Qvember 2025

Content Warning: None
Characters: Carl Morck, James Hardy (mentioned)
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 100

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Carl smiles every time he puts on the scarf. It’s a mix of red and burgundy, messy and imperfect with a few dropped stitches, but it’s soft and warm and a gift he’ll treasure with all his heart.

Hardy has given it to Carl on Boxing Day with a sly grin and the words, “You can thank the Dark Angel for this. It’s done absolute wonders for my hand coordination.”

Carl made a show of finding it hideous, but he still wears it every fucking day, thankful that his partner clawed his way back and emerged on the other side.

Content Warning: None
Characters: Carl Morck, Rachel Irving
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 100

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“Your aunt Enid, does she actually exist?” Rachel asks Carl as they sit at his kitchen table.

He frowns. “Yeah. When did I mention her?”

“You said Dr. Sonnenberg reminded you of her.”

“Huh. She does.”

“So who is she?”

Carl shrugs. “Grandmother’s sister. One of the few people who weren’t a total shitshow when I grew up.” He looks lost in thought. “Always had a hot chocolate and a hug for you.”

Rachel gets up, stands behind his chair and puts her hands on his shoulders. “I’ll always have a hug for you. And maybe also a hot chocolate.”

Content Warning: Mention of injury
Characters: Carl Morck, Rose Dickson
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 100

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Rose closes her eyes for a long moment as they stand outside the hospital, waiting for the taxi to arrive. She swallows, stares at the crack in the concrete in front of her feet.

“Hey,” Carl says gently, holding up his hand that has the index and middle finger in a splint. “I’m okay.”

“You screamed.”

“Yeah, because it fucking hurt.”

She closes her eyes again, tries not to relive the moment. “I’m not very good at this.”

“And that’s okay. Shit like this isn’t supposed to happen.”

“But it does. How do you do it?”

He shrugs. “I don’t.”

Content Warning: Mention of drugging
Characters: Carl Morck, Akram Salim, James Hardy
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 100

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Carl’s eyes are wide, panicked, his feet trying to find purchase on the dusty floor of the derelict building as he’s scrambling backwards against the wall. “Get away from me!”

Akram stands at a safe distance, unsure what to do. He thinks that they must have drugged Carl. He’s known to be unpredictable, but this is a new kind of unhinged he’s not seen before.

He looks sideways at Hardy, who meets his gaze, then throws caution to the wind. “Hey, mate. It’s me.”

Carl’s eyes roam nervously, but he doesn’t flinch quite as violently – like maybe it’ll be okay.

Content Warning: Mention of injuries
Characters: Carl Morck, Jasper Stewart
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 100

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“Jasper, what the fuck?”

Carl looks at his stepson who comes shuffling into the flat. His face sports a shiner, ugly reddish purple against pale skin.

And then Carl looks more closely, sees something else. Fear. He’s spooked. Carl is out of the chair before he even knows it, stands opposite Jasper, holds his upper arms. “What happened?”

Jasper doesn’t say anything, just kinda sags against Carl. Carl’s arms come around him, like it’s instinct. Jasper’s shaking. Fucking hell, what the fuck happened?

“Hey,” Carl says gently, pulling a little tighter. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

And Jasper just clings on.

Content Warning: None
Characters: Carl Morck, OFC
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 100

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“May I have this dance?” Miriam asks, holding her hand out to Carl.

He doesn’t know what to say, wants to say, no, fuck off. This whole thing is ridiculous. The dark grey suit feels too tight around the shoulders, the tie too constricting around his neck. He hasn’t worn a suit in years.

But this is Jasper’s wedding, and he damn well had to make an effort. He hopes it won’t end like his own marriage did, but Miriam seems genuinely caring and loveable – nothing at all like Vic.

“Fine,” he concedes, hoping she’ll forgive his terrible dancing skills.

Content Warning: None
Characters: Carl Morck, Rachel Irving
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 100

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She sees Carl standing by the living room window, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, looking out onto the trees and greenery of Leith Links. He’s stood there for a while.

Rachel slowly walks up to him, stands behind him and slides her hands gently between his arms and his torso. He tenses for a second, then relaxes. She leans her body against his.

“You miss him already, don’t you?”

He lets out a cynical huff. “Fucking ironic, isn’t it?”

“You knew the day would come when Jasper moves out.”

“Yeah,” he sighs heavily. “Still feels fucking wrong.”

Content Warning: None
Characters: Carl Morck, Rachel Irving
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 100

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“This is your idea of a beach day?” Carl says as they step out onto the small stretch of sandy beach.

Rachel gives him a look. “This is Scotland, not Mallorca.”

He looks around. Cragged, grey-brown rocks overgrown with barnacles protrude from the pool of light teal water, framed by more rocks forking into the Atlantic ocean. Seaweed floats in patches of dark brown. To their left, corroded wooden spikes of a wrecked boat emerge amidst a stretch of lush, green grass.

He has to admit it’s beautiful in its own right, and better than Mallorca by a long chalk.

“Carl, you can’t park there!” Rose exclaims after Carl has stopped the car.

“Watch me.”

