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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 7, 2012 23:09:30 GMT -5
There are three bottles of amber liquid, hidden behind his bed where the post meets the wall. He has bought them all on different days, very bad days, when he feels everything’s too much and he wants to go back to the horrible life style he lived back in California with his brother. He usually forced himself to resist the drinks, but when he doesn’t? He downs the whole bottle. Or two. Which is why there are only three bottles instead of the five he’s bought in his time in this city.
He’s done that – had one of those nights –twice since coming to New York. The first time was the night he’d moved here, and he’d not started work for another few days, and all he wanted to do was curse himself for moving away from his baby, his poor Dolores, and fly right back to her. The second time was after a particularly trying suicide case, which involved three teenagers killing themselves simultaneously. When he’d gotten home that night, after smashing a bowl full of cereal and old milk and a glass full of water on his kitchen floor, he drowned the second bottle in ten minutes flat.
Last night was the third bottle, and now there are only two bottles hiding behind his bedpost. God, he didn’t even know the reason last night. All he knew was that he was angry and hated himself so horribly that he drank the entire bottle of his most expensive whiskey without even thinking. He woke up on his bedroom floor, too tired to do much else but call in to work and fake sick. Before being real-sick and puking what seemed like that last few months’ meals up into his toilet.
God he was pathetic.
He spent the rest of the day on his couch, watching shitty daytime tv and shoving down as much coffee and advil as his stomach would allow. He hated himself, today. And then he got a text from Aramis, asking if basketball was still on for tomorrow, and he groaned and dropped his phone to carpet, as he’d forgotten about his day off tomorrow.
He’d played football with Aramis a few weeks ago, and since then they’d gotten a bit closer as friends at work, but he’d not had the offer to take Aramis up on his previous offer of basketball until… tomorrow. Shit. At the moment, he really didn’t want to think about running around and moving and god forbid, leaving the house.
He texts back ‘Okay’ anyways.
The next morning, his day off, he thinks about just not showing up. Aramis would understand, he was a nice guy wasn’t he? But then, he would have to lie, and make excuses, and… he really did want to see Aramis’ kids again, even if they weren’t like the two boys he’d met during their football game. He was honestly interested in these children, now that he’d started to get to know a few of them. But today… ugh. Why did it have to be today?
He forced himself to get up when his frankly piercing alarm alerted him it was time to get ready, cursing and, though not exactly hung over anymore, still feeling pretty damn awful. He suspected it was more from hating himself than from the drink, though. Still, he couldn’t show up and be such a bad example to Aramis’ kids, so he forced himself to shower and messily comb his hair (though it still stuck up everywhere) and get dressed in a comfortable cotton t-shirt and comfortable shorts. Despite his comfortable outfit, he is decidedly not. He hoped Aramis wouldn’t mind too horribly how pale and gaunt he looked today. Suddenly, he thought: this was how he lost Dolores. Oh god.
That thought sends him sitting on his couch for another ten minutes before he can force himself to get up and call a taxi to bring him to the community center, where Aramis and the kids hang out. He almost falls asleep in the car; he tries not to think about how he’d like another drink today. He tells himself that he knows better, and that he can stop. He tells himself that he knows better, and that he won’t stop.
Walking into the community center, he forces himself to take a few deep breaths and shake his head, telling himself that this was fun. It was last time .Then again, he wasn’t on the outskirts of a hangover last time either. Christ, he was stupid.
“Aramis!” No going back now. He forced himself to smile quite convincingly, though he can’t do anything the rest of his ugly face.
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Post by DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS on Apr 8, 2012 20:43:53 GMT -5
It was turning out to be one heck of a nice day. He was thrilled – because the weather was so nice, they could actually play on the outdoor court. It had been months since that had happened, seeing as how the snow and ice had kept them from playing out there. Needless to say, the gymnasium of the center had much more floor time throughout the winter than it ever saw in the summer.
