Chapter Text
‘Bloody freezin’ today!’ Jakes muttered rubbing his hands, while he, Thursday and Morse arrived at Dr. DeBryn’s that afternoon. The day was grey and a northern wind was blowing, increasing the feeling of cold.
D.I. Thursday tightened the scarf around his neck and Morse pressed his fists deeper into his coat’s pockets.
Inside the temperature was bearable, but being the place a morgue and being them on a hurry, as usual, none of them took their overcoats off.
‘Gentlemen.’, the doctor greeted the three men when they were inside.
‘Doctor.’, Thursday answered, while Jakes and Morse just nodded in response.
The body of a man was lying on the pathologist’s table, partially covered with a white sheet. ‘The victim’, started DeBryn, ‘which it’s still unidentified, I suppose…’, he stopped and looked up toward the D.I. who nodded, ‘… has been stubbed in his chest, a large knife presumably. One single cut, but precise, I must say…’ the doctor was continuing with his report, but Morse couldn’t focus on his words. He reached for the stool in front of the microscope’s table and sit down, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, rubbing his temples with his fingers. ‘… The carotid has been transected--’ DeBryn went on and he desperately tried to hear what the doctor was saying, but his head was pounding in an unbearable way and he felt a sudden weakness in his whole body.
‘Morse, what do you think?’ Thursday asked him more than once and when no answers came from his bagman, he raised his voice: ‘Morse!’
Morse lifted his head and looked up at the three men with a blank expression on his face. He hadn’t heard a single word. ‘Uh—I--’, he began ‘Isn’t it too hot in here?’ he managed to say standing up. He passed his forearm on his brow and sighed heavily. ‘I need some fresh air, excuse me.’
‘You’re white like a ghost.’ Jakes said when the D.C. was next to him leading to the door.
‘I’d thought you got over it, Morse’ the doctor pointed out, mocking him a bit, ‘It’s been a while since you’ve been visiting my place now.’
‘I’m all right-- just need to go out for a moment…’ blathered Morse opened the door.
The three men stared at themselves, then Thursday followed his bagman outside, a little worried by his unusual behavior.
‘Morse? You all right?’
The young man leaned to the wall, eyes closed, panting heavily. ‘Yes.’
‘What’s wrong with you, then?’ Fred asked again, ‘Come on inside.’
Morse said nothing but started to slowly slide against the wall. Thursday grabbed him before he could fall completely to the floor. ‘Morse!’ he called and the D.C. opened his eyes and tried to get back on his feet.
‘Doctor!’ called Thursday and DeBryn came from inside.
‘Take him in’, he ordered, ‘here, make him sit.’
Morse came back where he first was, this time with Thursday on his left, ready to catch him if he couldn’t be able to stay sit up right.
The doctor checked Morse’s wrist, examined his eyes and touched his forehead, ‘No doubt your temperature is very high, I suggest you to see a doctor. Since you have one in front of you…’ He looked towards Thursday, who nodded.
‘I’m fine’, Morse tried to repeat.
DeBryn said nothing, reached for his bag, pulled out a thermometer, shook it and held it in front of Morse.
‘There’s no need’, he replied trying to lift himself up, ‘I’m fine, how do I have to tell you?’ His voice lowered and he swallowed with an effort, but manage to stand up.
‘You clearly aren’t lad. So now you stay sit and let the doctor do his job.’ Thursday’s tone didn’t admit any further reply.
‘But--’ Morse tried to protest, but Thursday gently pushed him down and made him sit again.
‘I’m afraid you’re not in the condition to protest. Now, I suppose I don’t need to specify it goes under your tongue.’ Reluctantly Morse obeyed and the glass tube was placed inside his mouth. He gave a miserable gaze to Fred.
‘You’re in good hands, don’t worry.’ He reassured him.
‘Oh yes, pathologist’s.’ Muttered Jakes, leaned to the wall and crossing his arms.
