Country Life
by elfin

---

Looking up from his desk, Tom Barnaby watched as Sergeant Scott finally gathered up his completed paperwork and threw it into his 'out tray'.

As DCI paperwork was something that happened in the background.  It appeared on his desk at regular intervals, he signed it and it vanished again.  Not until Sergeant Troy had left had he realised how this minor miracle occurred.

He'd been trying to recall Troy complaining about the amount of paperwork he'd had to do, even trying to remember seeing him actually doing it.  He couldn't.  Now, with Scott, it was a chore.  He'd started to get phone calls from an office on the top floor of the building, an office he hadn't even been aware existed.

A lady called Maureen had also rung Troy's - now Scott's - desk phone asking for this form and that form.  Barnaby had never heard of a 'Maureen' working for Causton CID.  He was starting to think that Scott was wishing she didn't exist.

The seed of a dreaded realisation had been planted in the back of his mind and it was growing with alarming speed.  Not only had he taken Gavin Troy for granted, he was missing him terribly.

His thoughts were musing along these lines, as they had been more and more often of late, when Scott pushed his chair back and stood, taking up his mug.

"Coffee, Sir?"

"No, thanks," Barnaby replied distractedly.  The young sergeant was at the door before he changed his mind.  "Troy...."  He caught himself. "Sorry, Scott.  I will have a coffee, thanks."

When the door closed Tom dropped his head into his hands.  Some welcoming superior he was turning out to be.  Couldn't even get the poor man's name right.  He'd tried not to take any of his increasing frustrations out on Scott.  It obviously hadn't been the man's choice to transfer here and from what Barnaby could gather he'd done nothing heinous to warrant a forced move.

He didn't deserve to be the brunt of an increasingly unsettled DCI.

Maybe this was the mid-life crisis Joyce at least had been expecting from him for the last ten years.

A couple of minutes later, Scott came back into the room and put a mug down on Barnaby's desk.  When Tom took a sip, he pulled his face at the sugary taste.

~

"You all right, lad?"

Detective Inspector Gavin Troy looked around, wondering how long he'd been standing at the window, how long his new DCI had been standing behind him.

"Yes.  Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, lad."  Despite him closing in rapidly on his 30th birthday, DCI Whately had referred to him as 'lad' since his arrival at Middlesbrough CID six months ago.

Troy went back to his desk and Whately followed.  As Troy sat down the other man picked up the small photo frame that had resided in front of his out tray from day one.

"You've never said who they are," the DCI mentioned off-hand.

Letting his eyes linger on the silver frame in his boss' fingers, he replied, "My DCI in Causton and his family."

"Son and daughter?"

"No.  Daughter.  The other lad's her boyfriend - fiancé now - Nico."

"Nico?  Strange name."

"Short for Nicholas.  He's an actor.  They both are."

"Explains it then."  He handed the photo back and Gavin took it, unable to keep his eyes from straying to his own smiling face and Tom Barnaby sitting up on the picnic table behind him, arm casually thrown over Troy's shoulder.

Whately watched him for a moment then seemed to make a decision.

"Look, lad, unlikely as it might be, we've had a real lead on that bastard we've after for the Stockton bank raid after Tuesday night's CrimeWatch reconstruction.  A pub landlord in Avebury says that a man fitting our description stayed there for one night, two nights after the job.  It might have just been a stopover but it's more likely he's got friends or family down in that part of the world.  Why don't you head down tomorrow?  Go and speak to this landlord.  It's Friday so you might as well stay on over the weekend.  Go visit your old haunts.  See your DCI."  He held up a halting hand as Gavin opened his mouth to speak.  "If you come back in on Monday morning and tell me life up here isn't all it's cracked up to be, I'll look into a transfer for you."

Gavin's mouth opened again but no words came out.  Whately chuckled. "You want to know why?  I've seen the way you look at that photo, when you don't think anyone's paying attention.  Now I might be way off the mark here but I used to look at a friend in college in that very same way.  You left more than just a job behind in Causton and I think you realise that.  But you think it's too late."

"I don't...."

"Stop interrupting your guv'nor when he's on a role, will ya?  You only live once, Gavin.  And it isn't too often you can find real... joy."  He dropped into the uncomfortable chair opposite Troy's desk.  "Why did you leave?"

"The job - Causton didn't need a DI.  And I thought I wanted more of the life a city had to offer."

"Clubs and bars rather than... what?  Garden parties and village fairs?"

"Something like that."

"Well, I can understand that.  If you asked me to live in a small English village I'd go nuts after a week.  But you grew up there. What made you think you wanted to deal with big city crime?"

"I do want to.  I know I do.  People who live in villages all their lives... well they are nuts, Sir.  You wouldn't believe... slashed paintings, missing dogs, stolen milk...."

"But you had your fair share of murders, I understand."

"Lost track of the number, Sir."

Whately smiled.  "I meant what I said, lad.  You're not happy and life's too short."  Troy watched the older man leave for the night, calling back over his shoulder, "I'll see you on Monday.  Call in if you think the Avebury lead is worth following up."

~

Joyce came home late from the book club.  She'd only just joined and still wasn't convinced that she fitted into the small circle of avid readers.  Neither was she convinced that the choice of books was going to suit her.  Tonight's discussion had been on a novel she hadn't yet had time to read and now knew the ending to; the 'twist' in the tale.  Still she was willing to give anything a try.

The house was dark and for a moment she thought her husband was still out at work.  But his car was in the drive, so unless Scott had picked him up this evening - which was doubtful - she decided he must be in.  He could have gone to bed, she supposed, but that would be so out of character it would have really worried her.

Locking the front door once inside, she stepped into the lounge to find Tom sitting on the sofa in the dark.  From the light she'd switched on in the hall she could see the whiskey in the glass he was absently rolling between his hands but he didn't look drunk.

"Tom?"  Cautiously she joined him on the sofa, sitting at the opposite corner.  "What's happened?"

Without looking up he shook his head.

"Something at work?"

He continued to stare into the amber liquid in the crystal glass.

Leaning forward, she rubbed his arm.  "What's up, Love?"

He remained silent, shaking his head once again.  She was surprised then to see a tear fall to his fingers and him harshly wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.  She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him cry.

"Tom?" she was a little scared now.

He took a deep, shuddering breath.  "I'm sorry."

She felt cold all of a sudden.  "Sorry?  For what?"

"For this.  For... feeling like this."

A single thought entered her head.  He was having an affair.  He was leaving her.  And then another, more rational part of her dismissed it as ridiculous.  

He'd been quieter recently.  Touchy too; last week she'd invited Dan Scott - his new sergeant - round for dinner and he'd been particularly unsociable, barely saying a word during the meal.  

In fact now that she thought about it he'd been down for a couple of months, maybe longer.  Maybe since Gavin left....  

An odd kind of relief washed over her.  Not an affair, but perhaps a missed opportunity, regrets of words not spoken, feelings not disclosed.

She berated herself for not pointing out the obvious to her husband before Gavin had received his promotion, or at least as soon as the young man had made Inspector.

She squeezed her husband's arm gently.  "This is about Gavin isn't it?" she asked him carefully.

His head turned and he looked at her through tear-filled eyes.  She sighed with her own regrets.  She hated to see him hurting.

"I miss him," he told her helplessly, "so much."

"I know."  She rubbed his arm, stroked his hair, trying to comfort.  She moved to sit closer, sliding her arm through his, squeezing.  "He was a huge part of your life, Love."

Tom went back to staring dully into his drink.  "I hadn't realised... how much I took him for granted.  I feel as if I didn't notice him until he left and now... it's too late."

Joyce wondered if he actually knew what he was feeling, or rather, what it meant.  "He made Inspector because of you, Tom.  You didn't take him for granted.  He knows how proud you are of him.  Remember that cricket match?  When he scored that wicket you were the first out of your seat, clapping and cheering."  She watched a smile touch her husband's lips.  "You're bound to miss him, he was bound to leave a big hole in your life.  You know he was more than a sergeant to you."

Tom nodded and she wondered if he knew what he was agreeing to.

"It isn't Dan's fault you know, Love."

"I know I'm taking it out on him and I don't know why!"  He sighed.  "I thought it was because he doesn't do... the things Troy used to do.  Paperwork, coffee in the morning - no sugar - sandwiches for lunch.  You know, if we were out around lunchtime he'd drive us to a pub without a word being spoken."

