Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If the people he cared about didn’t stop ending up in hospital, Carl was really going to lose his shit. He was breathless by the time he reached the nurse’s desk in A&E.

“I’m looking for my son, Jasper Stewart. He was brought here after an accident,” Carl told the woman at the desk. Mercifully, she took him right back, and Carl was finally able to breathe again when he saw Jasper sitting up on a bed and speaking with a nurse. He had a few cuts and bruises, and his arm was in some kind of temporary splint, but on the whole he seemed alright.

“Fucking hell, Jasper! What happened?” Carl asked, ignoring the pointed look from the nurse, who apparently didn’t appreciate colorful language.

“Some complete fucking prick sideswiped us on Gemma’s scooter,” Jasper explained. “Didn’t even stop after. I’m alright though.” The nurse left them, presumably to wash her ears out with soap, if the affronted look she gave them as she departed was anything to go by.

“What about Gemma?” Carl asked. His eyes kept roving over Jasper, on the lookout for any hidden hurt that may have been missed.

“She’s totally fine,” Jasper said. “They already let her go. She wanted to stay with me at least till you were here, but her parents took her home. Her dad’s a total arsehole.”

“Something you two have in common then,” Carl joked. Jasper just rolled his eyes. “What’s the deal with the arm?” he asked, gesturing to the splint.

“They said it’s probably broken,” Jasper told him. “They’ll put a cast on once they x-ray it, and then we can go.” Carl nodded, and they sat mostly in silence for a few minutes until someone came round to take Jasper for his x-ray.

Once Jasper was gone, Carl pulled out his phone and called Victoria. Of course she didn’t answer. Carl was fairly certain she hadn’t answered a single one of his calls since she left him, but he left her a voicemail letting her know what happened and that Jasper was fine. They brought Jasper back from x-ray, confirmed his arm was broken, got him all set with a cast, and then finally let Carl take him home.

Jasper settled himself on the couch and requested Carl bring him something to eat. “It’s not your fucking legs that are broken,” Carl complained even as he began assembling a sandwich for him. There was a knock on the door, and Jasper shot Carl a meaningful smirk. “Expecting company?” Carl flipped him off. After making her case for Carl taking additional time off after the Mhor shitshow, Rachel had stayed around and was still at the flat the other afternoon when Jasper came home from school. When she left, Jasper hadn’t said anything, but his shit-eating grin was enough for Carl to tell him to fuck off anyway.

Carl headed to answer the door, trying very hard to ignore the feeling of hope that bubbled up when he wondered if it might actually be Rachel. That feeling morphed into something much more complicated when he opened the door and saw Victoria. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked.

“Eloquent as always, Carl. I’m here to check on Jasper,” she responded.

“There really is a first time for fucking everything I guess,” Carl said. Victoria ignored him and came through to the living room.

Jasper’s surprise at seeing his mum was evident. More subtle was his delight, but Carl still clocked it. As much as Victoria’s departure from their lives had fucked Carl up—and boy had it—it had fucked Jasper up even more. Carl had been so deeply lost in his own grief and anger that he hadn’t been able to help Jasper through his, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know it was there. Nevertheless, Victoria was his mum, and Carl knew there’d always be a part of him that yearned for her presence and attention. Carl didn’t want to admit it, but he was afraid the same might be true for him.

Victoria fawned over Jasper, which he received with the eye-rolling and grumbling typical of boys his age. Carl retreated awkwardly to the kitchen to finish Jasper’s sandwich. The three of them hadn’t been in the same room together since the divorce and even before that, it had been quite some time since they’d felt like anything close to a happy family.

Still, Carl did remember a time when they had been. He remembered when Jasper looked at him with adoration instead of loathing. When the idea of being his dad gave him a purpose, before he felt crushed under the weight of his own incompetence to fill the role. He remembered when he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to be wanted by a woman like Vic. She lit up every room she walked into. She made friends easily and was the life of every party, and he was the one she came home to. When he fucked it all up, and she left, he took it as confirmation of what some part of him had always known: he simply wasn’t good enough for her.

After the divorce, he’d directed plenty of his anger at her, but at the root of it all, he was most angry at himself for ever foolishly believing he could have kept her. And although he would rather take another bullet—or ten—than admit it, he was enough of a fucking idiot that some part of him still loved her and wanted her anyway.

Carl delivered the sandwich to Jasper on the couch. “Jesus, Carl,” Victoria said, “He’s hit by a car, and all you can feed him is a sandwich?” Carl rolled his eyes. “Well Martin’s away this weekend, so I’m afraid it’s this or starvation. But please feel free to leave if the sandwich has offended you.”

