathes and he shakes his head again.

“No there isn’t, by my guess there’s enough. Keep it, treat yourself and that niece of mine to a night at the pictures or something with it,” he replies. He hears her sigh again but she doesn’t say anything else. He glances at her as he goes back to the bags and he peeks in. She’s remembered everything and he feels stupidly grateful.

“Put the kettle on then, I remembered milk and teabags, you never have any in,” Jennifer teases as she unpacks one of the bags. Jack rolls his eyes but he does as she asks.

“So what’s the real reason for this visit?” he asks a short while later. He sits opposite her at the kitchen table, the groceries safely packed away. He has another coffee and she’s nursing a cup of tea. The box of forty is stashed away in a cupboard. It’s not often she visits, he tends to see her at her house or at their mam’s. She looks down into her cup for a minute before returning her attention to his face.

“That girl that was stabbed in the park the other day…that was yours.” It isn’t a question and for a moment Jack doesn’t respond. Eventually he shrugs.

“Yeah it was,” he eventually confesses in a quiet voice. Jennifer regards him.

“You made an arrest?” He just nods and it’s his turn to stare into his cup.

“It wasn’t…pleasant…” he tells her.

“The news said there was a…paedophile ring involved…” He looks at her once more. As usual, the press are quick on the uptake, hunting out a juicy headline for their papers and their news channels. Not a lot gets past them. He sighs.

“Yeah…”

“And all you could see was Olivia’s face,” Jack lifts his head and stares at her, at her perception.

“Perverts like that…doing that to a girl barely the same age as my own niece turn my stomach,” he bursts out and then clamps his mouth shut. Then he frowns.

“I’ve seen all sorts of shit in this job, the worst humanity has to offer but these last couple of days, sitting in that interrogation room across from that…” He frowns darkly “I wanted to reach across the table and wrap my hands around his neck and just squeeze the fucking life out of him.” He wraps his hands around his coffee cup instead.

“But you didn’t.” He looks up at his sister and frowns in momentary confusion.

“Of course I didn’t,” he retorts and Jennifer regards him steadily.

“And that’s what makes you better than him. You, dad and granddad, you are, were, all loyal to the job, finding justice for the aggrieved, punishing the culpable. It’s what makes you who you are.” They’ve had this conversation countless times before. Jack Weston is a third generation detective, all three of them serving in the Met, all three of them devoted their jobs. His granddad died when he was a kid, it was who he was named after, his dad retired a couple of years before he joined the force. Growing up, he’d seen what they did, heard stories about their cases and it was all he wanted to be but there were days, coming off the back of the case he’s been working on recently, where he’s wondered whether he’s made the right career choice.

“You’re human little brother. If you hadn’t felt anything when you’d looked across the table at him then I would’ve been worried.” She regards him for a moment or two.

“Tell you what, why don’t you, me and Olivia head off to the pictures tonight, watch something fun, brainless and have a bloody good laugh. We can go out for pizza, I know Olivia would love to spend some time with her Uncle Jack,” she suggests and he regards her and begins to shake his head. She leans across the small table and covers one of his hands with one of her own.

“Don’t you dare say no. You need some down time, a bit of time to remind yourself that you’re indeed human. Pizza, a couple of beers, a good film and you’ll be as right as rain in no time at all,” she decrees and he sighs and rolls his eyes. The determined light of before fades away and she grins at him.

“You know I’m right Jack…”

“That’s the problem, you know you are. How old is Olivia now, fourteen…she wouldn’t be caught dead with her uncle,” he retorts and Jennifer gently slaps his hand as she straightens up.

“Don’t be silly, she adores you and you know it. We can pick her up after school and make tracks. It’ll be good fun, you know it,” she chides.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an interfering old so and so?” he mutters and she grins.

“Regularly and usually by you, and less of the old thank you very much,” she replies with a chuckle. He just shakes his head and sips at his coffee.

“Oh and mam and dad are expecting you over on Sunday for lunch. Won’t take no for an answer either,” she tacks on and he looks at her over the rim of his cup.

“I will if I’m not working,” he reminds her and she just shrugs.

“Just passing on the message but they understand,”

He leans up against the gate post and watches the students emerge from the myriad of brick buildings. Jennifer is waiting in the car as he’s volunteered to meet Olivia at the gate. His gaze slides over the variety of faces and he straightens up when he catches sight of his niece. She’s walking with a small group of girls and even with the navy blue school uniform, they’re all similar, the same kind of long hair styles girls her age seem to favour, leather jackets slung over navy sweatshirts, similar backpacks over one shoulder and no doubt they all had the same kind of mobile phones. He knew for a fact that she had a good model, he made sure of it. It had been his gift to her last Christmas. She lifts her head and spies him and he sees the broad smile that crosses her face when she recognises him. He smiles back and waits for her to approach him, ignoring the looks her friends were sending him. Olivia has told him already that one or two of them have a crush on him; it makes him mildly uncomfortable, more so after the last few days he’s had.

“Uncle Jack,” she greets and she hugs him. He smiles as he feels her hair brush his cheek; it’s the same mid brown as his and her mother’s. Her eyes are blue though, inherited from her errant father.

“Hey Liv,” he greets and he falls into step with her as they emerge through the gates.

“Is mum in the car?” she asks as they begin to walk.

“Yeah. She’s in the mood for pizza and a movie if you’re up for it?” he suggests and sees how she smiles.

“You coming along too?” she asks and he widens his eyes almost comically.

“Unless you think I’d be cramping your style?” He smiles at her giggle.

“Of course not, it’s great to see you, you’re usually so busy,” she replies. He smiles.

“I have the day off and your mam suggested we get together. You ready?” He sees her nod and he takes a few steps away as she says her goodbyes to her friends. He waits for her to catch up to him and together they walk to the car.

“It’s nice to see you Uncle Jack,” she tells him on the way and he looks at her and he smiles.

“Same here sweetheart, same here.”

It’s dark when she drops him off outside of his apartment block. They’ve seen a mindless comedy and laughed their arses off, shared a massive pizza and he’s had a beer or two. He could’ve had more but he didn’t, just in case work called. His phone so far has remained thankfully quiet.  

“Will we see you on Sunday Uncle Jack?” Olivia asks from her position in the back seat and he looks at her over his shoulder.

“Hopefully, work permitting,” he replies and he catches the flash of a smile. Jennifer has done a stand up job raising her, she’s kind and sweet and he would rip apart anyone who got his hands on her and not think twice about it. It’s a sobering thought. He looks at his sister.

“Thanks for this,” he tells her and she smiles at him and he rolls his eyes at her.

“And you were right. Again.” He’s rewarded with her laughter as he presses a kiss on her cheek and gets out of her car. He stands on the kerb and waves as she drives away. He sighs and turns towards the apartment block. As he does, his phone begins to ring. He pulls it out of his jacket pocket and checks the screen and sees Charlie Steele’s name there. Work again.

He answers it and heads towards his car, the events of the evening fading from his mind, the possibilities of the night in front of him taking over.

“Yeah Charlie, what have we got?”