"Dan will get to know your ways too.  You've got to give him time."  It wasn't the issue and she knew it, she just had to get him to admit it to her.

But he leaned forward and put his glass down onto the carpet.  "Let's go to bed."

He rose to his feet and she caught his hand.  "Tom, you can talk to me about Gavin you know.  Any time."

Gazing down at her he looked puzzled.  "I love you."

"I love you too, Tom.  That's why you can talk to me."

~

"Where are we going?"

Scott glanced across at his hitherto silent passenger.  "The Stone Garland in Avebury.  The landlord there has reported that one of his guests was a suspect from the Stockton bank raid two weeks ago.  A DSI up there called a DSI down here and we have to check it out."

Something about the statement unsettled Tom.  Talk of DSIs always made him feel uneasy.

He thought about Stockton and wondered what Troy was doing now.  He wasn't sure why it mattered or why he cared but he let idle memories of his ex-sergeant occupy him for the rest of the trip.

The Stone Garland was set back from the stone circle, across the road.  It was popular with the tourists and the locals alike.

It took a couple of knocks on the front door of the pub to rouse someone.  When the landlord finally came to the door he looked exhausted.  

"Sorry, Sirs, late night."  

He let them in.  The pub had already been cleaned and cleared from whatever occasion had made it a late one.

Barnaby hung back and let Scott ask the questions.  His sergeant probably knew most about it anyway.  

Unusually, Tom felt singularly uninterested in both Scott's questions and the landlord's answers.

He moved to stand by the window and stared out of the small planes of glass across the western end of the stone circle.

It was really beautiful here.  Troy had always thought so.   Barnaby could remember spending a day here with him, investigating the death of a young woman.  They'd whiled away the morning and afternoon in the local station, questioning a suspect who'd been arrested the same day the woman's body had been discovered.

In the evening they'd gone for a walk along the stone avenue.  The sun setting, it had been almost idyllic.  Tom couldn't remember what they'd talked about but he remembered it as being relaxed, easy.  

For some reason the changes wrought in Troy since the occasion of their first meeting hit him hard.  From naïve, rude, utterly clueless and thoroughly wet behind the ears, the Troy who'd made Inspector had been independent, wise, sensitive, witty, charming, shrewd... wonderful.

Tom swallowed, leaning heavily on the windowsill as his heart and stomach tried to turn themselves inside out.

And then the impossible happened.  

Troy's Rover pulled up in front of the pub.  

Tom couldn't see into the car but he could see the driver's side door and for a minute or two it didn't open.  He imagined Troy sitting there, recognising the midnight blue Rover he'd pulled up along side, wondering why his ex-chief was here.

Tom could feel his pulse racing, his heart pounding.  It had been six months since he'd set eyes on Troy or heard his voice.  He realised just how much had changed in the last twenty-four hours in the same moment he realised that it was all in his mind.  Nothing had changed as far as Troy was concerned.

He saw the car door open and watched the young DI, so very familiar to him, climb out and stretch.  He couldn't believe the anxiety he was feeling, the sudden nervousness.

Troy walked around both cars, dropping his keys into his trouser pocket as he looked up at the window.  He paused mid-step, his eyes meeting Tom's through the glass.

Tom felt the eye contact like a flame along his nerves.  He took a deep breath, not breaking the moment, clinging to it.  And he knew then that the changes weren't only in himself.

He moved, went to the door and opened it, unaware of the eyes of his sergeant and the landlord on his back.  

"Sir...?"

He didn't hear the unspoken question, just walked across the courtyard and met Troy half way.

Neither of them spoke.  Tom couldn't find his voice.  But Troy's lips slowly turned up into a smile.  "What are you doing here?"

At first the question simply didn't make sense.  It didn't matter, did it?  Why the hell was he here?  Who was he?

"We're... following up....  The landlord here...."  He gave up under the gigawatt glow of Troy's smile.

"The bank job in Stockton?"

"Yes!"  That was it!  He let his gaze roam over the beloved features.  "What are you doing here?"

"Same.  At least, that's what I thought.  Only now....  My DCI must have decided I needed a break."

Tom lifted his hand, reaching for Troy's arm, stopping halfway.  He wanted to touch but he still didn't know for sure that he was welcome.  The silly, incredible grin on the young face was encouraging but not evidence enough.

"What's he like, your new chief?"

"He's a good man."  Troy was utterly sincere.  "Very 'Jimmy Nail'."

Tom didn't dare ask what that meant.  "So you're happy."

The smile vanished, the light went out.  "I didn't say that."  Tom shivered in the chilled morning air.  "In fact...."

He was interrupted.

"Sir?"

Tom turned, anger flaring.  Troy tilted his head to look at the man standing in the doorway of the pub but at the same time he reached for Tom's arm.  Staking a claim, only partially aware of the proprietary expression on his face.

"What is it, Scott?"

"Our suspect, Sir."  His tone was slightly hostile.  "I have a name, a description and a possible lead on where he was going."

Tom smiled quickly and nodded once.  "Well, get on it then."

Scott frowned uncertainly.  "I need to get back to CID."

"That's okay.  We'll follow."

"'We', Sir?"

"Yes."  Barnaby knew he should introduce the two but right now he didn't want to share.  He turned back to Troy.  "That all right?"

Troy shrugged and smiled.  "Fine by me."



Troy backed his car out onto the road, waiting for the Rover to speed off before following at a more sedate pace.

"Who's that?"

"Sergeant Dan Scott."

"My replacement?"

Tom turned in his seat, not the least bit interested in the road.  "No one could replace you, Troy."  He'd wanted it to come out light, humorous and inwardly flinched at the absolute sincerity.

It turned out to be worth it.  Troy glanced at him, flashed him another one of those incredible smiles and asked, "Do you mean that?"

Too late to deny it.  "Yes.  I'm sorry I didn't realise it before you left."

Indicating, Troy turned the car onto the main road heading north.  "Don't be.  I needed to work a few things out too."  

He didn't elaborate and Tom waited as long as he could stand before prompting, "Such as?"

Troy didn't respond.  Instead he glanced at the car's digital clock.  "How about brunch, Sir?  If Sergeant Scott can get back to Causton without an escort."  

Tom hid his smile at Troy's tone behind a grin at the use of such a word.  "'Brunch'?  What happened to good old breakfast?  And it's Tom, Inspector."

Troy turned right off the main road, heading for the village of Long Barrow.  There was a lovely café there that did fried egg baps and wickedly strong coffees until noon.

"We don't have breakfast in the city," he explained, deadpan.  "And it's Gavin."  He wondered for a moment if Scott would turn around and follow, but instead Tom's mobile rang.

"Barnaby....  No, Scott.  My old sergeant is taking me for breakfast."  He stressed the word for Troy's benefit.  "We'll meet you back at Causton in a little while....  Yes, you do that."  He ended the call.

"Where did you dig him up?"

"London.  And I didn't dig him up, he was foisted upon me."

"Ah."

"Yes."

The car drifted to a smooth stop between a Land Rover and a Peugeot convertible with its roof down.

"Your driving's improved."

"My new chief gets travel sick."

Tom was chuckling as he got out of the car and followed Troy to a small table on the veranda in front of the café.  

"Usual?"

Troy nodded.  "Not everything's changed."

The words, innocently spoken, sent tiny shivers down Tom's spine.  He hesitated for a moment, watching as Troy sat down on one of the cold, white metal chairs.  Dark suit, blue shirt, deep purple tie.  His hair, the deep colour of Autumn, cut short in a bid to control its wayward tendencies.  But not too short; Tom imagined combing his fingers through it, finally finding out what it felt like.

He shook himself.  Some mid-life crisis.  It would be easier and safer to swap the Rover for a Porsche and tour the local pubs picking up barmaids.

Troy's thumb stroking once over the back of his hand surprised him.  He met the wide blue eyes, thinking he could stay here, drowning in that easy regard.

"Fried egg roll, large white coffee, two sugars."

Tom smiled at the promise underlying the request.  They would talk, but it needed to be later, not in a village where the walls, fence posts, gates and china tea sets had ears.  And not as DCI Barnaby and DI Troy.  Somewhere they could be alone to be themselves.