Jasper sensed the fight brewing. “Mum, it’s fine really.” His eyes pleaded with her to let it drop. “Ok, ok,” she said, putting her hands up in mock surrender. Carl knew better, because she never surrendered. “How about I order us some takeout, hm?” she asked. “Our favorite Thai place still on the corner?” Jasper’s eyes flicked to Carl, who dragged his hand down his face in exasperation but didn’t protest. “Yeah, that’d be alright,” Jasper agreed.

Two hours later, the takeout containers were empty, Carl and Vic had polished off two bottles of wine, and the credits were rolling on the shitty action film they’d let Jasper choose. He was going to milk the “but I was hit by a car” angle as long as he could. Carl wasn’t sure why Vic was still hanging around, but he’d stopped worrying about it around the time the first bottle of wine was emptied. Jasper sat with Vic on the couch, his head leaned on her shoulder and failed to stifle his third yawn in as many minutes. “I think you’d best be off to bed, love,” she told him. To Carl’s complete shock, Jasper didn’t put up a fight and shuffled off to his room with a muttered, “G’night” to both his parents.

“I need the loo,” Vic said, leaving Carl alone in the living room. He gathered the takeaway containers and brought them into the kitchen, then got himself a tall glass of water. The wine was buzzing pleasantly in his veins, but he knew he’d be paying for it in the morning. Vic returned and brought her glass into the kitchen.

He couldn’t help himself when he asked, “Your duty free friend won’t be upset you’re out late?”

“Pilot. And it turns out his marriage wasn’t as over as he said it was,” Vic huffed. Carl’s laugh escaped before he could even think about trying to stop it. “No need to be a prick about it, darling,” she scolded. “Especially after you’ve spent the whole evening being practically bearable.”

“Practically bearable” was the nicest thing she’d said about him in ages. “Well, Jas liked having you here, and he was hit by a car today, so I figured I’d try not to fuck it up for him.”

Vic brought her glass over and reached around Carl to place it in the sink, but then she didn’t pull back out of his space. She looked up at him and asked, “Was Jas the only one who liked having me here?” Carl didn’t say anything. His brain seemed to have ground to a halt, giving up rather than trying to parse what the fuck was happening. Vic took hold of his shirt and pulled him down into a kiss.

He didn’t need his brain for this. His body remembered. She tasted the same as she always had. Her scent had driven him mad from their first night together, and that hadn’t changed either in the intervening years. She kept a firm hold on his shirt as she deepened the kiss, slipping her tongue into his mouth. Something, in the very dim recesses of his mind, was telling him to stop. Telling him that this was a very, very bad fucking idea. Somehow, that thought was able to push its way through the overwhelming want and need that were rapidly consuming him. He managed to pull back and say, “Vic, wait.”

“Jesus, Carl,” she said, “for once try not to overthink every fucking thing.” Then she closed what remained of the space between them, pressing her body into his, and kissed him again. She raised her hand to the back of his head, lightly scraping her nails down the nape of his neck, bringing forth a sound from him that was something between a whine and a groan.

Whatever doubts were trying to make themselves heard were finally drowned out as his arms wrapped around her of their own accord. He grabbed her ass, pulling her into him, desperate to close a space between them that wasn’t there. She broke the kiss this time, looking at him with the gleam of something like triumph in her eyes, but he was already too fucking gone to care as he followed her to the bedroom.

Chapter Text

Carl woke with a pounding headache and an empty bed, neither of which surprised him. Although he’d fallen asleep with Vic tucked securely in his arms, he knew an awkward morning-after was chief among things she would avoid at most any cost. Her perfume still lingered on the sheets and on his skin, which meant a shower was imperative for him to be able to begin boxing up what had happened last night and filing it away to resolutely not think about.

After he showered and put the sheets in the wash, he headed to the kitchen for coffee. He was actively fighting not to recall how he’d stood there last night and allowed himself to make such a colossal fucking mistake. He’d been aware, of course, that Vic still had a hold over some part of him, but he never imagined she’d have any interest in exerting it in that way, or that if she did, he’d be weak enough to let her. What a desperate fucking loser.

Before he could spiral too far, Jasper shuffled into the kitchen. “Morning, sunshine,” Carl said. “How’s the arm?” Jasper grunted, “I think my whole body is a giant fucking bruise.”

“Sounds about right,” Carl said with some amount of sympathy as he set about making Jasper toast.

Their silences were far less fraught these days, and it felt almost comfortable as they sat together quietly, Carl with his coffee and Jasper with his toast. Finally, Jasper finished up and asked, “Can Gemma come over today?”

Carl narrowed his eyes. “You’re asking permission?” Jasper gave him a pointed look, and then Carl caught on. “Oh, you want me to fuck off out of my own house so you two can have some privacy, hm?”

