Reveille
By Sonia
Timeframe: Current series falls after the end of season four and weaves in and out of the opening parts of season five.
Summary: Sometimes a wake up call is all you need.
Date written: January 2001
Author s note: Lyrics are from "Magic Power" by Triumph and "Through the Fire" from the Top Gun soundtrack. Reveille is the wake-up call played to get the troops out of bed in the military.
Rating – PG13 for language and some adult references.
Spoiler Warnings: Some reference to season five events. Overseas readers, proceed at your own risk.
Disclaimer: I own not, so sue not.
Category: Angst/Action/Steam
There’s definitely chemistry between us. I m not sure what to do with it.
She’s not sure what to do with it either.
Where do we go from here?
He braced himself against the deck railing of the boat as the craft cut through the water.
I’ve never really considered her as anything more than a friend. This chemistry has just crept up on me out of the blue.
Who knows? Maybe it s always been there between us. If she ever asks me about it I’ll deny it to her face. There are just some things a bloke never admits to these days - particularly when you have a reputation for being straight down the line and always in control.
She gives as good as she gets. But (I know) there s another side to this feisty chick who always holds her own. The softer side she doesn’t show too often appeals to me. It reminds me there’s more to life than the solitary existence I’ve known in recent months.
I would kill anyone who tried to hurt her - not too many people inspire the protective side of me these days but in ways I can t explain - she does.
The sea breezes buffeted his face. He reflected on (and reminded himself of all) the good things about being alive. His boat had nearly reached its destination.
Even though it was still mid autumn, the sun was warm enough to encourage plenty of Sydneysiders outdoors. People strolled along the shoreline walking their dogs or sat around tables just watching the world go by from the Corso.
In time, the ocean side pubs would fill with a mix of backpackers and locals all trying to escape the worries of the day.
He could see her there - calm, poised and elegant - waiting for him at one of the tables outside the coffee shop. Her red knitted top played and stretched across her shoulders. Stepping off the Manly Ferry, the man walked across the jetty, a thoughtful look on his face. Yeah, both of them needed time to get used to the idea there could be something more than a working relationship between them. When she was ready, on her terms and in her own time he would be there for her.
"About bloody time you got here Jack."
"You know how it is Al, I’m a wanted man, people to see, places to go."
"Yeah, who’d want you? The FBI? Nah, too obvious. What are you having?"
"Long black Alex. How’s the annual leave been?"
"Yeah, good, real good. Whatever you’ve been up to lately has certainly agreed with you." Alex leant back in her chair.
"It has, it certainly has." Jack smiled as the waiter set their coffees in front of them.
~*~*~*~
Many annoying things stayed in Alex St. Clare’s mind.
Her sister’s pleas that getting their bellybuttons pierced would be a really good way for them to bond was second in her top three at the moment.
Then there was John Edward Christey. He headed the list by a long shot.
He was in a category all of his own and Alex wasn’t quite sure why. His speech at the Cutter Bar the night Syksie and Eva announced their engagement about how everyone in the detectives’ office had to play nicely and get along with each other was just the start of it.
Jack s attitude towards her since then had been really weird. He was almost territorially protective of her. The whole hero thing on the container wharf the day Rourkie died was taking it a little too far.
She was airborne and jumping clear by the time he had crash tackled her. Judging from the little she knew of Rachel s death courtesy Emma and Syksie, it was almost as if he was trying to apologise to his own conscience for not being there when the love of his life was murdered.
Then there was the softer side he was developing as a result of spending more time with Sophie. In a mood that went against every one of her better instincts - Alex found this side of him really attractive.
~*~*~*~
Something’s at the edge of your mind
You don’t know what it is
Something you were hoping to find
You’re not sure what it is
~*~*~*~
All of her better instincts were telling her to throw herself into Mick's arms and head for the hills. The only problem with the head for the hills, theory was a queue a mile long for transfers to Port Macquarie.
Then there was that other night at the Cutter. After a few drinks, everyone had decided to kick on to a nearby Italian place.
Everything was going swimmingly until the group broke up with she and Helen deciding to split a taxi home.
"Night butch," Jack leaned in and gave Helen a quick peck on the cheek.