Wandering into the café, grinning inanely and far from caring, Tom stood in line behind an old lady and a farmer and waited, thoughts drifting off down what was fast becoming a familiar and much-loved path.  

There had always been a spark between he and Troy, even back in the early days.  Now he considered it, there had been a period of some odd form of courtship.  Him reaching out, encouraging familiarity, reassuring the somewhat insecure young man at his side with pats on the back, a hand on his shoulder; gentle, friendly gestures.

During that time Troy started to appear for breakfast more and more, welcomed by Cully and Joyce.  He was invited to family parties and summer evening barbecues.  Now he thought about it, the idea of Scott encroaching on his personal life seemed absurd.  He'd been uncomfortable when the man had stayed over in the box room at Joyce's invitation on his first night in Causton.  But with Troy it had felt natural, felt right.  

He'd liked that his sergeant could feel at home in his family's house.  There was always that shiver of anticipation whenever the doorbell rang and there was a chance it was Troy.  He used to put it down to a love for the more macabre aspects of his job, a need for something other than paperwork, rows over church bells, accusations of flower rustling and scandals at village fates.

But he wondered if that had really been the reason for the butterflies in his stomach.  It certainly wasn't now.  Now there was more than anticipation.  There was excitement, knowing that everything about his relationship with Gavin Troy was changing.


"Do they fry eggs up there?"

Troy laughed.  "Yes.  But in lard."  They didn't taste the same either, he thought to himself.  Free range eggs from hens not a mile away were better, fresher.  Like the air he realised as he breathed it in.

Tom sipped his coffee.  How many times had they shared this?  How often?  How much had he taken for granted?  How many more regrets were going to surface when he'd truly believed he had none?

He had to pull himself together.  He wouldn't waste this time with Troy now.  "So tell me about life in Middlesbrough."

Troy was in mid-bite.  He savoured the highly unhealthy, sinfully good taste of egg, melted butter and freshly baked bread, finishing before answering.

"It's over."

Tom's eyebrows rose.  It hadn't been the response he'd been expecting and for a moment it didn't seem to fit.  "What is?"

"Life in Middlesbrough."

He was lost.  Outside the pub he'd said something about Troy being happy and he remembered the reply, 'I didn't say that.'  

The idea that the man he'd encouraged to leave Causton for more exciting climates was unhappy was unbearable.  A change of scene had been Tom's idea initially, not wanting to see Troy stuck in Midsomer for the rest of his life.  He'd thought the change in pace would do his loyal sergeant good.  That he'd been wrong....

"Troy...."

"I'm requesting a transfer on Monday morning.  The DCI's expecting it."  He explained about the previous night's conversation with DCI Whately, leaving out the part about the photograph.  Tom sat, stunned.  "It could take a little while, but I can start spending weekends down here, finding somewhere to live.  I'm hoping to get a place back in Causton."

For a minute or two Tom couldn't speak, didn't know what to say.  He stared at his companion over his mug and imagined himself putting his coffee down deliberately onto the table, reaching, plucking the bread roll from Troy's hands with finger and thumb...

"Hey...."

...placing it gracefully down too.  Leaning over and touching his fingertips to the smooth boyish face...

"Welcome home."

...moving, touching his lips to Gavin's, tasting his avid response....


"Sir?  Tom?"

Tom almost breathed a lung full of coffee.

"Sorry."  He realised belatedly that Troy had no idea what he was apologising for.  "Miles away."

Troy regarded him for a moment, one eyebrow rising.  "Really?"

For a moment Tom couldn't breathe - air or coffee.  Troy's expression was utterly corrupt.

His mouth was suddenly dry and he slurped his coffee, flustered by his own imagination and Troy's apparent new-found powers of telepathy.

"Any... idea where the transfer will be to?"

Troy shook his head.  "Somewhere down here."

It was on the spur of the moment that Tom said, "Come back to Causton."

His reward was a stunning smile and a cheered chuckle.  "I'm not sure that would be a good idea."

"Why not?"

"I left."  Tom could see that even to Troy's own ears it sounded weak.  "Besides, you've got Sergeant Scott to carry your bags now."

He tried to look offended and failed miserably.  "He doesn't want to be here.  Besides, you're an Inspector now, not a bag carrier."  He smiled, gently nudging Troy's arm with his elbow as he drank his coffee.  "Seriously...."  His mobile interrupted him.  "Barnaby."

"Sir."

"Yes, Scott?"

"There's been a development."

~

Barnaby followed Troy into Causton CID headquarters.  He was unable to resist a hand at the small of the taller man's back so he felt the hesitation as they stepped into their old office.  

It wasn't as if he hadn't felt it himself many times in the last six months.  The regrets, the aching hole left in his life by Troy's transfer up to Middlesbrough.  And a glance at Troy's expression told him he wasn't the only one feeling that way.

He leaned in, not really caring if Scott - sitting at Troy's old desk - heard or not, but meaning the words to be just between them.  

"You belong here."

Scott saw them and rose.  Barnaby decided it was time for introductions.  "Sergeant Scott, Inspector Gavin Troy."  

The two men shook hands, neither smiling.  

Scott reached for two sheets sitting on the fax machine and handed them to Barnaby.  Troy recognised the black and white photograph on the second sheet.  

"Colin Rengrave," he identified, not needing the blurb under the mug shot.  "One half of the Rengrave brothers.  Matt was in on the Stockton bank raid a couple of weeks back.  We suspected Colin might have been too but he vanished."

Barnaby was impressed.  As unhappy up north as Troy was, he'd apparently involved himself in the goings-on of Middlesbrough's criminal world.

"So the question is, where is he now?"

~

Troy checked his watch a couple of hours later.  

"Tom?" he savoured the invitation to use the chief's first name, privately enjoying the spark in the sergeant's eyes.  "I need to check in at the hotel - The Fox and Hounds in town."

Barnaby looked up.  "Okay, I'll come with you.  Scott can finish this up, can't you, Sergeant?"

He rolled his eyes.  "Yes, Sir."


They left Barnaby's car at the station and took Troy's.  The Fox and Hounds was a small pub a couple of minutes from Tom's home.  There were five rooms upstairs that allowed it to call itself a hotel.

Troy checked in, dumped his bag and met Tom in the bar where he had two pints and a menu waiting.

"You know what I miss?" Troy asked lightly as he sat down at the small table opposite the other man.

"Tea?  Old ladies?  Or proper crimes like missing geese and slashed paintings?"

"Lunches."

"Lunches?"

"Wherever we were, whatever we were doing, we always managed to find the time for lunch at one of the village pubs.  A good Ploughmans with solid cheese and pickled onions the size of apples."

Tom laughed.  "What do you get in the north?  Chips with gravy?"  He tried for a Yorkshire accent but it sounded closer to Liverpool.

"Whatever we have time to grab on the move, usually.  Either that or a tasteless sandwich from the canteen while fighting the computer system."  He sounded completely fed up, gazing out of the window at the quiet road that ran along side the pub.  "The thing is, I can't remember why I wanted to leave in the first place."

Tom took a long swig of real ale and sighed deeply.  "Gavin... it wasn't because of me, was it?"

Troy looked at him, hesitating before shrugging noncommittally.  "Maybe.  A little."

"I'm sorry.  I never meant to drive you away."

"Oh, no....  It wasn't like that."

"Are you sure?  It wasn't something I did?  Or... something I didn't do?"

Gavin sat back, pint in one hand, head thoughtfully tilted.  

"You were everything to me, you know," he said after a time.  "Boss, mentor, friend, family.  Cully and Joyce always made me feel welcome and you hardly ever seemed to mind that I was around."  He paused.  "Does Scott get invited to barbecues?"

Tom shook his head.  "And he doesn't drop in for breakfast on a regular basis either."  He smiled and was glad when it was returned.  "Something odd happened between he and Cully when he first arrived; I still don't know what it was but she doesn't like him very much.  Besides, I don't think he's the type to hang around with the chief."

"He doesn't know what he's missing."

"Possibly not.  But I do.  I meant what I said, Gavin.  If you want to transfer back to Causton, I'll push it through.  Perhaps Middlesbrough would suit Scott better than Midsomer.  He doesn't have that way with the old folk that you do."  He grinned.  "Do you want another?"

"Thanks.  And food wouldn't go amiss."


