‘Dalziel & Pascoe’ characters copyright and beloved creations of Reginald Hill. 

NC-17, m/m, D/P

A Striking Balance

by elfin

Part One

a year ago

Dalziel stopped the bottle half way to his lips. He stared at the carnage around him, carnage that only two hours ago - before his admittedly somewhat extended lunch break - had been a peaceful and rather pretty village green. "What the ‘ell…?!"

There had, he would have been the first to admit, been a metre-square patch of grass stripped from the lawn just to the right of the marked cricket pitch and some earth shovelled up from that shallow ditch, piled as tidily as the police knew how at the side. The site had been cordoned off to stop the interested villagers from standing on the delicate burial of what had once been, it seemed, a young man.

But that had been before he’d nipped out to join an old friend of his in a midday pie and a pint. Amazing what destruction could be wrought in a couple of hours.

There was a bright yellow digger parked in the centre of what had been the cricket pitch. A good twenty square feet of grass had now been lifted, along with a good deal of earth that had been unceremoniously dumped onto the edge of the village green.

Eyes blazing, Dalziel lowered the bottle of beer and looked around for his sergeant. Peter was standing in the centre of the chaos. "Pascoe!!!" His bellow cut through the noise of the digger, the shouting of the men working the digger, the open-collared constables talking loudly around the edges of the ditch and the onlookers chatting amongst themselves. Sergeant Pascoe straightened from whatever he’d been bent over looking at and glanced around him until he saw his boss. And then, with a surprising spring in his step, he headed for Dalziel.

"Sir!"

"Don’t ‘Sir’ me, lad! What the bloody ‘ell is this?! I’m gone for two hours and you turn a beautiful village green into a building site!"

Pascoe’s face fell. "You told me to dig it up!"

The Superintendent’s eyes widened in disbelief. "I told you to do some diggin’ around! For background and stuff, any reported or unreported disappearances in the village."

The usually intelligent Sergeant stood silent for a moment and Dalziel found himself looking forward to whatever was coming next. He was slightly disappointed when Pascoe unexpectedly managed to redeemed himself.

"We have found another six bodies, Sir."

Dalziel rolled his eyes. He couldn’t stay mad at Peter for long, that had always been the trouble and probably always would be. It was what allowed the smart-alec BA graduate to now and again make a monumental idiot of himself and still retain both his promotion and his boss’ grudging respect. "All right, Sunbeam, let’s have a look." ‘How do you always manage to strike gold?’ But he kept the thought to himself.

Seven sets of human remains had lain buried under the village green for nigh on five years. This at least was agreed upon by the pathologist, three forensics boys and two archaeologists from the local museum. It was the two archaeologists who had immediately caught the attention of Dalziel but possibly for the obvious reason that one of them was a long-haired blonde female wearing a tight-fitting sleeveless T-shirt without obvious sign of underwear.

Out from nowhere, Sergeant Wield stepped into view. He looked as busy as he always managed to look. Dalziel had never worked out how he did it, but he did and sometimes it amused him, sometimes it irritated him. Sometimes he dragged the man out to the pub in the evening just to stop him working. There wasn’t a woman to stop him working - that was a part of the problem. Not that Dalziel had a problem with it. He wished Wield was happier with being gay - otherwise wasn’t it a contradiction in terms?

He thought about that. And he thought about Peter. At some point (and Dalziel knew exactly when that point had been - as they’d been held as prisoners in Tankie Trotter’s mocked-up army cell) the university graduate had wound his way into the senior policeman’s life. It hadn’t taken too long for him to wind his way into Dalziel’s soul. Rightly or wrongly he saw Pascoe as his protégé. He already had a sergeant in Wield. Pascoe was a different proposition altogether. Dalziel knew himself well enough to know when it was more than his professional inklings drawing him to someone. Peter drew him like a child to the pied piper.

Feeling warm inside, which wasn’t a feeling Dalziel was too used to, he gazed around for his sergeant.

Pascoe was in his element. He had charge of the four men with their digger and the five constables. He was born for this job, Andy had decided some time back. Whatever Peter had been thinking when he’d signed on for a university course in Social Sciences was beyond the man who’d let the education system at the age of sixteen. But his degree, or maybe just Peter’s own temperament, had stood the young man in excellent stead for his shining future.

Dalziel decided it was time he pulled rank and got his subordinate doing something useful. He sidled up to him, stood for a second to watch the archaeologists at work, and then began to reel off instructions. "Right, better start putting some procedure in place." He met Peter’s frown with a generous smile. "I want to know how long each of them’s been in the ground, and I don’t want to hear guesses from Mork and Mindy over there." He indicated the museum’s pair. "I want the locals interviewed, and by that I mean the ones still alive. I don’t need you digging any more up." He could guess his sergeant’s expression and didn’t need to see it. "Start with the onlookers, make ‘em feel like they’re bein’ helpful. And get a team of uniforms in here to start house to house. I want to know who remembers what about the time when this lot went into the ground. I want to know the names and details of everyone who’s disappeared in the last however many years. Don’t just rely on memories, get someone checking records." All standard stuff in a case like this. "And Peter," he was wiggling his finger now, "no more diggers. I’ll be in that pub over there tasting the local brew and chatting to the landlord. When you’ve got some news come over and I’ll buy you lunch."

