RATING: PG (disturbing imagery)

DISCLAIMER: Though some characters here were created by me, for all intents and purposes, they all belong to Val McDermid, who created Tony Hill, Carol Jordan and the rest of the Bradfield gang in the first place.

SUMMARY: While three families fear the worst when their sons go missing, Carol and Tony face their own private fears.

NOTES: Check out if you're interested in finding out more about these characters. I have taken liberties with the history of Maggie Thomas, which has not been revealed in the series. My thanks to Val McDermid for the creation of these characters, as well as to Robson Green and Hermione Norris for their fabulous portrayal of them. And to papiliondae, for the title and for making sure I get the British stuff right… and whatnot. (The title comes from the Wilfred Owen poem, "Insensibility".)

--

Tony looked up at the clock. "With fifteen minutes left, let's do a short exercise for Friday's lecture- phobias. We'll start off easy," he addressed the class. "Claustrophobia?"

"Fear of enclosed spaces," a student called out.

"Correct. Agoraphobia?"

"Fear of open spaces."

He nodded. "Spermophobia?" He held up a hand to stop any response and sighed. "And please, before you say anything, it's not what you think."

The class laughed, but couldn't come up with an answer.

"Fear of germs," Tony informed them. "Let's try something a bit more unusual. Triskaidekaphobia?"

A young student in the back yelled out, "Fear of long words I'll never remember by Friday!"

Again, the class laughed and Tony couldn't help but smile, too. "Sorry, Gregory. Fear of the number thirteen."

Several students groaned. "Who honestly has that fear?" one asked in disbelief.

"I've got an even better one," Tony said. "Arachibutyrophobia?"

One boy ventured a guess. "Fear of buttery spiders?"

Tony sighed. "Brush up on your languages, Paul. Arachide, not Arachnid. Ironically enough, you got the buttery part almost right. Arachibutyrophobia- fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth."

Now the entire class groaned.

"You made that up," Paul accused.

"You give me far too much credit." Tony leaned back against the whiteboard. "The point is, a phobia can range from what we would consider 'normal' or 'understandable' to 'absurd'. But make no mistake, to those who suffer from it, it is anything but absurd." He turned and began writing. "There are three groups associated with phobias- Agoraphobia, Social Phobia and Simple Phobia." He underlined all three titles and turned to face the class again. "Agoraphobia is, as we mentioned, fear of open spaces, but in this definition, it is often used to refer to a fear of crowded spaces. It can be the most debilitating of phobias, as often, the person will become housebound and avoid all personal interaction. Social phobia is slightly different. It deals with the anxiety one feels when faced with having to interact within that crowded place or social situation. A fear of public speaking, for example, falls under social phobia. And the deceptively titled simple phobia is a fear towards a very specific thing or situation. A fear of mice or heights, for instance."

A girl raised her hand. "But in all honesty, Professor Hill, how can someone develop a fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of their mouth?"

"The actual cause of phobias isn't yet fully understood," he admitted. "However, most psychologists suggest that they develop out of an unpleasant childhood experience with whatever it is they fear. So, perhaps as a four-year old child, tasting peanut butter for the first time and unfamiliar with its texture, he took a spoonful and panicked when he discovered he couldn't swallow it immediately."

"Okay," the girl nodded, "that makes sense, if you're four. But as an adult, wouldn't he grow up to realize how, well, silly that fear is?"

"But what makes a fear of peanut butter silly and a fear of, say, spiders acceptable?" He saw several students shudder with revulsion and he pointed. "See? I say 'a fear of spiders' and you have get empathic shivers. I say 'peanut butter' and you laugh. The important thing to remember is, their basis is in the psyche. And it's through psychology that we can treat them."

Tony looked up at the clock. "Read pages 263 to 315 by Friday, and write me a 2000-word essay on your biggest fear."

"Does failing this course count?"

"If you can find out the scientific term for it, Simon, I'll gladly accept your paper submission."