Troy asked Barnaby about recent goings-on and Tom spent the next couple of hours recapping, swapping to drink lemonade after his second beer.  He spoke about the Midsomer Barrow Summer Solstice festival that had been Scott's violent introduction to the social side of the village and the chaos of the literary festival and the actress.

"And how are Joyce and Cully?"

"Joyce is well.  Cully spends half her time in London, half in Causton."

"Is she still with Nico?"

"Surprisingly, yes.  He does seem to adore her."

Troy nodded approvingly.  "Good.  She deserves someone who'll treat her like a princess."

Tom chuckled.  "I'm not sure she'd put up with it, but you're right.  You know, there was a time I thought you were top of her list."

"Me?"  Gavin shook his head.  "I don't think she ever saw me as anything more than a way of teasing you.  No way would she have dated a copper...."  He trailed off, relieved to see the older man's knowing smile.

"Because of how little her mum sees of me, you mean?"  There was no accusation in his tone.

"Something like that.  Sorry."

"Don't be.  It's true.  But what about you?  Weren't you in love with her at one point?"

Troy opened his mouth to speak but for a while no words were forthcoming.  And then simply, "No."


After that Tom turned the conversation on to Gavin's life for the last few months and was regaled with stories of stabbings, bar brawls, fights outside clubs, arson, riots and general nastiness.  Tom thought he might have a particularly biased view of poor Middlesbrough but he kept it to himself.

"It's every night.  For the first month I hardly slept and when I did it was to wake up screaming.  I couldn't believe I was longing for some old lady to have a purse nicked or some rich bugger to ring in demanding we find his missing mistress."

Tom's mobile chirped into life and he swore at it, sure it would be Scott.  When it wasn't, when Joyce's voice caused him to pull back his sleeve and look at his watch, he had to apologise profusely.  It was just gone eight.  Cully was home for the weekend and he'd been due to take his wife and daughter to the new Italian on the high street.

But although he'd been summoned and had promised to be home in ten minutes he was loathed to leave.

Troy walked him out of the pub.

"I'm sorry, I promised them...."

"It's all right!"  It was the third time he'd reassured Tom.

"You won't leave?"

Troy smiled, open and happy.  "I won't leave."  Reaching into his jacket pocket he dug out his keys.  "Take the car.  That way I can't leave."

Tom stared at the Rover keys in his palm, closed his fingers over them like a lifeline.  He stared at Gavin's face for a few moments, completely lost for words.

"How about I walk over tomorrow morning for breakfast?  It would be wonderful to see Joyce and Cully again."

Nodding, his mind unsticking, Tom nodded.  "Yes!  That would be wonderful.  Did you have any plans for this weekend?"

"House hunting," he announced decisively.

"Want some help?"

"Absolutely."

"Good."  Tom sighed softly, knowing he needed to leave.  "Will you be all right... tonight, I mean?"

Still smiling, Troy nodded, "I intend to call my DCI, have some dinner, take a long bath and collapse into bed.  I've been on the go since five this morning."

Tom's imagination had picked up on the idea of a long bath and collapsing into bed.  His gaze locked with Troy's striking blue eyes and he could feel the stirrings of desire in his stomach and groin.

Gavin's reached between them, squeezed his arm, then, held in the same thrall, brushed Tom's neck with his fingertips.

Tom licked his lips and for a fleeting moment he considered calling Joyce, telling her that something had come up, he couldn't make it.

"Go," Troy commanded him gently.  "I'll see you in the morning."

"Right."

"Be careful with my car."

It broke the spell, the flip instruction, and Tom chuckled.  He'd been constantly amazed that Troy wasn't involved in more traffic accidents, the way he drove.

Tom unlocked the car and dropped into the driver's seat, watching Troy give a little wave before disappearing back into the bar.

He took a deep breath.  He could smell faint hints of Troy's aftershave and it made him feel like he was home.

Starting the engine he tooled the precious car out of the small parking area and turned onto the road, driving the two miles to his own home.


Cully and Joyce were waiting.  One dark Rover looked much like another and neither woman commented as they climbed silently into Joyce's Fiat and left for the restaurant.


By the time the meal was over, all was forgiven.  Joyce was used to being stood up in favour of her husband's work and after a few glasses of red wine Cully was more accepting too.

"I've invited someone to breakfast," Tom told his wife just before they fell asleep.

She assumed it was Scott, assumed Tom was trying to welcome his new sergeant into the family at long last.  He didn't do anything to change her presumption, simply because he didn't want to have the conversation he knew would follow any mention of Troy being back in Midsomer.

~

"DCI Whately."  He sounded gruff and unfriendly - the same way he always did no matter what time of the day or night he was called.

"Sir?  Inspector Troy."

The tone changed.  "Hello, laddie.  How's things?"

"We think we've tracked down Colin Rengrave.  I reckon he was at the pub when the landlord said he was.  Customs reckon he's on his way to France on a ferry under the name Colin Alder.  The French police are awaiting his arrival in Calais."

"That's good work, lad.  But it's not what I was asking about, is it?"

"No, Sir."  He could imagine the roll of the man's big, brown eyes.  "I took your advice.  I spoke to my old DCI here, he's offered to take me back on at Causton."

"Good!  See, he does love ya."  Troy ignored the comment.  "We'll start the ball rollin' on Monday morning, shouldn't take more than a couple of days with him pushin' at his end and me yellin' at mine."

"Thank you."

"Aye, well.  No tellin' him I've been nasty to you."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Sir."

"Course you wouldn't, laddie.  See you Monday morning, bright and early.  And I'm not talking about the weather or the time."

Whately hung up.

~

"Gavin!"

Cully threw her arms around him, startling him as he rocked back on his feet having just stepped up to the door.

He hugged her, completely thrilled to be back.

He'd slept like a baby in the large double bed at the hotel.  Vague dreams of thatched roofs, shag pile carpets and Tom Barnaby meant he'd woken warm and contented.  He'd snuggled under the duvet for half an hour, slowly masturbating, climaxing with Tom's name on his lips.

Walking through Causton in the early morning sunshine, a smile on his face, feeling the warmth on his skin and radiating from within him, he knew was home, where he belonged - just as Tom had said.  

Joyce heard her daughter and glanced at her husband.  "So that's why you were late yesterday," she murmured with a smile.

"We just caught up."

"Really?"

Tom nodded.  "He's moving back to Causton."

Cully was leading Troy into the kitchen before Joyce could comment.  He was enveloped in a second hug while Tom looked up, suddenly hungry.

Yesterday he'd been in a suit.  Today he wore faded jeans and a light V-neck top with his crème denim jacket over it.  His short hair had a red hue in the morning sunlight, blue eyes sparkling as he looked over Joyce's shoulder and beamed at Tom.  Completely breathtaking.


Obviously convinced that Gavin was starving up north, Cully whisked up a litre of mix and started to fry and flip a pile of thick pancakes.  Joyce found a bottle of maple sauce in the cupboard and Tom made fresh coffee.

"You're all spoiling me," Gavin complained with little sincerity, high on the wonderful aromas assaulting him as he sat at the breakfast table, banished from doing any work.

"Sit there and take it like a man," Cully told him.

He didn't miss Tom's raised eyebrow and was eternally glad he didn't have a mouthful of coffee.  

Finally the family sat down around him and he was fed until he almost burst.  There was a lot of love around him and he felt a little guilty to be watching out for little smiles from Tom.

The subject of his returning to Causton came up.  Cully was excited to have an old friend coming home.  She and Gavin had enjoyed a couple of plays at the Corn Exchange in the past, finishing the night with a drink or two in one of the many town pubs.

Joyce's reaction was slightly more guarded, but she couldn't have seen Gavin unhappy under any circumstances.

"I thought I'd feel like a complete idiot," Gavin admitted over a pile of maple syrup smothered pancakes.

Tom frowned.  "Why?"

"Everyone went to so much trouble when I left.  People at CID, you all helping me move out, everyone in Middlesbrough...."

They reassured him on their own behalves at least.  They were happy to help him move back and Cully even volunteered to go house hunting with them.  It was Joyce who suggested that maybe it was a good idea to let the two men have the day to themselves.  Sure, they might not get a lot accomplished house-finding wise, but they'd been apart for six months after spending the last six years practically living in each others' pockets.

Tom was eternally gratefully and he told her so over the breakfast dishes as he helped her load the dishwasher.

