Part I
With Peter stretched out on the couch, dozing under the
impressive impact of the painkillers he'd been prescribed,
Andy was sitting close by in his favourite armchair, feet
up on the leather footstool that had come with the new
suite.
There wasn't much of a gap between the two items of
furniture. What gap there was Andy had effectively
closed by reaching across to the arm of the sofa, where
Peter's head was rested against a cushion stuffed between
the arm and the seat, and lazily playing with Peter's
hair.
The touch wasn't sensual in any way, rather it was
comforting. Or it was supposed to be. Andy
hoped it was. Peter had been through enough stress
without him inadvertently adding to it.
With the Wetherton Royal Infirmary's trauma unit decimated
and the ward Peter had been on now non-existent in the
soon-to-close hospital, Andy had paid for Peter to see a
private consultant.
He needed time and rest. He may, the
paid-by-the-hour consultant had warned him, at some future
point need therapy and perhaps even a course of
anti-depressants but he doubted it. Peter was a
fighter, Andy told him, and the other man had agreed.
"Are you playing with my hair?"
The question, with its puzzled tone, brought a private
smile to Andy's face. "Yes." He made sure his
tone added the caveat, 'and don't you dare make
anything of it.' "Do you need more
painkillers?"
"No, thanks." Peter fell silent and Andy thought
he'd gone back to sleep until he spoke again.
"Shannon told me about the night they admitted me."
"Oh aye? Wasn't a lot she could have told
you." But he kept his voice quiet and gentle.
Peter maybe hadn't known Shannon very long, but Andy knew
that she could have become important to him given time,
that maybe she would have understood what drove him to
work all hours if the same thing drove her. She
might have had an understanding, a sympathy, that Ellie
had never had.
He felt Peter move under his hand, worked out he was
trying to sit up, and instead sat up himself.
Heaving his now somewhat slimmer bulk from the chair he
sat it down gingerly on the footstool from where he could
see Peter and more importantly, Peter could see him and
remain comfortable.
"Shannon told me you were there, that night. She
said you were... upset."
Andy folded his arms on his knees and leaned
forward. "Course I was there. And course I was
upset. You should have seen the mess you made of
yourself." He tried to smile, pass it off as a joke
but it didn't quite work. It was all still too fresh
in his mind.
"You really thought I was going to die?"
The disbelief in Peter's voice almost did make Andy
laugh. "Still think you're immortal?" He shook
his head slowly. "There's a reason you have a hole
in your head, Sunbeam. It's not the latest trend in
piercings, you know."
"A subdural hematoma, I know. But they operated,
they drained it and I'm fine."
"You're bloody lucky. By all rights you shouldn't be
fine. And you certainly weren't fine when I arrived
at that hospital at three am. You were being rushed
from pillar to post by some staff nurse who knew nothing.
They needed an operator to do the CT scan but there wasn't
one available. You were dying and no one
cared! They left you in a corridor, Pete, a fucking
corridor!"
The desperation and helplessness of that night washed over
him again, as keenly as if he were back there. He
could almost feel the awful chill of standing there,
outside the deserted X-Ray department, staring at his
friend lying just as helpless on the gurney in front of
him. Peter, broken, surrounded by medical
paraphernalia and not a doctor or nurse in sight. He
remembered his own words, 'I'm here -'
"' -now, Peter.'" Andy lifted his head, oblivious
until then to Peter talking. "I heard you. I
thought everything I was remembering were dreams but
Shannon explained I was likely to remember things I'd
heard while I was in the coma, like my brain had stored it
all for when I was ready to listen."
"Like an answering machine." Andy was still trying
to find his balance again, thrown by everything that had
happened.
"Somat like that. Thanks... for being there."
Why were these moments always awkward for them? "For
being with me."
Before, Andy had always been the one carted off in the
ambulance to lie in the hospital bed; Peter had been with
him after his heart attack, had been with him after the
shooting - until he pulled through - apparently.
But being with Peter in the hospital, staying at his
bedside, had nothing at all to do with repaying some
perceived debt and everything to do with not being able to
lose his closest friend.
"Like I could've been anywhere else with you in that
state." He looked at Peter and Peter looked at him
and they sat like that for a very long time.
"I remember you saying... you were glad it was you I'd
told about that time in the states, with Rosie's bike."
Andy shook his head, bowing it. "Funny, you say
these things to a lad you thinks asleep and not
listening...." When Peter reached out a hand to
squeeze his arm, he stared at it.
There seemed to be everything and nothing to say.
In the silence that followed, Peter's breathing steadied
and slowed. His eyelids dropped closed and the
stress of the pain he was in left his body. Then and
only then did Andy carefully unfold his arms and cover
Peter's hand with his own, wrapping his fingers loosely
around it.
He sat like that for some time, glancing up now and again
to make sure Peter was sleeping peacefully.
His recovery had been nothing short of miraculous, the
consultant had told him after Peter's appointment.
There was a myriad possible complications after surgery to
remove an acute subdural hematoma. Everything from
permanent brain damage, through impaired motor functions
to loss of memory. They had to watch out for
seizures, for any sign that something wasn't as it should
be.
On top of that, there was the very real psychological
trauma caused by him being on the phone when Shannon had
crashed.
Something else, too. Something Andy hadn't told
Peter. The consultant - and the Chief Constable -
wanted him, Dalziel, to see a counsellor.
It was a suggestion he'd vetoed immediately but every time
he recalled that first night at the hospital he felt a
deathly chill take hold. What would his life be
without Peter? How many times had Peter tried to
tell him how much he meant and how many times had Andy
deflected the confession?
Was this what it took for him to admit he needed
Peter? Moreover, he needed Peter to need him.
The moment Mackenzie had stepped back the bed and instead
of seeing the eyes closed and the breathing tube removed -
instead of looking at his friend's lifeless body - he'd
seen open eyes and a dazed smile... that had been the
best, the greatest moment of his life. Never before
he had felt such light-headed relief, such absolute joy at
something so simple, so easy as a smile. Only he
knew it wasn't simple, knew it hadn't been easy.
Peter had battled the weakness and vulnerability of his
battered and broken body to give him that smile.
So lost was he in the memory that when he finally glanced
up again to check on Peter, it was like deja-vu.
Deep blue eyes were watching him steadily.
And he realised he was still holding his friend's
hand. He let go reluctantly, sliding his hand along
Peter's arm before letting it come to rest on the edge of
the sofa.
"Seeing you... lying there, your life in the hands of
other people, people who weren't answering pagers, people
who weren't there because they weren't being paid to
be.... I realised.... I do my best to push you
away, I always have done." He studied the light
hairs on his arm, hoping he wasn't blushing or if he was,
it couldn't be seen in the dimmed light. "But like I
told Mackenzie, you're my friend as well as my
colleague. And I can't... I can't lose you, Peter."
He didn't want to raise his head, see what must be a
faintly mocking expression on Peter's face.