As the students began collecting their belongings and filing out of the room, the girl who spoke earlier approached Tony. "So, what's your fear?"

Without hesitation, he answered, "Coulrophobia." The students waited in anticipation for an explanation. Making a face of mock unease, he clarified, "Clowns."

Once the amazement wore off his audience, one student muttered, "I'd like to hear the traumatic childhood experience behind that one."

--

The police room was quiet and somber, as if it were empathizing with its lone occupant, DCI Carol Jordan. If you had asked her, however, she would have told you she wasn't alone- the presence of the pictures of three young boys pinned to the evidence board filled the room. She was sitting in a creaky old chair, her arms folded across her chest, and her long legs crossed. Her thoughts had first been about the case, about the boys, but the frustrating lack of evidence on the board directed her thoughts elsewhere.

She thought back to her childhood, when her dream had been to grow up and become a cop just like her father; her biggest hero. Back then she hadn't realized how quickly he'd aged; how the job slowly chipped away at his soul. She realized it now, because she felt it herself. Her youthful enthusiasm to right wrongs had been slowly eroded by the knowledge that, for all her efforts to do right, wrong first had to be committed. And that's where she found herself now, where all cops ended up – two steps behind right.

Some days were better than others, of course. Some days, that knowledge only fuelled her more, spurred her on to fight harder. Other days, the helplessness overwhelmed her and it took everything in her not to close her eyes, close the door, and close this chapter in her life. This was one of those days. As she looked up at the photos, she wondered why she bothered.

"It won't bring them back," she whispered.

--

Standing in the doorway, Tony was taking it all in. He allowed himself to appreciate how beautiful she was, evading his desire and the confessional nature of his thoughts by methodically cataloguing her features. But as it had been from the first time they'd met, it was her mind that drew him to her time and time again. Intelligent, fiercely determined and… strong. That was the word he would use to describe her. Strong. So hearing her whispered comment startled him. He had rarely thought of her in any other terms: never thought of her as vulnerable, defeated, overwhelmed. That wasn't the Carol he knew. A wry smile twisted his mouth as he admitted to himself that he'd never really acknowledged Carol's vulnerabilities; in all the time they'd known each other he'd grown accustomed to her being his anchor. He had never considered that she might need an anchor of her own.

"But it's the right thing to do," he answered her.

She jumped, the chair in which she sat creaking noisily with the sudden movement.

"Jesus!"

He flashed her a lopsided grin. "No, unfortunately." He walked into the small room coming to stand beside her chair. "I got your message."

"Thanks for coming," she said sincerely.

Tony reached out to put his hand on her shoulder but, unsure of his emotional footing, decided to rest it on the back of her chair. "All you have to do is call, Carol."

Their eyes locked momentarily with Carol being the first to look away. Glancing back at the board, she diffused the tension by saying, "Not sure there's much here to call you about, in all honesty."

He leaned over her shoulder and looked up at the board from her point of view. His eyes soaked it all in and when he was satisfied he had collected it all, he stood up and walked over, as if getting it from a different perspective would give him more information. Though all the details the police had were written or pinned on the board, Tony turned to Carol. He had seen it all, now he wanted to hear it.

They had worked together for so long that as soon as he turned his gaze to her, she began speaking.

"Thomas Young, Kieran Fisher, David Cromwell. Ages eight, seven and seven, respectively. They've all gone missing within the last four months. David Cromwell was the last; he went missing three weeks ago. Parents just reported it this morning."

"Why did it take the parents so long to report him missing?"

"David Cromwell, son of Peter Cromwell, a.k.a. "Pistol" Pete Cromwell."

Tony's eyebrows went up. "The drug lord?"

"Alleged drug lord," Carol corrected, though without much defense.

"So they thought it was a revenge scenario."

Carol nodded. "Yep. They figured they'd keep it "in-house" and deal with it themselves. That, and it kept the police out of any alleged illegal activities. When there was no ransom demand and nothing turned up, they called it in."