Pascoe watched his boss go as he became aware of Sergeant Wield approaching. Time to delegate, he thought positively.

Dalziel had been in the pub precisely ten minutes when the heavens opened over the village and it poured down. The landlord and his barman for the afternoon, one Edward Lockstone, looked up wanly. "That’ll put the punters off," he murmured, seemingly indifferent.

"I wouldn’t bet on it," Dalziel took a long sup of his ale. "There’s a good few coppers and other such educated people out there who’ll be looking for shelter in the next few minutes."

He was right. The archaeologists were in first, followed by the two from the museum (the girl once again caught Dalziel’s eye due to the now almost completely transparent nature of her T-shirt). They were very closely followed by two constables and Sergeant Wield. The landlord got the drinks served faster than anyone could pull off their shoes and find their wallets in their waterlogged pockets.

Fifteen minutes later some previously invisible cook had brought fourth pies, chips, warm baguettes and sandwiches. Someone had lit the log fire for those who had taken up sanctuary on the battered sofas. And Dalziel was finally starting to get a little concerned as to the whereabouts of his favourite sergeant. He took his pint over to the window. Forensics were still at work, although a green tarpaulin had been thrown over most of the site to protect the open graves from the rain. He thought he could make out Peter’s slim form still standing in the rain. Wield came to stand behind him and he nodded to the somewhat smaller group out on the green. "What’s got Pascoe so fascinated?" he wondered aloud.

"They’ve found some pendant buried along with one of the bodies. I think Peter recognized it."

Peter stood with the rusted chain wrapped around his fingers, the small irregular-shaped pendant rested against his palm. Dalziel could make out the design in gold, two letters wrapped one within the other. ‘R’ and ‘P’. Peter had been standing like that long enough for his clothes to have glued themselves to his body when a large hand dropped to his shoulder and he looked up into the frowning eyes of his boss.

"What’s that you’ve got there, lad?" Andy looked his inspector over quickly. The moisture on his face might have been tears, but was probably rain. Peter hadn’t allowed his solid exterior façade to crack on the job since that very first time. For a moment he remained silent, and then he pooled the chain into his boss’ waiting hand.

"’R’ is Reggie Glenayre. ‘P’ is Pauline, his girlfriend. Was his girlfriend when she gave him this."

Dalziel closed his fist carefully around the small pile of metal in his palm. "Who was this?" he indicated the bones at their feet, just passed the cordon.

"Reggie, I think. That was around… its neck."

"And you moved it?!" The automatic question was out before Andy could stop it. But Peter looked away.

"Sorry. Just… it was a bit of a surprise, seeing it there. It’s unique, she made it for him."

"And who was Reggie?"

"My room mate, first year university. Then my housemate for the next two years."

Dalziel nodded. Peter’s university years were a part of his sergeant’s life he knew very little about. A part of him had been trying to learn, trying to listen more and more over the last year or so.

"When did you last see him?"

"I’ve been thinking about that. Five years ago more or less." He shook his head, blinking back tears that surprised him. "Sorry."

"Don’t be daft." Dalziel gave a deep sigh. "Right, let’s see if we can find out what the hell happened to him, shall we?" He patted his sergeant’s back reassuringly.

* * *

present day

Andy woke slowly. He was warm and comfortable and although it was dark outside and a glance at the clock told him it was 2am he actually felt happy. There was a movement next to him and he turned onto his side smiling. Peter was facing him, face relaxed in sleep, tousled hair beautiful against the white pillow. He’d been through hell and back recently. But he looked better, looked more at peace and certainly more healthy than he’d been in weeks.

‘There’s nothing between us!’ he’d told Ellie in complete sincerity when she’d all but accused him of stealing her husband. But he hadn’t been entirely truthful with her. A couple of days later he and Peter had a flaming row. It had started at the office one afternoon with him accusing his inspector of negligence. That might have been a little harsh. But after a few minutes they could be heard through the whole station. And a couple of minutes after that, Pascoe had declared that he was moving out and left the office.

Dalziel had followed his inspector home for a couple of reasons. Firstly he’d been sure that he didn’t want to stay in the office after their outburst, and he definitely hadn’t wanted to be around when the ACC found out about the spat. Secondly, he hadn’t wanted Peter to move out. As much as he went on about it and despite his lodger’s untidiness, he loved having him around.

Peter drove like a manic. Andy drove like a Formula One racing driver. They’d reached Dalziel’s house together and the row continued.

** flashback**

‘You want rid of me then I’ll leave.’

‘Peter…. Wait.’ Inside the house Dalziel slammed the door. ‘Listen to me.’