“You know that Moira already has a pile of parking tickets on her desk from you, right?”

He flashes her a grin. “I do.”

“You could lose your driving license.”

He shrugs. “Nah. They’re great leverage.”

“Leverage?”

“Yeah. I’ll start paying attention to parking regs when she starts actually making our basement habitable.”

Rose shakes her head. “Jesus. And I called you a mentor…”

He shoots her a glance. “But I am. Basics of negotiation. Find whatever leverage you have and then use it wisely.”

Rose has never seen it—until today. She heard Hardy mention it, that Carl is the most protective guy he knows.

He’s pinned the perp to the wall, his lower arm across the guy’s throat. “Get the fuck away from her!”

The small cut on her hand is barely bleeding.

When the perp is dealt with, Carl comes over to her. “You okay?”

“Aye. It’s nothing.”

He nods at her hand. “You should get that checked out.”

She looks at him and wishes he would care about himself as much as he cares about the people he’s grown to love.

“This is total bullshit,” Carl grumbles.

“It is not,” Rose cuts in.

“I have to answer 200 questions for a personality profile that says I’m a disagreeable prick who loathes the whole of society? I know that already. You know that already.”

“No, Carl, this is about figuring out each other’s strengths and weaknesses. You know, blind spots and all that.”

“Yeah, my blind spot is not giving a fuck about people’s personalities.”

Hardy throws him a look from across the room. “And that is why we all love you.”

“Shut up.” Carl flips him off.

“Ta, love you, too.”

What if they’d never answered the Leith Park call?

Carl asks himself that question often. Too often, probably. He’d still be out with Hardy, solving murders like they used to. When Hardy didn’t have impaired mobility, when life had seemed easier, less complex.

PC Anderson would still be alive, his daughter growing up with a loving family rather than a single mum. And Carl…

Carl would not be heading up Dept. Q, would not be solving cold cases in a grimy basement with his team of ragtag misfits he’d grown to appreciate. Would that really be better? He couldn’t say.

Rachel smiles when she sees Carl on the couch, leafing through the D&D Player’s Handbook.

“That’s some unusual reading material.”

He looks up at her. “Jasper wants to play. Thought I’d come prepared.”

“Any idea what you’re gonna play yet?”

“I don’t know. Warlock?”

She laughs. “You wanna play a charisma-based character?”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you need high charisma.”

“You think I can’t pull that off?”

“You think quick on your feet and you’re resourceful. You should look into Wizard.”

He leafs to the right section. “Scholarly?”

“You’re studying right now, are you not?”

Pain. Something searing in Carl’s lower left abdomen. Like maybe he got stabbed. He can’t fucking tell, can’t even double over onto the floor because his hands are tied to a metal pole behind him.

He shouldn’t have gone out here alone. Akram had warned against it. Of course Carl hadn’t listened.

He sucks in a sharp breath as he tries to move, his head swimming, his consciousness fading. Fuck.

And then there’s Akram’s voice.

“Carl.”

Like a beacon. The fucking lighthouse on the shore. With his last ounce of strength, Carl lifts his head. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Carl narrows his eyes. Did Akram just drop his head in a one-second nod of microsleep?

He looks more closely. Darker circles under his eyes, eyes not his usual sharp and attentive.

Carl isn’t the type to tell people how to live their lives. They’re all fucking grown-ups. And yet, here he is, standing by Akram’s desk. “How about you call it day, yeah?”

Akram’s eyes are on him, equal mix of denial, defiance and embarrassment. “There is still work to do.”

“And it’ll still be here tomorrow.”

Akram looks down, maybe ready to protest, but then he nods. “Okay.”

Carl isn’t sure what gives it away. Maybe it’s the wet cough or the way Jasper looks truly miserable, but this is a time when Carl actually condones that he stays home from school.

He remembers when he was a small boy and would come cuddling with them, wanted to sleep in their bed. Those days are long over.

He hesitates, then knocks on the door. Jasper is in his bed. “You ill?”

“Yeah. Think it’s the flu.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Nah.”

Carl leaves and puts on the kettle. The least he can do is make him some tea.

“Carl.”

Akram’s voice is always steady. Like a rock in turbulent waters.

Carl grips the steering wheel of the parked car, his knuckles white. He’s on his way into the spiral.

“Tell me about Jasper.”

Carl inhales. Sharply. “Not now,” he snarls between clenched teeth.

“Yes, now. What is his favourite food?”

Carl’s jaw works, he tries to come up with an answer. “Burgers.”

“What else?”

“Maybe pizza,” he corrects.

“What kind?”

“I don’t fucking know!”

He is glaring at Akram now. His grip on the steering wheel has loosened and there is a faint, self-satisfied smile on Akram’s face.

“Jasper, how did this happen?” Carl asks as he eyes the three stitches in his stepson’s brow.

Jasper shrugs. “This guy started throwing punches.”

“Throwing punches? Just like that?”

“No. He was bullying this kid at school.”

“And you got in the way?”

He shrugs again. “Yeah. Wasn’t right. Had to do something.”

Carl can’t help the smile creeping onto his face. “Did you punch him first?”

Jasper shakes his head. “The guy was really pissed off. I didn’t punch him.”