He tapped the photo. "So besides the similar ages, and the dark hair and eyes, what's the connection?"

"We're working on it. We're not even sure there is a connection. There are a lot of dark-haired boys that go missing every year."

Reminded again of the unhappy nature of their work, Tony only nodded his understanding. "Bodies?"

"Nope," she answered. "Which only makes it harder to find a connection."

"Well, the good news is, that might mean they're still alive."

"Yeah," she agreed, with little conviction.

"You all right, Carol?"

She unfolded her arms and clasped her hands together on her lap. Avoiding his gaze, she closed her eyes tiredly. "I know all life should be held in the same regard, but I have to admit, this…"

He waited for her to continue, and when she didn't, he picked up her thought. "Kids."

She only nodded.

"It's natural, Carol," he told her. "For most people there is nothing more horrible than a crime inflicted on a child. And, as a woman, it must be doubly hard for you. It's only natural that you would feel a stronger connection to this case than to others."

The chair creaked again as she shifted her position and looked at him. "Do you hear that?" she asked.

Tony tilted his head, looking off to one side as his ears strained to identify the noise Carol referred to.

"That's my biological clock pleasantly reminding me that time is ticking away." She thought that would get a laugh out of him, but instead, she was met with a look of amazement. "Don't worry, that was meant as a remark, not an invitation," she said dryly.

"Oh," he replied, feigning disappointment, and she laughed.

She stood up, feeling a bit better, and gestured towards the photos. "What are we looking for here?"

His brows furrowed in an expression of thought that Carol had come to recognize long ago. "There are several types that fall in this category," he began. "If they're not connected, then it could be difficult to track them down. Three separate cases of individuals who have escalated their pedophile traits; three who have gone past the photos and the voyeurism directly to actual child abduction. Chances are, it's not a friend of the family or a family member. It would be too difficult to keep a child hidden."

"Assuming they're still alive."

He frowned, not at the interruption, but at the implication of her comment. Rather than address it, he carried on. "So we'd be looking for men living in the neighbourhood, seen around parks and schools. And if it's one person, if these three children are connected, we'd be looking in the same areas. Most pedophiles plan things out. Gaining the child's trust, grooming the child, is most important, and that takes a bit of time, particularly in this day and age, where children are more aware of strangers than perhaps years ago."

"So he'd have to take the time to find out which boy he'd think would be most susceptible to persuasion."

"Correct."

"And we're strictly talking male here?"

He shook his head. "Oh, no. Could be a female, though she'd fall into a different category. She would abduct the children not with a sexual motive, but with an emotional one. Perhaps she can't have children or she's lost a child. Maybe turned down for adoption." He saw the stress lines between Carol's eyes appear again. Trying a lighter approach, he added, "Or maybe she's a police woman who hears the faint ticking of her biological clock."

She turned sharply towards him, ready to reprimand him for the inappropriateness of his comment. But, when she saw the sympathetic expression on his face, she appreciated his attempt at lightening the mood. "Not funny," she chastised, though followed it with a grateful smile.

"So how are you approaching this," he asked. "Separate cases or one?"

"Right now we're going over all the evidence of the first two cases and revisiting the witnesses and the information. Seeing if there's any commonalities with schools or friends and the like. Pete Cromwell is coming down later today to give us everything he has."

"Do you think he will?"

"He hasn't got much choice if he wants us to find his son. Besides, I think it was his wife, Diane, who pushed him into cooperating. I think if it comes down to finding her son at the expense of involving the police, she'll do it."

"Mother first, alleged law-breaking accomplice wife second," Tony said. "There's that damn nature coming into play once again." He looked at the board then back to Carol. "Anything else I can do for you?"

She smiled. "You could have some wine chilled later this evening," she suggested.

"Right," he replied without hesitation. "Call before you come over."

"I will," she promised.

He walked to the door.

"Tony?" He turned. "Thanks," she said simply.

--