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"No."
"Oh, but..."
"No!"
"You'll look..."
"I'm not going. That is final."
"Spoil sport."
"What are my..."
"Oh, don't give me the rules! I'm going home."
Ash looked at the costume that lay on her bed. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and opened them again, but there was still no more to the costume than there had been thirty seconds previously. She sighed.
"The things I do for you, Emma," she breathed softly to the empty room.
She hadn't told Scribbs. That would have been too much like admitting defeat, and, frankly, she wanted to surprise the blonde. Though she began to regret that decision when the greasy proprietor of the costume store felt the need to be quite so dreadfully attentive as she tried on the skimpy outfit.
She'd had to resist reaching for her baton, when he'd leered at her and asked if she had a little blonde friend while showing her the companion costume to hers. The one she'd picked, on Scribbs's suggestion, may have been pretty skimpy, but at least she wasn't about to show off her midriff to the whole station.
"Bloody idiot who suggested fancy dress should be shot!" she growled as she fumbled with one of the more fiddly clasps.
Scribbs had contemplated going back to the fancy dress shop, for her costume, even after Ash had refused to eve contemplate her suggestion, but in the end, she decided that a sidekick, even one as kick ass as this, just wouldn't work without their hero. So she'd raided her wardrobe for a skimpy top and tight jeans, and trawled the local charity shops until she found some fuck me boots and a funky leather jacket.
A quick chat with a mate of friend of an old boyfriend had resulted in a large, and rather heavy, parcel arriving with one of her neighbours a few days back, containing the perfect accessories for her costume.
She stuffed a couple in the inside pocket of the jacket, and checked her make-up once more in the mirror. Sighing slightly at the lack of the longer hair that would have worked so much better for this costume, and more than a little at Ash for having blown her other suggestion, for which her current short hair would have been fine, so thoroughly out of the water, she turned away and left the flat.
The room was, thankfully, fairly dark. The costume had turned out to be surprisingly warm, given how little of it there was and Ash was currently considering whether she had the guts to ditch the cloak she was using to hide. She hadn't seen any sign of Scribbs yet, however, and she was damned if she was going to spoil the surprise, now.
Deciding that Dutch courage was as good as the real thing, she missed the blonde's entrance by having her back to the door. While she stood explaining to the bemused bar tender that she'd have a gin and tonic, if the gin wasn't Gordons, but otherwise she'd have a rum and Coke, if it was real Coke from a bottle and not concentrate, otherwise she'd have a single malt, not a blend, neat, her partner strode through the room purposefully until she found their boss.
Sullivan had taken the simple route, and, in fact, it had been seeing his costume hung forlornly in a plastic bag in his office that had given Scribbs the idea for her replacement costume. Now, she stood before him, more than usually noticeably a head shorter and somewhat fragile. Whispers buzzed through the room and someone slipped the DJ a fresh drink to turn off the cheesy music for the duration of this little act.
The disappearance of the music alerted Ash, and she made her way towards, and on hearing Scribbs's name in the talk, politely but firmly, through the gathered crowd. Though she passed through several conversations to reach the edge of the circle surrounding her partner and boss, she'd still not got a handle on what to expect of Scribbs's costume and character. As it was, the jeans and leather jacket, while extremely flattering on the blonde, came as something of a disappointment.
"Come here, Dracula, you fiend!" cried Scribbs at that moment, in a voice Ash was more used to hearing when chasing down suspects rather than at parties.
Then Sullivan turned, and sneered. A red disco light caught his face, highlighting bloodshot eyes and glinting off elongated fangs.
"You think I'm afraid of a slip of a girl, like you?" he rumbled, contemptuously.
"Don't you know the Slayer when you see her?" chipped in an anonymous voice from the crowd. "You're going down, mate!"
Suddenly, the imagery clicked in Ash's head. Reinforced when Scribbs reached into her jacked at pulled out two rather beautifully whittled wooden stakes. Buffy, Ash remembered with fondness, was Scribbs's *other* TV passion, and she'd been subjected to many hours of rather inane American teens running around dark cemeteries killing all manner of ghosts, ghouls and monsters. Though, if she was completely honest, she'd rather liked the geeky, red head, who'd eventually turned out to be a lesbian witch.
"You? The Slayer?" Sullivan's slightly maniacal laugh drew Ash's attention back to the tableau playing out before her.
"Yeah. You betcha fangs, I am!"
At that, the black clad DCI leaped forward, in imitation of a menacing attack on the defiant woman before him.
Ash's world blurred.
"No!" she cried, the word ripped from her throat, and she moved without thinking.
"Ash?" said Scribbs, wonderingly as Sullivan grabbed and pinned her to his body with an apparent choke hold on her throat. He whispered quickly "Er, change of plan, it seems. Just go with me."
"Why not pick on someone your own size?" yelled Ash from where she stood, cloak discarded, magnificent in bronze and leather. Her dark hair was loose and flowed over her bared shoulders, and she held a surprisingly real looking sword steadily before her. She had it seemed, momentarily forgotten that she was far closer in height to Scribbs than Sullivan.
"What interest have you here, warrior?" challenged Sullivan.
"You hold what is not yours to take. Release her or face my wrath!"
The voice was Ash's. Scribbs would have known it anywhere. The words... well, the words were not quite what you'd expect from a well brought up suburban ex-head girl.
Sullivan whispered, "scream," and pulled his arm slightly tighter across Scribbs's throat.
The DS did as she was told, also reaching up to pull ineffectually at the restraint.
"You have prior claim on the girl, warrior?" he asked dismissively, voice pitched once more to travel.
"Let. Her. Go." Ash's voice had become a deep, rumbling growl.
"Why?"
"I won't let her be hurt again! Not again."
"You have seen her hurt before, then, warrior?" Sullivan countered. "Why not, then, let me take her and put her beyond this mortal world of hurt and pain?"
He was beginning to worry a little about his DI's mental health, but decided that playing along was probably the better option. 'Those years of musical theatre at college have finally come in useful,' he thought to himself, pulling Scribbs head back to expose her neck for his plastic fangs to attack.
"No!" screamed Ash and suddenly she was all fluid motion.
The rush of air displaced by her movement towards him allowed Sullivan to look up and push Scribbs away from himself just before Ash hit him. Instinct more than the three lessons of stage fighring and sword craft from his past guided him to pull her close and roll with the impact, finally ending with him above the raven haired woman, pinning her to the floor. Her face was harder than usual, and, he noticed, her normally green eyes shone out a piercing bright blue.
"Ash? Ash!" It was Scribbs's voice, behind him, and he turned towards it briefly.
"Stay back, Scribbs!" he called, though it was no use, for she was already beside him.
The woman beneath him shifted and he quickly thrust his attention back her way, in case she proved to be a further danger. The lines of her face had softened again, he saw, and when she blinked open groggy eyes, they were the more usual green.
"Welcome back, Ash," he said softly, for her ears only. Then he shifted, allowing Scribbs to take care of her dazed and confused partner.
It should have been the most talked about station Christmas party ever. For some reason, though, even the biggest gossips felt something hold their tongues on the subject.
"Ash?"
They were curled up comfortably on the sofa in Ash's front room.
"Yes, Scribbs."
"We don't have to go to next year's, you know."
"Au contraire, Scribbs. I'm rather looking forward to it..."