Work Text:
It wasn’t an extraordinary day; it wasn’t particularly terrible either, it was neither good nor bad. However, the guys had both concluded a rather miserable and depressing case, and a very complex one too. Seeing such a network of smaller crimes and lost names all tied together and families and lovers brought to justice pleaded the two of them greatly. So greatly, that they were buzzing in the locker room after being dismissed by the Governor.
Ripley was putting his laptop and notebook in his leather bag, while holding his phone deep into the locker with the brightness quite low.
“What’s that for? You’re not going to get bashed for having your phone out, mate,” coworker and close friend, Hindley, spoke up, elbowing Ripley’s arm.
“I guess, but I don’t want to see like I’m taking photos of anyone. ‘Specially since some are changing right now.”
“Oh,” he hummed, continuing to pack away his desk items into his bag from his arms.
Ripley kept snatching looks to the side, out of his locker door, as if he was waiting for the perfect moment to do something. He shut the metal door and leant against the unit, looking at his friend.
“Pub?”
“Yeah.”
Ripley drove the both of them in his car back to Hindley’s place, to drop off the car so they didn’t have to collect it in the morning. Hindley dashed inside to check something, which didn’t take him more than a minute. After locking up, he swung his keys around his index before shoving them deeply into his coat pocket, zipping them away.
Ripley’s eyes followed the keys on their path from the lock to the nesting pocket before heightening a question, “Mary and Amélie not home?”
Hindley stopped advancing towards Ripley, his path thrown. He paused for a long, cold moment, which made Ripley think maybe he hadn’t heard him due to his hardened hearing, before Hindley drew a short breath and muttered a denial.
Seeing his obvious discomfort, Ripley decided to not bring anything else up that evening, but one question lingered in the back of his mind, ‘why had he seemed so upset over his wife and daughter… had something happened?’
As much as he tried, it was extremely difficult for Hindley to mask the fact that he was clearly upset about something. Even once they had sat down and had a couple beers, Hindley still wasn’t fully his annoying and teasing self. He seemed like he was taking actual hits whenever someone made a friendly joke aimed at him; eventually, everyone stopped making them. Over time, Hindley had stopped talking and joining in with the conversation, exhausted by trying to keep a smile on his face. At some point, he took one of his hearing aids out, to completely block all connection with the rest of the group. After a while, most of the group had left, leaving Ripley, Hindley, and some coworker who was blacked out and drunk, who they would probably have to deal with later. Hindley slipped one of his hearing aids back in, so they weren’t completely disconnected.
Lots of other groups were now departing and the two of them would have to speak louder or listen closer to communicate clearly. Ripley, once their group had departed, dropped his smile and his face spread to what looked like concern, only to see Hindley had already stopped smiling. Most likely as soon as he was free to, and he was now mindlessly staring at the table number plate on the centre of the bar.
“What’s bothering you so much, Yuwen? You usually tell me everything and now you’re sort of…,” he spoke, leaning forward, and ducking, to try to meet Hindley’s low and lost gaze, “distant.”
“I’m alright, nothing to bother about, just worrying,” Hindley muttered, not looking up to meet the eyes of his friend.
Ripley frowned, knowing full well that Hindley never worried, or at least, always expressed his worries to others and sorted them through. This was something personal, not a work or job worry.
There was a long, but comfortably loud, silence as the bustle of the pub closing hour was building.
Ripley, all though he hadn’t wished to speak about the subject, decided to poke at Hindley to see if he could figure out what was going on. Ripley wondered if maybe the issue was his attachment to people he loved, something that was very prominent in Hindley’s character. He briefly remembered the look on his friend’s face when he had mentioned family, and drew a breath, speaking loud enough to be heard over the busy pub and over the barrier of Hindley’s disability.
“Are Mary and the kid away at the moment?” he asked, looking at his quite miserable friend, almost bracing for impact.
Hindley, hearing this, let his head harshly drop the the table before rising to a seated position again, rubbing his head, then his eye, looking at Ripley with a fatigued and hopeless look.
“I don’t think they’re coming back,” he choked.
Ripley froze for a brief moment, before swallowing hard and blinking, “what? Why?”
Hindley shook his head, almost holding back tears, “I don’t know— she left a letter. On the counter.”
Ripley looked at him, not wanting to push but definitely wanting to ask. Hindley fixated his other hearing aid on his left ear.
“I haven’t read it…”
“Well, you can’t assume the worst then. She might be taking a break, or a family thing might have come up?” He probed, trying to stay positive and optimistic.
“She would have called if it was an emergency,” he dryly replied, snapping back slightly.