‘You said your piece, Andy.’ He was half way up stairs now, heading for the spare room in which he’d been sleeping for the last four weeks. ‘You made yourself very clear.’

‘Peter! Just stop, please. Listen to me.’ Peter was standing next to his bed now, picking scattered clothes up from the floor. ‘Sunbeam, I don’t want you to move out.’

‘You could have fooled me!’ he answered sharply. ‘All you’ve done is get at me, you’re on my back about every damn thing. I can’t do anything right for you like I can’t for Ellie.’ He grabbed his suitcase from the corner. ‘I’ll get out of your hair then you won’t have to bother about me.’

‘Peter…. Where will you go?’

‘Anywhere! Somewhere away from all this, somewhere I can’t get hurt again.’

Andy stepped into the room. He was confused. ‘I’m not trying to hurt you, Petal.’

‘Why do you call me that? All these affectionate names you’ve started to save for me. I don’t want them! I don’t want the pretence of affection from you.’

‘Pretence? You’re losing me, Peter.’

‘You don’t even like me! I don’t know why I love you.’

The silence after their shouting was deafening. Peter’s eyes dropped. Andy’s eyes stared. ‘Peter….’ He stepped further into the room.

‘Look… forget it…. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘Shouldn’t have….’ Andy reached out, taking the suitcase from Peter’s hand and throwing it back into the corner. ‘Love….’ Peter closely resembled a deer caught in car headlights. Andy ran his hand up his colleague’s arm, anchoring him there. ‘Peter, you have no idea….’

**end flashback**

"I love you, Petal," he whispered, not wanting to wake his lover.

Someone else unfortunately had other ideas. The doorbell rang twice before blue eyes opened to watch Dalziel swing himself out of bed with an exasperated sigh.

"Andy…."

He tied his robe, leaning down to kiss his dazed companion’s lips. "Sounded like Wieldy’s ring," he muttered.

Peter rolled his eyes. But nowadays it didn’t bother him so much to be woken at obscene hours of the night to be called to work. Because Andy was usually being called out too.

Dalziel opened the door schooling a grouchy expression that was mostly for show. Wieldy managed to look uncomfortable despite doubtless having an incredibly good reason for disturbing the two detectives tonight.

"Don’t stand on ceremony, Wieldy." Andy threw open the front door and left his sergeant to close it behind him. "What’s up, lad?" Sergeant Wield followed his boss into the lounge, glancing up the stairs when Peter appeared at the top looking more half-awake than Dalziel. Wieldy indulged himself for a moment, watching the approaching man. His hair was all over the place, his eyes blurred and the blue towelling robe he wore picked out the stunning colour of his eyes. Ed shook himself, and apologised for the early wake-up call.

"Don’t worry about it, Wieldy." Peter bypassed the lounge and padded bare-footed into the kitchen to stick the kettle on. Edgar wondered at how comfortable and at home Pascoe looked here in his boss’ house but his musing was interrupted by a gruff voice.

"Are you gonna tell me what you got us out of bed for or are you gonna stand there and stare at my lovely inspector all morning?" Wield felt the blush. "Cos if you are, I’m goin’ back to bed." The sergeant glanced at Peter again but he was chuckling to himself as he made the drinks. Wield gave up trying to work this out and sat himself down in the lounge.

"Two kids found a body about an hour ago. She was in a shallow grave in the park. The only clue to her identity was this." He held out his hand and dribbled a thin gold chain into his boss’ palm. The final thing to fall was a pendant made up to two letters, ‘R’ and ‘P’. Dalziel sighed deeply.

A couple of minutes later Peter wondered in with three mugs and handed one to Wieldy as he dropped down carefully to the sofa close to Andy. As Dalziel took the mug Peter saw the gold clutched in his other fist. "What’s that?"

Knowing it wasn’t something that he could keep from Peter, however much he’d like to, he opened his hand and watched Peter’s expression as he saw the pendent for the second time in twelve months. He recapped Wield’s story. "There was only one, ever, wasn’t there, Petal?" he asked carefully.

Peter nodded. "But it can’t be, can it? Because I’ve got it."

"Where?"

He almost knew that it wouldn’t be there. Peter had a few valuables gathered in a small box by his bedside. His wedding ring was inside, cufflinks that had belonged to his father, a St. Christopher Ellie had given him one Christmas and the pendent they’d found in a shallow grave a year ago. Only that wasn’t there any longer. He stepped back into the lounge. Andy knew too. "Gone?"

"Gone." He nodded, sitting back down. "How?"

"And why."

Not for a moment did they think what they were perhaps meant to think; that Peter had anything to do with the girl’s death. And both detectives knew their boss wouldn’t allow anyone else to think it either.

"Better get this place checked for holes," Dalziel muttered. "And you and I ought to get some clothes on and get ourselves over to the crime scene."