Not until he heard,
"Now you know how I feel." Peter was regarding him
with undisguised affection; smile genuine, eyes
soft. "I wanted to tell you after you had your heart
attack, but I couldn't find the words and you sent me
packing. You told me you weren't family, that if I
let anything happen to my Dad I would never forgive
myself. But what do you think I'd have done if you'd
died out there in that field?" Moving his hand a
couple of inches along, he wrapped long fingers around
Andy's wrist. "In fifteen years I'd barely spoken
five words to my Dad. I've feel like I've spent most
of my adult life with you."
Andy blinked, ready with the excuse he had something in
his eye when he found himself blinking away a stray
tear. He covered Peter's hand like it was the most
natural gesture in the world. "You soft sod," he
managed when he was certain he could speak without his
voice cracking.
"You and me both, Andy."
Peter was asleep again within minutes, his exhausted
system still trying to right itself. Andy stayed put
for a long time, no longer worried about holding a man's
hand, no longer so scared to face the barrage of emotion
that he'd battled for control over in the hospital.
He had time to work it all out, time while Peter
recovered.
~
Tails You Win
by elfin
Part II
"Wieldy, do you mind if we just...."
"Already heading in that direction, Sir."
Dalziel flashed a toothy grin at his loyal sergeant.
"Thanks."
Wieldy's lack of response said no thanks were
necessary. "How is he, Sir?"
"Still hobbling around the place, enjoying being waited on
hand and foot." The smile faded from Andy's face and
he turned his head to stare out of the window.
Wieldy waited, but when Dalziel didn't continue he said,
"I'm sorry I wasn't here, Sir."
The unneeded apology brought the big man back from
wherever he'd gone to momentarily. "Don't be daft,
lad. You weren't to know. 'Sides, weren't it
the first holiday you've had this decade? Edwin would've
fed me my own testicles if I'd disturbed you."
In actual fact, Edwin had been as shell-shocked as Wieldy
to return from their month-long vacation to find out that
Peter Pascoe had almost been killed in a police car chase
and Wieldy's boss had spent the last few weeks practically
living at the hospital between shifts.
Wieldy drew the car up to the pavement outside the house
that had been Andy's home for over twenty years, and
Peter's for two of those.
"He's staying with me," Andy had explained during the long
and unsurprisingly emotional briefing upon Wieldy's return
to the office. "The consultant recommended he stayed
somewhere someone could keep an eye on him. It was
either me or his parents."
It hadn't even occurred to Wieldy that there had been a
choice.
He followed his boss along the path and waited for Dalziel
to let them in.
"Peter?" Andy kept his call quiet, in case his
houseguest was sleeping. He peered into the lounge
but when he didn't find Peter resting on the sofa, he
headed upstairs, explaining as he went, "I'll just check
he's okay."
Wieldy wisely hid his smile and remained in the hall,
happy just to wait, glancing around, not naturally nosy
but with a policeman's curiosity.
And his gaze fell on what he realised later was a
chillingly familiar sight. Feet lying sideways on
the floor, sticking out from the other side of the kitchen
cupboards, visible through the open door.
"Sir!" was his first call as he ran, "Peter!" was his
second.
Peter was lying on his front on the Lino floor, head
turned towards the cupboards, eyes closed, blood drying
around his mouth.
As Wieldy pressed two cold fingers to Peter's neck he
could hear Dalziel's heavy footsteps like a herd of
buffalo in a hurry on the stairs and just as he found a
pulse his boss joined him in the kitchen.
"Peter?"
Wield already had his mobile in his hand, number dialled.
He moved to let Andy kneel in his place as the emergency
call was answered.
"Peter?"
"This is Sergeant Wield. I need an ambulance.
12 Worthington Crescent, Wetherton."
He gave clear, concise details as more questions were
asked, listening to Dalziel's increasingly desperate
pleas.
He was glad to end the call.
"Sir, they're on the way." Kneeling down on the
other side, he checked Peter's pulse and his breathing
again. He needed to give the big man something to
do. "Sir? Do you have any blankets?"
Andy's head snapped up and for a moment he could see the
conflict in the wide eyes. And then Andy nodded and
got to his feet.
"We're here now, Pete," Wield reassured, listening to
Dalziel's footsteps again on the stairs. "Ambulance
is on its way. Don't worry, everything's fine now."
He heard a door open and close and a couple of seconds
later, Andy was back with a dark blue blanket. He
covered Peter carefully, seeming more in control
now. Looking up at his sergeant he said, "Thanks."
Wieldy nodded, he didn't have to ask what for.
Andy settled on the kitchen floor cautiously, covering
Peter's hand where it lay palm-up on the Lino. "Hang
in there, Petal," he murmured, watching Wield's
ministrations - constant checks on pulse and breathing.
"Looks like he collapsed, Sir, the way he's lying."
Andy nodded. Peter's left hand was turned palm-up,
inches from his face, his right hand was trapped somewhere
beneath him. He hadn't tried to brace himself
against the fall.
"Did they mention anything?" Wield asked. "At the
hospital, when he was released?"
He shook his head. No. But then, two of the
three ward nurses were dead, the third one was in a coma,
the doctor and consulting surgeon were both being held on
a wide range of criminal charges. But the private
consultant had mentioned potential complications.
Andy wished he could remember what they were.
They sat for a long time, Andy reassuring Peter as he had
done while he'd lain in hospital in a coma, Wield keeping
up the constant checks.
And finally they heard the ambulance outside.
Wield let them in, quickly explaining Peter's status and
gently moving Andy out of the way.
"He's recently had an operation to relieve an SDH, is that
right?" Dalziel confirmed it, and gave some details,
recognising the term from the hospital.
By the time he'd finished, Peter was being made
comfortable on a stretcher, oxygen mask covering his nose
and mouth.
"I have to go with him," Andy told his sergeant.
"Can you cover...?"
"I'll follow the ambulance and make a couple of calls on
the way, Sir." That he wasn't going to let Dalziel
handle this alone a second time around was clear without
being said.
Wield's phone rang just as he dropped into the driver's
seat. He stared for a moment at the ambulance doors
as they were closed, then he shook himself, slamming his
mobile into the car phone cradle and answering the call as
he started the engine.
"Sergeant?" Bez. The thorn in Wield's side
since his return from vacation. The new guy.
The man who had been with Dalziel while Peter was in
hospital.
"What is it, Constable?"
Wield indicated and started after the ambulance.
Sirens blaring, lights flashing, he didn't stand a chance
of keeping up unless he too declared an emergency using
the temporary light in the passenger footwell. He
hung back. He knew where they were headed.
"I was trying to get hold of the Superintendent. Is
everything all right, Sir?"
"Everything's fine, son," he lied smoothly. Better
to have the facts before letting them out onto the
Wetherton CID grapevine. "What's up?"
Andy sat in the back of the ambulance, hanging on to the
edge of the second cot as they hurtled through the
mid-morning traffic.