However, that also meant things were a bit of a mess. The ball room was so disorganized that Peter had spent the better part of ten minutes looking for the basketball pump in all the mess. How all the balls had gone flat...no, wait, he knew how they had all gone flat. They really weren’t meant to be sat on, and yet, all the boys wanted to do was sit on them, as if the benches weren’t good enough...
“Aramis!”
“Back here, Lestrade! I’m just looking for...aha!” Peter finally wrenched out the pump from under a pile of jerseys...which promptly fell and buried him.
Laughing, he pushed them off, feeling like an idiot. Thank god the kids were all outside on the court waiting instead of seeing another one of his clumsy moments. He was lucky nothing like this ever happened to him on the job.
He pulled himself up, leaving the mess for now, telling himself that he would have to pull the boys in for a clean up before they could go home that night. Straightening out his own basketball jersey and shorts, he tripped over a couple more things before stumbling back into the gym. And there was Lestrade, standing there looking pale, but game. Must have been a late night for the older man. Peter grinned widely, thrilled he had come.
“I see you’re ready for a game of b-ball,” Aramis pointed out, glad the other man was smiling.
He sure hoped Lestrade was. Cory and Jamal had bragged up Lestrade to the other boys in the neighborhood. They wanted to meet this Inspector Lestrade, kept prodding Peter into bringing him home, and now here he was. The new person would at least take the attention off him for the day. No matter how many times the kids had seen the scarring on his right shoulder, they always prodded to ask about it. They came up with better stories than he could ever tell, so he let him. Sometimes saying nothing was better than opening your mouth.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 8, 2012 23:04:16 GMT -5
“Back here, Lestrade! I’m just looking for...aha!” He heard Aramis call out from some small shed before a loud crash. Right, so they were playing outside. In the sun. Bloody fucking brilliant.
“I see you’re ready for a game of b-ball,” Aramis said, appearing in front of Lestrade and smiling. Lestrade forced his lopsided half-smile to remain on his face. He was genuinely happy to see Aramis, it was just that Lestrade felt like shit, which is always a problem. He wasn't quite sure how Aramis wasn't noticing and therefore commenting on and therefore finding out the truth and kicking Lestrade out, but maybe he didn't look as bad as he thought (or felt). His eyes had still been pretty red this morning, even if there was probably very little if any alcohol left in his system by now, but perhaps they were better now, or Aramis was putting it down to no sleep from work. If if he had actually been at work yesterday. Well, Aramis worked on a different floor, he probably hadn't noticed.
Lestrade, though preoccupied with worrisome and self-deprecating thoughts on himself, was not so out of it not to notice the large scar that was visible on Aramis shoulder (seeing as he was wearing a jersey). Lestrade had knew Aramis had something about his arm - he was a detective, he noticed things - but he'd not expected the injury to be quite so… visible. Lestrade only allowed his eyes to linger for a half-second, but he was sure there was a story behind that scar.
"Course I am!" Lestrade cried grandly, perhaps a bit too energetically. "Who's here today then?" Lestrade did somewhat want Corey and Jamal to be there, or at least one of them, because the boys he'd not met yet would have at least some conviction that he wasn't that bad aside from Aramis' word. Not the he thought they didn't trust Aramis, but they probably took their own peers' words more seriously.
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Post by DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS on Apr 9, 2012 3:38:08 GMT -5
Now that he was looking, Peter could tell Lestrade was feeling under the weather. He was pale and he looked like he was tired. There was a stomach bug going around the station – damn those anti-bacterial hand sanitizers – and he hoped Lestrade hadn’t caught it. He really hoped the man hadn’t forced himself to grin and bear it to come out today. He was likely to get sicker in that case.
Before he could say anything, he caught the direction of Lestrade’s brief gaze. He was used to it when he wore sleeveless shirts. He’d learned a long time ago that it was easier to ignore the scars and just live his life. Adults seemed to have the social manners not to ask. From where Lestrade was, he could see the scar along the ball of the joint. It was thick and gruesome. There were two more running along the back of the shoulder blade where they’d put pins in to fix the damage. He shouldn’t have been able to use the arm at all, but here he was.