“Maybe she wanted to make it more sincere. More sweet. She’s like that, that’s something she would do. Maybe something happened to Amélie, and she was more concerned about that.”
“No.” Hindley, once again, shut down the idea of any hope, drowning in his own misery.
Ripley sourly turned to face a different direction, thinking hard. It was hard to concentrate with the amount of noise. Singing, drink chatter, shouts over games of pool…
“Justin, I think it’s to do with Hobbs.”
He felt hot all over at the mention of the name, and he pulled at his collar, briefly running his fingertips over the soft tissue of his scar, desperately wanting to undo a button, but not wanting to throw Hindley off track. He could see he was uncomfortable too.
However, a huge portion of this mystery snapped in place; a jigsaw falling into place, just the right place.
About a week ago, Patrick Hobbs, Mary’s unknown relation, had kidnapped Mary and her school children and held them captive, as an act of revenge on Mary. In the process of saving the captives, both Hindley and Ripley had been injured, which resulted in Hindley’s hearing loss and near imprisonment. The story between Mary and Patrick and why they were so vicious was untold, hence why the force had hesitated to imprison him for longer. Ripley now knew that Hobbs had to slide into the story somewhere, as the events were so close to one another.
“Maybe she wanted to get away from him? In case he comes for her after parole?”
Hindley stayed still, his breaths heavy, “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“That’s probably the reason. I don’t think she’s leaving you, Hindley. I think she’s protecting herself and Amélie from-“
“Can we just go home?” Hindley groaned, trying to block out the words he didn’t want to hear. The louder the pub was, the more stressed he was feeling. Like the entire world was on his back, he was slumping back into his seat, discomfort sprawled across his face. Ripley wasn’t looking nor paying attention, he was playing with the rim of his glass and tracing it with his finger as he rambled on.
“Maybe she’s protecting Amélie from Hobbs. Thank God she wasn’t captive like all those poor children. He’s a nasty piece of work I’ll tell you tha-“
“Stop it! Stop talking, stop talking about him!” Hindley yelled, standing up and slamming his hands against the wooden table they were seated at. The room went silent, and Ripley swallowed a rising anxiety in his throat back down to his chest, a cold chill running down his back.
“I don’t want to talk another that sick, vile creature any longer than I’ve already had to!” Hindley blinked, his face contorted with anguish and rage.
“Do you know how difficult it is for me, every single day, at work? Everyone coming up to me and being all empathetic, ‘I’m so sorry that happened to you,’ ‘do you want to talk about it?’ No I don’t wanna fucking talk about it! I don’t want to deal with any of shit shit any-“ He looked around the room at all the faces looking at him, noticing it was silent.
“more.” Then he turned and rushed out of the building.
“Shit-“ Ripley mumbled, fiddling with his pocket to find his wallet to pay quickly, his hands suddenly sweaty, his body hot, hoping to be able to watch up with Hindley. Bernie, the guy who owned the pub and a good friend, nodded toward the door as if to send him away. Ripley decided he would pay up next time they came around, and dashed out of the door, hearing murmurs follow and eventually the bustle and loud business return as soon as the door closed behind him. He looked both directions to look for Hindley, who he spotted trudging back in the direction of his home. He could see in the darkness beside him, a very drunk and droopy fellow who was confused and looking at his hands, muttering slurred words to himself. He took a sharp and painful breath of the cold winter air and jogged to catch up with Hindley. For a moment, he didn’t speak and just followed slightly behind him.
“Hindley, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
He didn’t respond, he had a cigarette in hand and was panting heavily. Ripley’s gaze drifted from the side of Hindley’s face to the fag in his hand, and he frowned slightly.
“I thought you quit?”
“I don’t ‘quit’ anything, I just take long breaks.” Hindley replied, taking a drag and offering it to Ripley, who pushed his hand away.
“No thanks,” there was a silence as they walked, before he spoke up again, “not to excuse myself, but it was loud in there and I’m drunk. I genuinely didn’t notice you telling me you were uncomfortable.”
The silence played on.
“I just wanted to make sure you knew. I wasn’t being an arse on purpose, and I’m sorry I didn’t-“
“It’s okay.”
Ripley swallowed, not having anything else to say. He nuzzled his neck into the collar of his coat and shuddered at the cold air nipping at his ears. Once again, he saw the silhouette of Hindley’s hand offering him the cigarette.
“It’ll warm you up,” he pressed.
Ripley took it from him, twisting it between his finger and thumb like a pencil, “where did you even get this? Do you carry them with you?”