Wieldy watched them take their coffees upstairs. He frowned to himself, and the musings came back unbidden. He was sensitive at least to Peter’s feelings even if not to Dalziel’s. The honest, plain and simple truth was that up until a couple of weeks ago Pascoe had been miserable, depressive, snappy and not very pleasant to be around. He’d ridden the rollercoaster of separation, despair, hope and now the certainty of divorce. He was losing his beloved daughter and Edgar had been able to understand if not help.

But Dalziel in his own odd way had done more for his inspector than perhaps he realised. He’d moved him in, badgered him to keep him feeling, if it was only pain that he felt. He’d forced him to face first his responsibilities, which he must have worked out frightened Peter to death, and then his life. But the final push had been inadvertent. Peter had had to kill a man to save Andy’s life. And he’d done it without thinking, without flinching and without second-guessing afterwards. It had ended his marriage finally and totally. But what had it begun?

Wield sat back in his chair, closing his eyes and wishing he could just sleep. He’d been on his way out, finally, at midnight tonight when he’d been called to the crime scene by Detective-Inspector Franks. He’d already missed three dates this week. He wasn’t sure if Jase would continue accepting his very real excuses and heartfelt apologies.

"Sunbeam," Andy poked his head around the door of the spare room, "you all right?"

Peter nodded. Like Dalziel, he’d pulled on jeans and a jumper. A warm autumn day it might have been, but at two in the morning it was cold. Andy grabbed him for a quick hug.

Until they’d started this, Peter had only caught glimpses of Andy’s capability for tenderness and compassion. The phone call he’d had from Dalziel after his friends had been murdered in Thornton Lacey. The gentle treatment after his near drowning at the gypsy camp. The understanding of his hang-ups since Ellie had left.

Being loved by Andy Dalziel was to be wrapped in a cocoon of affection and desire. It was also to be reassured that no matter what, this was one relationship that wouldn’t dissolve beneath him, that wouldn’t be torn from him. Never again would he be asked to choose between his career and his heart, between Andy and his lover, because now they were one and the same.

Andy dropped a quick kiss to Peter’s lips as he released him. "Let’s go see what a mess the underlings have made of the crime scene," he murmured, "then I can get you back into bed."

Peter grinned and followed his boss downstairs. They had to wake Wieldy who’d fallen asleep in the five minutes he’d been alone.

*

Five hours later they found themselves back at the station. Andy got ten coffees from the machine and found a tray. He ridded himself of five cups putting them in front of Peter as he slept in Dalziel’s spare office chair, head on his arms where they were crossed on his desk. He risked a gentle touch to his inspector’s hair before sitting down behind the desk and starting in on his own five caffeine hits. Wieldy came in fifteen minutes later. Dalziel had sent him home when he and Peter had headed off for the crime scene. He looked rested, showered and as neat and tidy as ever.

"Everything all right, Sirs?"

Dalziel looked up, exhausted. "We’re knackered, Wieldy." It would have helped if they’d gone to bed four hours before being woken and slept. But they hadn’t. And he’d only had an hours’ kip before Wieldy had rung the doorbell in the early hours. Peter didn’t move. "Close the door. Have a coffee."

Sergeant Wield did as he was told, pulling one of the less comfortable chairs up to the desk, reaching out and taking one of the plastic cups from in front of Peter. "Do we know who she is yet?"

"Pauline Greenham." Dalziel gave the name as if Wieldy should remember. The look on his face showed he didn’t.

"A year ago, Mike Aston here dug up seven bodies on a village green."

Wieldy nodded his recall. "Where we found the pendent."

"Right. It was around the neck of a man whose identity was confirmed as Reggie Glenayre. The ‘P’ stood for Pauline."

Now he was on track. "Pauline being the woman found tonight." He sipped the drink that the machine’s owners liked to call coffee. "So… someone killed Reggie six years ago and buried the body along with another five bodies of students who were in Reggie’s year at university. Has that same person now murdered another of those students, a woman who happens to have been close to one of the original victims?"

"Good question. I’ve often said I liked the way your mind works, Wieldy." There was a definite ‘but’ at the end of the sentence. Sergeant Wield was always open to changes in the basis of his conclusions. You had to be with Dalziel in charge.

When the boss didn’t continue, he pushed slightly. "There’s something more?"

"I would say there was." Andy spoke carefully, gaze settled on his resting inspector. "I think our mysterious killer has murdered the wrong person. Last year we had to shelve the case. No connection between the victims except for same university years - and there were hundreds of people in Peter’s year. No theories. Dead ends one and all. This time we have a connection, and someone burgled my house to make that connection obvious."

This was new. "Someone did steal that pendent then?"

Dalziel nodded, picking up a third coffee. "They went over the house earlier. The kitchen window had been forced. Neat job. They’d even varnished the outside of the window frame so that I wouldn’t notice."

"They wanted to connect Pauline’s body to Reggie’s, so we’d know. Perhaps that’s the connection we missed."

"Perhaps." He looked again at Peter. "Perhaps we need to take a step back before we go forward. That pendent for start, and what the ‘P’ actually stands for."