"What's wrong with him?" he finally had to ask one of the
ambulance crew who was busy checking the patient's vital
signs.
"I'll leave that to the doctors," the young man told him
with a smile. "But I'd say it was a seizure of some
sort. The blood around his mouth, it's because he
bit through his tongue."
A seizure. That had been one of the things the
consultant had warned them about. It had struck a
chord with Andy because of the case he'd just closed,
effectively also closing the epilepsy ward of the WRI.
"Will he be all right?"
"He should be. It depends on the type of seizure,
but he's in the best hands. Don't worry."
They slowed for a couple of seconds before speeding up
again. "Why hasn't he woken up?"
"Again, I'm not sure. They'll do a CT scan as soon
as we arrive."
'Some hopes,' but Andy kept the thought to himself.
The sight of the WRI, when the ambulance doors were
opened, sent chills down Dalziel's spine.
There was a doctor there to meet them who introduced
herself as Dr Carol Shelton. Dalziel didn't
recognise her.
"He needs a CT scan," he told her, sounding for all the
world like he knew exactly what he was talking
about. Yet he still expected to be told to 'wait
here and let us help him'. Instead, Shelton smiled
at him and nodded.
"He does. I've read his notes and the radiologist is
standing by. We'll take him straight there after a
couple of minutes in triage just to assess his
condition. Did you want to go with him?"
Somewhat taken aback by her manner, Andy could only nod
dumbly.
He kept himself out of the way, staying out of triage,
watching through the square of glass in the double doors
as they investigated and assessed. No one seemed to
be in too much of a hurry and Andy hoped that was a good
sign. Dr Shelton came out to inform him they were
off up to do the scan and Dalziel followed but as they
worked he felt like a spare part.
He could hardly believe it was the same hospital.
When he finally wandered back to the waiting area to get a
coffee, Wieldy was waiting there, patiently. Only
when Dalziel saw him did he remember his sergeant's vow to
follow on behind.
"Sorry, Wieldy."
"Don't be, Sir. How is he?"
"They're doing a CT and an MRI."
"Has he woken up?"
"No. Not yet." Pressing three buttons in a
practised order, Andy waited for the machine to deliver a
cup of dark, watery coffee. The smell alone took him
straight back to that night, the 2.30am phone call
informing him of the accident, the drive across town, not
too worried because the full details weren't known
yet. He'd had no idea how serious it was until he'd
seen the state Peter had been in, seen him lying there on
the gurney, head immobilised, blood-covered face obscured
by the oxygen mask.
He could remember his heart starting to pound through his
ribcage in fear and the realisation hit him that his
previously immortal partner just might not live through
this.
"Why don't we sit down, Sir."
Andy came back to the present, glanced at Wield's hand on
his arm and nodded once. He let himself be led over
to the plastic seats and sat down before his legs gave
way.
"Why is it," he asked, "that it takes something like this
to make you realise... how much someone means to you?"
Wieldy didn't answer immediately, and Andy didn't think he
was going to. It didn't matter. The question
was mostly rhetorical anyway.
But after a long time, Wield said, "We take things for
granted, Sir, assume they'll always be there.
Especially the things - the people - we love."
Andy's expression was a momentary sideways glare, but it
soon melted. "You and Peter, soft buggers the both
of you."
Another hesitation, but Wield obviously needed to
speak. "When you had your heart attack, it hit him
hard. We both knew you were lying, about everything
being okay, after the hospital appointment. But Pete
didn't want to face it, didn't want to believe anything
could happen to you."
With a tired sigh, Andy pushed his fingers into his
hair. "For a while now there's been somat... but
when I called him on it he wouldn't talk to me.
Then... when I was in hospital he wanted to tell me and I
pushed him away." Sitting forward he linked his
fingers, staring somewhere between his hands and the
floor, seeing only Peter lying unconscious in his kitchen,
lying unconscious in a deserted corridor.... "I was
scared, Wieldy. Scared of what he was going to say."
"Mr Dalziel?" Andy sat up as Dr Shelton
approached. "Do you want to come with me?"
With a glance at Wield who nodded once to say he would
wait right there, Andy rose and followed her.
"Is he okay?"
"You can see for yourself."
She led him back into the triage unit, to the end of the
long, narrow room. White curtains were pulled around
the last bed and she held one side open for Andy to step
through.
Like the last time he'd expected the worst only to be met
by the miraculous sight of Peter awake and smiling at him,
this time was no less of a relief.
Upper body slightly elevated, Peter was lying on his back
in the bed, still dressed but with his shirt undone,
oxygen mask still covering his nose and mouth, face almost
as white as the pillows. But his eyes tracked Andy
from the corner of the curtains to the side of the bed and
his fingers lifted from the mattress in welcome.
Without hesitation, Andy took them in both hands, holding
on as tightly as he dare. "Peter...." The
roughness of his own voice surprised him.
Dr Shelton stepped around to Peter's other side and
carefully lifted the oxygen mask. "Take a couple of
deep breaths for me," she instructed him.
He did as she said, watching her reaction to his
efforts. Her smile, Andy thought, was more
reassurance than either of them had received during the
whole of their last stay at this hospital.
"That's good." Hanging the mask next to the bed and
stopping the gas, she checked Peter's temperature and
pulse rate. "It was a seizure," she finally
explained to them both, "a side effect of the original
injury."
Peter nodded once, slowly. As if he'd been expecting
the news. Andy tried to ignore the sick feeling in
his stomach. "Will he have another one?" He
felt Peter's fingers tighten around his own.
"It's possible. It's up to you, Peter, where we go
from here. We're going to keep you in for a couple
of hours and run an EEG. That will tell us what type
of seizure it was. After that you can choose to
simply leave it and see if it happens again, or I can
prescribe medication."
"For how long?"
"Most likely for a couple of years. Possibly
longer."
The sick feeling turned to something stronger. Andy
felt suddenly cold.
"There are other long-term options. VNS - Vagus
Nerve Stimulation - like a pacemaker for your brain.
But I would only suggest that if you're prone to seizures
and we don't know yet that you are." She watched her
patient turn to look at the man standing at his
side. "Let's find out what type of seizure you had
and we'll go from there, okay?" Peter nodded.
"Someone will be along in a couple of minutes to take you
to our out-patient ward."
"Can I go with him?"
But Peter answered before Shelton could.
"Go back to work, Andy," he instructed gently but
firmly. "I'll call you when they let me go."
Not trusting his voice at that moment, Andy nodded, his
movements jerky. "Mind you do." He let go of
Peter's hand, the ghost of it still on his skin, and
ducked out between the curtains.
He didn't hear the detail of the quiet exchange between
doctor and patient, but Shelton caught up with him just
outside triage.
"Mr Dalziel?" Andy slowed and turned. "Do you
have a couple of minutes?"
Stepping into her office she offered him a cup of real
coffee and told him to call her Carol. He remembered
Mackenize's similar instruction.
"You're Peter's boss, is that right?"