“Please, Carl! I was-“ Jasper started.

“I know, I know. Hit by a fucking car. Jesus. Fine,” Carl grumbled. Jasper grinned and rose from the table. Then he hesitated, apparently weighing what he was about to say next. “Carl, thanks for being cool with Mum last night. It was…I don’t know. I guess it was nice…to be the three of us again, just for a little while.” There was something so vulnerable in his face and in that admission that Carl’s heart felt flayed open.

Carl nodded, pausing a minute before speaking to be sure his voice wasn’t going to crack. Finally he simply said, “Yeah, it was.” Then he cleared his throat and said, “You’d better shower if you’re planning to get a sympathy-lay today.” Jasper flipped him off and headed for the bathroom.

Once he’d left the flat, Carl didn’t really know what to do with himself. Against his better judgment he texted Vic, “Hey” as he waited for his coffee order at the cafe down the street. It was unfortunate that she knew him well enough to see through the simplicity of that message, for she responded, “Last night was fun. We don’t need to make it a whole thing.” He sent a thumbs up and shoved his phone back into his pocket, embarrassed that he was so fucking transparent.

He was a grown man for Christ’s sake, surely he should be able to fuck his ex without it meaning anything, right? Vic clearly had. So what was wrong with him that this whole thing had left him feeling raw and empty and vulnerable and completely fucking pathetic?

Almost on auto-pilot, Carl headed for Hardy’s place. He knocked and then let himself in, finding Hardy on the couch with football on the telly. “Your nurse has got the lawn looking great,” Carl said by way of greeting.

“He’s got a real knack for it,” Hardy said. “We might really be in the running for Garden of the Month. Too bad I wasn’t shot years ago.” Carl rolled his eyes then said, “Sounds pretty quiet around here.”

“Yeah, Donna took the kids up to see her folks. I just can’t make the stairs at their flat,” Hardy said with feigned regret, spreading his hands. Then he smirked. “Again, should’ve done this years ago.” Carl snorted and sank into the couch beside Hardy.

“So,” Carl said, “Jasper was hit by a fucking car yesterday.”

“What the fuck do you mean?!” Hardy exclaimed. “What happened? Is he alright?”

“Some fucker hit his girlfriend’s scooter. His arm’s broken, but he’s alright. Nearly gave me a fucking heart attack when I got the call from A&E though,” Carl admitted.

“Jesus, of course it fucking did,” Hardy sympathized.

Carl continued casually, “Vic came by the flat to check on him after.” It was too casual. Hardy looked over at him sharply. “Did she?” was all he said, but it was weighted with understanding. Carl took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. “I slept with her.”

“Fucking hell, Carl!”

Carl covered his eyes with his hand as he kept his face angled toward the ceiling. “Fuck. I know,” he said miserably.

“Apparently you fucking well don’t!” Hardy said. “Christ, mate, I’ve never met anyone who could fuck with your head the way she does, and that’s even when you’re not barely holding it together.” Carl didn’t argue. There wasn’t any point, they both knew Hardy was right, about the power she held over him as well as the tenuous grip he’d had on himself for the past…well, some time.

“Carl, I know you don’t want to hear this,” Hardy continued, “but you’ve got people who depend on you. Jasper, Rose, Akram. Fuck, even me, ok? Which means at some point, you’ve got to learn face all your shit and take care of yourself. Step number one—and you can put a big fucking asterisk by this one—is to stay the fuck away from Vic. Don’t let her wreck you all over again, mate.”

Carl nodded and sighed. “You know Rachel said something similar, about people depending on me. Seems like a big fucking mistake on their part.”

“Rachel your shrink?” Hardy asked.

“She’s not my shrink anymore,” Carl said.

Hardy raised an eyebrow. “No? What is she then?”

Carl sighed again, “A friend, she says. I don’t fucking know.”

Hardy smiled. “Not sure if I like the idea of sharing you,” he said. “I’m so used to being your one and fucking only.”

“Fuck off, prick,” Carl said with fondness.

Chapter Text

Rachel wouldn’t go so far as to say she was hoping to hear from Carl. She was more just idly wondering if she would. If he didn’t get in touch, well, that was perfectly fine. She knew he had taken her advice and requested leave after Mhor. She’d checked up on that to verify whether she needed to make good on her threat to Moira that she would file a complaint if they brought him back to work so soon after another shooting. Especially when he had still very much not dealt with the mental and emotional fallout from the first.

So even though their professional relationship had ended, she at least hoped that maybe she was able to help him begin to understand the need to take care of himself. And if she didn’t hear from him again, that would have to be good enough. If he did get in touch, though, that felt a bit more complicated.