Pascoe lifted his head then, no surprise on his face, just a weariness of his boss always being right. "It stands for ‘Peter’."

They all sat back, and the inspector looked from his boss to his sergeant. "It’s not what you think." Wieldy surprised them both then by getting up to leave. Peter sighed and motioned for him to sit back down. "I said, it’s not what you think." He picked up one of the cooling coffees. "Reggie and I were room mates and house mates. Pauline was a friend. But Reggie was gay. He admitted a crush on me at the end of the first term. He never made a move on me the whole time but by the time he graduated he said he’d fallen for me heavily, he was in love with me. Pauline… she gave him that pendent, she was an art student and had made it for him. She said if anyone asked he could say it was P for Pauline."

"As you told us while perverting the course of justice." But there was no anger or accusation in Dalziel’s voice.

Peter hoped it was just his professionalism he was concerned about. "I’d have said something if it started to make a difference."

But Wieldy was frowning. "Why didn’t you say something before?"

Peter shrugged, a year on he really wasn’t sure. "Didn’t want the rumours, I guess." He looked guiltily at Wieldy who nodded his understanding.

"I don’t see what spin this puts on anything."

Dalziel downed his fifth cup. "Apart from Peter having to watch his back a little more carefully. You might be a potential victim, Sunbeam. I don’t want to find your body under some leaves in the park."

"I can look after myself."

"I know, I know. Just watch yourself until we find out who’s knocking off your fellow graduates and why." He looked at his watch. "Right, let’s find out what Pauline Greenham’s been doing with her life since university shall we?"

*

It turned into a very long day. Around ten that night Peter invited Wieldy down to The Black Bull for a break. Jase was long gone, and Wield could never turn Pascoe down not just because he always bought the first round. "Where’s the Big man?" Edgar inquired as Peter put the pint down in front of him. The pub was unusually quiet for this time of night, even midweek.

"Caught up with the ACC. He said he’d join us here if he got away before closing time. Hope so, or I’m walking home."

They sat in a companionable silence for a while, each drinking the first pint quickly. Thirsty work, thinking. Peter got the second round in too. And by then Wieldy thought he might have just plucked up the courage to put voice to the question he’d been wondering about for a few days now, but that had been driving him mad since this morning.

"Peter, can I ask you a personal question?"

The familiarity and the covert tone told Pascoe exactly what he was about to be asked. He’d been waiting for the sergeant to ask it all day. He smiled. "Yes."

Wieldy wasn’t sure if that was the answer to the asked or unasked question, so he ploughed on. "You and the boss…."

"Yes." Peter’s eyes were twinkling.

"I mean… I know you moved in because of Ellie leaving and all. And I know you and her are getting divorced now…."

"Wieldy, the answer’s yes, just between you and me."

Ed sat quietly for a moment, and then grinned. "I’m happy for you, for both of you."

Peter nodded. "Me too. Just… I don’t want you to think that I’m sleeping my way to the top."

Ed shook his head, frowning. "I’d never think that, Peter. You’re a good detective. One of the best. Besides, if you were sleeping your way to the top I’d have recommended the ACC rather than Andy Dalziel."

Peter chuckled. "Definitely. It wasn’t a choice unfortunately. I just fell… hard."

Wieldy nudged him. "Stop it! You’re making me feel all warm and gooey!"

When Dalziel arrived just in time to get in a round before last orders, he found his two favourite subordinates grinning at one another and swapping amusing comments.

"Why are you two looking like Cheshire cats?"

"Only if you’ll tell us why you’re so grumpy all of a sudden." Peter sipped his third pint, eyes dancing over the rim of the glass.

"Rebecca was having a rant." He didn’t miss his two subordinates share a glance. There had been rumours rife around the station from the first time he and the Assistant Chief Constable had met. He was glad in a way because it meant everyone had overlooked Peter moving in with him even if it had been completely innocent at the time. Peter, though, knew better when it came to ‘Rebecca’. "All right, knock it off. She’s not my type."

"We know." The comment was made from behind Wieldy’s pint, but Dalziel’s stare could penetrate mere glass. He glanced at Peter who was looking guilty as hell and realised what they’d been grinning about when he’d walked in.

"You told him?" He was surprised rather than angry. Still, despite everything, he wasn’t sure why Peter was with him.

Peter shrugged. "He guessed."

Pascoe’s smile curving his lips and lighting his eyes was doing terrible things to Dalziel’s libido. Wieldy was watching them, and he found himself thinking about Jase. He left the last pint untouched and the second half-finished to excuse himself. "I’ll see you both in the morning."

Dalziel dragged his mind back to the present long enough to quip, "Not too early this time, Wieldy." And then his attention returned to his young lover.

"He won’t tell anyone," Peter reassured his boss.

"I know he won’t. I’m just… I didn’t think you’d want anyone to know."

The smile vanished from Peter’s face. "Why not?"