She dropped in the final plate and straightened.  

"Tom, listen....  There are enough regrets in life without adding to them when you can help it."  He stared at her, head tilted.  "You're in love with him."  It was stating the obvious as far as she was concerned.

But Tom laughed, hesitant, embarrassed and uncertain.

"Joyce!"

"It's okay.  Really.  I know what you're going to say and I know you love me, I love you too.  You love both of us - me and Cully."  She reached forward and kissed him.  "We're not going anywhere."

"Joyce...."  He tried to protest but she silenced him with a finger over his lips.

"He hasn't come home to Causton, Tom, he's come home to you.  You could never acknowledge it and you'd still be his whole world.  You must see the way he looks at you?"

Tom swallowed.  Of course he did.  He suspected that he'd spent much of the last twenty-four hours with that same blatant need in his own eyes.  He just hadn't expected it to be so obvious.  Or for Joyce to accept it so easily.

He hadn't got a clue what to say and luckily Cully saved him, answering a doorbell he hadn't heard.

"Dad!" she called.  "Scott."

Rolling his eyes Tom went into the hall.  His sergeant was standing in the doorway looking oddly hopeful.

"What is it?" he asked, glancing across to Troy standing in the lounge.

"Customs have caught up with our Colin Rengrave.  I thought if Inspector Troy was around we could drive down to Dover to greet him."  His eyes left the boss' face to glance at Troy who'd moved into the hall.

"Actually, Inspector Troy and I were about to go house hunting.  But thank you for volunteering."  He reached out, patted Scott's shoulder hard.  "When you get there liase with customs and the local police. We'll need Mr Rengrave shipping safely back to Middlesbrough."

"Right, Sir."  He had time for one scowl at a smiling Troy before Tom let the door close.

"You're really nasty to him, Dad," Cully complained with little feeling.  She'd been on the receiving end of Scott's odd nature enough times to care, realising she too had tried to replace Gavin with Dan Scott and knowing it hadn't worked.

"She's right," Troy agreed.  "I'm sure he's trying his best under difficult circumstances."

Tom almost laughed.  "You know his real problem, Gavin?  He's not you."

Troy flushed at the compliment, shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced away.  "That's really not his fault," he managed eventually.

~

They peered at the details hanging in the window of Beauvoisin Estates Agency.

"So what are we looking for?  Flat, house, cottage?  Semi, detached?  Thatched, tiled?"

"A log fire."

"What?"

"I want a log fire."

Tom straightened and turned to face him.  "Do you want a house around it?"

Troy shot him a positively filthy look and vanished inside the tiny shop.

He reappeared only a couple of minutes later holding an impressive pile of paper.

"Told her I was a first time buyer," he said by way of an explanation.

Tom chuckled.  "Lets go sit in the car and peruse."

~

The first house was a small barn conversion in a yard set back from a quiet street just west of the centre of Causton.  Placement wise, it was perfect.  Walking distance not only from the town and Causton CID, but from the Barnabys' home too.

The estate agent met them at the house, raised her eyebrows at seeing the two of them together but said nothing.

Downstairs was open plan with the requisite log fire and a wonderfully modern kitchen.

There were two bedrooms upstairs, each with en suite, but it was the master bedroom that caught both their attentions.  The view from the window was straight across the fields to Marsh Wood.

Tom found Gavin standing at the window in the master bedroom, staring out at the view to die for.  He leaned on the doorframe and took a few moments to drink in the view from back there.  It had been a long time since he'd admired a man for his physical attributes as well as his mental acuity.

He thought about what Joyce had said, the possible meanings behind her words.  A relationship with Gavin wouldn't be a casual one, his feelings already ran much deeper than that.  Besides, under the hard copper façade Troy was a sensitive young man, easily hurt but quick to forgive.  Tom didn't want to take advantage of that.  

Thoughts of jumping him flitted through his mind and he knew that Gavin would allow him to, would welcome him with open arms.  But he wanted him to know it wasn't just a one-off, that although it couldn't and wouldn't mean Tom leaving his family it would mean something.

"Couldn't you just get used to waking to that view?" Troy asked the room in general.

Tom sighed, still half-lost in his thoughts.  "Definitely."

He turned, smiling in surprise at Tom's response and the guilt on his face.  The older man's eyes widened as he realised what he'd said.  "Sorry!"

Troy regarded him steadily.  "Are you?"  He closed the distance between them, walking slowly, confidently.  

Tom watched him, recognising the predatory expression, basking in it.  "Not really."

Stopping a couple of inches from the other man, Troy reconsidered.  "Maybe Causton isn't such a good idea."

Suddenly worried he was scaring the young man Tom stepped around him, heading for the window but not seeing the view any longer.  "Why not?"

"Because we work here.  It's not a big town.  Maybe... I need to find somewhere further afield.  Somewhere slightly more... private."

Tom jumped.  Troy had crossed back to stand close behind him.  He imagined he could feel the heat from his body warming his back.

"You can't mean one of the Midsomer villages!"  It took a great deal of will power not to run, to escape.  Or to turn and take Troy into his arms.

"There's a place out on the Marsh Wood road."

He did turn then, stopped fighting it and met the bright blue gaze.

"You'd be bored to death out there.  No."  Reaching across the gap, he patted the front of Troy's jacket.  "You should be in town.  The pubs, the Corn Exchange, the station...."  He trailed off.  "God, Gavin... I want you."

Gavin's face broke into a smile.  "About time."

They jogged down the stairs, Gavin stopping when he reached the estate agent still hanging around in the lounge.  

"I'll take it at the asking price," he told the middle-aged woman.  "I'll be in this afternoon to sign whatever I need to sign."

Her eyes widened and she nodded, smiling now.  "Of course, Sir.  I'll have the paperwork waiting for you."

The two men dropped into Troy's car, each hyper-aware of the other now.  Troy didn't speak as he started the engine and pulled out of the yard, away from the house he'd just bought, without a glance in the rearview mirror.

But as aroused as he'd been in his new bedroom, as romantic as the idea of waking up to that view with Tom tucked around him was, he started to question what he was doing.

This wasn't just about them.  This was about Joyce and Cully too.  And as much as he sometimes wished it, they wouldn't just disappear on cue.  Tom wanted him and he desperately wanted Tom, but there were consequences.

He stopped at the end of the road and glanced at the man in the passenger seat.  Somehow, Tom knew.  He nodded once.

"There's a lane off the Midsomer Deverell road into Marsh Wood.  There was a car fire there two weeks ago, insurance job.  It's still taped off but you can drive under the tape.  We won't be disturbed."  

He couldn't believe he was saying this, couldn't believe what he was thinking.

Troy drove, taking the road north out of Causton towards Midsomer Deverell, turning off on the narrow road to Marsh Wood about half a mile on.

The lane that Tom had spoken of was a mile ahead and Troy turned into it, driving slowly under the yellow crime scene tape and stopping at the tree line.  As he killed the engine, Tom got out of the car.

Troy followed him to sit on the Rover's warm bonnet where they sat side by side for a time, listening to the silence of the wood.

"I have a photograph on my desk," Troy started, "of you and Joyce, Cully and Nico and me.  We're sitting at the picnic table in your back yard.  You're behind me and you've got your arm over my shoulder.  Every day I've been in Middlesbrough I've looked at that photo and I think I came to realise very quickly what I'd left behind.  My last night here, when we sat in your back garden drinking champagne, I felt... like there was something wrong but I didn't know what."  He paused.  

"I got to Middlesbrough, moved in to my new flat and went to work on the Monday morning.  Of course, a month later when I got paid I realised I could afford something better than the flat I'd rented but by then I didn't have the time or the inclination to move.  You know how much I wanted to leave Midsomer?  I'm sorry if you ever thought it had anything to do with you because it didn't.  It had everything to do with me."

Dropping his hand between them, Tom took a hold of Gavin's and simply held it.

"I'd been in Midsomer for six years.  I wanted a change of scene."

"You were right to.  You're too young to be stuck in Midsomer."  He let go of Troy's hand, linking his own fingers between his knees.  "Gavin, put aside you and I for a minute.  Is this really what you want?  To come back to village fates and batty old women?"

Troy sidled closer.  "There is no putting aside you and I.  It's all tied in together now.  And yes, it is really what I want to come back to.  But... you could tell me that there isn't a chance, nothing could ever happen between us and this is still where I'd want to be."