DeBryn looked at him but said nothing. Then after a few minutes to Morse again: ‘I think it’s enough, thank you.’ And he removed the thermometer from Morse’s mouth. ‘One hundred and one. It’s a miracle you’re still on your feet, given you constitution. Now, other symptoms?’
‘No.’ blathered Morse crossing his arms. ‘I’m all right… just fever I suppose.’
‘Are you sure?’ added DeBrym.
‘Jesus, Morse, we haven’t all day! A body’s over the table and a murderer’s outside.’ Pointed out Jakes lighting up a cigarette.
Morse didn’t answer but kept his gaze down as a guilty child, scolded by a parent.
‘Morse!’ Thursday raised his voice again.
‘Mens sana in corpore sano ‘ the doctor said and Jakes and Thursday exchanged a puzzled look. They absolutely had no idea what the doctor was talking about, but apparently it worked: ‘All right…’ Morse finally spoke ‘Bit of a headache maybe…’
‘And?’ DeBrym asked gently.
‘My throat’s burning.’ The D.C. finally admitted.
‘We’re done, thanks God.’ Muttered Jakes, cigarette between his lips.
‘Very well.’ Said the doctor placing his fingers on the side of Morse’s neck. ‘Lymph nodes are enlarged.’ Then he reached for his bag again, while Morse continued to protest: ‘It’s nothing. There’s no need.’ He looked up at Fred.’Let the doctor do what is best for you, lad.’
‘Let me examine your throat, Morse’.
‘There’s really no need.’ He protested again.
‘Morse! Open your damn mouth, or I’ll make you open it!’
Jakes sighed and lighted another cigarette.
‘Parva scintilla magnum saepe excitat incendium. ‘ The doctor said again and again Latin worked: Morse reluctantly opened his mouth again, the doctor looked at it and then announced finally: ‘I may be a pathologist, but I still can make a diagnosis of tonsillitis on a living man.’ He turned himself and looked towards Jakes, who lowered his eyes and pretended not to be the addressee of the doctor’s words.
‘Go to bed Morse, you need to rest for a couple of days. Keep yourself hydrated, no alcohol of course, aspirin to lower the temperature and the inflammation.’
‘Thank you, doctor,’ Fred said ‘Come on! I take you home. I think you can report to Jakes about the victim.’ He added to DeBrym, who nodded. ‘Peter, phone for a car when you’ve finished. You’ll update me at the station later.’
‘Yes sir.’ Jakes nodded as well.
‘Come on Morse, can you walk?’ Fred asked to his bagman helping him standing up.
Morse didn’t say anything and stood up.
‘Don’t worry Morse, you’ll be fine.’ The doctor added when the two men were approaching the door.
‘Doctor, Jakes.’ Thursday greeted them and went out with Morse.
‘Goodbye Inspector, Morse’ DeBrym responded, ‘Now Jakes, back to my real job.’
***
Thursday drove in silent, checking on his bagman from time to time, who kept staring out of the window, occasionally massaging his temple with his fingers again and again. ‘I’m not that bad,’ he answered to an enquiring look of the D.I. after a while.
‘I can tell when a man’s pretending he’s all right but he’s not and when he’s pretending to feel bad but he’s not. War teaches lots of things, lad. No shame in it, it can happen to everyone.’
Morse said nothing and turned himself towards the streets of Oxford moving quickly out of the window.
‘I need you in good shape, Morse.’ Fred added with a gentler tone. Morse sighed loudly but again said nothing.
At some point he turned towards Thursday: ‘Where are we going?’ he swollen and touched his throat making a smirk, ‘I don’t live this way.’
‘You’re staying with us until you recover. Don’t worry, my Win knows what to do.’
‘Bu--’ Morse tried to protest.
‘You can take it as an invitation or an order, your choice.’ Fred stopped the car outside his home and turned the engine off.
Winifred saw the car from inside and ran to open the door, pretty alarmed. ‘Fred? What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing, love,’ He answered opening Morse’s door, ‘Just Morse needs a bed. He has tonsillitis, according to doctor DeBrym. I told him he could stay here until he gets better.’