"Sunbeam… I’m older than you, more worn out than you, a great deal uglier than you…." He couldn’t continue because Peter’s hand was now clamped over his mouth.

"Shut up and listen." He whispered, "I’m with you because I love you, Andy. To me you’re an intelligent man, kind, generous, great company and a mind-blowing lover. If you weren’t a Superintendent and I wasn’t an Inspector working my way up through the ranks I’d be shouting it from the rooftops."

It was all Andy could do not to grab him and kiss him there in the pub.

*

He managed to keep his hands to himself until they got home. Peter leaned back against the wall of the entrance hall, taking Dalziel’s hands into his own and pulling him forward until their mouths met in an open kiss. The light on the answer machine was flashing and they had to listen to it before taking this upstairs.

"Peter, it’s me…. Listen, I’ve been thinking and… I miss you, Love. I’ll coming up to see my mother and I was hoping we could meet. It’s not too late, Pete. We could make a go of it down here. I think I might even be able to put up with you being in the force if I knew you’d be coming home eventually… at the moment…. I miss you so much. I’m sorry… look, I’ll call tomorrow and maybe we could meet for a drink somewhere."

The tape started to rewind itself as Peter continued to stare at the machine. He was aware that Andy’s hands had fallen from him and his lover was heading for the kitchen. He muttered to himself under his breath. "Shit." He followed Dalziel through from the light of the hall into the darkness of the kitchen. "Andy…." He could see the big man’s silhouette against the back window where he leaned against the sink. "Nothing’s gonna change, Andy. Not now." Peter stepped around the table, placing himself in front of Dalziel.

"She wants you back."

"I don’t know what she wants. But I don’t want to go to London. I didn’t then and I don’t now."

"She said, Peter, she’d be happy if you stayed in the force."

"No, she wouldn’t be!" He was angry with her for messing him around, for putting them through this tonight. "A month at most and then she’d realise that everything was the same as it had been when we were up here. I don’t want to work for the Met. I don’t want to leave Yorkshire and Andy, I don’t want to leave you."

He reached for his lover, and was gathered up roughly, almost desperately, into strong arms. He returned the embrace with relief. "It’s over between Ellie and I. I accepted that. It wasn’t easy and it hurt like hell but you got me over it. I’ve started again, Andy. You’re more of my life now than you ever were and I refuse to give that up."

The emotion in his outburst didn’t surprise Dalziel; Peter had always been one for impassioned speeches once he got going. But the words brought tears to his eyes. He hugged his lover tighter. "Can we go to bed?"

They undressed in silence and moved into one another’s arms with ease. For a long time they just stood together, holding one another skin to skin. And then Andy’s head turned in the crook of Peter’s neck and his lips started to play against his skin. Peter moaned softly, fingers spreading on Andy’s skin, one hand moving up to cradle the back of his neck while the other halted at the base of his spine.

"Andy…." The breathy whisper brought Dalziel’s mouth around to cover Pascoe’s. He twisted his fingers in soft blond hair as his tongue played slowly and sensuously in the warm mouth of his lover.

The first time they’d done this they’d both been as nervous as hell yet desperate enough to take it as far as they’d dared. Until Peter, Dalziel had never imagined himself wanting a man in his bed. When he’d first laid eyes on Sergeant Pascoe across a courtroom, he was amused at the mess the man was making of being a witness. But that whole mess with Tankie Trotter had convinced him there was more to Peter than a smart-ass graduate in a cheap suit.

Yet it hadn’t been until later, a few months after they’d started to work together, that other feelings had started to come to the fore.

Peter was guiding him to the bed, kneeling on the duvet, pulling Andy to sit with him. "Tell me something," he was saying, "tell me when you first got a hard-on because of me."

Andy smiled, and then chuckled. This was something truly incredible about he and Peter; they laughed in the bedroom. They joked together, in warmth peppered with desire. He’d only ever known it once before, while Peter had been away on his honeymoon. Had that really been the reason for his madness at Lake House? Peter wiped the thoughts from his mind with a deep kiss as he knelt up above Andy.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Lake House."

Peter’s eyebrows wiggled. "I can’t have you thinking about someone else while you’re with me, Andy," he murmured, amused. "And you haven’t answered my question."

Dalziel drew his hands down over Peter’s muscular thighs, thumbs pressing in a gentle massage. "The first erection I ever had over you…." He had to think back. He knew, without having to consider, the moment Peter had wound his way into his heart. He knew also the moment he’d realised he loved his sergeant, when he’d heard Peter and Ellie had discovered three of their friends dead in their country house. Superintendent Backhouse had telephoned him to confirm Peter’s story and he’d spoken to Peter, doing all the talking because he’d not wanted to hear the pain in his cheery sergeant’s voice. He found that his first sexual thought of Peter hadn’t been long coming after that. "When we were investigating those burglaries and that bloke who urinated in that old woman’s kettle."

"The machinater."

"Aye. Remember we went over to the Bull and I bought you a pint, told you I was sorry about your friend Colin. Then Wieldy turned up looking all pleased wi’ himself cause he’d found out our man had diabetes."