Tom took a deep breath.  "Joyce has known about me, about my being... bi-sexual since before we were married.  She said that as long as I always loved her, and it was never more than a dalliance, she was fine with me... dallying once in a while.  But I never did.  I'd always preferred women anyway and Joyce really is everything a man could want."

He leaned into Troy, shoulder to shoulder.  "Even with you I only realised how I felt when you were no longer there.  The problem is... I don't want one night, I want more.  Possibly more than I can offer you in return."

Troy turned his head.  "Do you think I'm worth it?"

"More than worth it.  But you deserve more too, Gavin."

"I don't want more, not at the moment.  I want you."

Finally, Tom tilted his head to regard his friend.  Troy's face was so close, his mouth slightly open, lips turned up in a smile.  Too tempting.  Closing the gap, Tom kissed him.

For a moment, time simply stood still.  Neither of them moved.

Then Troy flicked out his tongue to taste and Tom couldn't hold back any longer.  

He put his arm around Troy's shoulders and eased him back on to the bonnet, sliding his tongue into the young man's mouth as he followed him down.  

Troy's arms wound around his neck, holding him in place, tongue duelling awkwardly with Tom's for a second before they worked it out and settled into the kiss.

Lovingly, Tom held Gavin like he was the most precious thing on earth. One arm under his shoulders, large hand cradling the dark head, the other around his waist, stroking him, easing the light sweater up to get at smooth, bare flesh.  

When he brushed over defined ribs, Gavin jerked up.  Tom moved his hand, lifting his head.

"Did I hurt you?"

But he was laughing.  "No!  I'm just ticklish."

"Really?"  Delighted, Tom stored that snippet of information away for later use.  He settled the length of Troy's body, holding him, the freedom to look and touch simply taking his breath away.

"You have the biggest, kindest, most incredible eyes I've ever seen," he stated, enjoying the other man's blush.

"So you do have a romantic side!"

"Did you ever think otherwise?"  Troy smiled, reached up to run his hand over Tom's head then comb his fingers through the soft, fine hair.  "Gavin... there's quite an age difference and..."

"With all due respect, Tom," he murmured, stroking the brown/grey head, "I know how old you are.  I still want you."  He paused, hesitating before adding, "I still love you."

Tom couldn't stop his grin.  "You do?"  Troy's expression was incredulous - he wasn't going to dignify that question with an answer.  "I love you too."  So easy to say.

Troy's hand cupped the back of his head and drew his mouth down into another kiss.  

Tom couldn't help but touch, stroke, feel, taste.  He felt like a kid again, horny as hell, pressing against a hard, sexy male body.  Unable to resist, he ran his hand over Gavin's belly and crotch, feeling the answering hardness.

"Gavin," he breathed, "I'm too old to do this on the bonnet of your car."  Troy tipped his head back, glancing through the windscreen and Tom laughed.  "Don't you have a perfectly good hotel room?"

Troy looked at him and Tom felt the hand on his back.  "I didn't think....  It's very...."

"Very visible to the prying eyes of Causton's finest?  I don't think the idea would ever enter into their heads, Gavin."

Taking Troy's hand Tom raised it to his mouth and kissed each digit in turn, sucking the index finger between his lips.  He felt Troy's shiver.

"Hotel?"

"Hotel."

They slid gracefully off the bonnet, standing for a few moments in a tight embrace that was anything but chaste before parting to get into the car.

Tom stroked Gavin's thigh as he drove, withdrawing his hand only when they got into the centre of Causton.

No one paid any attention to them when they pulled up in the hotel car park or when they walked together inside and upstairs.  

As Tom had always said, act as if you're doing something suspicious and people will always notice, act as if you're exactly where you're supposed to be and no one takes a blind bit of notice.  

It was a small room, mostly taken up by the double bed.  But that was the important bit.

Troy locked the world out and turned, taking Tom's hands in his own, closing the gap created by the journey from Marsh Wood.

Their first intimate contact was frenzied as they released a desire that had been building longer than either had been aware of.

Tom kissed every inch of Troy's skin as he revealed it.  Worshipping at light brown nipples, pressing Troy back into the thick duvet to get better purchase on each hard bud in turn, nipping before suckling.

Gavin raked his short nails down Tom's back as teeth sank gently into him.  He didn't try to stifle his cry; pain mixed into excruciating pleasure.  When those same teeth lightly grazed the head of his dick the cry became a low moan that built as he was swallowed whole.

He touched the older man everywhere he could reach, carding through the fine hair, stroking the rounded tops of ears, managing to scrape his fingertips over the nape of a thick neck before his hands fell away and all he could do was remember to breathe.

Only when Tom lifted his head did Troy turn the tables, gathering the scattered pieces of himself and rising up onto one arm, pushing Tom onto his back.  Stripping shirt, jeans and underwear from his lover, Troy mapped the body revealed to him, delighting in the contrasts between soft and hard flesh.

Reverently wrapping his hand around Tom's erection he met the intense blue regard and smiled, asking for what he wanted in the only words he knew.

Tom regarded the request as he would a precious gift, leaving Gavin alone for just a couple of seconds while he fetched the small bottle of free conditioner from the en suite.  It was when he walked back into the room that he had to stop and admire the beautiful body lying waiting for him.

"God, Gavin... what did I do to deserve you?"

"Put up with me for six years."  Troy reached out a hand, beckoning with his fingers.  "Make love to me."

The complicated intimacy of stretching his lover with his fingers touched Tom deeply.  He kissed and caressed Gavin, soothing every frightening pain.

Gavin himself lifted his legs, hooking his ankles over Tom's shoulders, trust plastered on his face, and Tom briefly wondering if his young lover would ever be able to do this for anyone else.   Then he wiped the thought from his mind and eased himself inside Gavin's tight body.

Gold ring scraped against gold ring when their fingers laced together next to Troy's head.

Leaning down, Tom kissed him.

They moved together as one, finding a slow rhythm, each long thrust deeper than the last.  Tom watched every nuance of pleasure play on Gavin's expressive face, every emotion shine in the wide, blue eyes.  He fell more in love with the young man with each movement they shared, each sound uttered between them.

Then Gavin moved his legs to lock around Tom's back, holding his lover buried inside him, needing the completion, learning every response of Tom's body as well as his own.

Held there Tom came suddenly, the heat and pressure around him too much.  Gavin followed a moment later, feeling his lover inside him, feeling the incredible sensation.

When Tom collapsed they clung to one another, whispers of impossible promises and an enduring love passing over them almost unheard as they unconsciously moved, snuggled and finally slept.

~

They woke together and shared a long kiss, touching lazily until Tom turned onto his side and Gavin spooned behind him, entering him carefully, lovingly.

Only later would Tom tell his young lover that he was the first man ever to take him like that.  Gavin's incredulous look would make him laugh, then reach for a tight hug.

But for a while he stayed quiet, feeling what Gavin had felt when Tom had been inside him, wondering at the connection between them, pushing aside regrets about the time they'd lost, embracing the relief in it not being too late.

Gavin's fist around his dick was skilled and Tom came with the other man deep inside him, teeth biting gently against the nape of his neck, the hard body at his back.


They dozed for a while before Tom enquired about the time.

Gavin reached for his watch where he'd dropped it to the carpet sometime earlier.  "Just gone three," he responded, watching his lover as he lifted a heavy head from his shoulder and gazed back.  "How long do I get to keep you?"

"Forever.  But more immediately I was thinking about food and about the estate agent."  Gavin was still thinking about 'forever'.  Stroking one large hand over short, sweat-damp hair, Tom smiled happily.  "Joyce knows exactly where I am.  She's not going to worry when I don't go home tonight."  Wide blue eyes became even wider.  "But if you want to secure your new home you should at least put in an appearance at the agents.  And any minute now my stomach is going to start rumbling and I'll be acutely embarrassed."

The words didn't really penetrate.  "Does... does Cully know?"

"No.  We won't tell her for a while."  Gavin wondered who 'we' meant.  "Joyce isn't going to hate you or blame you or anything like that."

"But... when did you tell her?  *What* did you tell her?"

"She told me.  Thursday night.  I'd had... you might call it a 'revelation', in the office.  I looked up, saw Scott sitting where I'd always been used to seeing you, and realised just how much I missed you, how much you'd meant to me, how stupid I'd been to let you go."  Not that he'd had a choice, but that was a given between them.