"Course I am! Who's here today then?"
Lestrade sounded too overjoyed, like he was forcing it. Yeah, he really wasn’t at his best, but Peter could help him pretend.
“Well, it’ll be better if I give you names and faces at the same time. I saw Cory when I got here, but Jamal is running late. His mom took him to the dentist,” Peter explained. “Follow me and I’ll get you squared away.”
Peter gestured him to follow with the hand that was still clutching the ball pump, leading the way towards the exit to the back court where the boys were.
“Oh, before we get out there, I should tell you that it’s an all guy game. So the boys can be a little rough,” Peter explained. “Just...try and pace yourself. If you don’t, they’ll push until you’re worn out.”
It was the truth. Peter had found himself in that position before, and with how pale Lestrade looked, he did not want the man keeling over or puking. Then he’d never come back, and it would be a shame.
“And if you have any questions, just ask,” Peter added with a smile. “It’s all in good fun, but those monkeys will invent their own rules sometimes, so if it looks strange, call it.”
He reached to pat Lestrade on the shoulder, glad that he had come. It was going to be a great day.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 9, 2012 9:00:25 GMT -5
Aramis seemed to look at him with a bit of hesitation. Right, so, the kid wasn't quite as stupid as he hoped. “Well, it’ll be better if I give you names and faces at the same time. I saw Cory when I got here, but Jamal is running late. His mom took him to the dentist. Follow me and I’ll get you squared away.”
Lestrade followed Aramis after Aramis made a gesture with his hand and nodded. At least one of the boys was there. He'd liked Corey, and Jamal; he'd liked both of them. Actually, it didn't matter who was there, as long as he wasn't going into a completely new group.
“Oh, before we get out there, I should tell you that it’s an all guy game. So the boys can be a little rough. Just...try and pace yourself. If you don’t, they’ll push until you’re worn out.” Lestrade frowned. Which meant…? “And if you have any questions, just ask,” Aramis went on ,"It’s all in good fun, but those monkeys will invent their own rules sometimes, so if it looks strange, call it.” Aramis finished and patted Lestrade on the shoulder. And that was weird.
"I'm not sick Aramis," he said, trying to come off as jokingly but sounding a lot more snappish than he wanted. Well, he wasn't! He was just… stupid. "I'll be fine," Lestrade added in a kinder voice. And he would be, of course he would. It's not like he'd never worked during a hangover before, and this wasn't even work and he barely had a hangover anymore. He'd be absolutely fine. It occurred to him that maybe Aramis hadn't even been suggesting anything. Right, he could've just been giving Lestrade helpful tips. And wasn't that embarrassing.
Lestrade look around slightly glumly because of his own stupidness, but seeing a group of boys already running around and doing some free throws cheered him up. He was here for the kids, because he loved kids. This wasn't about him feeling like utter crap, because he wanted and needed this was he wasn't going to let some stupid thing stop him.
"So, their names then?" Lestrade asked mildly, looking at Aramis considerably gentler than before.
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Post by DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS on Apr 10, 2012 0:13:20 GMT -5
"I'm not sick Aramis. I'll be fine.”
In his experience, people who say they aren’t sick generally were sick, especially if they said it before they were even asked if they were feeling unwell. Peter sure hoped Lestrade would be fine. He could remember days when he was at his best and those kids pushed until he was literally face planting into the court. He made a mental note to keep an eye on Lestrade.
He stepped out back, smiling when he caught sight of the boys goofing off with one of the balls. It was rather flat and he had told them to leave it alone, but boys rarely listened. Drake, the eldest at seventeen, was lording over the ball, as usual. Sid was helping him, as Drake bullied him away from the computer to come out and play. Cory was playing keep away with Charlie and Alan, ten year old Conroy whining in the middle. Over all, it was about what he was expecting.
”So, their names then?” Lestrade asked, sounding more at ease than he had when he was insisting he wasn’t sick.