Alex felt a masculine hand on her elbow. Jack leaned in and planted a hard and fast kiss on her lips. The force of it surprised her.
Where the fuck had that come from, she thought.
Bidding Jack good night, she climbed into the cab and tried to ignore her still tingling lips. Damn that man to hell. He had the ability to get under her skin at the worst possible moments.
Beep-chirp-beep. Alex’s phone sounded from the depths of her handbag. Who the mink would be SMS-ing her at this time of night?
"Alex, what was that with Jack? Mick." The glowing green screen taunted her like a demented leprechaun on St Patrick’s Day.
Well there was only one response to that little missive she thought, pushing buttons on her phone keypad.
"You tell me and we’ll both bloody know."
~*~*~*~
It was meant to be a simple operation down at the fish markets.
Just get in there with the Department of Immigration, fisheries and whoever the hell else wanted to play and clean the joint up a little. Jack privately thought a combination of the detectives, a group of uniformed officers headed up by Helen and the Operation Support Group was getting a little top heavy but as Hawker so often muttered it was better to have it and not need it than the other way around.
Jack, Mick and Alex had moved in to arrest some Pacific Islanders who had been identified to them as illegal immigrants, or unlawful citizens as the immigration people so quaintly put it.
Then things turned to shit at a hundred miles an hour.
Mick had cornered one of the biggest blokes and Quinn moved in from one side to act as back up.
Quinn was making sure Mick stayed in his line of sight, when the man pulled out a large fishing knife, the early morning sun bouncing off the blade.
"Come on you fucking pricks, not so tough now without your guns," the fisherman taunted.
"Have a go you pair of pretty boy poofs, have a fuckin’ go why don’t ya?"
Reaching for the can of capsicum spray on his gun belt, Matt made sure Mick was out of range before turning the spray on the man who was swinging the knife in Mick’s direction.
A howl of raw pain echoed across the fish markets as the Samoan dropped the knife and fell to the ground. Quinn swiftly handcuffed the fisherman.
"I remember why I hated OC spray training so much now," Mick remarked as the paramedics swooped in to decontaminate the man.
"Oh shit yeah, that stuff hurts like hell," Quinn said, as the paramedics moved aside. Quinn and Mick walked the fisherman back to a waiting cage truck.
"Jack! Get your arse over here!" Alex yelled into her radio as three fishermen had her and Helen cornered in between two pallets and the end of the wharf. Both women had their Glocks drawn
The biggest of the three grabbed the first thing he could find as a weapon - a large frozen sea bass - and swung wildly.
SMACK!
Alex’s head reeled from the impact as her Glock skidded along the slippery wood and slid straight into the Harbour. Reaching for her handcuffs with a free hand, Alex stumbled towards the fisherman, still intent on arresting her quarry.
The man’s face began to swim in and out of focus in front of her as his fist flew towards her jaw.
"Oh shit . . ."
Her knees crumpled underneath her and Alex St Clare, for one of the few times in her policing career, was knocked out cold, her head hitting the wharf with a gut churning thud.
Helen began wrestling with the fisherman, who continued to pound Alex ‘s head like a punching bag.
"Get off her you fucking shitbag," Helen’s voice was menacing as she held the nose of her Glock at the man s jaw.
"Fuck off slut." The man stopped belting Alex long enough to swing a wild punch at Helen, knocking her off balance.
Jack saw it all happening in slow motion before him. It was like watching a car crash in progress but being able to do nothing about it.
"Signal one! Signal one," he barked into his portable. "Officer down, officer down . . . Sydney Fish Markets."
Racing over, Jack grabbed the thug by the hair. "Get off her you fucking prick," he growled, kneeing the fisherman in the groin and letting his fists fly at the same time.
The thug grunted as blood began streaming from his mouth. Jack saw Helen reaching for the canister on her belt and dived on Alex, rolling her out of the way.
"Come on Al, snap out of it." Jack started to shake his unconscious colleague. Helen stood over the still howling but handcuffed Tongan as the paramedics moved in to decontaminate him. She stood back, and tapped her foot, ready to move in and drag him off to the caged truck as soon as the ambos had done their thing.
