DISCLAIMER: Murder in Suburbia and its characters are the property of ITV. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The idea is lifted wholesale from the 2nd season Due South episode 'All the Queen's Horses'
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Locked in the Embrace
By Lesley Mitchell
"It really wasn't my fault," said Scribbs, plaintively.
"You gave him the hand cuffs!"
"But I didn't know what he was going to do with them."
"He's a criminal, Scribbs, what did you think he'd do with them?"
"What other possible use could he have had for them?"
"He might have been into kinky sex..."
"And he just happened to have a pressing need for two pairs of hand cuffs... while we were arresting him?"
Scribbs fell silent under the dark, intense gaze of her partner. It was harder than usual to ignore. Their faces were mere inches from each other. Each breath one took washed over the other. She found herself concentrating on the way that her respiration moved the small wisps of hair above Ash's collar that had escaped being swept into tightly bound coil that her colleague had pinned so carefully, that morning, as every other.
The room around them was non-descript. An ordinary suburban spare bedroom, complete with sun faded, unopened boxes from the occupant's previous move. The overstuffed wardrobe most likely contained outgrown and outmoded clothes. While the futon in the corner by the window was a desultory concession to the possibility of visitors. The window itself looked out first over the uninspired lawn and borders belonging to the property, and then onwards to the almost artificially bright yellow expanse of the blossoming rape fields beyond.
"You can explain to Sullivan when they find us," said Ash, breaking the silence.
Scribbs's attention snapped back to her partner's face. Ash, she found, was scrunching her nose rhythmically.
"What's the matter with your nose?"
"Itchy. It's the pollen."
Silence descended once more.
It wasn't the way she'd imagined it, Scribbs mused. Finally, here she was, locked in an embrace with the woman of her dreams. Unfortunately, locked was the operative word, and Ash was positively rigid in her arms. She flexed her wrists, where they were bound out of sight behind Ash's back, finding once more that the cuffs were carefully and securely fastened. Their collar, it appeared, had been thorough in preventing their escape as he had been when planning his wife's murder. Ash's position mirrored her own, and she was disappointed to note the way that the woman was holding her arms out, as rigidly as the rest of her body, almost as if she was fighting the urge to let them relax to where they would naturally fall, which would leave her hands just above Scribbs's arse.
"I might be able to get us out of this."
"Do you trust me, Ash?"
"Actually, don't answer that."
Scribbs leaned forward over Ash's shoulder and nuzzled into the lush tresses of her partner's hair. The movement brought the full length of their bodies into even tighter contact, and she was surprised to realise that Ash's stance had become even more tightly controlled than before. At last, her lips found their goal, one of the elusive hair pins buried in the freshly scented locks. A few moments work with teeth and lips and she achieved her goal.
Pulling back, she noted that Ash's eyes were darker than usual, and her exposed neck and face a little flushed. However, she pushed this information away to focus on the task at hand. Carefully, maneuvering the pin so that one end was available, she gestured to Ash that she should take it in her teeth. Compliance brought their lips dangerously close together, flustering the stoic Ash sufficiently that, when Scribbs pulled her head away, attempting to stretch the pin, she let go, surprising her partner, and causing it to slip, unhelpfully, into her waiting cleavage.
Ash looked down in horror, silently cursing that morning's decision to wear the open necked blouse and low cut tank top.
"You couldn't just... find another one?" asked Ash, a little desperately.
"Er... I'm pretty sure that's the only one I can reach from here."
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Ash looked Scribbs carefully in the eye, and nodded minutely.
"Hold really still," said Scribbs cheerfully, attempting to lighten the mood, "or we'll be completely buggered."
And with that, she ducked her head into the warm, tempting V of her partner's soft, white blouse.
In the moments that followed, Ash was extremely grateful that they were alone, as she was entirely unable to remain stoic in the face of her partner's rummaging.
Finally, with a somewhat triumphant flourish, and very flushed cheeks, Scribbs reappeared, hair pin in teeth.
This time, the pin was straightened without incident, and Scribbs leaned back over Ash's shoulder to pluck the improvised lock pick from her mouth. A matter of seconds later, she was free of the restraints.
"Scribbs, where did you learn to pick locks?"
"Do you really want me to tell you that?"
"Yes! Er... maybe. Actually, no."
"I guess lock picking wasn't on the curriculum at Posh Girl's High, then."
Scribbs looked Ash carefully in the eye, then, equally carefully, bent her knees, and slid her way down Ash's body, and out of the embrace, eliciting a gasp from her still restrained partner.
At that moment, a crash echoed below, and the thump of booted feet resounded through the house, signalling the arrival of the cavalry.
Scribbs smiled at Ash.
"Good job we covered it at my comp, then," she said, before setting to work to remove the remaining evidence of their incapacitation.
Return to Murder in Suburbia Fiction
Return to Main Page