“Ah, right. Well, it’s a small turn out, so that’ll make things easier. Cory you know. The tallest kid is Drake, the pale kid is Sid, the twins over there are Alan and Charlie, and the littlest monkey is Conroy,” Peter pointed each of them out. “Drake is kind of the leader, so he might be in your face a bit. Don’t expect Alan and Charlie to talk to you – their father was pretty abusive, so men intimidate them.”
Peter still wanted to give their father a talking to that involved his fist talking to the man’s nose, but seeing as how the boys and their mother now lived apart from him, it was likely that he would never have the chance. The boys were only twelve, so at least there was hope that they would get over it. Already, they had somewhat warmed up to him.
“And Conroy will probably talk your ear off. Fair warning,” Peter added, turning his attention to the kids. “Boys! What did I just say about that basketball?”
“That you were going to fix it,” Sid called back. ”Ten minutes ago.”
“Yo, dudes – that’s the guy,” Cory said, pointing at Lestrade.
Peter couldn’t help but grin. “Boys, say hello to Inspector Lestrade.”
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 10, 2012 7:46:00 GMT -5
“Ah, right. Well, it’s a small turn out, so that’ll make things easier. Cory you know. The tallest kid is Drake, the pale kid is Sid, the twins over there are Alan and Charlie, and the littlest monkey is Conroy,” Aramis pointed each kid out in turn. Right, only six kids. That was good. Not all that many of them.
"Drake is kind of the leader, so he might be in your face a bit. Don’t expect Alan and Charlie to talk to you – their father was pretty abusive, so men intimidate them," Peter said, looking angry at whatever man had the - well, had the lack of heart even to think about beating up such young boys, let alone their own kin. It made Lestrade angry as well, and he didn't even know the kids. He briefly contemplated the first and last time his father had hit him; really hit him. Had his father continued? He probably would have run away. In fact, he did run away, for two week, hiding in McCourt's basement until Elliot begged him to come back because Mam would stop crying.
“And Conroy will probably talk your ear off. Fair warning,” Aramis said finally, before yelling to the kids, “Boys! What did I just say about that basketball?”
“That you were going to fix it. Ten minutes ago.” Lestrade smiled; of course, ten minutes could be an awfully long time f you were eager enough.
“Yo, dudes – that’s the guy,” Cory pointed at him. Lestrade raised an amused eyebrow at the boy he'd already met. The guy? How much has he told them about him, anyway?
“Boys, say hello to Inspector Lestrade," Aramis grinned.
Lestrade took a single step forward, hands clenched tightly behind his back. "Hello," he said smiling, his voice low. He wondered what they would think of his accent. Corey and Jamal has found it rather amusing last time, after all. "Greg," he added, because no kid even wanted to say the word 'Lestrade.'
He looked back at Aramis. "Well, come on Aramis, they've been waiting for ten minutes!" He smirked, unsure whether the boys would find that amusing or insulting, but in all honesty, he rather liked to poke fun at Aramis.
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Post by DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS on Apr 11, 2012 2:08:29 GMT -5
"Greg," Lestrade insisted.
Peter smirked, hoping that Lestrade would invite the kids to call him by his first name. He noticed how much he seemed to relax after he’d offered the boys that courtesy last time. Greg had fun. Greg played ball. It was Lestrade who was stiff and solved murders.
"Well, come on Aramis, they've been waiting for ten minutes!"
“Ten whole minutes? However did you all survive?” Peter laughed, motioning for the ball. “Let me re-inflate the ball and we’ll start.”
Sid bounced the ball over to Peter easily, following Drake over to investigate the new person in their midst.
“You gonna play B-ball with us, Greg?” Drake asked, using all of his height to his advantage.
“Man, I told you,” Cory hissed. “Greg’s cool.”
"He better be, man," Sid threw in. "You got any game, old man?"
Peter smiled, pumping up the basketball. Yeah, he was really glad he had brought Cory and Jamal with him the first day. Cory had good horse sense and the other kids trusted that, so they were interested. Also, anyone who could put up with Jamal for a couple hours could handle the rest of the crew.