Andy nodded, sniffing the strong aroma of freshly brewed
coffee from the cup cradled in his hands. He still
felt colder than he'd felt in a long time, as if there
wasn't enough heat in the world to warm him up.
Shelton sat down behind her desk. "But...."
"He's the closest thing I've got to family now," he told
her truthfully.
"If he decides to wait and see if it happens again, there
will be a few provisos. He won't be able to drive
for obvious reasons - if he has a seizure behind the wheel
he could hurt himself or someone else. Anyone he
works with should be made aware of the possibility of a
seizure and what to do in the event of him having
one. I'll be giving him information on how to make
his home as safe as possible for himself - I take it he
lives alone?"
"Yes, although he's staying with me at the moment."
"That's good." She took a sip of her coffee.
"If or when he starts taking the medication he'll be able
to lead as close to a normal life as possible. This
is going to take some time to sink in, you're going to
have to give him that."
Andy stared into the brown darkness of his coffee.
It was going to take him time too, he thought, and then
thought how bloody selfish it sounded.
"Of course, there is one fairly serious impact of the
medication I would prescribe." He looked up, ready
for more bad news. "He would absolutely have to stay
off the grapefruit juice." It was only luck that
saved him from spitting coffee all over her desk.
She was smiling. "It's true. Grape juice
decreases its effectiveness. This is what I mean, Mr
Dalziel -"
"Andy, please."
"- this is what I mean, Andy. He can lead a normal
life, he just needs to be aware."
~
"Two men?" Dalziel clarified. "Two killers?"
The pathologist nodded. "That would be my
interpretation, yes."
Bez stepped forward, looking at the wound on the body in
more detail. "Or maybe...."
Dalziel's mobile interpreted him. Taking it from his
jacket pocket he looked at the display and answered it.
Wieldy, standing close to the big man's shoulder,
overheard the plaintive voice on the other end of the
call.
"Andy? Please... could you come and get me?"
"Aye, Sunbeam. I'll be there in twenty
minutes." Ending the call he looked up. "Gotta
go. I'll leave this in your capable hands, Wieldy."
"Right, Sir."
Wield was relieved Dalziel was out of earshot when Bez
asked, "How do you get the boss at your beck and call like
that?"
Andy found Peter sitting in the WRI's main
reception. He knew there was something wrong but
couldn't put his finger on it until he was standing in
front the other man.
One hand in his coat pocket, the other waving about in the
air, he asked - with finger movements to illustrate - "How
did you get from the ward...?"
"Wheelchair," Peter explained. "They dumped me
here. And my crutches...."
"Are at home." He sighed. "Come on then,
Sunbeam. I'm parked just outside." Reaching
his arm under Peter's shoulders he helped him to his right
foot, making sure he kept the weight off his left.
As Peter rose, Andy slipped his arm down until it was
rested snugly around Peter's waist. "Lean on me."
He did, arm trembling slightly as he held onto Andy's
ample waist and limped slowly and carefully.
They did well, setting a steady pace, but still Peter was
relieved when they reached the car.
Only when they were on their way back toward Andy's house
did he pluck up the courage to ask. "What did Carol
say about EEG reading?" He glanced across to see
Peter open his eyes. "Sorry, Sunbeam."
Peter smiled, face wan. But there was humour in his
voice when he asked, "'Carol'?"
"Dr Shelton."
"First names terms already, Andy?" He sounded tired.
"Ney, she's only interested in you, Petal."
Peter turned his head to look out of the window, but when
he started to speak again he was facing Andy. "It
was a tonic-clonic seizure." Andy kept his gaze on
the road, not daring to look away, to look at Peter.
"I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon to see Dr
Shelton."
Hearing the unspoken question, alongside the hope and the
apology, Andy didn't make him ask it. "I'll take
you."
When they reached Andy's home he gave Peter the choice of
his light-weight metal crutches or the human one. He
chose Andy.
He wanted a shower but Andy ran him a bath.
Only when Peter was happily shoulder-deep in hot, soapy
water did the idea of him having another seizure hit
Andy.
And he sat, for the half-an-hour Peter was bathing, on the
top stair, listening for anything that sounded like a man
in trouble.
~
The house was quiet except for the ticking of the clock in
the hall.
Andy had finished the dishes from the evening meal he'd
prepared to feed one very grateful house guest and had
strolled back into the lounge to find said house guest
stretched out on the sofa.
Peter's left ankle was hooked over the far arm, one
cushion cradling his casted leg. The right was
tucked under, knee bent.
At first Andy thought he was asleep, exhausted from the
day's stress. But a second or two later a pained
frown crossed the previously peaceful face and Peter
arched his neck, raising one hand to rub it.
"Sit up a sec, lad," Andy instructed him. Peter
looked back and up, regarding him sceptically but he did
as he was told, scooting along the cushions to make room
for the other man in one corner.
Andy tucked a second cushion between his thigh and the
seat and coaxed Peter to lie back down, head and shoulders
in his lap.
The arch of his neck was supported by the curve of Andy's
leg and Peter closed his eyes, taking a deep breath,
trying to settle.
Andy left it a couple of minutes before sliding large
fingers around the back of Peter's neck, starting a gentle
massage either side of the top of his spine.
Pressing in carefully, the purpose to just ease the tense
muscles a little, he worked up to the base of his skull,
along the tight muscles there, and back down.
It was a long time before his patient work was rewarded
with a soft hum of grateful thanks. Then he shifted
his attention to Peter's shoulders, moving out with his
thumb along the left side, closest to him, back and across
to the right with his index finger.
He kept his left arm beside him, hand tucked between Peter
and the back of the sofa. He didn't want this to be
a big deal, keeping the massage seemingly lazy while
knowing exactly where to apply pressure to relieve Peter's
clenching muscles.
They didn't talk, although Andy was desperate to make sure
his friend and colleague wasn't anymore worried or scared
than he needed to be. It still needed to sink in, he
decided. Maybe Peter hadn't even acknowledged what
was happening to him yet. He would make sure they
talked soon. Peter wasn't going to go through this
alone, Andy was determined of that.
The heat built under his fingers, the muscles finally
starting to give in. Over the next hour he worked
his fingers along Peter's shoulders, up and down his spine
as far as he could reach.
Although nothing changed in his touched when he moved from
exposed skin to that hidden by Peter's black ribbed
sweater, it felt suddenly more intimate and he thought,
just for a moment, he felt Peter tense up slightly before
relaxing completely.
Eventually moving back up to the base of Peter's skull,
Andy ran his thumb along the line of his throat to where
it met his collarbone, the gesture almost made
unconsciously. Peter hummed softly and turned his
head just a fraction into the touch.
Andy didn't freeze, didn't feel like denying it this
time. He cradled the back of Peter's neck in his
large hand and squeezed once, gently. Dark eyes
opened but it was when Peter's lips parted slightly that
Andy leaned over and kissed him.
