[CW: reliving trauma]
 
A combination of drink and anger had meant that Bill had hardly cared when the constable had handcuffed him and taken him to the police station. But once he was in there and charged, once the constable led him down the corridor of cells especially, a sense of dread settled in. Terrible dread that pressed the air out of his lungs and seemed to make it impossible to expand them again. And it had nothing to do with an angry Lottie and kitchen utensils. It made him shrink to the point where the constable seemed large and bulky with a firm had on Bill’s shoulder, and Bill a small boy who wanted to cry for his mother. He recognized the smell of the stale air in the corridor.
 
The heavy metal door shut him in with a bang. He was as alone as he had been some forty years ago when the door slammed shut, and he first took in the dim cell, the small, high window with metal bars, the cold white tiles on the walls. The silence echoed off of them and buzzed in his ears. It deafened him. Occasionally he could hear a shout or a bang somewhere else in the building and he jumped. Then when the noise had died, he longed for it. Instead the suffocating silence would creep back in and there was nobody else.
 
It was cold. He walked to the bed and sat down. He took the rough woollen blanket and wrapped it around his skinny shoulders to keep warm but the movement hurt his back and he dropped it. There was no comfort in it anyway. He pulled his legs up to hug himself, then realized he was too big.
 
Bill got up. He wasn’t a child. He wasn’t in prison. Just in a police cell. His parents were dead. It had been a bar fight. He’d be out soon. He’d be out. It wasn’t long.
 
He began to pace. He felt jittery. Was he cold? Was it the drink? He needed someone. He walked over to the door and reached for the lever, but changed his mind. Pulling it for no reason was punished. He was afraid of it. He was always afraid. Afraid of big hands that grabbed him and dragged him along. Afraid of being left in his cell. Afraid of remembering the look on his parents faces. Afraid that they would never want to see him again. Afraid of sleep. Of empty time stretching out in front of him. Of not doing his job right. Of his boss. Of his children. Of people. Of this place. He turned and began to pace again, faster. It was the drink messing with him. It was making him feel disoriented, making it hard to tell the difference between then, and later, and now, and then.
 
Suddenly he thought he couldn’t stand it anymore. He turned, paced back to the door and pulled the lever. His heart was racing.

Alasdair was on duty tonight, Inspector Munro was off this evening, and Jamie was out on patrol. The dogs were in the kennels, and alasdair spent most of the time staring blankly at the walls. Alasdair couldn't get motivated at all tonight. Maybe it was just the tiredness. Maybe it was something else. He didn't know.

He stared at the map onto the wall which showed whitby. It had been sectioned off and showed each beat that had been altered since Alasdair had taken over and made better. He was proud of his team and they were doing well. He knew everyone's strengths and how to utilise them.

He'd already looked over who was in the cells tonight, it was a mostly the same names that appeared and a couple of new ones. He'd heard about the bar fight and already spoken to Lottie about bill and told her he was keeping bill in till the morning to sober up and let her calm down even though he hadn't said the last part. The beat they lived on was Constable Cranes and he was currently off duty.

Alasdair had poured coffee for himself & poured a second cup out for bill. He had been planning on taking him into the interview room. He heard the bell and walked towards the front area of the cells and realised the belk came from bills cell. He slid the bolt on the door and opened it before speaking "come on bill. Let's go chat in the other room" he said gesturing with his open hand to the hallway leading from the cells

Bill had expected the little panel to be opened. Instead, the door opened and he was faced with the sergeant. Bill's pale face gaped at the man stupidly. Upon pulling the level, it had felt like an electric shock had gone through his arm, his chest, his limbs, and rushed with adrenaline, he had searched for an excuse for why he had called for the constable. He couldn't remember if he had found one.

The constable didn't ask for a reason. Instead, he announced taking Bill elsewhere to talk. Bill nodded and without being prompted, he held out his arms for the constable to put handcuffs on him. His body remembered the drill even before he realized what he was doing.

Alasdair gestured once more before speaking "no handcuffs bill. Theres no need for that" he closed the door behind bill and started walking towards the room.

He gestured to the free seat at the otherside of the table. This room was alot warmer and more comfortable than the cells. He gestured to the coffee aswell "hot coffee for you aswell bill, might take the edge off the chill from the cells" he didn't take a notebook out or anything but looked to Bill. "You wanna tell me what happened in that pub?"