‘Oh poor lad’, she said touching Morse’s forehead when the two men were into the doorway, ‘You’re burning like a fire, of course you can.’ She smiled sympathetically at him, but Morse once again, tried to refuse, ‘Thanks Mrs. Thursday—but--- there’s no need.’
‘Shh…’ Winifred scolded him, ‘You’re throat must be in flames as well, no need to talk nonsense.’
Morse smiled a bit embarrassed by the kindness of the woman. ‘You’re going to stay here, in Sam’s room’ she added, ‘Come on inside, he’s in London with some friends for the weekend.’ She gently pulled Morse inside, ‘I know how to look after you, can’t recall how many times I’ve done this when it’d happened to my children.’
‘I need to go back,’ Said Fred, ‘and you need to rest.’ he added towards Morse. ‘See you later Win. Good rest Morse.’ He kissed his wife’s cheek and went out.
‘Come on safe.’ She greeted him.
‘Right so.’ He said laud from outside, opening the car’s door.
Winifred closed the door and touched Morse’s back gently. ‘Come on upstairs, you can borrow what you need from Fred-- or Sam--’ She added looking at her thin guest and took his arm, helping him on the stairs. Morse couldn’t say anything, except smile with gratitude, overwhelmed by Winifred’s kindness. This was the first time, since his mother died, that someone took care of him in this way. Despite the fever and his aching throat, he started feeling a sense of relief on being in his superior’s home after all.
***
‘Morse? May I come in?’ Joan knocked on the door of his brother’s room later that afternoon. She decided to have a look at Morse while her mother was making dinner.
‘Morse?’ She repeated lauder when she heard a low murmur coming from inside the bedroom. She entered: the lamp on the bedside table was on, but the light was quite dim, and the room was half in dark. When she came closer to Morse he seemed to be asleep, but he was moving, restless.
‘It’s Joan… Morse?’ She gently called him touching his shoulder, but the answer was only another low murmur. She seated on the edge of his bed and touched first his cheek and then his sweaty forehead. ‘Oh Morse… The fire’s colder than you!’ she whispered. He moved again and muttered something Joan couldn’t understand. She took the cloth from the bedside table, soaked it into the basin full of cold water and placed it on his brow. ‘Better now?’ She asked, without the expectation of an answer.
Morse groaned at the touch of the cool towel and again murmured something it could have been a ‘thank you’. Joan smiled, ‘Don’t worry, Morse, we’re going to look after you. We can’t let the Oxford’s Police fight the crime without your exceptional skills.’ She soaked the cloth again in the water and replaced it on Morse’s forehead.
‘M….Mi…Ss’, he murmured with his eyes closed, shivering a bit at the touch of the towel, ‘Thursday…’ He managed to say. Joan couldn’t refrain a giggle at his polite manners that didn’t change even in this state of discomfort. ‘Yes, Morse, it’s me, it’s Miss Thursday.’ She repeated, but he just moved again without saying anything comprehensible.
She replaced the cold cloth again and he opened his eyes for a second, without even trying to focus on her figure. He was still wiggling, moving and trying to say something, but without been able to speak properly.
At some point he opened his eyes again and looked at Joan, who was still replacing the wet cloth on his brow. ‘Miss—Th-Thursday--’ He repeated again.
‘Yes?’ Joan answered.
‘—M—Ma—Marry—Me--’
After a second of shock, Joan raised her eyebrows and couldn’t refrain a smile, amused by the sudden proposal, knowing that Morse was just raving and that it was just caused by his high temperature.
‘Shhh!’ She said, shaking her head and placing her fingers on his mouth. ‘Stop speaking or your throat gets worse.’
He groaned again and again murmured something incomprehensible.
***
‘Home!’ Thursday hung his hat, scarf and coat in the hall.
‘In here.’ Winifred answered from the kitchen.
Fred kissed his wife on the kitchen’s doorway. ‘What’s this good smell?’
‘Beef stew and smashed potatoes.’