"The same time Whately told me to stop drooling over your photograph and to come down here and see you, talk to you."

It was Tom's turn to be surprised.  "He said that?  You were... doing that?"

"More than I'd realised apparently.  And yes, he said that."  He trailed off, still trying to grasp the changes wrought in his life and in Tom's.  They could discuss it until the cows came home and still the results would be the same.

"Can I suggest," Tom started, "a quick shower, a visit to the estate agents, then a drive out to a remote pub somewhere for a late lunch?  After that we could... come back here...."  His meaning was clear and he was rewarded with a deep blush.

Still Gavin managed to agree, "That sounds perfect, Tom."

~

Troy drove to Beauvoisin Estate Agency and parked up on the pavement, much to Tom's amusement and Ms Beauvoisin's annoyance.

Tom's mobile rang just as they were getting out of the car and reading Joyce's number on the tiny screen he hung back to answer it while Gavin went inside.

"Tom, how's it going?"  There was a curious note to Joyce's voice that Tom mimicked.

"Fine, thank you, Love.  Gavin's in Beauvoisin's now signing an offer agreement for a place in Melshem Road."

"Oooh, very nice.  And how many other houses did he look at?"

Tom hesitated.  The first house really had been perfect, there hadn't seemed to be a need to look anywhere else.  And they'd had other things on their minds.

"A couple," he lied badly.

"Really?"  She was still teasing.  "Mrs Garnet dropped in to tell me about the 'lovely young man' my husband was with at The Fox and Hounds this afternoon."  Tom didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  "I'm glad you and Gavin have sorted things out," she reassured him and Tom thanked a God he barely believed in for her understanding and frankly rare nature.  "Cully suggested Sunday lunch at the Queen's Head in Midsomer Worthy tomorrow.  Nico's on his way up from London for a couple of days."

Tom smiled to himself.  "Are you sure, Love?"

"Absolutely!  I'm looking forward to a rare quiet night with a bottle of wine, a box of chocolates and a Hugh Grant movie."

"You're sure about tomorrow?"

He heard her inward sigh.  "Tom?"

"Joyce?"

"Do you still love me?"

"More than ever."

Her smile was in her voice as she said, "I'll see you tomorrow."


Gavin was sitting at Ms Beauvoisin's desk, reading over a series of papers laid out in front of him - she'd been expecting him, obviously.

Tom stepped up behind his lover and rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment before sliding it down his arm, a gesture just the other side of intimate.

Ms Beauvoisin gave him a sharp look, but seeing who he was she smiled falsely.  

"Chief Inspector Barnaby!  How lovely to see you!  I didn't know you had a son!"

Both men bit back their laughter, remembering the last and only time they'd been called father and son.  Tom's friend Elfrida Molfrey, who never had destroyed her cannabis crop, had provided Troy with one of the best mornings' entertainment ever after she'd fed Tom several "hash brownies".  Of course it had been days before Tom had realised what had caused his strange behaviour, and years before he'd admitted it to Troy.

They'd been close even back then, Tom realised.  Hints of what was possible between them had always been woven into their relationship.  

"This is Inspector Troy," Tom introduced, unable to hide the note of pride anyway, doing nothing to counteract her suspicions.

"Inspector!"  And she astonished them both by taking the plastic ballpoint pen from his fingers and replacing it with a gold-plated one.

~

They sat in the beer garden at The Goose in Aspern Tallow - Tom's absolute favourite Midsomer village.  Despite the vicious old folk and the nasty goings-on, Tom had a soft spot for the museum and the pub served lovely food.

Besides, it was the one village that respected people's privacy.  

Tom risked a caress of fingers around a pint glass, again making Gavin blush, loving the idea that he could do that.

They ate ploughmans - thick wedges of cheese, juicy apple slices and freshly baked bread - talking quietly about nothing much, sharing stories from the passed few months, less painful now the future meant they'd be together.

There was a beautiful amber glow from the lowering sun by the time they finished.  Eye contact had become long, meaningful glances.  Brief, fingertip petting had become more lingering, deliberate caresses.

Eventually Gavin found himself shifting uncomfortably, his jeans too tight.

"Could we..."

"...go back to the hotel?"  The expression on Tom's face assured Gavin that he too was in need of more than the fleeting, teasing touches they'd been sharing.  "Definitely."

Only when they were in the car did Gavin ask, "Aren't we supposed to be together years before we start finishing each other's sentences?"

Tom reached across, touched his lover's hand on the gear stick.  "But we have been together years, haven't we?"

~

Hours later they lay sated in the darkened bedroom with the dim light of the remaining day seeping in through the window.

Head rested on his hand, propped up on one elbow, Gavin traced an unending trail over Tom's throat with his fingers, feeling his pulse now slower than it had been.

Tom's eyes were carving their own path over Gavin's body, more erotic than any physical touch.

The only sounds the four walls had heard for a couple of hours were breathy moans of pleasure and furtive whispers of love.  Gavin broke the silence of the evening, asking softly, "How are we supposed to work together?"

"We worked together before."

"That was before I knew what it felt like to have you inside me."

It was the last thing he'd expected to ever hear from Gavin's lips.  Tom smiled.  "We'll be equals this time.  I won't be trying you to me again."

Gavin pouted.  "That's a shame."  He winked.

"Watch it, or I'll be finding out just how ticklish you really are."

"You don't want to do that."

"I think I might."  To emphasise his point, Tom turned on to his side, resting one hand innocently on Gavin's waist.

Gavin immediately reached for it, holding it, his own fingers forming a protective barrier between Tom's and his skin; now all the more sensitive after hours of love making.

Only Tom's thumb was free and he took advantage, stroking back and forth over smooth skin.

"I'll even let you have your own sergeant."

"Really?  You'd trust me with a young, eager sergeant would you?  Knowing how your last one turned out?  Knowing he or she will be following me around day in, day out?  Knowing it would be him I have to call late at night if something happened?  Breakfasts in cafés, lunches at pubs, intimate conversations in the Rover...."

He thought he was prepared for Tom's attack but he wasn't.  It came from the other side, Tom dropping to his back to slide his free hand under Gavin's rib cage and tickle him mercilessly.

Gavin's protests were lost between gasps of laughter and attempts at drawing breath.  He tried to fight back but the moment he moved his left hand Tom launched his secondary attack, digging his fingers in gently, alternating gentle jabs with feather light friction.

Eventually he couldn't fight, he just concentrated on surviving.

Then suddenly the tickling stopped and he was being held in strong arms, cradled against a strong body.

"I love you," Tom told him definitively.

He was too breathless to think up a flippant reply.  And too happy.

~

Sunlight was streaming into the room when Tom woke.  He was in a strange bed that reeked of sex and he ached in places he'd forgotten could feel that way.

But the dark head lying on the pillow in front of his head was very familiar.  It was also close enough for him to move slightly and kiss the messy tufts of hair, so he did.  Gavin didn't stir, dead to the world.  

His gaze rested on the marks of his teeth in the pale skin of Gavin's shoulder and he marvelled at his own apparent loss of self-control.

One of Tom's hands was tucked under his pillow, the other was resting on a bare, muscled thigh.  It wasn't any stretch to skim over soft hairs and warm skin to find a beautiful morning erection.  Shifting closer, careful not to disturb his sleeping lover, he brushed the backs of his fingers along the velvet hardness.

At first there was no reaction but he kept up the gentle strokes and soon enough Gavin's breathing deepened and he was pushing unconsciously into the touch.  After a time Tom made it more deliberate, curling his fingers around his lover's dick, keeping it slow, shifting until he was pressed against Gavin's back.

His mouth roamed where it could, lips kissing, tongue drawing lazy patterns on salty skin.

Finally Gavin moaned softly, put one arm back and dug his fingers into Tom's thigh just before he climaxed.

Tom would have been happy to do the same through Gavin's hand, he told himself, but the invitation in his lover's parting of his legs and his pulling of Tom over him was one too easy to accept.


"What time is it?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

Tom would have moved but he wasn't sure which limbs were his and which were Gavin's.  Besides, the warm embrace was too perfect to leave.  He decided that the good residents of Midsomer County could murder each other in countless terrible ways and bury as many bodies under as many patios as they wanted.  This morning, he didn't care.