"I remember."

Andy gazed up into the dark blue eyes watching him with heat and need. "Wieldy came around and sat down next to you. Close to you. And suddenly I was as hard as a miner’s pickaxe. You turned to look at him and your profile, just so suddenly innocent and vulnerable yet as tempting as a whore in a monastery." Peter might have blushed, but the lighting was low in here. "What about you? Didn’t ever I would guess, until I put my hand down your trousers that first time." Andy was smiling, but Peter’s expression remained heated.

"No, before that." Dalziel looked surprised and sceptical at once. "During the time of that business with Kassell and the sting you lot were setting up at Haycroft Grange and hadn’t bothered telling me about. One night, after I’d spoken to you on the phone and you’d warned me off, I dreamt about you. I woke up with a raging erection and as I alleviated it, I thought about you, thought about having you watching me, making sure I was doing it right."

Andy would have laughed had it not been for the fact his cock had started to ache painfully at the image Peter’s words brought to mind. Roughly he pulled his lover’s mouth down to his own, the kiss savage and affection in one sensual, sexual mix. He wrapped his fist around Peter’s erection, but a hand took a hold of his wrist and stopped him. Peter pulled back from the kiss and gazed at his lover, his expression set.

"Andy, I want more…."

Andy smiled, a little bemused. "More? Petal, you’re living in my house, sleeping in my bed. You have my heart and soul. You’re even a named driver on the car insurance! What more can I give you?"

But Peter looked at him unblinking. "Make love to me."

"No." Dalziel shook his head, his answer out before he could think yet he’d put an awful lot of thought into the decision a long time before the request had been made.

"Why not? You said you loved me…."

"And you know that’s true."

"I want you." Peter’s soft voice grew quiet as he lowered his mouth to his lover’s ear. "I want you inside me. I want to feel like you’re a part of me physically as you are in every other way. I’ve always been yours, Andy. I know you want to claim me, take the control you’ve wanted from me since the start. Take it." He emphasised the last two words, with his tone and with his teeth, biting down so very gently on Andy’s earlobe.

Before that plea, his mind had been set in concrete. But Peter’s words had melted him like butter. How could he ever refuse this man anything?

"Peter… I can’t hurt you."

"I’m not asking you to hurt me." Leaning back, turning with graceful agility, Peter opened the drawer in the table beside the bed and took out a small bottle. Andy’s eyes went wide.

"How long have you been planning this, Petal?"

Peter grinned, coming back into Andy’s arms, the bottle hanging from his fingers. "Not long. I knew you wouldn’t bring it up, so I had to."

Dalziel swallowed. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. Absolutely. Come on, Andy. Don’t you miss it? Sinking into a warm, welcoming body, being a part of the person you’re with."

He missed it, yes. He was only human after all. But he’d never imagined it would be a part of what he and Peter would share. Now here it was being offered to him freely. "Christ, Peter…." He took the bottle from his lover’s fingers and holding it, he realised he wasn’t overly sure what he was supposed to do.

His hesitation brought Peter’s arms around his neck and lips down to Andy’s once more. "I’ve never known you so pensive," he chuckled softly.

"I’ve never been here before, Sunbeam."

"You think I have? But how hard can it be?" Taking the bottle back, he unscrewed the lid and dribbled some of the viscous liquid to his palm. Reaching between them he took Andy’s cock into his hand and started to rub, up and down, coating it until Dalziel imagined the friction alone would bring him to orgasm. He didn’t want that now. He wanted to carry this through. With all the self-control he could muster, he stilled Peter’s glorious hand. Leaning forward, he kissed his young lover at first tentatively, then more decidedly, tongue dancing across his lips and into his mouth. At the same time, he took the bottle from Peter’s hand, poured some into one palm and handed it back. He coated his fingers and reached between them.

Stroking back from behind Peter’s balls, Andy let his fingertips tease the tight, virginal opening to his lover’s gorgeous body. Peter moaned roughly into his mouth yet Andy maintained the kiss, aware of Peter somehow putting the lid back on the bottle and dropping it to the bed. He teased for a while, then gathering a little more courage he pressed the tip of his index finger against his lover’s anus. Peter’s groan upped in pitch as he opened around the fingertip. Andy pushed further inside, and suddenly Peter was thinking he might just have asked for too much too soon. But he wasn’t going to back out now. All he could feel was Andy’s finger inside him, twisting minutely, touching something within him that made him want to scream. Instead he whimpered into his lover’s mouth, begging in that sound for more. When it wasn’t given, Peter took matters into his own hand.

Breaking the kiss, he pushed Andy back, straddling him, manoeuvring them both until the head of Andy’s thick cock was where his finger had been. Peter took a deep breath and relaxed. He was dimly aware that they might be doing this too fast, but he was never one for thinking his actions through. Holding Andy’s cock in place, he lowered himself onto it. Once the slick tip breached him his own weight took him down onto the shaft. His yell of pain mingled with the other man’s cry of ecstasy.

