DS Louise Gardiner (AU) [Ashes To Ashes (BBC)] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doomed_copper) wrote2012-11-14 12:24 pm
doomed_copper) wrote2012-11-14 12:24 pm
Contra Naturam, Chapter 5: Timor Suus.
The illusion was real—at least for that fleeting moment in Jim Keats' office. But with each passing day, Louise again became more and more focused, more competitive, more resourceful. Her footsteps became stronger and more sure; within time, her colleagues became accustomed to her stalking, confident clip and always knew when she was within 20 feet. This almost always made them snap back into action, much like when Keats would do the same. He was quieter now, not as intrusive, but still a glowering presence. She was proving herself capable of handling a good amount of Keats’ caseload, and her dogged tactics in one particular case led to a confession within the first 15 minutes of interrogation; this was a feat not many of the other officers in SCD could boast. Her fastidious organisational skills streamlined the majority of procedures on the Fenchurch West books, and her collar rate was in the upper echelon. A promotion was inevitable, and she had this end firmly in the crosshairs.
Even more addling to her colleagues was how she never managed to get dirty; though she would do anything to get that arrest, it was always notable how she never had to actually play the part. Rather, it was DC Janis as well as other, even lesser officers, who had to don the tarty outfits, to pose as prostitutes and drug addicts during undercover sting operations. Louise would never stoop to that level. In this way, she was not unlike the Queen of Hearts to her knaves there within Keats’ treacherous rabbit hole. She didn’t care what happened to them; all that mattered was what was written within the pages of her CV. They were collateral damage; as long as the arrest was made, as long as she got the accolades and the approval of Keats, she was golden. When a WPC returned to the station with a black eye and a bloodied nose, Louise handed her a tissue and told her to clean herself up in the toilets. She abruptly spun on her heel and walked away, barely blinking an eyelash, but not before checking that no blood had wound up on her £500 Versace suit. She brushed her sleeve off distastefully before opening the double doors to go back to her desk, leaving the poor officer in the hallway, staring hollowly into space.
The Chief Super had been witness to her actions all along. Keats had done a good job with this one. When Louise had first arrived, he was more than convinced that she'd be yet another in the long string of failures Keats had left behind. No one had filled the Detective Inspector post in decades. After the last one had 'moved on', so to speak, none had proved themselves worthy of the position. They'd all gotten to Keats' world through misadventure of one sort or another; petty crime, lascivious behavior, taking bribes, embezzling funds, virtually anything. And some of these hadn't a chance to seek absolution before they perished. No choice had been given. Again, Keats had often stolen those for the energy he needed. Viv James had been contrite; one could see the pleading look in his eyes, the terror and horror of what he knew awaited him. Gene Hunt had been too late. Keats wasn't there to listen to a confession; he was starved, angry, and he was losing his one chance at destroying Hunt in the form of Alex. He knew she was slipping away from him and that his time would soon be up. Seeing the clock tick down to zero, Keats didn't allow Viv a shot at telling his Guv what he'd done, nor did he allow him to ask sincere forgiveness. He was stifled at every turn and blocked at every road. Keats was a pure glutton, and it is this brand of avarice which prevents a soul from meeting the light, or of even knowing the light exists.
To the end, Jim Keats had remained unrepentant in his young, corporeal life; the only idol he'd worshipped was a material one. His dream of a better life had transformed him into something ugly and sad. No funeral was held for him when he was buried, though his mother came to quietly visit the grave marker a few times a week to mourn the son she lost in more ways than one. In the end, it was Jim's commitment to his crooked mentor and the crushed spirits of those whom he stepped on to gain an advantage that transformed those letters on the warrant card in the twilight after he woke up. He had demonstrated a willingness to obtain his goals no matter the cost, personal or public, and he now reaped the harvest eternally.
The Chief Super had predicted big things for Jim Keats upon his arrival, and now it looked ready to pay off in the form of Louise Gardiner. Already he was seeing signs that she exhibited strength of conviction; her timidity and mouse-like behavior had unfolded into a hardened, emotionless machine. He had no idea why she succeeded where others had failed, why the formerly-meek seemed to have inherited the vast space. He looked at Keats and, even as he was approving in the turn of events that Keats had caused, he was disappointed nonetheless. It was almost as if he’d lost some of his edge--the hard, jagged surface that had cut so many and had demolished even more. It wasn’t as if the Chief Super was oblivious to the phlegmatic relationship between Keats and Louise; but it was almost as if Keats was losing ground with each passing day. His orders grew less urgent; his anger less intimidating. The officers feared her more now. It wasn’t as if Keats had developed a heart; it was more his apathy that disturbed the Boss. Apathy could destroy all that he’d built, all that he’d stood for---moreover, it threatened to dismantle the dominion around which the Chief Super had entrusted him. Making Louise Gardiner a Detective Inspector under Keats was a necessary, if not imperative move, at least as far as the Chief was concerned. Of course, the decision would prove to slaughter everything Jim Keats had held dear, and all he'd done would soon be for naught.
The papers landed on Keats’ desk the following evening, the blank line awaiting his signature, his approval of the promotion. He felt a rage that he’d never felt before; he felt usurped, duped into this agreement, and ultimately betrayed by her. How had this happened? Since when had a promotion not been his to make? The Chief Super obviously was losing faith in him somehow; otherwise, he'd have left it to Keats to manage. The post hadn't been filled in decades! Keats rushed to the toilets in a panic. Splashing cold water upon his face, he looked into the mirror, trembling as he smeared the droplets from his eyes and cheeks. A cold sweat began to wash across the back of his neck, and for perhaps the first time in this lifetime, he felt a tentative spark of fear.