A murmur of joy escaped from him: ‘My favorite!’ He opened the fridge and took a bottle of beer. ‘How’s Morse? And where’s Joanie?’
‘She’s with him’, Winifred stirred the stew, ‘He slept all the afternoon, poor lad,’ Fred nodded and took a sip, ‘time for another aspirin by now. I made him some broth in case he wants some.’
Fred murmured with approval. ‘You mind he’s here?’
‘No, he’s a good lad, I like him, I’ve already told you.’
‘He’s very clever, you know, but he’s a lone soul, and not that good at looking after himself.’
‘I think he called for his mother earlier. Or he thought I was her.’
Fred took another sip, ‘His mother died when he was a boy.’
‘Oh… I’m sorry for him. Anyway, you did well, bringing him here. Now go upstairs and send Joanie down, I need help with dinner.’
‘Call me when it’s ready.’
Fred was almost out of the kitchen when Win called him back: ‘Fred?’ and he turned. ‘Don’t worry too much, he’ll be fine.’
When he reached Sam’s room the door was open and Joan was soaking the cloth again into the basin.
‘Hello dad.’ She greeted him.
‘Hello Joanie.’ The two exchanged a kiss on their cheek. ‘You’ve been here for long?’
‘Not that long.’
‘I’ll stay until dinner’s ready. Your mum needs you.’
She smiled and went downstairs.
Thursday took off his jacket. ‘Morse?’ He gently touch him and he opened his eyes. Fred removed the cloth and felt his temperature placing his hand on Morse’s forehead. Morse sighed heavily and tried to say something.
‘No need to talk, can you lift yourself a bit?’ He asked, filling up a glass of water. Morse raised a bit. ‘Here,’ Fred sit on the bed and leaded him first the aspirin ‘take it and you’ll feel better,’ and then the glass. Morse swallowed them with an effort and put his hand on his throat. ‘Still hurt?’ Fred asked and Morse nodded. ‘I know, lad--’ He gently pushed his bagman back under the blankets and tucked them around him. ‘tomorrow it’ll be better.’ Fred took again the soaked cloth and placed it on his bagman’s brows. Then he took the armchair closer to the bed and sit.
‘Thank you… Sir.’
‘Don’t thank me, Morse. Already told you: need you in good shape. Now try to rest.’ He took his pipe out and waited for Morse to fall asleep.
***
It was long past midnight when Joan opened the front door that same night. She carefully removed her shoes, took her coat off and started to climb the stairs. She had just taken a few steps when she noticed a shadow in the dark, who was coming towards her. The thought that that could have been her mother or, much worse, her father, made her return towards the entrance and into the sitting room, where she stayed still, hiding in the half darkness, near the doorway. If she was lucky enough, she could run upstairs without been seen when who was coming would be passed the door. She was well aware that Fred Thursday didn’t like the idea of his daughter out in the streets of Oxford at that time of the night and she started to think about a truthful excuse in case her plan didn’t work. The shadow was coming closer and she caught her breath, crossing her fingers.
‘Morse!’ She said in a whisper when she realized it wasn’t her mother nor her father, ‘What the hell are doing up at this time of the night? Shouldn’t you be in bed?’
He looked puzzled, ‘I-- Could ask the same, Miss Thursday…’
Joan rolled her eyes: ‘Night out with the girls from the bank.’ She explained crossing her arms waiting for an explanation from him, knowing that she was the one out of place at that time.
‘I… I wanted a glass of water.’
‘Speak softly’, she warned him, ‘If dad catches me, I’m in trouble. He doesn’t like thinking of me out in the small hours.’
‘Neither do I…’ She raised her brows again ‘I mean-- It could be dangerous-- You look very elegant by the way--’ He quickly changed the subject and touched the back of his head with a hand, not sure what to say. He couldn’t help but notice that the blue mini dress she was wearing, made her eyes stand out more than usually, even in the dark.
She blushed a bit, without understanding why exactly, ‘Thanks.’ And a little smile of satisfaction appeared on her lips. ‘Are you feeling better?’