Carl wants to hug him, tell him he did the right thing. Instead he just nods. “You want supper?”

“Hardy,” Carl laments. They don’t talk about this. Because they don’t need to. Except apparently Hardy does.

“No, I need you to hear this, mate. Actually, you probably need to hear this more than I need to say it.”

Carl sighs. The bone deep kind out of the depths of what is left of his fucking soul.

Hardy meets Carl’s eyes. “I don’t blame you.” Carl tries not to look away.

He can’t. He looks away. “Yeah, well, I do.”

“I know. Which is why I’m telling you this. This wasn’t your fault.”

But it is. It always will be.

It started a week ago and it’s becoming a problem.

It’s always the right hand, and always out of the blue – a tremor out of nowhere Carl can’t control. He’s tried to hide it as best as he can, but now there’s Akram sitting in the passenger seat, his voice always so gentle. He nods at Carl’s hand.

“What are you going to do about that?”

Carl knows it’s futile to deflect. “I don’t fucking know.”

“This is from stress. You should talk to someone.”

He knows. But he can’t. So he grunts and ignores it. Like he always does.

Pop!

The gunshot goes off, the bullet whizzing past Hardy so closely that he can feel the whoosh of air next to his right ear. Instinctively, he throws his weight to the left, loses balance on his crutches, tumbles ungracefully to the ground. Broken glass shatters behind him.

He twists around, looks behind him, panic suddenly in his chest. Carl was behind him.

“Carl!” he calls out, trying to make out his partner.

The silence stretches on for endless seconds, until finally, he hears his voice. “I’m okay.”

Fuck. Another close call. Much too close. They can’t keep doing this.

“Carl,” Rachel says in her best no-nonsense tone. “Get your arse into bed.”

“I’m fine,” he protests, immediately followed by a wet cough that leaves him panting.

“You are not fine. Bed. Now!”

He lifts both his hands defensively, then concedes.

Fifteen minutes later, she sits at the edge of his bed, feels him shivering beneath the duvet. She puts a comforting hand on his thigh. “I’ll stay. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Just avert my slow death,” he mutters.

She chuckles. “I didn’t think you were such a drama queen.”

He coughs again. “This sucks.”

“I know.”

Content Warning: None
Characters: Carl Morck, Akram Salim
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 100

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Carl puts the round tin on Akram’s desk, giving him a sort of smile. The kind that hides behind the beard but you can see when you look closely.

Carl proclaims, “Family recipe. Well, kind of.” There’s an undertone of bashfulness.

“Kind of?” Akram asks, unsure whether he should open the thing.

There are cookies in the tin, unshapely and burnt on the edges. “Might have left them in too long.”

Akram raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you bake?”

“Call it an experiment. Or blame Jasper. You choose.”

Akram tries one. It’s hard and dry. He eats it anyway.

Content Warning: None
Characters: Carl Morck, Jasper Stewart (mentioned)
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 100

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There’s a small, flat thing lying on the table in colourful gift wrap when Carl makes his way into the kitchen that morning.

Oh yeah. It’s his fucking birthday. His name is scrawled on the paper in Jasper’s barely legible handwriting. Carl curiously picks it up, opens it.

Two tickets, Hampden Park, UEFA playoffs – Scotland vs. England. Decent seats. Can’t have been cheap.

Something makes his brow constrict. He rubs his beard around his mouth. What he wants is to go into Jasper’s room and draw him into a hug.

For once, Carl wishes Jasper was actually skipping fucking school.

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“Ow!”

Carl flinches as Akram dabs disinfectant onto the cut on his eyebrow.

“Hold still,” Akram says, impatience swinging in his voice.

“How can I when you’re trying to corrode away my fucking eyebrow.”

Akram shoots him a look. “You are very squeamish.”

“And you have a fucking saviour complex.”

“If I had a saviour complex, the guy who hit you would be the one needing medical attention.”

“Then why am I the one who is sitting here, bleeding all over the fucking place?”

“Because you told me not to interfere.”

Carl has to admit, yes, that’s a fair point.

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“I am Akram.”

That’s what people are whispering behind Akram’s back.

Carl has heard it one too many times –colleagues making fun of how Akram used to introduce himself. These days he goes by DI Salim.

Just now another detective said it and Carl has heard it in the hallway in passing. “Oh yeah, ‘I am Akram’. He’s kinda creepy.” Carl wanted to grab the young detective by the lapels and shake it out of her.

“Does it not bother you?” he’d asked Akram.

Akram had given him a sage and infuriatingly calm look. The answer had been simple.

“No.”

Content Warning: Medical stuff...?
Characters: Carl Morck
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 100

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Carl doesn’t remember.

He doesn’t remember how he got to the hospital, that Jasper had been there to stay with him until he woke up from the surgery, that he’d almost died.

What he does remember is searing agony in his neck, an endotracheal tube down his throat, people touching him where it caused pain. He remembers not being able to speak or to swallow. He remembers lonely nights and nurses changing shifts.

He wishes he didn’t have to remember but also knows this will always stay with him – like a stain permanently burned into the tapestry of his life.