Disclaimer : They do not belong to me! I just felt the need to finish the story of Rose Leslie's character.
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Detective Sergeant Emma Lane stared. At grey walls, at fluorescent lights, at a mirror reflecting her pale and tired face back at her. Sometimes she spoke. Horrid coffee. Men in suits. Women in blazers. All of them looking as tired as she was, but at least they could stomach coffee. They kept offering her cups. She kept refusing.
Talking in a room for nearly three hours, telling the same story. All the same details about where she got the gun and why she pulled the trigger so many times. Forcing her to relive the moment over and over and over again. She was weary and worn-out when they finally told her she could go home. She stopped by Theo's desk to rest her hand in the center, thinking of all the dumb and geeky jokes he would make to cheer her up on a particularly bad day. She remembered his rare laugh, reserved for those he felt the most comfortable around. It was months before she'd heard it.
“The Jedi are extinct,” she whispered, “their fire has gone out of the universe. Goodbye, Theo.” She kissed her fingers and pressed them against the desktop before she continued out of the building.
The air was fresh and cool. She left her window down as she drove, letting it wash over her face and through her hair. The city was quiet, but there seemed to be lights on in every building. People moving through the shadows between streetlamps. Police and junkmen and criminals and service workers, on their way to or from a late shift, just like her. None of them seemed to bear the same burden as her, however. But none of them had kept the city safe from a deranged murderer, either. She'd done a good thing. She'd saved a woman's life. She'd saved DCI Luther.
Emma closed her eyes when she stopped at the next intersection. There he was again, blood covering his apron, his horrible eyes gone wide as he flopped backward. She had emptied the gun into him, murdered him. Not in cold blood by any means. But without justice, perhaps. He should have gone to trial and been held accountable for what he'd done. He should have been made to pay for Theo's murder, and for everyone else he'd killed without reason or provocation.
She parked outside their flat and checked her face in the rearview mirror. She still looked wretched, but that couldn't be helped. She would just blame it on long hours. She took her bag and went upstairs. She could see the lamp next to Lucy's reading chair shining through the window. She unlocked the door and stepped inside.
“You're supposed to be sleeping, love.” She couldn't bear to put even faux-anger in her voice; the truth was that she was relieved to know Lucy was still awake. She put down her bag and went into the main room. “Hello, my love.”
Lucy was sitting under the lamp, huge as a house, her feet up and her legs draped with the afghan Emma's mother had made for them. She had just closed her book and was stretching to put it aside. Emma took it away from her, put it on the shelf, and crouched next to the chair. She bent down to give Lucy's belly a tender kiss, then rested her chin against the bump. Lucy's hands went to Emma's hair and let it down. When she turned the process into a scalp massage, Emma closed her eyes and folded her hands in her lap.
“Long day?” Lucy said.
“The longest ever,” she said. “You?”
Lucy said, “Little fellow woke me up early and hasn't given me a break since.”
“Except for the nap you took this afternoon, right?”
“Right,” Lucy said. “Except for that. Neither one of us is going to risk making Mama angry.”
Emma smiled. “Good girl.” She kissed Lucy's belly again. “And good boy. Already learning.” She sat up and looked up at Lucy. She was absolutely knock-down gorgeous. A few years older than Emma, dark skinned and short hair. They were exact opposites, but they matched up perfectly where it counted. Their hearts were practically twins.
“I'm going to go wash up.”
“There's a stew in the fridge.” Emma's eyes flashed with irritation, but Lucy stemmed the tide. “Take-away. Raylie brought it over. I swear I didn't cook.”
“Better not've. And I'll check the dishes, too. Just to be sure.”
She pushed herself up. Lucy reached to take her hand.
“ Don't !”
Lucy recoiled. Emma blinked in surprised at the outburst. She curled her fingers against her palm, then covered one hand with the other.
“I'm sorry. I just... I need to wash up...”
She turned and fled into the bathroom. Her fingers were shaking when she twisted the faucets. She thrust both hands under the spray and began to scrub. Lucy entered the room behind her and stood silently as Emma scrubbed, applied soap, rinsed, scrubbed, applied more soap, and continued until both hands were bright pink. Lucy finally came forward and reached around Emma to turn the knobs back to off. She put her hands on Emma's shoulders and kissed her wild hair.
“I killed someone today.”
Lucy breathed in deeply and then let it out. “Good.”
“If you killed him, then he deserved to be dead. Was he a bad man?”
“Awful.” The word barely had any volume, swallowed by her breath. “He was the worst person I've ever imagined. He was... lifting a hammer... over a woman's head...”
Lucy said, “Bloody hell. And you stopped him?”
“Thank god for you, Emma.”
Emma closed her eyes. “I killed him, Lucy. I wanted him dead.”
“I want him dead, too.”
Emma sniffled. “He had videos. All these horrible spy camera videos. People's laptops... oh, Jesus, go cover up your laptop's camera. Now. Please, Lucy, go do it now.”
Lucy said, “I'll do it when you've stopped shaking. I promise. Close your eyes, Streets.”
Emma laughed despite herself. The day they met, introducing each other, a misunderstanding...
“You're a what?”
“You said you're a lane? Or Elaine? Sorry. I misunderstood...”
She wasn't sure when the Streets nickname was officially coined. She just remembered Lucy's husky voice in her ear: “I'm eating out tonight. Just a warm little place down the Lane.” She blushed at the memory and took Lucy's hands. Her palms were still wet from the delousing she'd given herself. She squeezed tightly and closed her eyes as Lucy had told her.
“Picture those videos of his. Did you see the faces of the people in them?”
“Yeah.” A wrinkle appeared between her eyes.
“Picture one in particular.”
There was a man in a suit, sans jacket, speaking on a cell phone. He was in a hotel, pacing in front of the bed.
Lucy leaned in and whispered, “You saved his life. Picture another one.”
A woman in a towel. She said that aloud.
“You saved her life. Another.”
Emma opened her eyes and looked at her girlfriend. “Thank you.”
“Any time. Come with me.”
They left the bathroom light on as Lucy led her into the bedroom. Emma sat on the edge of the bed and swung her feet up so Lucy could take off her shoes for her. She sighed and flexed her toes, scooting to one side to make room for Lucy next to her. Lucy lay on her side and guided Emma's head to her chest. Emma closed her eyes and, at long last, spread her fingers over the bump between them.
“Not since this afternoon.”
“I want to feel him kick.”
“Then leave your hand right where it is.” She kissed the top of Emma's head. “Sleep... sleep.”
Emma smiled and took a slow breath. Sleep had seemed like an impossible theory while giving her statement, and as exhausted as she'd been on the drive home, she doubted she would ever be able to close her eyes without seeing Steven Rose and the bloody ruin she'd made of his chest. Instead she saw the wall of videos, the multitude of potential victims across London she had saved by ending the life of a monster.
As she drifted off, she felt their child kick.
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