‘A bit, yes.’
‘Come, I’ll fetch you the water.’ They went to the kitchen and Joan filled a glass.
‘Thank you.’
‘I really need to eat something.’ She took some bread and opened the fridge where she found some ham. Joan made herself a sandwich and Morse drank his water in silent.
‘You know what’s good when your throat is in pain? Ice-cream!’ she opened the little freezer ‘I’m sure mum keeps some in winter as well.’
‘Why not?’ He couldn’t remember when we had eaten it last.
‘Cream and chocolate, hope is fine for you.’
‘It’s fine.’ He smiled again and stared at the little bowl.
‘Spoons are in the first drawer.’ She said and took a bite from her sandwich. She ate it really enjoying every single piece and she noticed the amusement on Morse’s face.
‘I’m really hungry,’ She explained between one mouthful and another, ‘Danced all night…’
He smiled because he could easily picture her on the dance floor, and took a spoon of ice-cream.
Silent fell, then More broke it: ‘Not exactly Cinderella, huh?’ He nodded in the direction of the clock on the wall.’
Joan smiled at the sight of the clock that was shoving a quarter to three. ‘You won’t tell dad, will you?’
He shook his head, looking down at his ice cream. ‘Not my business, Miss Thursday.’
‘Our little secret, then?’ She asked again, relieved and amused at the same time.
‘You have my word.’ He smile again and she smiled back at him, satisfied. ‘Thank you, Morse.’
A sudden hot feeling filled his whole body and he could bet his face had betrayed it. Was it fever again? Or what? He asked to himself.
‘You know you were talking in your sleep?’ Joan asked quite amused after a few moments of silence.
‘Ah?’ Morse didn’t know if he was more surprised or embarrassed.
‘You were calling your mother, you thought mine was yours.’ She was smiling archly, ready to tease him.
Morse lowered his gaze and kept staring at his ice-cream. ‘She died when I was just a boy.’ He looked up again at her, smiled a little, but a deep sadness was in his eyes and Joan felt suddenly guilty. ‘I’m sorry, for your mother.’
‘Thanks.’
They ate again, Joan sit on the counter and Morse leaned against it, desperately trying not to think about his mother nor to Joan, so closed to him. She noticed that the mention of his mother had let a halo of sorrow around him and decided she had to try something to cheer him up because it was her fault after all. ‘You weren’t just talking about your mother, you know?’ She seemed genuinely amused, ‘I think you need a girlfriend, Morse, I mean it.’ She nodded and raised her brows, almost laughing.
Morse raised his head, looked up at her and flushed again. And again this feeling of hot invaded his whole body. He started wondering to himself if it was just fever.
This time Joan noticed it, came down from the counter and place her hand on his brows. At her touch he felt his temperature raised higher. ‘Jesus, Morse, you’re still burning!’
Morse smiled a little and looked down, embarrassed. He was never sure how to respond to her. The girl had always been a kind of mystery that was too hard to solve, even for him.
‘Oh--’ He could only say and realized he was shivering.
‘Better you go back to bed.’
Ho nodded and they both started to go upstairs to his bedroom.
They said their goodnights and Morse got under the covers. A few minutes after, Joan peeked into the room again, ‘May I come in?’ She asked, but didn’t wait for an answer, ‘I brought you another glass of water, in case you’re thirsty again.’ She placed it on the side table, ‘Better you have another.’ She added, handing some more aspirin to Morse.
‘Oh-- Yes, Thank you.’ He took it, swallowed it with an effort and slid under the blankets again, exhausted.
‘Good night, Morse.’
‘Good night, Miss Thursday.’
Joan was closing the door behind her when he called her back: ‘Miss Thursday---?’ There was something she had said he couldn’t erased from his mind, despite the fever.
‘Yes?’
‘You said I was talking in my sleep before-- Did I-- say something --inappropriate?’
‘No, Morse,’ She said giggling, ‘Conscious or not, you remain a gentleman.’ She finally closed the door and tiptoed towards her room.