“Can I still be on your team?” Conroy asked, literally climbing onto Peter’s back while he was crouched over.
“Yeah, sure. Greg will take up for Jamal,” Peter replied, ignoring the slight weight, even though the kid kept getting heavier as he grew.
Peter stood up and bounced the ball between his hands to test the firmness, ignoring how Conroy was still clinging to him.
"Here, Lestrade," Peter called, bouncing him the ball. "You, me, Cory and Conroy against Sid, Drake, and the twins."
Drake and Sid smirked at each other and Peter almost considered switching up the teams, but he wasn't here to win. He was here to have fun.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 11, 2012 2:44:41 GMT -5
Aramis seemed a little amused at the re-emergence of his Christened name, possibly because he himself refused to call the man Peter, still, and gave a slightly smug look before he said sarcastically, “Ten whole minutes? However did you all survive?" Both Lestrade and Aramis laughed, though Aramis a bit more amused like. "Let me re-inflate the ball and we’ll start.”
The oldest and tallest boy came up to Lestrade, eying him with forced suspicion and standing up tall. Lestrade was quite tall himself, and so he still had an inch or so on the boy, they surely the still-growing teenager would surpass him in growth quite soon. Still, Lestrade wasn't very intimidated (he did deal with murderers daily) and kept his slight amusement tucked away behind a blank expession as Drake asked, “You gonna play B-ball with us, Greg?”
"I am indeed," Lestrade answered cooly, successfully not smiling. He was aware that if Drake went at him like some crazed punk-maniac, he probably wouldn't fare so well today, but he was relatively confident in Aramis' ability not to spend his time with completely rage-fuelled boys who for all the world would like to stab someone.
“Man, I told you, Greg’s cool," Corey hissed urgently at Drake, who seemed a bit unsure what to do with the random old Irish guy on the court.
"He better be, man. You got any game, old man?" Sid asked, trying to be threatening. Well, no, he didn't really, as far as Lestrade knew; he'd really only played basketball a few times in his life at school, though he did remember being good enough at it that he was picked quickly for teams.
"Hm, we'll see," he hummed noncommittely, which probably only gave the boys more reason to immediately dislike him, but whatever, he was jusf being him.
“Can I still be on your team?” Lestrade turned towards the voice to see the littlest boy quite cutely climbing on Aramis' back like a koala might with its mother. It was a bit of a heartwarming sight, really.
“Yeah, sure. Greg will take up for Jamal," Aramis replied, before standing with Conroy still clutching to his back. "Here, Lestrade," Lestrade, to his relief, easilly caught the ball with both hands so that he didn't make a fool of himself before they were even playing yet. "You, me, Cory and Conroy against Sid, Drake, and the twins."
Lestrade saw as Drake and Sid gave slightly devious looks between each other, a silent but completely obvious communication that screamed, 'Two old guys and the little kids against us.'
"Oi, no need to get cockey, we might surprise you," Lestrade said smirking, ignoring Drake's scowl of "Yeah, right." Lestrade just shook his head and, taking a deap breath and praying to God that the alcohol spirits were gone, ran down the court, dribbling the ball a little awkwardly at first but skillfully enough a second later before passing to Aramis, starting the haphazard game of basketball.
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Post by DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS on Apr 14, 2012 5:25:31 GMT -5
"Oi, no need to get cocky, we might surprise you."
Peter smiled, thrilled that Lestrade was giving back as good as he got. That was the secret of working with kids. You had to treat them like equals while still reminding them that you would be in charge at the end.
Peter wrapped his good arm around Conroy, shifting the kid so he could set him down on his feet. He got a bright grin in return.
"Ok, Monkey. Let's kick some butt," Peter cheered, letting Conroy slap his hand in a high-five.
"I got Alan!" Conroy crowed in response, taking off down the court to block his man.