Although her last visit to his flat resulted in a panic attack, once he’d come through it, they’d spent a surprisingly pleasant afternoon together. She’d intended to stay only long enough to ensure he wasn’t in imminent danger of being overtaken by his anxiety again. But then they’d found their way into a discussion of music and books and films.

Carl was unsurprisingly opinionated on each of these topics and was—also unsurprisingly—a harsh critic. However, his enthusiastic defense of his favorites caught her somewhat off guard. She’d never heard him speak with passion about things that he liked, although things that he hated was certainly well-trod ground. It animated him in a way that was captivating and endearing, even as she rolled her eyes over his exasperation that she couldn’t be brought round to his way of thinking on which works were, in his estimation, very clearly superior.

She thought they’d both probably lost track of how much time had passed, given Carl’s surprise when Jasper arrived home from school. Jasper seemed genuinely pleased to see her again, although the way his eyes kept flicking to Carl and the way Carl was resolutely avoiding his gaze made her suspect Carl might be in for some light ribbing once she left.

That had been nearly a week ago, and she hadn’t heard from him since. Of course, she could have reached out, but she honestly felt conflicted about pushing herself into his life. He’d made his attraction to her clear. She wasn’t willing to delude herself into believing that it wasn’t mutual. But that could absolutely NOT lead to anything. Carl was in such a vulnerable and unhealthy place that any attempt at a romantic relationship would be utterly disastrous for both of them. A friendship, she thought, might be possible, but she wouldn’t force it if it wasn’t something he wanted to pursue.

So she waited and wondered, idly, of course. Until he texted her asking if she’d meet him for coffee. The fact that he asked and didn’t just ambush her could be taken as a sign of progress, she thought. Although proposing the site of her crashed date as their meeting place did feel unnecessarily cheeky.

He was already waiting at a table when she arrived. A genuine smile crossed his face when he spotted her, but he almost immediately wrangled his expression into something more reserved. “Hello, Rachel,” he said, seeming nervous.

“Hello, Carl,” then, noticing two drinks on the table, “Did you order for me?”

“Yes, same as last time,” he said with a grin, that was definitely cheeky.

“And how did you know what I ordered last time?” she asked. As far as Rachel could recall, Carl had been wholly focused on himself the last time they were here.

He tapped the side of his head with his finger. “Detective. Remember?” Then he had the audacity to wink at her. She hoped he didn’t catch the grin that was tugging at her lips as she rolled her eyes at him.

“So how have you been?” she asked. “I heard you decided to take some leave.”

The air of playfulness he’d had about her coffee order evaporated, and he avoided her eyes as he said, “Yep. Fine.” He fidgeted, nervous again, and Rachel suddenly feared he might be holding back some confession of feelings that would truly make a friendship impossible. She waited, letting him gear up to say whatever it was he needed to.

“So,” he started then paused. “If—hypothetically—someone wanted to talk to someone. A therapist. Who wasn’t you. Do you know someone? I mean. Is there someone? Who you’d recommend?” Then he added, in a rush, ”Someone who’s not a complete fucking idiot.”

Rachel watched as Carl’s attention seemed to be wholly absorbed by his coffee cup. His leg bounced nervously. She considered how to respond before saying, “Yes. I can think of a few people who might fit the bill.” Then, very carefully, she asked, “Did something else happen? Something that made you re-think talking to someone?”

Carl gave a token protest. “I didn’t say it was me.”

“Right,” she said.

He blew out a long breath then said, “Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

He huffed out something that was not quite a laugh and said, “Definitely not with you.”

“Ok,” Rachel said. “Let me think on it a bit, and I’ll send you some names, ok?” She would actually need to put quite a lot of thought into this. She wasn’t lying to Moira when she intimated that Carl didn’t have the patience to churn through a roster of therapists in the quest for a good fit. But the fact that he was willing to try again, that he’d asked for help, gave her hope. She tried ignore her worry about whatever had happened to spur on this change of heart.

Carl sighed, and some of the tension visibly melted from his frame. “Thanks,” he said, still intensely interested in his coffee cup. Then added, reluctantly, “For everything, I mean.”

She smiled at him as he finally looked up at her. “I know it’s a cliche,” Rachel said, “but that actually is what friends are for.”

Carl snorted. “Is it? I need to have a talk with Hardy then. All he ever does is give me shit.”

“Well that’s an important part of the job too,” she laughed. “Especially since giving and receiving shit seems to be your primary love language.”

“Oh fuck off,” he said.

“Thank you Carl, I’m touched. Truly,” she said with a grin and was rewarded with a smile from him that she felt she could really start getting used to seeing.