There was nothing sexual about the contact. It was
what it was; a touch of lips to lips, a moment's
hesitation, and then Andy lifted his head again and smiled
what he hoped was an expression of affection - something
he couldn't find the words for.
It might have gone no further than that had Peter closed
his eyes again and allowed the warmth created by Andy's
touch to envelope him. But instead, he sat up,
planting one elbow on the seat between Andy's knees to
support his head on one hand.
Reading the dark gaze and the warmth in Peter's smile as
he looked at him, Andy wrapped his tired right hand around
Peter's subtly trembling bicep and brought his left up to
Peter's shoulder. He only had to duck his head a
couple of inches to touch his mouth to Peter's. The
hesitation that held him there was longer this time, and
he felt the moist tip of Peter's tongue flick out to
tentatively taste him.
Finding courage from somewhere, Andy closed his mouth
momentarily over the tip, sucking gently on it before
releasing it and licking his own tongue over Peter's
bottom lip. Then he lifted his head and hoped his
own expression wasn't quite as blatantly joyful as
Peter's.
It was almost funny, although that would definitely have
been a mood-killer, whatever the mood was.
Not sexual, not quite.
Peter leaned forward and for a thundering heartbeat Andy
thought he was going to kiss him again. But instead
he dropped his forehead to Andy's and closed his eyes.
And Andy realised that he didn't have to find the words
because they weren't needed.
But he thought them.
'I love you, too.'
~
Tails You Win
by elfin
Part III
"...and another thing, while I have your undivided
attention. Inspector Pascoe will be returning to work this
morning. Most of you know about the car crash.
The head injury he sustained and the subsequent surgery
has meant he's been left with a form of epilepsy. Now, he
had a seizure a month ago and he hasn't had one
since. The doctors, in their infinite wisdom, don't
know if he's going to have another one. So, there
are a couple of precautions we need to take. He
can't drive, for obvious reasons. And we could try
making this place a bit safer - don't leave murder weapons
lying around on the desks, little things like that."
Dalziel was pleased at the nervous laugh he managed to
conjure. Tough audience but it needed to be
said. He'd learnt a lot himself over the last couple
of months.
"If he does have a seizure, it won't be a pleasant sight
but I can guarantee it'll be even less pleasant for
him. So just make sure he's comfortable, make sure
there's nothing lying around close by that he can hurt
himself on, and keep people away. Treat him with
dignity and remember that he's exactly the same person he
was when you last saw him - a sharp, smart-ass,
smooth-talking copper. Right. Get on with it."
~
Embarrassed, Peter glanced back at Wieldy when the
assembled CID officers gave him a cheer as he walked into
the Wetherton CID headquarters.
He was relieved when Dalziel rescued him with a holler
from his office.
"Inspector!"
Making an effort not to hobble across the office, still
consciously nervous about putting too much weight on his
left leg, Peter made it into his boss' office. He
was about to close the door with a self-conscious smile
when he saw a stranger sitting in his - the - chair in
front of Dalziel's desk.
Andy saw the flash of something he would have pegged as
hurt if he hadn't thought he knew better.
"Peter, this is DC Parvez Lateef, 'Bez' to the rest of
us. He joined us a couple of days before the
accident."
'The accident', something he couldn't remember, days of
his life defined only by vague, blurred images, jumbled
words, partial phrases.
Andy had ousted Bez shooed him from the office and was
telling Peter to sit down. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just... this is the most I've done in a
morning for the last four months. I'm already
knackered!"
"Take it easy, okay? Don't over do it. You
want to go home, get someone to take yer."
Peter was about to formulate a response when there was a
hurried knock at the door and Wieldy poked his head around
it. "Got another one, Sir."
~
Andy stood in the pathology lab with Spike at his
side. Sending Peter off with Wieldy had been a
decision taken on a whim but he'd instinctively known it
was what Peter needed. Maybe what they needed.
Nothing had happened since the night after Peter had had
the seizure. Even then the brief kisses had been all
about reassurance and affection and nothing about
sex. At least, he thought so.
Dr Mason strolled towards them. "Morning,
Andy. It's a bit early, isn't it?" He flashed
a quick smile. "How's Inspector Pascoe? Heard
he was back at work."
"He's fine, thanks." 'Fine'. Peter had been
complaining about how many times he'd used the word.
He said he had no idea what else to say. In a way he
was fine. He felt okay, tiring easily but it was
only to be expected, Dr Shelton had said.
Bringing himself back to the here and now, Andy pointed to
the covered body on the slab. "Same as before?"
"Not quite, no." Mason threw back the white plastic
sheet. "I would say this one was shaved before he
died."
Dalziel stared at the third hairless body to turn up in
the last month. This one followed the pattern -
male, young, well-built with short dark hair, stocky but
not fat. Maybe he went to a gym somewhere, maybe the
same one as the other two. But that lead had turned
up nothing.
"What killed him?" Spike asked when her boss didn't.
"I'm not sure and I won't be until I've read the
toxicology report. But if he was shaved while he was
still alive I would say he'd already been drugged.
There are no injuries, no cuts that I can see. He's
been bound - thick rope from the marks on his ankles and
wrists - but simply tying him up wouldn't mean he wouldn't
wriggle about. There are no cuts. Maybe there
was some other threat - maybe your killer uses an open
razor and the threat of that was enough?"
"Is there any hair left on the body?" Andy enquired, eyes
drawn to a part of the man's anatomy that he couldn't
imagine ever taking a razor to no matter how safe the
adverts claimed it was.
"None," Mason confirmed, "I'm told there's a product
called 'Immac'. Hair removal without the blade or
the hot wax. Apparently - according to one of the
secretaries in the office - you slap it on, leave it for a
couple of minutes and use a plastic spatula to remove
it. I would say that - or something like it - was
used on the more... intimate areas."
"Sounds less painful than any other method I've heard of."
"Takes time though, Sir," Spike put in.
"So our killer needs somewhere private, somewhere he or
she can be alone with the victim, undisturbed."
"There's something else," Mason told them, turning the
body on to its side. "Ever heard of 'Anal
Bleaching'?"
~
"He ran this place?"
Wieldy nodded. "Edward Shire. Bought the
gallery two years ago."
"Why's it called 'Dicks'?"
He chose not to share with Peter until they were
inside. And by then, he didn't have to. The
main gallery space was open and white. The photos on
display were all black and whites, all blown up to near
life-size. All of men. Men with other men.
"Edwin's had a couple of shows here," he explained, but he
got a feeling his boss wasn't listening and he was right.
Peter was walking slowly around the gallery walls, taking
in each one of the images with wide eyes. He stopped
at a pair apart from the others. Two men facing one
another, partly in shadow, mouths pressed together in a
kiss, their arms crossed between them, each holding the
other's erect cock. The second photo of the pair was
a close up of their groins, showing the veins running
their lengths, both grips slightly different, both loving.
It was a surprise when his own dick twitched. Not
just because of the subject matter it seemed suddenly to
be showing an interest in but because it was the first
hint of an erection he'd had since the accident.