"We're supposed to be meeting Joyce, Cully and Nico for lunch in Midsomer Worthy at twelve."  No response and Tom could imagine why.  "It's going to be all right, you know."

From somewhere under him, a voice said, "I'm not convinced."

He squeezed whichever part of Gavin his arms were wrapped around.  "I know you're not."

"We've spent most of the last twelve hours in bed together and we're going to get up and have lunch with your wife and daughter."

"You've had lunch with Joyce, Cully and I before."

He felt rather than heard Gavin's chuckle.  "Under slightly different circumstances."

Shifting, finding Gavin's head resting on his thigh, Tom combed his fingers through the damp hair.  "I don't want to have to give you up," he said quietly.

Gavin lifted his head and looked straight at Tom.  "You won't have to.  It's just... I'm worried I might blush."

Delighted, Tom laughed.  "Yes, I seem to have the gift of being able to make you turn a beautiful shade of scarlet."

Gavin sank back down with a frustrated sigh.  "It won't be a pretty sight."

"Aww, you underestimate yourself."


They arrived late at the pub, thanks to the discovery that the en suite had a shower no where near big enough for two people, and found the other three at a large table in one corner of the pub's lounge.

Tom greeted his wife with a kiss and bought a round of drinks as well as paying for the food.  Even when Nico told them he'd landed a week in 'EastEnders' Tom wouldn't let him get his wallet out.


They got back to the hotel at half two and Gavin checked out, dumping his bag in the boot of his car.

And then they stood next to the Rover in the car park and looked at one another.

"I'm going to the office to make sure the transfer request is on the Chief Constable's desk first thing tomorrow morning."

"I'll stay on Beauvoisin's, make sure the sale of the house doesn't fall through."

"You're not in a chain so there's no reason it should."

Gavin nodded before he frowned.  "I don't want to leave."

Uncaring of who saw what, Tom stepped close and put his arms around Gavin's waist.  "I know."

The embrace was easily returned and for a short time they held each other.  Then Gavin backed away and opened the car door.

"I'll see you soon."

"Call me when you get back to Middlesbrough."  Definitely not 'when you get home'.  He watched the Rover pull out of the car park, watched Gavin's waving hand until the car was out of sight, and with a horrible sense of loneliness, Tom walked the short distance home to pick up his own car and drive to the office.

~ ~ ~

Tom put his feet up on the desk and reached for the phone, sipping his coffee before placing the mug on the glass coaster.  The sunlight was streaming in through the windows of his CID office.  Even the sight of Sergeant Scott grumbling as he waded through a stack of paperwork couldn't bring him down from this high.

Gavin had indeed called when he'd reached Middlesbrough late the previous evening.  Tom had never had a telephone conversation quite like it.

Picking up the blue handset, he dialled the number the receptionist had found for him.


DCI Whately dumped his polystyrene cup of weak tea on to his paper-strewn desk and shook out his umbrella.  Outside the weather was making it incredibly dark and he could hear the rain against the window.

His phone rang and he swore brightly, dumping his brolly and raincoat before grabbing up the receiver and dropping into his chair.

"Whately."

"DCI Whately?  My name's DCI Tom Barnaby, Causton CID."

A pause.  "Hello."  Brighter now.  "I've been expecting a call."

"I didn't want to force him into it."

"I don't think he needed any forcing.  How is he?"

"Back up there, for the moment.  But I've requested a transfer."

"Good.  Can't have a grown man moping around the place it's dreary enough already."  But Whately didn't sound too fed up with it.  

'Wild horses,' thought Tom, and smiled.  

"When he gets in I'll tell him to bugger off back down south."

"Thanks.  Listen, I've got a Sergeant here who's expressed an interest in, as you say, 'buggering off'."  He met Scott's eye when the other man glanced up hopefully.

"Sorry.  Wish I could.  But it turns out that an old friend of mine from college became a copper when his wife left him.  He's an Inspector working with Strathclyde CID but he's requested a move."  He paused.  "Ask your laddie, he'll tell you."

Tom couldn't help grinning at the term.  He wondered how long Troy would put up with that particular nickname coming from him every day.

"I'll ask. Thanks again."

"No problem.  Enjoy."

~

Troy stepped miserably into Middlesbrough CID headquarters.  Despite knowing it was nearly over he didn't want to be there.

The journey home the previous evening had been long and it had started to rain as he'd passed Wetherby on the A1(M).  It was still raining this morning.  He'd called Tom as soon as he'd stepped into his flat, needing to reassure himself that what had happened had been real.

After a half-hour conversation, one of the most intimate phone calls Gavin had ever made, he'd been bolstered enough to grab a beer from the fridge, stick a frozen pizza in the oven and start to pack.

But he hadn't had a great deal of sleep and he needed caffeine.  He got a coffee from the machine - although calling it coffee was probably pushing the limits of the Trade Descriptions Act - and made for his desk.  

Whately headed him off.  "Your old DCI," he started without so much as a 'good morning', "impatient man, is he?"

Troy stared, confused.  "Sometimes, when it's important."

Whately chuckled. "Means you must be one of the most important things in the world, lad.  Fax just came through from FHQ."  He glanced down at the papers in his hands and read, "Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby requesting the transfer of Inspector Gavin Troy to Causton CID, effective immediately.  I hope you found somewhere to live."

Troy couldn't believe it.  "Immediate?"

"Aye.  As in, drink your coffee and get outta here."

He felt the smile start and had difficulty from stopping it become an ear to ear grin.  Whately patted his shoulder roughly.  "You don't have to drink your coffee.  I won't hold it against you."

"Thank you, Sir."  Troy's words were heartfelt.

~

Barnaby stood over his sergeant, half-reading the file in his hands.  "...and look into that burglary in Midsomer Worthy, will you?  Maybe something and nothing but you never know."

Scott nodded, amazed at the difference in his chief today.  He'd already been bought two marvellous coffees from the new shop across the road from the station as well as lunch in the only wine bar in Midsomer.  A wine bar!  Barnaby wasn't to know it was where his sergeant spent much of his free time.  Scott hadn't been aware that his chief knew of the place's existence.  

But more important than the generosity was the freedom he was being allowed.  Barnaby had sent him to a suspected arson case in Marsh Wood and now he was being asked to go to the scene of a burglary.  Alone.  Obviously it wasn't the same as leading his own enquiry but it was as close as he could probably expect to get as a sergeant and more than he'd ever expected from working with Barnaby.

"Listen, Sir..." he started when Tom turned away from him, "is everything all right?  I mean, I know we don't get on but you are my boss and... well...."  He trailed off, not sure what he wanted to say.

"You're all right out by yourself once in a while, aren't you, Scott?"

"Absolutely, Sir."

"Right then.  Every crime is another brick...."

"...in the wall of your education."  

Tom looked up and for a moment he couldn't speak.  Troy was standing in the doorway dressed in a suit, car keys in one hand, jacket over his arm, a wide smile on his face.

"Gavin...."  

Scott too turned, surprised to see the other man standing there.

"Reporting for duty, Sir."

Tom dumped the file on Scott's desk and crossed the room, hands going to Gavin's shoulders, wanting to do so much more despite only having been apart from him for just over twenty-four hours.

"That was quick," he murmured through a smile.

"The transfer request said, 'effective immediately' according to my boss.  I packed last night and most of this morning.  The car's full and the rest has gone into storage."

Tom drank him in for as long as he thought he could get away with.  "Where are you staying?"

"I have no idea."  He was smiling, completely uncaring.  "Back at The Fox and Hounds maybe.  Until I complete on the house."

"You know Joyce would let you stay in the spare room, don't you?"

Gavin nodded, lowering his voice.  "But we both know what that would be like, don't we?  Both of us like kids in a candy store.  Looking but not able to nibble."

Tom bit his bottom lip, the laughter threatening to bubble up from inside him.  "Why don't you find somewhere to stay and I'll find you a desk for tomorrow morning?  You've driven six hundred miles in two days, you must be exhausted."

"Okay.  Maybe I'll see you later."

"You can count on it, Inspector."

He watched Gavin leave again and when he turned back to Scott he could only hope that the silly smile he could feel on the inside wasn't showing on his face.

"I thought... Inspector Troy lived in Middlesbrough, Sir?"

"Not any more, Sergeant."



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