She had gotten into him. His past, his present, and his future were in her hands. He'd have to regain himself somehow, and the only way he could would be to send her away; make her disappear.
His second thought was far more disturbing than the last: he wasn't sure he wanted to.
Even more addling to her colleagues was how she never managed to get dirty; though she would do anything to get that arrest, it was always notable how she never had to actually play the part. Rather, it was DC Janis as well as other, even lesser officers, who had to don the tarty outfits, to pose as prostitutes and drug addicts during undercover sting operations. Louise would never stoop to that level. In this way, she was not unlike the Queen of Hearts to her knaves there within Keats’ treacherous rabbit hole. She didn’t care what happened to them; all that mattered was what was written within the pages of her CV. They were collateral damage; as long as the arrest was made, as long as she got the accolades and the approval of Keats, she was golden. When a WPC returned to the station with a black eye and a bloodied nose, Louise handed her a tissue and told her to clean herself up in the toilets. She abruptly spun on her heel and walked away, barely blinking an eyelash, but not before checking that no blood had wound up on her £500 Versace suit. She brushed her sleeve off distastefully before opening the double doors to go back to her desk, leaving the poor officer in the hallway, staring hollowly into space.
The Chief Super had been witness to her actions all along. Keats had done a good job with this one. When Louise had first arrived, he was more than convinced that she'd be yet another in the long string of failures Keats had left behind. No one had filled the Detective Inspector post in decades. After the last one had 'moved on', so to speak, none had proved themselves worthy of the position. They'd all gotten to Keats' world through misadventure of one sort or another; petty crime, lascivious behavior, taking bribes, embezzling funds, virtually anything. And some of these hadn't a chance to seek absolution before they perished. No choice had been given. Again, Keats had often stolen those for the energy he needed. Viv James had been contrite; one could see the pleading look in his eyes, the terror and horror of what he knew awaited him. Gene Hunt had been too late. Keats wasn't there to listen to a confession; he was starved, angry, and he was losing his one chance at destroying Hunt in the form of Alex. He knew she was slipping away from him and that his time would soon be up. Seeing the clock tick down to zero, Keats didn't allow Viv a shot at telling his Guv what he'd done, nor did he allow him to ask sincere forgiveness. He was stifled at every turn and blocked at every road. Keats was a pure glutton, and it is this brand of avarice which prevents a soul from meeting the light, or of even knowing the light exists.
To the end, Jim Keats had remained unrepentant in his young, corporeal life; the only idol he'd worshipped was a material one. His dream of a better life had transformed him into something ugly and sad. No funeral was held for him when he was buried, though his mother came to quietly visit the grave marker a few times a week to mourn the son she lost in more ways than one. In the end, it was Jim's commitment to his crooked mentor and the crushed spirits of those whom he stepped on to gain an advantage that transformed those letters on the warrant card in the twilight after he woke up. He had demonstrated a willingness to obtain his goals no matter the cost, personal or public, and he now reaped the harvest eternally.
The Chief Super had predicted big things for Jim Keats upon his arrival, and now it looked ready to pay off in the form of Louise Gardiner. Already he was seeing signs that she exhibited strength of conviction; her timidity and mouse-like behavior had unfolded into a hardened, emotionless machine. He had no idea why she succeeded where others had failed, why the formerly-meek seemed to have inherited the vast space. He looked at Keats and, even as he was approving in the turn of events that Keats had caused, he was disappointed nonetheless. It was almost as if he’d lost some of his edge--the hard, jagged surface that had cut so many and had demolished even more. It wasn’t as if the Chief Super was oblivious to the phlegmatic relationship between Keats and Louise; but it was almost as if Keats was losing ground with each passing day. His orders grew less urgent; his anger less intimidating. The officers feared her more now. It wasn’t as if Keats had developed a heart; it was more his apathy that disturbed the Boss. Apathy could destroy all that he’d built, all that he’d stood for---moreover, it threatened to dismantle the dominion around which the Chief Super had entrusted him. Making Louise Gardiner a Detective Inspector under Keats was a necessary, if not imperative move, at least as far as the Chief was concerned. Of course, the decision would prove to slaughter everything Jim Keats had held dear, and all he'd done would soon be for naught.
The papers landed on Keats’ desk the following evening, the blank line awaiting his signature, his approval of the promotion. He felt a rage that he’d never felt before; he felt usurped, duped into this agreement, and ultimately betrayed by her. How had this happened? Since when had a promotion not been his to make? The Chief Super obviously was losing faith in him somehow; otherwise, he'd have left it to Keats to manage. The post hadn't been filled in decades! Keats rushed to the toilets in a panic. Splashing cold water upon his face, he looked into the mirror, trembling as he smeared the droplets from his eyes and cheeks. A cold sweat began to wash across the back of his neck, and for perhaps the first time in this lifetime, he felt a tentative spark of fear.
She had gotten into him. His past, his present, and his future were in her hands. He'd have to regain himself somehow, and the only way he could would be to send her away; make her disappear.
His second thought was far more disturbing than the last: he wasn't sure he wanted to.