"You all right, Sir?"
He turned, hoping he didn't look as guilty as he
felt. Wield looked from Peter to the picture and
back again, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Edwin has a copy of these, there're up in the bedroom."
"There're... interesting." He glanced back up.
"Didn't think they'd be your type of thing," Wieldy
suggested gently.
"Well...." Peter shrugged, caught for a moment, then
he was saved by the cheerful 'good morning' coming from a
doorway at he back of the gallery. But he knew the
conversation had only been shelved, not forgotten.
~
Peter sank into the seat in the Black Bull and gave thanks
for Sergeant Wield. He was exhausted - feeling as if
he'd done a week's work rather than just a morning.
Within a couple of minutes there was a pint of orange
juice and lemonade in front of him and the promise of hot
food in a couple of minutes.
"Thanks."
"Is the no alcohol thing medical or by choice?"
Peter shrugged as Wieldy sat down. "Bit of both."
They talked about nothing until the food came and they
were tucking into The Black Bull's finest Steak and Kidney
Pie with thick gravy.
"So," Wield started, around his fork, "why the sudden
interest in homoerotica?"
"I wouldn't call it an interest...." But even Peter
recognised that jumping straight on the defensive wasn't
going to save him. "I know, I know." He took a
deep breath, finally admitting, "Andy."
Whatever he was expecting - surprise, shock, maybe even
suspicion or at the very least suspension of belief - the
other expression to cross Wield's face was a smile
accompanied by a nod.
"Okay, why are you not surprised?"
"Nothing surprises me, Pete. Want to talk?"
"It's... it's not what you're thinking. Whatever you
are thinking."
"I don't think anyone's going to accuse you of sleeping
your way to the top."
"I'm not. I mean, I'm... not. I don't know,
Wieldy. I don't know what this is. Since the
accident he's been... different. Easier on me,
backing off when before he would have just kept on
about... whatever."
He paused, and Wield waited a beat before answering.
"It scared him. From what he's said it was touch and
go for a day or two and the idea of losing you frightened
him."
Peter nodded. "I know. That's all....
He's told me how much I mean to him and he's finally let
me tell him too.... But... it's like there's
something still missing and neither of us is sure
what. We don't have any desperate urge to jump into
bed together but when we touch... it's comforting,
reassuring. I thought you might... understand."
Wield smiled a wry smile. "What I feel when I look
at Edwin is what you feel when you look at long legs and
big tits." Peter's eyes went wide, he didn't think
he'd ever heard his colleague talk like that before.
"It's about love but it's also about sex."
"I don't know if it can be with Andy. We've known
each other so long I'd think we'd have to start seeing one
another in a totally different light."
Wield chomped down on a decidedly determined piece of
steak. "Take him out on a date," he suggested once
his mouth was empty.
"What?" Try as he might, Peter couldn't keep the
incredulous tone from his voice.
"Why not? Go for a drink or a meal, or to the
pictures. Just... see each other in a different
setting."
"Ever thought about marriage counciling?"
Wield shook his head. "No thanks, don't need it."
~
It took Peter a couple of hours of paperwork to pluck up
the courage to ask his boss out on a date. He felt
ridiculous even thinking about it, but what Wieldy had
said had made some small amount of sense to him. So
just after four, knowing Dalziel was alone in his office,
he knocked on the door.
"What?"
Andy looked up as the door opened, smiling broadly when he
saw it was Peter. "Come in, Sunbeam." Peter
closed the door behind him. "You okay?
Shouldn't you have gone home by now?"
"Andy," he was gently chastised.
"Sorry. What's up?" Watching Peter approach
his desk, hands in his pockets, Andy knew there was
something not right.
"Do you... have plans, for tonight?"
He couldn't help his first reaction, which was to
laugh. "Why, Sunshine, you asking me out?" But
the expression on Peter's face only served to widen his
smile and deepen his amusement. "Peter...?"
"Well, if you're gonna be like that, forget it!"
The sudden change in Peter's demeanour stunned him.
"Petal...."
"Don't, 'Petal' me, Andy." Turning, he stormed out
of the office and slammed the door.
Dalziel was already on his feet, utterly confused and with
no idea what had just happened, when he heard a thud -
like something heaving hitting the floor - followed by a
cry and a commotion out in the corridor.
When he opened the door of his office he saw Peter on the
floor, body convulsing in the grip of a seizure.
Four or five of the CID officers were a couple of feet
from him, obviously uncertain of what to do despite
Dalziel's earlier briefing.
Crossing to his inspector in two heavy steps, Andy dropped
to his knees as Wieldy got to them.
Making sure there was nothing close by for him to hurt
himself on, Andy's hand hovered inches above Peter's arm
as it jerked up and out, turning him in a thrashing
movement onto his back. The sharp smell of urine
struck Andy and he reached out to touch Wieldy's arm.
"Wieldy, get a blanket would you?" Then he looked up
at the gathering crowd. "You lot, back to
work. He'll be right in a couple of minutes and he
won't appreciate an audience."
They scattered, relieved to be told to leave Andy
thought. Not that it mattered.
Wieldy arrived with the blanket but held back.
"Should we call an ambulance, Sir?" he asked, for once
slightly out of his depth. Scared.
"Just give it a couple of minutes, see if it stops."
Glancing at his watch, Andy started a countdown.
Five minutes, Carol had said, then they needed to get him
to a hospital. "He needs to ride it out if he can."
Peter's whole body was spasming. His mouth was open
and he was gasping; shallow, panting breaths. His
left leg stiffened then jerked once and Andy winced in
sympathy.
As quickly as it had started, it eased. Andy waited
until he thought the worst was over before gently rolling
Peter on to his left side, drawing his head forward in
case he vomited. Taking the blanket from Wieldy he
covered him as best as he could.
Taking out his mobile he said, "He should be fine now,
should wake up in ten, twenty minutes. But he'll
need to see his doctor."
Carol had given him the number of the surgery she held
twice a week where she saw her out-patients. The
receptionist was able to put Dalziel straight through to
her and she listened while he explained briefly what had
happened. Wieldy waited, looking uncomfortable but
at the same time hating himself for being so. He
heard Dalziel agree to take Peter over to the hospital for
six that evening.
As Andy ended the call, Peter opened his eyes.
Gently pushing damp hair from the sweat-soaked forehead,
Andy smiled at him. "Welcome back, Sunbeam."
Peter looked up and pushed himself up on one shaking
arm. "What happened?" He sniffed
himself. "Andy?"
"You had a seizure, Peter." Reading the complex
expression cross Peter's face, he asked calmly, "Do you
still keep a change of clothing in your office?"
Peter nodded once. "Come on then." Helping
Peter to stand, letting the blanket drop, he walked beside
him along to his office, closing the door behind them and
pulling the blinds closed.
Peter dropped into the closest chair. "I feel sick,
Andy," he complained softly.