Bill dropped his hands. It was confusing, but he did not mind not feeling the cold metal on his wrists. He stared at the constable, then nodded. "Yes sir..." he muttered and began to walk in the direction the constable indicated, careful not to walk too fast or slow.

The room he was led into was a room for questioning, but at least it wasn't a cell. He could breathe, just a little.

He sat down and stared at the coffee. Surely no constable had ever offered him coffee. The smell seemed to revive him a little.

But his eyes darted to the door, the windows. There were bars. The door had not been locked.

What had happened at the pub? Did he remember it? He knew what had happened, but he couldn't reach it through the fog in his mind. "I... don't know..." he said, the words coming out raspier than he had expected, due to a shaky breath. His eyes flashed to the constable - his fingers clenched into a fist - then darted to the door. There had been two of them back then. "I..." he shook his head. "... got into a fight. I'm sorry. I had too much to drink." He wanted to go back to his cell. Then he realized he didn't.

Alasdair nodded "I can understand that bill, and what I want you to know is the paperwork has been binned, there is no charges but your wife knows your are here and I've already spoken to her about this, and put her mind at ease" he took a drink from his coffee before continueing "standard procedure for this is that you will be here tonight and let go first thing in the morning. I promised your wife I'd let you leave early so you could go home and get changed for work."

He sighed "I want to change this town for the better. I'm not interested in putting you on a charge for a fight in a bar. If i was to do that with everyone I'd tie up most of my force in paperwork all weekend" he took another drink "no notes, no charges, my first port of call is to make sure your alright and then get you settled. I know the cells aren't the best but we will make it as comfortable as possible for you. Ill have the constables bring you some more blankets later". He looked at bill "have you eaten?"

Bill should be happy and thankful: no charges, being let go in time to get ready for work tomorrow, and a whole lot more care and kindness than the police owed him. But all that was on his mind was the intense dread of spending a night in that cell. He mentally cursed and scolded himself for his reaction, told himself to man up... It was no use. His numbed mind was paralyzed in that state of trepidation and he was at its mercy.

"I... thank you... I think I have, ser, constable... sorry..." What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn't even think.

Alasdair thought for a moment. "Saying that I've got a couple of dorm rooms not being used tonight. I'll give you one of those to sleep in. It will be dam sight more comfortable than the cells and if I have an extra cell that's empty that might come in handy. Theres a bathroom with fresh towels so you can get washed. I think it would be best for you staying here tonight.....let your wife calm down"

He looked at bill "we average 20 fights a night on a Friday and Saturday night each. That's an hour of questions and paperwork. Im down 10 percent on staff due to not enough constables on the force, 3 on days, 5 on nights and one spare for each shift. We are two short and if I have constables filling paperwork out for every punch up in this town, that's an hour each punch up I'm loosing two constables on each Friday and Saturday evening. So unless there's serious injury I'll bin the paperwork and put my guys back on the beat!"

It wasn't long after the end of that sentence that the door was knocked by one of The other constables. He has sent him to the local chip shop for food and had returned. He pushed a portion to bill and opened his now "such a shame none of these places have irn bru down here!" He laughed

Bill stared at the police sergeant dumbly. What was happening? Had he snapped at last? Was this a dream? Was the constable really offering him a dorm room rather than putting him back in a cell? Why?

He vaguely registered the why, though the math escaped his muddled mind. Still, the way the man went out of his way made no sense to Bill.

At least he wouldn't have to go back to the cell, and he could feel himself slowly coming back to his senses. "Thank you..." he muttered, frowning down at the food. "You're too kind." He actually meant that. "Why?"

Alasdair was eating when Bill asked the question "simple, weve all made mistakes in our lives and done silly things. No one in this world is perfect". He sat back for a moment and spoke once more "the Constabulary way of policing is changing, its becoming more hearts and minds. I'm a great believer in if you hit a dog one....the dog knows it's made a mistake....you hit a dog repeatedly the dog just thinks your an arsehole" he continued "I want the police force to change and I want whitby to be at the forefront of it. I want people to realise that the police force while it is there to uphold the law it is also there to help people in their hour of need".

He continued to eat before answering bills question "its not a question of being kind my friend. Its a question of understanding. The majority of people pass through my cells here are teenagers, young adults with a chip on their shoulder and something to prove. Your a family man who made an honest mistake when his temper got up. No disrespect but to me that's not worth the time and effort for paperwork to get you charged. It's not worth putting that on your record for a bar fight that won't be remembered by tomorrow morning. So as I said my friend. Its not about being kind. Its human understanding"