Peter darted to catch up, seeing how Lestrade ran down the court, dribbling the ball a little awkwardly at first, but seeming to find his pace. Before Peter could think about it, the ball was tossed his way. The game was on.
Drake was on him - as usual - getting in his space as much as possible. Peter wasn't deterred.
"How'd the math test go?" Peter asked, twisting to the right when one of Drake's paws darted for the ball. "Did it pull up your course mark?"
"Man, c'mon!" Drake grumbled. "Sixty-two, alright?"
"Has to be sixty-five to get into college," Peter reminded, bouncing the ball over to where Cory was open. "You're three percent smarter, start showing it."
Drake ignored him, running towards the ball. The kids were used to his brand of counseling. In the beginning, he couldn't get straight answers out of them without a ball in his hands. Now, it just seemed to save their pride to keep it up. There were no deep heart to hearts in basketball.
Cory was quick with the ball, ducking under Charlie's arm and bounce passing over to Lestrade.
"Hoop it, Greg!" Cory shouted, throwing an arm out to block Charlie. Peter had to admit that Lestrade had the advantage of being taller than everyone on the court but Peter himself, so getting it in the hoop would be easier than for someone Cory's size.
He put himself between Lestrade and Drake, hoping to give the older man the advantage. Sinking a basket would really get the kids into the game.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 14, 2012 19:04:05 GMT -5
"You're three percent smarter, start showing it!" Lestrade heard Aramis yell as he block the ball from Drake and sent it towards Conroy, who used his smallness to his advantage and ran under Charlie's arm before tossing the ball back to Lestrade.
"Hoop it, Greg!" Cory shouted, and so Lestrade did, and it went in, which he honestly hadn't been expecting. He grinned at Peter, a little childishly proud of himself, and completely unsure what to do next. Still, he was just happy to hear Cory and Conroy both whoop as the game continued.
Things didn't exactly go quite so favourable towards his team for the rest of the game, seeing as Lestrade making the first basket had really just been a bit of beginner's luck and the two older boys were quite a bit better than the younger ones. Aramis was good too, but not as good as the boys. But it was still fun, even if they were pretty obviously losing. Well, the game was fun for a time, until he could smell whiskey on himself, masquerading as sweat, and the sickeningly sweet smell made him want to puke. He missed a spectacularly easy pass from Cory and was nearly ready to give in and tell Aramis he had to go or something, when a second stroke of what could perhaps could be called beginner's luck saved him and Jamal showed up from his dentist's appointment, stopping the game.
"Hey man, you here again?" Jamal laughed when he saw Lestrade, who just grinned at him instead of (what probably would have been unwisely) speaking. Muttering something to Aramis about the bathroom while the boys argued over whose team Jamal should be on, he barely made it into the stinking, damp little room before heaving into the sink.
Christ, he hated throwing up. It was messy and smelly and just plain disgusting, and the worst part was even when you were finished, it was still in your mouth. Washing down the disgusting mess with the tap water, Lestrade decided two things. One, he was definitely going to come and play basketball with the Aramis and his kids again, even if he was crap at it. The boys didn't seem to mind him too much though and it was great fun. A second, he was never, ever coming out of his house after drinking again because that was humiliating, even if nothing happened and nobody saw. Breathing heavily, Lestrade hung his head and tried not to think about the drinking and instead about how much fun he was having and how he really should go back now but god, his head hurt and he didn't want to move anymore. He cursed how bipolar his body was deciding to make itself.
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Post by DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS on Apr 16, 2012 3:34:53 GMT -5
Peter was enjoying himself. Back in the day, he was captain of the NYU basketball team. He’d gone out on a winning season, too. These little games at the Center made him feel like he was back in his element, doing what he would have loved to do for a career before his shoulder was damaged. Still, all in all, his life had turned out just fine. He liked hanging out with the kids. He loved being the one they could trust just because he took an interest in them.
Now with Lestrade on the court, he had more one-on-one time with each kid. That was much more important than winning to him. Which it would have to be, seeing as how he had been letting Lestrade take the lead with the kids today, and his team was losing.
