lapacifidora | This indecision's bugging me

Title: This indecision’s bugging me

Author: lapacifidora

Spoilers: Post ‘The Great Lochdubh Salt Robbery’

Rating/ Warnings: G

Word Count: 1,580

Disclaimers: Not mine. Sadly.

Author’s note: For eva_aftagrl, who is sick and rude.

***

Isobel let the door the pub slam closed behind her, relishing the momentary pause in conversation. She felt the eyes of the village on her for a minute before the normal burble of discussion resumed.

Good. Let them talk.

Then she caught sight of the glare Agnes was directing her way and ducked her head as she made her way to the bar, frustrated with herself both for an act of such petty immaturity and for her response to the blondes’ disapproval. She settled on a stool with barely a glance at the man next to her.

“Here, love.” Agnes set down a tumbler with a few fingers of a deep amber liquid. Isobel raised her chin to look at the barkeep. “It’s a bit stronger than what you normally have, but I imagine I’ll have to have Barney touch up the wall by the door tomorrow, so we’ll call it even, shall we?”

Isobel nodded and sipped her drink. “Sorry, Agnes.” She took another sip. “Thank you.”

“Not at all, love.” Agnes nodded and started toward the other end of the bar where Barney was deep in conversation with Doc Brown and Lachlan.

“Isobel.”

The petite brunette’s shoulders slumped as she took a longer drink from her glass and licked the traces of scotch from her lips before she turned to meet the eyes of her drinking companion.

“John.” She schooled her features into as expressionless a mask as she could manage. “Do you know if Barney’s had any wee messages lately? I could do with a nibble.”

“The messages have been slow in coming the last several days.” TV John frowned, his brows pulling together over his nose as he took a drink of his pint. “Am I to assume your current mood has something to do with a particular constable?”

“No.” Isobel glared at the older man before turning back to contemplation of her drink.

“Isobel.” He met her eyes as she glanced at him sidelong, her lips pressed into a thin line. He sighed heavily, shaking his head a little: Both as stubborn as mules and twice as unlikely to misunderstand direction. “You cannae take him too much to heart.”

“I don’t know what you mean, John.” Isobel downed the last of her drink in one go, then stared into the empty glass as her fingers traced the condensation on the sides.

“The boy wouldn’t know where his head was if he was left to his own devices.”

“Can I quote you on that? I’m sure the residents would be glad of your opinion of local law enforcement, given you’re the only one who knows him.”

“Now, that’s not entirely fair, Isobel.” John raised his pint, taking a long drink and swallowing it as he carefully chose his next words. “There are times I don’t know what he’s thinking any more than anyone else.” He glanced at the brunette, taking a deep breath before he continued. “Hisself included.” One corner of his mouth quirked up when she shot him a confused glance she was attempting to disguise as dismissive.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She frowned, mentally reprimanding herself for whinging.

“Well.” John smoothed the cocktail napkin his pint sat on, and flicked an imaginary crumb from the bar top. “He’s always a mess after one of her visits. The odd part being, for as happy as he claims he is with her, he’s always a miserable sot after she leaves.” John chuckled. “And the fact that I fed him lobster bisque a la Big Geordie Robb cannae have helped.”

Isobel grimaced and made a noise halfway between a groan and a gag, shuddering.

“Please, John, I beg of you: Don’t mention that.” She glanced over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes as she found Lachlan MacCrae and his son. “I thought I’d escaped it, but Flora left a seafood alfredo she made in the mini-fridge…” She trailed off as she turned back to face the bar, shaking her head again.

“My point,” John continued, forcing back another chuckle at the look on Isobel’s face, “is that if Hamish is being particularly-” He paused, searching for a word.

“Pig headed? Obtuse? Oblivious?” Isobel suggested as she pushed her glass away and folded her hands on the bar top, resting her chin atop them. She tilted her head a little to the side so she could meet John’s eyes.

“Thoughtless, shall we say, it’s not anything personal.” John finished, downing the last of his pint and signaling to Barney for a refill for them both.