“I stole it off some drunk git outside the pub door.”
Ripley scowled down at the thing in his fingers, but put it to his lips nevertheless. He felt his chest warm up, as promised, and passed it back to Hindley.
The walk back to Hindley’s place was mostly silent, but it was much less awkward than Ripley had anticipated it to be.
When they got to the front door, Hindley dug into his coat pocket for his keys, and after trying several different ones, scraping the metal and paint off of the mechanism. Ripley came up close behind him and pulled the key into the lock, before shoving the door open, knowing it was a difficult job. Hindley stood still for a second, then returned the cigarette to his mouth and threw the keys inside, rattling against the floorboards. On the way past, Ripley couldn’t help but notice the scratches on the metal lock and even around the lock on the wood door, indicating this wasn’t the first time this had happened.
It had been years since Ripley had been in this home, the last time being for babysitting the resident’s daughter, Amélie.
He soon noticed, wandering around, that there was not a single change to when he had last been there. The pictures on the wall of the wedding day, something he wished he had accepted and attended; he was still pissed off at the two of them for even getting together at the time. It was a simple grudge that he wished he had let go sooner.
It was a boring house in general. He had begged him many times to buy and look after a plant or two, but every single time Hindley had refused, saying it wouldn’t matter as they would die or he wouldn’t have time for loving them properly.
One thing caught Ripley’s eye as he strolled through the hallway. A small stuffed rabbit lying lifeless on the stairway runner carpet. It was dangling half off one stair and dropping onto the other, as if their friend had left in a rush and accidentally left her behind. He picked it up gently, his fingers cupping and supporting the floppy back and head of the small thing. He looked around for Hindley and spotted him resting his elbows and leaning on the counter. Making his way over, he switched the small stuffed animal to his right hand, still holding it gently as if it were sentient. Hindley had a letter in his hand. Ripley took a breath, already thinking of some form of comfort he could give.
However, Hindley was not upset. He looked as if he hadn’t even read it yet.
He looked at the first words, his throat feeling like barbed wire, his eyes suddenly dry and stingy.
“My dear Yuwen,” he began, his hand clutching the paper; it was the last hope he had. He only read the first few sentences out loud, before trailing off and reading the rest to himself.
‘I do hate to write this. It pains me having to be the one to leave. But I’m not gone.
I’ve decided to move back to Liverpool with my parents, and I’ve taken Amélie with me. She’s just as heartbroken as I am, and I may already be partially regretting my decision. But the reality is our family could have been torn apart at the incident, and I’m afraid. I’m more paranoid than ever.
This isn’t your fault, Yuwen, it never was, and it never will be. This is for our safety.
I’m scared of what could come if evil individuals, like Hobbs, found out you had a vulnerability, a family that could be put in harms way. I don’t want our darling daughter to be hurt, and neither do you.
Obviously, I won’t be around to remind you to charge your hearing aids and such, so you’ll have to write yourself little post-it notes or something. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.
Say goodbye to Justin too, don’t keep this as a secret from him like you used to. We’ll keep in touch, discreetly. I just want everyone to be safe, and I want her to be happy.
You have my number.
Love, Mary ♡’
There was a long silence, long enough for Ripley to start wondering if Yuwen was even still reading, or if he was just staring at the paper in anguish. A tear silently raced down Hindley’s cheek and splashed onto the corner of the crumpled paper, soaking and spreading along the peaks of the creased lines. Ripley crept forward on the right, until he was almost stooped over Yuwen’s shoulders, softly breathing down his neck, hesitantly raising his palm to rest on his back as a form of comfort. It was the only thing he could think of doing. Hindley did not react like he usually would when Ripley’s soft and warm palm gently made contact with his hunched form, instead he sniffed and tried to discreetly hide the letter from him.
“I’m sorry,” Ripley started, caressing the fabric of Yuwen’s collared shirt with his thumb.
Hindley spoke, louder than expected, trying to cover the tremble in his voice, “you don’t even know what happened and you’re already apologetic like it’s your fault.”
“Is it?”
“…No.”
“Then tell me what happened, and we can make a plan, we can sort this out together,” Ripley replied, moving his hand up to Hindley’s left shoulder, and giving him a squeeze with his arm.
“I-“ his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, “I don’t think I’m in the state of mind to talk. I’ll mess things up, say things I don’t mean.”
There was a short silence where Hindley shifted his head to look at Ripley, his eyes ready to weep, but something was holding him back.
“But you’ll tell me tomorrow?” Ripley asked, letting his arm fall off of Yuwen’s shoulder and drift off somewhere else, noticing the oddly familiar red and glossy look in his friend’s eyes.