Dalziel was just in time with the bin.
A couple of minutes later Peter had lost his lunch, but at
least he wasn't the pale grey colour he'd been just after
regaining consciousness.
"That it, Sunshine?"
"Yeah. I think." His voice was rough and there
were tears in his eyes. "Sorry."
"Don't be daft, and don't apologise again. Now,
where's that change of clothing?"
Andy left Peter for a couple of minutes to change.
He cleaned out the bin in the gents and made sure Wieldy
and the rest of them were okay before returning. He
knocked on the frosted glass of the door, waiting.
But there was no answer.
Worried, he pushed it open. Peter was wearing a
clean pair of trousers and a fresh white shirt. He
was sitting on the edge of his desk looking utterly
beaten.
"You okay, Petal?"
He looked up, eyes filling with tears. "Not really."
Perching beside him, Andy put a hand on his shoulder,
squeezing it tightly before letting it drop down his
back. "I've made you an appointment to see Carol at
six. I can take you home first or you can hang
around here for an hour."
Peter wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
"I'll just stay here for a while, it that's okay."
"Why don't you crash on the sofa in my office?"
He hesitated but nodded. "Did the others... did they
see it?"
Andy wished he had the courage and the right to just hold
him, take the pain from his eyes and the fear from his
voice. "A couple of them. And Wieldy.
Not as together as I thought he'd be, Wieldy. Don't
worry about it."
There was a note of hysteria in Peter's voice when he
responded, "How can I not worry about it? I pissed
myself!"
"Loss of bladder control is a symptom of the seizure,
Peter, that's all. You go on, I'll deal with yout
clothes and be with you in a minute, okay?"
Peter made a token protest before giving up and heading
for the boss' office. Andy watched him go, hoping he
was doing and saying the right things.
When he got to his office ten minutes later, with Peter's
clothes in a bin bag, he found his inspector fast asleep
on the sofa looking incredibly uncomfortable squashed up
on the two-seater, but sleeping nonetheless.
Andy settled down to do some paperwork in the relative
quiet that had settled, undisturbed until Wield knocked
lightly on the door forty minutes later.
"How is he, Sir?"
"Come in, Wieldy."
"I'm sorry. I didn't... I could have reacted better,
I know. It just... I'd never seen anyone have a
seizure before...."
Dalziel reflected that he'd never seen his usually
unflappable sergeant so out of sorts before either.
"You can stop apologising and all," he said quietly.
"I'll be taking him over to the WRI for six.
Anything I should know about the case?"
~
Andy looked up from the recipe book as Peter padded into
the kitchen.
"Hey, Sunbeam, how are yer feeling?"
"Better, thanks." He looked it too.
The appointment with Dr Shelton hadn't been an easy
one. She'd prescribed a medication - Tegretol - the
one he wasn't allowed grapefruit juice with, a low dose at
first to be increased as his tolerance for it grew.
There was a list of possible side effects as long as
Dalziel's arm along with a veritable library of reading
material and a website offering everything from practical
advice to support. She'd notified his GP and the
private consultant Dalziel had taken him to after his
hospital stay.
Peter had kept it together until they'd finally reached
Andy's house. But he was upset, that was obvious,
and Andy gave him the space he needed, hearing the bath
running after half an hour.
That had been an hour ago. Now Peter sat himself at
the breakfast bar, relaxed in loose jeans and a white
sweater, damp hair all over the place from its rough towel
dry. Andy gazed at him with affection. "You
look about fifteen."
"Thanks, I think." He was smiling at least.
"Thanks, seriously. Everything you've done...."
"I just hope she were right, that I didn't... cause the
seizure."
"You heard what she said. My mood change could have
been an early warning, that people react in all different
ways."
"It wasn't all that early. Do yer remember anything
about it?"
He took a deep breath and released it. "I remember
shouting at you and storming out of your office. After
that I remember waking up on the floor in the corridor and
seeing you there. Again."
Andy checked the contents of the oven before closing the
recipe book and moving to lean on the surface closer to
where Peter was sitting.
"Before you stormed out of my office, you asked me out on
a date. Do you remember that?"
Blushing, Peter nodded, glancing away. "Sorry about
that. Blame Wieldy."
"Wieldy?" Andy needed that clarifying.
"Why...?"
"It's a long story."
"You have twenty minutes until dinner."
"We went to the gallery that belonged to Edward Shire."
"Oh aye, 'Dicks'." He grinned. "Got interested
in the pictures did you?"
"No. Yes. One."
"Which one?"
Peter hesitated. "The one... with the two guys."
"That narrows it down."
"You've been there?"
"Aye." No further information was going to be
forthcoming.
"It's at the back. The one with the two guys...
facing each other... touching...."
"Holding one another's dicks, you mean?" Andy
laughed gently. "Honestly, Peter. No one would
believe you've been living in Yorkshire the last fifteen
years!"
"Anyway," Peter continued pointedly, "Wieldy called me on
it. So over lunch he wheedled it all out of me."
"Wheeled what out of you?" He thought he should feel
guilty for winding Peter up like this, given the
circumstances, but sometimes it was just too easy.
For his part, Peter was looking everywhere but at
him. "Us," he confessed eventually.
"Us? Didn't know there was an 'us', Sunbeam."
But the mischievous look in his eyes was reflected in
Peter's as he tipped his head to one side.
"There's always been an 'us', hasn't there, Andy?"
There seemed to be more, but Peter kept it to himself,
sitting back slightly as he changed the subject, "Tell me
about the seizure?"
Andy was surprised. "Didn't Carol spell it out for you?"
"Yes, she did, in medical terms. Tell me about it in
physical terms. Tell me what happened."
Hesitantly, Andy did so, sticking to the truth but
striving for the best words to describe it. Still,
he had no clue of the image he was building in Peter's
mind. He finished with, "It was a seizure,
Peter. What did you expect?"
But Peter was looking away, shaking his head. Andy
heard the phrase, "Very attractive," muttered under his
breath.
"Now listen, Sunbeam. I've got a face like a horse's
arse and yet you still kissed me that night. What's
attractive isn't necessarily on the outside, you of all
people should know better than that."
Peter's head snapped up and he demanded, "What does that
mean?"
Andy smiled at the indignation. "It means, you're an
educated bugger. Between you and me - because it's
bad enough that my hard-earned reputation's down the
toilet as it got around the station in a second and a half
that I was kneeling on the floor of the corridor cuddling
my inspector." Peter's half-smile was worth
it. "What I saw when you were lying there convulsing
was someone I love in pain. And that's never going
to be attractive. But I love you all the
more." Watching the emotion soften Peter's features,
he smiled. "Sorry." The oven timer demanded
his attention and he moved off to check on dinner.
They sat in the lounge and ate in front of the tele,
watching the news. The murder case they were
investigating had reached the nationals a week ago and up
until the discovery of the Edward Shire's body late on the
previous night it was becoming 'old news'. Andy had
learnt from past experience that unless there were bairns
involved, a dead body soon lost its charmed place at the
lofty heights of the BBC, ITV or Sky News bulletins.
