Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Bill' or any characters mentioned in this piece.

The Noble Fight

Until recently, DI Max Carter's life had been expendable in his eyes. He's avoided making friends and letting on too much about his family so he could get to that stage.

But now he has a family – a wife and son.

And someone has decided the best way to get Max, is to take them out first…

Rated: K+ (mild violence and language)

*

DI Carter flipped the folder closed and shoved it in his drawer, casting the photo of his son one last look before standing up and leaving his office, bound for the main CID office. Another long night meant being away from two-year-old Oscar and his infectiously bubbly personality. Just that morning Oscar had awoken his parents at around four AM; eager for another story like the one his father had told him the night before. Oscar's mother didn't like the stories, thinking Oscar was young and impressionable, but Max assured her that he was the perfect age to be swayed very subtly to the cause for becoming a detective.

"He will choose his own career." His mother had protested, covering the child's ears as Max had tried again one afternoon to get the child to play cops and robbers with his toy cars. "He's too young to think about it now."

"He's the perfect age. I was four when I decided to be a policeman."

"And it clearly impeded your social skills and trust of the world." She smiled, pushing her son into the lounge room with his small red fire engine in hand. He frowned. "Exactly. I think I've made my point." And once those words were uttered, even Max's best frown couldn't get her to relent – she'd never given up under that glare like so many had before her. It was probably the only reason he'd fallen for her so easily. In every other way they were exact opposites and neither his colleagues nor hers could understand how they managed something that only sometimes resembled a normal relationship. He was cocky and determined, his pessimistic view of the world broken only once by the bad situation that had led to their beginning. She rather naïve and sweet, keen to see every person's good side but even more so when Max tried so hard to make her see they were bad. They disagreed like only they could, their arguments less about proof and more about protection. Max had promised himself long ago (it would be five years ago to the day in a week that she had bounded onto his radar protesting a young mother's innocence and then getting herself abducted to prove her point) that he would do all he could to keep her out of danger, even if it meant tarring her shiny view of the world, whereas she had promised him one morning when he had awoken to find her laying there, one finger to her lips deep in thought, that she would make him see things weren't as bad as he often made them out to be.

The day she'd agreed to marry him had made things brighter.

The day she'd bought his son into the world had made things almost perfect.

But still every day he went to work, faced the scum of London and spent far too many hours away from his young family. And every moment he missed with them hurt him. He'd missed Oscar's first word, his first steps, first day at pre-school and first smile. He lived his son's life in pictures and recounts, words from his mother-in-law about doing what was best for the family and coming home every so often. But his wife understood, an officer herself, and had simply smiled with pity every time his mother-in-law rounded him up and reminded him of other people better for her daughter.

His mother-in-law had made it clear from the start that she wasn't going to endure his moodiness, pessimism and general backhanded wit in the way his wife could. She had twice mentioned to his wife leaving the DI and finding someone more suitable.

But each time she had she'd been closed down with those little words that made Max smile. "That's not going to happen Mum. We've been through a lot together. You know that. Anyway, I love him."

Now, casting his eyes over the darkened CID office (it was a little after 11pm), Max returned to his workload with a sigh, pulling out his phone and calling home.

She answered with a tired 'hello' and he smiled. "It's me. I'm working late."

"I guessed as much. ETA?"

"About 12ish."

"Okay, well I'll believe that when I see it." She gave a tired chuckle. Max never came home on or before he said he would. It was usually a good hour or so later. He heard the phone rattle as she shifted, he assumed sitting up in bed. She had a habit of sitting up against the headboard, her legs curled beneath her, and stringing the phone cord around her wrist. "Oscar drew a picture of you today at preschool. Told everyone how you save the world." Max sighed. "He misses you Max. You're never home for dinner. He only sees you on Sunday nights. That's why he came in this morning, woke you up for a story."

"I miss him too Mill, but what can I do?" He looked at the picture of his son. The young child had Max's eyes, Millie's hair and his father's pout. Apart from the hair colour, he looked every bit Max had at his son's age. It hurt Max to be away from him, but there was nothing he could do. The job came first; he thought Millie had known that. The job always came first.

"Take next Saturday off. He has a birthday party and it's a family day. Just one day, that's all he wants. Just one day with his dad."

Max sighed again then gave in. "Okay, I'll take Saturday off."

"Thank you." She yawned. "You said 12?" He murmured a yes, assessing the paperwork in front of him. Twelve seemed unlikely. "Wake me when you get home. It isn't just Oscar that misses you." Then she put down the phone and Max snapped his cell shut, putting it down on his desk next to the picture of his son. With one last glance at the photo, he started on the mountain of work that lay ahead of him.