“That’s exactly the problem.” Isobel said as she sighed and rubbed her chin against her knuckles for a moment. “Nothing he does is personal. He’s always a consummate professional.” Her voice dropped as she finished speaking, her face drooping with exhaustion she couldn’t hide.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” John shook his head, a phantom whiff of cheap scent making his nose wrinkle with distaste. “He’s, well, he’s simply not as capable cleaning his own messes as he his other peoples.”

“I know.” Isobel sat back up as Barney set her refill before her, along with a basket of chips Agnes handed him from the kitchen. She took a bite from a chip and chewed slowly, taking a few shallow breaths to cool the hot potato that was burning her tongue. She swallowed and pointed at John with the other end of her chip. “And that’s excellent news for the residents of Lochdubh.” She popped the rest of the chip in her mouth and chewed quickly. “And it’s also terrible news for those of us with a vested interest in what goes on in that aggravating head of his.” She shook her head, reaching past John for a salt shaker. She shook a little salt on her chips as she continued. “I don’t understand how he can look at all the parts of a crime and piece them together, but he can’t see what’s in front of his face, when it deems to come up from London and swan about like it owns the entire village.” She took up another chip, blowing on it before taking a bite from it and chewing. She looked at John speculatively. “I don’t suppose there’s anything you could do.”

“I feed his dog, do his admin, clean his bathroom and, occasionally, if he’ll let me, make sure he’s surviving on more than beans on toast.” John took a pull on his pint, shaking his head. “I don’t think it’s my place to tell him not to see Miss Alex when she comes to visit.”

“I didn’t mean-” Isobel started, then finished chewing and swallowed. “I didn’t mean say anything.” She shrugged, her voice rising in pitch as she tried for a look of innocence. “I thought, I dunno, I thought maybe you could-” She shrugged. “Do something.” She glanced at John from the corner of her eye as she fiddled with a chip. “Or you could tell him you saw something.” She tilted her head to one side. “Can you make up a vision? Or would that make your sight angry?”

“No, I can’t, and no, it wouldn’t.” John gave a disapproving look. “It doesn’t work like that.” His face softened as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “And would you really want something that started with a deception?”

“No!” Isobel exclaimed, smiling nervously when a few of the other patrons glanced at her curiously. “No.” She sighed and took a sip of her scotch before continuing in a quieter tone of voice. “I’m not saying I want you to do it for me. I’m-” She stopped, shaking her head. “I’m so tired of him gunning for first-class twat of the year every time Alex comes home and makes him think she’ll consider moving home. He’s my friend.” She nodded decisively. “We’re friends. And I don’t like to see any of my friends hurt.”

“Aye.” John nodded, hiding part of his disbelieving expression with his pint glass. “Well, I still cannae help you that way.” He tugged on his jacket, sitting up a little straighter. “And here comes our friend now.” He nodded as Hamish entered the bar, Week Jock at his heels. “Hamish.”

“John. Isobel. Barney.” Hamish came to stand next John at the bar, pulling his hands from his jacket pockets and leaning on the bar top, his head hanging heavily on his shoulders.

“Hamish, man.” Brown came round from the other end, clapping the constable on the shoulder. He looked up at Barney. “A whiskey for my friend here, Barney, if you please.” He turned his attention back to Hamish. “You know, I received a new blend in the mail the other day-”

“Doc, ye know I cannae have prior knowledge of anything illegal-” Hamish interrupted Brown, his mouth turned down at the corners.

“What? No, man, it’s all completely legal.” He grinned and put his pipe back between his lips. “But you’ll think it wasn’t.” He pushed the whiskey into Hamish’s hand as he began to explain the new blend of tobacco.

John and Isobel exchanged a long-suffering look as she nudged the basket of chips toward the older man, who nodded once and drew one from the pile.

“First class.” Isobel said quietly, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.

“I don’t think that even begins to describe it.” John replied, as he raised his pint with his other hand, tilting it in her direction in a silent salute.