The local rags typically didn't leave until someone was
arrested. And even then they were known to hang
around for a while just in case the police had cocked it
up.
There was a shot of Dalziel at the third crime scene in
the early hours of the morning. He'd called Wieldy
out, then later had sent his sergeant to pick Peter up for
his first day back at work.
"Christ, I look fat!" Andy commented as they watched him
giving a very brief status and progress report to the
assembled press before leaving the scene.
"You look great," Peter corrected him. "How much
weight have you lost anyway?"
Andy shrugged. "Don't know, don't use the scales."
It was a lie, Peter knew, but he didn't push it. "I
meant to mention the haircut."
Andy had succumbed to the lure of Edwin's high street
hairdresser friend two days before the accident.
"Well, don't."
"It looks good."
"Stop taking the piss, you. Just remember who's
feeding that hungry mouth of yours at the moment."
Peter rolled his eyes and went back to his food.
When the news finished, he turned off the television and
reached for a couple of the leaflets from the small pile
they'd brought back from the hospital.
"Do you want a hand with the dishes?" he called through to
the kitchen when he heard the water running.
"No, lad, you just put you feet up."
For a while, early on in their partnership, he'd had
trouble working out when his boss was being serious and
when he was using the cutting wit of sarcasm. Now,
though, it was just a matter of tone.
Peter did as he was told, swinging his legs up onto the
sofa, wriggling until he was comfortably propped up in one
corner. His leg was aching and he wondered if he'd
perhaps hurt it in the fall or during the
convulsions. He thought about taking something for
it, but he wasn't sure he wanted to add any more chemicals
to the concoction already in his bloodstream from the
Tegretol.
Opening the top leaflet, he started to read about mood and
behavioural changes in Epilepsy sufferers.
After a couple of minutes he closed it again. It was
probably time to admit he was scared, he thought, dropping
his head back against the cushion.
His gaze caught on the familiar, framed photos on the
mantelpiece - Andy with his godson, Andy with his sister
Harriet when they were kids, Andy with Rosie, Peter with
Rosie. None of Ellie, he realised with a slight
smile. But there was one of Andy, Peter and Rosie,
taken by a stranger at Latimer's Zoo a couple of years ago
when Rosie had been over for half-term.
His abiding memory of the day was one of laughter.
Rosie had held his hand for most of the long walk around
the animal enclosures, Andy had made her laugh by
imitating the inmates.
"What are you smiling at, Sunbeam?" Peter glanced
back as Andy strolled back into the lounge and stood,
looking around for something.
"That photo, us with Rosie at the zoo."
Looking over at it, Andy nodded. "Aye, it were a
good day."
"I was thinking..." he paused for the traditional comment
but for once one wasn't forthcoming, "...next time I go
over there, you could come with me. If we can wangle
it at work."
He thought perhaps Andy would decline, citing those very
problems it would create at work as the reason. But
instead his face lit up.
"Are you serious?"
"Sure."
"I'd love to, Peter." The seriousness of his tone
despite the joy there too gave Peter pause. Did he
leave Andy out of his life with Rosie, what little there
was of it? Was it habit, held over from a difficult
time when he'd pushed Andy out of every aspect of his
life, more or less?
"She'd love to see her Uncle Andy."
His smile was blinding. "I'd love to see her.
I miss her. Not as much as you do, obviously,
but.... Thanks."
Time to change the subject before they both ended up
blubbing. "Are you... looking for something?"
Andy stopped glancing around and shook his head.
"Nothing in particular. You need anything?"
Peter hesitated. It wasn't exactly what Andy had
meant by asking but it was what he needed.
"Reassurance?"
Whatever it was he'd been searching, its importance was
lost next to Peter's plaintive plea.
"Sunbeam...." He pulled up the stool, but before he
could sit down, Peter said, "no" and sat up, shifting to
make room for Andy to sit behind him.
Then he leaned back and Andy's arm came around him like
they always sat this way. He felt a kiss pressed to
the back of his head and tears in his hair.
Peter pushed his hand under the big man's, linking their
fingers, holding without speaking.
A minute or so later, Andy lifted his head and wiped his
eyes and nose on the sleeve of his shirt. "Sorry."
Peter turned his head, looking back over his
shoulder. "Don't apologise."
"Great reassurer I am!"
"Stop!" Settling back, Peter let Andy's stomach and
chest take his weight, cushioning his head in the hollow
of the other's shoulder.
With only the barest of hesitations, Andy wrapped his
other arm around Peter too, resting his face against the
fine hair - almost blond in the dim light.
"Andy?"
"Umm?"
"Why didn't you call Ellie, when I was in hospital?
What stopped you?"
He didn't need to think about it. He knew. The
old couple that had passed him in the corridor while he'd
been on the phone.
"I was trying to get her number in America from the girl
at the station. While I was waiting, this elderly
couple passed me. I looked at them and I thought...
Ellie didn't belong there, didn't deserve to be
there. She'd hurt you...." He shook his head,
taking a deep breath and releasing it. "It just
sounds selfish now. And Rosie... she deserved to
know."
"You did the right thing, Andy. Ellie wouldn't have
been able to tell Rosie until she knew, one way or the
other."
"I didn't know who to call, Peter. I just knew I
wanted to be the one who was with you. God knows
what they must 'ave thought, young lad like you with only
your colleague - your boss - sitting at yer bedside."
"I don't care what they thought, Andy. I'm glad you
were there."
Andy tightened his arms for a second. "God, lad,
it's shook me up has this. I used to say, 'feelings
and me, we have this understanding. They try to
bother me, I don't let them.' I tried to keep
everything hidden, buried, was good at it too. Until
that phone call, until I saw you lying there.... It
felt like my heart was being ripped out of me, like you
were paying the price for me acting like I didn't care all
this time."
Peter squeezed Andy's arm gently. "You've shown it a
lot more than I have." There was an apology in there
somewhere, he just hoped Andy would hear it.
"Listen, Peter, there's something I want to tell you and I
don't want you to say anything, I just want you to
know. I love you. I have done for a very long
time and I reckon I will for a long time to come."
There was no doubting Andy's meaning.
Peter shifted and Andy loosened his hold, bracing himself
for whatever was coming. But Peter just wanted to
see Andy's face.
"It's all right, Petal," he assured, "I know I'm not your
type."
But Peter was just staring at him. "I don't know if
I'd say that. I just... I need a bit of time to sort
myself out."
Andy could barely believe it. "...Whatever you need,
Peter, for however long."
Peter nodded and slowly a grin spread across his
face. "So Ellie was right, in the end."
Andy resisted the sudden urge to run his fingers through
Peter's hair, stunned by the happiness in his eyes.
"You've lost me, lad."
"She always said you fancied me."
Surprised, Andy threw his head back and laughed.
"Aye, Sunbeam, for once she were right." |