Hindley nodded, leaving the two in silence again. This time, the silence was just a little too long, allowing the thoughts to creep and tumble back into his head, his throat feeling spiked once again, and his eyes scrunching tightly. He let himself fall into Ripley’s arms, his head thumping onto his shoulder and quickly soaking with wet, salty tears as he couldn’t hold it in. With each sob, his arms clung tighter to Ripley’s back, scraping and groping at the fabric of his work shirt.
Ripley raised his hand, which he realised was hovering on Yuwen’s waist, to cup the back of Hindley’s neck, holding him close and comforting him while he cried. He raised his other hand, which was still gently holding the toy rabbit. He glanced at it out of the corner of his eye, and placed it down on the counter softly, bringing his now vacant hand up to Hindley’s back, rubbing it gently.
He held Yuwen for as long as he needed, allowing him to break away when he felt alright to move on or pull out. When Yuwen sniffed and wiped his eyes, brushing his arm on the back of Ripley’s neck in the meantime, he pulled away and looked sheepishly into is eyes, as if to thank him. Before shuffling out of the kitchen, he mumbled an incoherent phrase, which Ripley assumed wasn’t too important as he was walking away while saying it. He didn’t ask him to repeat himself, as in the past, Hindley had found it irritating and that had sent off his short temper.
Ripley stared at the folded-up letter on the counter, before looking around to see if Hindley was gone. He considered reading it to prepare and think about what to do and how to help overnight, but decided it was best for Hindley to tell him, in his own time and in the right state of mind.
However, he would keep an eye on this letter, since Yuwen had a knack for hiding things that weren’t important to other people. He wanted to know where it was in case he didn’t read it to him and hid it, in that case, he could steal the letter and read it himself. Putting it that way, he thought he sounded a little selfish, but he shrugged it off and headed out into the hallway, looking for Hindley.
He found him upstairs, already in bed. Staring in from the doorway, he could only think of how brave Hindley was, in any other situation of this level, he would have been a lot more aggressive and upset, and also very fragile. Perhaps he was just… numb.
He cracked open the door further, letting light spill into the room and not stirring his friend, who noticed the light fill the back wall and turned his head and neck to see him standing just inside the room. He walked in and pulled the door to, humming a greeting to him, knowing he wouldn’t hear.
He sat on the edge of the bed, softly breathing and thinking of various things. Stretching out his leg and massaging the muscles behind his knee, he grumbled, looking around the room. He hadn’t been in Yuwen’s bedroom, ever, and it’s safe to say it was the exact same as the rest of the house. Bland. No plants, no comfort, and no life other than Hindley… and himself.
He averted his gaze back down to his leg, his mind clouded with mixed feelings and emotions. One of which stood out to him, that he would soon enough push back down inside him. Hatred.
Hindley lifted his head to look at him, “you don’t have to sleep on the sofa anymore. If y-you know, don’t want to.”
“Weird way to ask me to stay, but I will,” he laughed gently, trying to lift the mood. He didn’t get a response back, looking at the bedside table to see Hindley’s hearing aids weren’t in, and they were charging, a green light flashing on the side of the small device.
He lay back on the bedsheets, sighing deeply and looking at the ceiling. He twiddled his thumbs for a few minutes, all his mind could think about was Hobbs. Hindley didn’t handle the situation as a cop should, he shouldn’t have tried to save Ripley, he should’ve…
Trailing off, his deep thoughts came to a stop and he grunted, sitting up. He looked back at Yuwen, who appeared to be asleep, shirtless with the covers pulled up to his shoulders. He looked calm, at peace. Ripley undid his own shirt buttons and shrugged off the clothing, dropping it to the floor. He undid the button at the height of his trousers, but did not take them off, but instead, rolled into the covers and shivering as his skin hit the cold fabric.
At first, he faced the opposite direction to Hindley, but after a while, he tossed and turned until he was facing the back wall. He closed his eyes.
From out of the dark, he felt a vibration in the mattress, a thumping, then a warm hand pat his, then grab him by the wrist; his arm was forcefully pulled to rest upon Hindley’s side. Ripley suppressed a grin, but let a smile slip through. He scooted his body closer, so his hand not only rested on his side, but held his front.
“Don’t let go,” came a soft whisper, with a tone of tenderness and slight worry.
“I won’t,” Ripley replied, squeezing Yuwen’s hand gently, knowing his response wouldn’t be heard, “never.”
And just like the old days, the two slept better than ever, safe within the grasp of one another.