"Damn it, I’ve lost one partner I care about in the middle of an operation and I’m not losing another. We’re sorting this chemistry between us out and we re doing it fucking now," Jack blurted.
Alex’s eyelids fluttered open, dislodging some stray fish scales and wondering if she was dreaming as the well muscled form (in more ways than one) of Jack Christey lay across her.
Her head felt like it had been trampled by a herd of cattle and the last thing she remembered was trying to arrest some shitbag swinging a bloody big fish. She would never live this down at the Cutter. Oh fuck, the pain . . .
"Jaaaack." Alex held his gaze for a moment before lapsing back into unconsciousness.
~*~*~*~
There's a feeling that I can't ignore
Like a stranger at my door
So revealing that I cannot hide
When you settle up the score
Voices say -- night and day
Live your life as if each second
Was the final one
~*~*~*~
Woodsie strolled into Alex’ s hospital room and deposited a full backpack on the bed table.
"How long do you think you’ll be in for?" Woodsie asked as she flipped open the bag.
"Few days, apparently. One thing I can tell you is, I am not wearing hospital sleepwear any longer than I have to. The doctor reckons I’ve got a pretty heavy duty concussion and a major headache, so they want to keep me around for observation."
"Will this do?" Emma asked, almost too innocently.
"Ah Woodsie, that’s just a little too revealing for a hospital ward," Alex laughed.
"Damn I thought you could use it to practice some bad medicine with some of those cute doctors I saw outside."
The strains of a strident voice telling someone he couldn’t go in there right now, because Ms St Clare already had a visitor, reverberated through the doorway.
"I’ll go where I want, and she can go fuck a goat," muttered Jack as he came through the door.
"Oh g’day Jack, how’s it going? Still charming women everywhere I see," Woodsie didn’t know where to put the lacy camisole and boxer shorts that were still dangling from her fingertips.
Jack’s gaze couldn’t help but be drawn towards the all too feminine garments. Alex, trying to control a blush, reached out and snatched the bright red clothing from her colleague, tucking them under her pillow.
"You’re a bad woman Woodsie."
"Takes one to know one Al, I’m out of here." Emma kissed Alex on the cheek and left the hospital ward, wishing she could be a fly on the wall for just five minutes longer.
Jack started thumbing through some of the trash mags that Woodsie left for Alex.
"You know Al, I’ve always liked you in red," he quipped sitting on the side of the bed.
"Why Jack? Because red is the signature colour of bad girls everywhere?" Alex laughed.
"Al, when I think about how bad you can be I break into a cold sweat." Jack raised an eyebrow in her direction.
"Damn just when I was about to offer you the loan of my halo," Alex quipped.
"Maybe I’d accept it, maybe I wouldn’t."
"Steady on Jack, I think we’re about to hit the "too much information" zone at a rate of knots."
"Less intellect, more instinct St Clare." Jack was smiling as he took Alex into his arms and leant down to claim her lips.
~*~*~*~
I look for signs that you are here tonight
When the passion calls the pleasure to the flame
Then I ask you of the meaning when you talk of love
Would you take the leap of faith?
Would you throw it all away?
Through the fire...
~*~*~*~
Alex met him more than halfway in a kiss that guided them both through the fire. It was an instinctive chemical reaction, generating heat and light through her body. Senses and emotions dulled by the sometimes impersonal nature of police work received a jolting wake up call.
The rights and wrongs of it all bounced through Alex’s brain. The warmth of Jack’s hands on the small of her back radiated through her body. Like eating a whole box of Lindt chocolate - this was just too good, too decadent and too delicious to stop now.
Even though the air conditioning was on, Alex felt the temperature in the room rise about 20 degrees. She was like a box of chocolate left in the sun a little too long, melting under Jack’s persuasive lips and hands. Through half closed eyelids, she noticed her boxers peeking out under the pillow, proclaiming the wearer to be ‘hot stuff’. Talk about sending up a flare, she thought.
"Don’t think, just do," Jack breathed in her ear as his lips trailed across her jawline, and his hand slinked down her spine. .
~*~*~*~
Through the fire
To the wire
When the night out of control
Is breaking your heart
Through the fire
To the wire
When the flames are burning hot
They take you higher
~Finis~