Peter glanced over at Lestrade. He had been watching him, making sure he was keeping up alright. He looked pale, like he was going to throw up. The flu must have been hitting him harder than he was letting on. He was just about to call a water break when Jamal came slouching onto the court.
“Hey man, you here again?” Jamal chuckled when he caught sight of Lestrade.
“He was you today, Jam!” Conroy pointed out helpfully, practically climbing up Peter’s good arm.
“Any cavities?” Peter asked, momentarily distracted when Lestrade got close enough to mutter he was going to the bathroom.
He smelled weird...like...Whisky. No, not the drink, like the drunks who drank it after they'd had time to sleep it off. Peter felt like cursing, the pieces falling into place. He was a bartender – he should have caught on sooner. He knew if he could smell it, the kids would, too. That was the last thing he needed.
“Two, man. It was better than last time,” Jamal replied. “So you owe me a buck, man. Let’s get this game going!”
“Take five, guys. I’ve gotta hit the head,” Peter called, jogging towards the bathroom to go and check on Lestrade, ignoring the way the boys were calling after him about being old. When you were fifteen, everyone older than you was old, after all.
He slowed when he got close, hearing retching inside. He was tempted to go back to the kids, let Lestrade have his space, but he knew what he’d smelled, and he couldn’t honestly just let this go. So he pushed the door open, spying Lestrade leaning over the sink, looking like he was about to be sick again. Peter let the door close and leaned against it, giving Lestrade a glance over.
“You doing ok?” Peter asked, tone firm like he would use with one of the kids hauled in at the station. He was not impressed. “I was worried you might throw up with how pale you were. You should keep better hydrated when you’re hung over.”
Hung over. Around his kids. Kids who went home to parents who were hung over or drinking.
He knew Lestrade. He knew he was a good guy and that this was not a habit. He just had to make it very clear that this was not to happen again if the was going to be around his kids. And to think he’d thought the man had the flu before he got a whiff of him after the game.
He waited, figuring Lestrade would either explain himself or he wouldn’t. Either way, Peter wasn’t going to jump down his throat until the man had the chance to speak.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 16, 2012 11:05:07 GMT -5
Lestrade heard Aramis come in and quietly close the door, and the obvious tension between them was like some terrible overbearing silence. It didn't really matter that he was about a decade older than Aramis, because he was the one acting like a perfect example of immaturity. He knew Aramis wasn't gonna let this slide, not with his kids around. If they had been at work, maybe, but not today. Lestrade's timing had always been awful.
“You doing ok? I was worried you might throw up with how pale you were. You should keep better hydrated when you’re hung over," Aramis said, and Lestrade cringed at his cold tone. Not that he didn't deserve it, but he hadn't been scolded like that in quite a long time, and it certainly wasn't pleasant. Aramis wasn't yelling, but the disappointment in his voice was obvious. He was almost surprised that Aramis hadn't chewed him out sooner, unless he was just now figuring it out.
How was he supposed to explain? He had no excuse. Making excuses was just pathetic; more pathetic than he already was. Then again, if his leaning against the door was any indication, Aramis wasn't allowing him to leave without a good explanation. Something he didn't have. Best thing, then, was just to tell the whole, boring, stinking truth.
"I know," Lestrade said, and they both knew he was alluding to a lot more than the hydration. He finally stood straight and turned to look at Aramis. Shame welled up inside him quickly, and he forced himself to continue, "I don't have any excuses. I just - I am sorry." He couldn't look at Aramis anymore, switched his gaze go his hands. "I should probably leave." He didn't want to leave, really he didn't. He was sure he'd be fine for the rest of the game, but that wasn't the point. Aramis' kids had noses too.
It occurred to him, with a glance to the dirty mirror in the bathroom, that he looked like his father. That dirty, rotten, good for nothing drinker. He'd once read that kids either end up exactly like or the exact antithesis of their parents' bad influences as adults. He'd thought he was different, but really, maybe he wasn't. He couldn't take care of his daughter or himself, obviously, and that alone was perhaps too characteristic of his old man than he'd like to admit.
