Rain is washing the
blood from the road where another
innocent villager
died; their life lost in a complex web of lies and deceit,
feuds past
and present. Barnaby�s Jaguar is in Midsomer Holm. Jones
isn�t sure
where his Corsa is. They�re standing in the tiny brick
porch of a pub.
They�ve had a couple of beers but they�re not exactly
drunk exactly,
not sober. �It�s a long walk back to Causton,� Tom points out and Ben frowns. �Is it?� �There�s a taxi rank on the High Street.� They�re soaked through after the first step. They run across the road to the green at the centre of the village, it�s not a mud bath precisely but it�s no longer solid ground either. Somewhere in the middle, in the dark, Tom realises he�s alone and turns. �Sir?� He sighs softly; it�s been such a draining day. �Jones.� �Sir... Tom... I�ve maybe got this wrong, but....� He reaches out, lays a hand on Tom�s forearm, the warmth of his hand sinking through the soaked material and heating his cooling skin. He�s too tired to do anything but move his head, side to side. Ben isn�t wrong, Tom�s just irritated that he�s been found out. He takes the step back towards his sergeant, although he�s not his sergeant tonight. He reaches out and slides a dripping wet hand up Ben�s arm. It feels good to hold him, to have him close. His arms around him feel natural and comfortable. He closes his eyes, rests his face in Ben�s neck and tastes rain and sweat. This isn�t something that�s been bubbling under the surface, building up over time, it just is. Just right. Ben loosens his arms, takes a step back and murmurs, �Come back to my place.� All Tom can do is nod. |