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Post by DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS on Apr 16, 2012 17:09:29 GMT -5
“I know. I don’t have any excuses. I just – I am sorry. I should probably leave.”
Peter watched the man. He could tell he was regretful, that he felt bad about it. Peter liked to think he was a good judge of character, and he’d thought Lestrade was pretty upstanding. He even respected the man. That was why he was having this conversation. Anyone else and he would have chased them off with a stick by now.
“No. If you take off now, the kids will be the only ones hurt,” Peter replied, knowing it was true.
Against all odds, the kids liked Lestrade. They could sense he was honest and real. They needed people like that in their lives. And if he just up and left now, they’d twist it around so that it was their fault. That was the last thing Peter wanted to have happen, and he was sure that it was the last thing that Lestrade wanted to see happen, either.
So he was going to make things right for the kids. This time. If it ever happened again...
“Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to get yourself together. When you’re ready to come back out, head over to where my bag is against the fence. I keep a couple cans of that Axe stuff for the kids. Spray yourself down and come join us,” Peter directed. “We’re going to finish this game of basketball and then we’re taking these kids out for hot dogs.”
It was the routine. Peter didn’t mind springing for the hotdogs once a week and the kids enjoyed getting something hot to eat from an actual stand. It was the novelty of the thing, he supposed. It also could have just been that they liked having the detective spend money on them. Who knew?
“And next week, you show up completely sober or I’ll convince Baze there’s a pork chop in your pocket.”
Anyone who’d ever met the dog knew it was a good threat, the best one Peter could make. These were his kids, after all.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 16, 2012 18:30:29 GMT -5
“No. If you take off now, the kids will be the only ones hurt,” Aramis said to him, and Lestrade found himself surprised. He had honestly not thought there was any way of Aramis would have let him stay, and so the chance was rather strange. Not that is wasn't welcome, it was just that a second chance wasn't what he was expecting. Though, he doubted there would ever, ever be another, so he'd probably better do what Aramis said and keep his mouth shut. "Here’s what’s going to happen," Aramis continued, and Lestrade made himself look back at the younger man, still looking considerably startled. "You are going to get yourself together. When you’re ready to come back out, head over to where my bag is against the fence. I keep a couple cans of that Axe stuff for the kids. Spray yourself down and come join us. We’re going to finish this game of basketball and then we’re taking these kids out for hot dogs.”
There were a number of things Lestrade didn't like that about plan. One was that he hated the smell of Axe. Second, was that the kids would definitely think it was odd that he suddenly felt the need to do his hair in the middle of a basketball game. Third, was that food sounded thoroughly unappetizing at the moment, seeing as anything that had been clinging to the insides of his stomach were now washed down the drain. And fourth, he didn't exactly look forward to spending more time with Aramis today. Not that the man wasn't making Lestrade want to hug him at the moment, but when somebody was glaring daggers at you, it was a bit hard to keep enjoying yourself.
All those reasons were unimportant and selfish, he decided so quickly that the number of reasons why covering this up was a bad idea barely registered in his head.
“And next week, you show up completely sober or I’ll convince Baze there’s a pork chop in your pocket.”
Well, that was... intimidating. Lestrade, as Sherlock always teased him, was a master at "showing exactly what you're feeling on your face," and so it was obvious that Aramis' less-than-subtle threat got through to him quite effectively. And then the fact that Aramis also had just less-than-subtly invited him to come next week. Lestrade's face grew slightly more relaxed. If the guy was inviting him back, than at least he wasn't two steps away from strangling Lestrade anymore.
"Okay," Lestrade said quietly, and turned back to the sink to try to to wash some of the smell of him. He paused for a second, looking towards Aramis. "Peter, I really am sorry," Lestrade said apologetically, accidentally slipping into the use of Aramis' given name, "And not just to you, you know?" He grimaced before leaning down and turning back on the taps.
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