Peter stilled, pulling in breath after breath, reassuring himself that all this was normal. "Jesus Christ, Andy…."

Dalziel reached out, one hand on his lover’s folded leg, the other on his softening cock. Slowly, drawing out every stroke, he caressed Peter’s erection back. Hard once again, Peter had relaxed enough and he rose up, rectal muscles squeezing along Andy’s entire length, forcing a bewildered, strangled cry from him; more pleasure than he’d ever felt, more intensely than he’d ever felt it.

Peter shifted himself back and eased down again. The head of Andy’s cock scraped over his prostate and his deep groan touched Dalziel. The expression of pain crumpling his lover’s features had become a look of pleasure akin to what Andy imagined was on his own face. Peter had been right, more than right, they should have done this long ago. He found the other’s hand clawed into the bedclothes and covered it with his own as he continued as rhythmic a stroking of Peter’s cock as his exploding brain could manage.

He wouldn’t last long. He didn’t know how any man could with such an intensity of pressure on his aching erection. Peter lifted himself once more and dropped, with a little more ease, all the way down until his buttocks were flush with Andy’s thighs. Dalziel came hard, suddenly, his orgasm spiralling out from his balls through to the tips of his fingers. A tremor drove through his entire body as he bathed Peter’s insides with his semen.

Peter felt Andy’s cock pulsing inside him, felt the sudden heat of the orgasm and the shaking of his lover’s body. The grip of the hand wrapped around his cock tightened convulsively and without warning he was coming, semen fountaining through Andy’s closed fist onto his stomach and chest. The resulting clenching of his muscles forced a second wave of pleasure through his lover and Andy cried out at this unexpected bonus.

Dalziel dropped back against the bed, every muscle in his body turned to jelly. Peter collapsed exhausted on top of him, moaning as a last fission of pain struck him when Andy’s softening cock popped out of his body. He shivered once and then Andy’s arms were around him, holding him as Andy loved to, like he was the most precious thing in the world.

For a long while neither spoke. What was there to say after that? Large hands stroked soothingly over Peter’s back to his buttocks. He’d be sore, than was for sure. But he’d done his homework in this as he did in everything and a few minutes later he peeled himself from Andy’s body and took himself off to the bathroom.

Andy shifted around until his head hit the pillows and dragged the duvet up over himself. Lying on his side he waited until Peter came back into the bedroom and switched off the light before crawling into bed. He wriggled back until he hit Andy’s chest and settled there, the other’s arm curled over him.

Dalziel dropped a kiss to the damp blond hair. "You all right, Sunbeam?"

"Yeah." There was no hint of anything but exhausted satisfaction in Peter’s voice. Andy was relieved. What they’d just done had been more intense than anything he could remember sharing with another person before. It didn’t seem to be the time to bring up the message on the answering machine, but he did it anyway.

"What are you going to do about Ellie?"

There was a smile in Peter’s voice when he answered, as if he knew Andy was going to ask exactly that. "I’ll guess I’ll meet her, but nothing she’ll say’ll change my mind." Peter squeezed the hands holding him. Turning onto his back in Andy’s arms he smiled as lips caressed his collarbone.

"It’s your life, lad. You have to do whatever makes you happy."

"My point exactly. What we just did made me very happy." He grinned in the darkness, hoping his lover felt the same suffusing warmth as he did. He ran his fingers blindly through Andy’s fine, ruffled hair. "Now stop worrying and go to sleep."

"Yes, Sir." Dalziel settled down, arm wrapped proprietarily over Peter’s stomach.

Pascoe smiled into the darkness. "’Sir’, now I could get used to that."

*

When Peter took an early lunch two days later to meet Ellie, nothing had broken on the case and they seemed no nearer to finding Pauline Greenham’s killer as they had been to finding Reggie’s a year ago.

After the embarrassment of their last meeting on neutral ground, in a restaurant of Ellie’s choice, when she’d delivered her ultimatum and left, Peter had insisted on a quiet pub in a small village just outside Wetherton. There at least they could have a row in relative peace.

He had to admit Ellie looked good. It only served to reassure him that she didn’t need him. Perhaps if she’d looked terrible his heartstrings might have been easier to tug at. As it was, his first question was about his daughter.

"I bought you some photos." She handed him a small collection taken over the last couple of weeks. They were just of Rosie, just for him and he was grateful.

"I’d like to see her." Ellie nodded. They’d agreed to let her settle in London for a month before Peter saw their little girl. After that he would have open access to her, weekends, holidays and whenever he wanted to visit.

"She misses you."

"I miss her."

This time at least they had drinks and sandwiches. He asked her about her new job and listened. She asked him about his job and got agitated when he said he was still happy doing it. But she relented enough to ask finally,

"So… could you get a transfer to the Met?"

He looked at her for a few seconds. "No, Ellie."

"You mean the Fat Controller wouldn’t approve it."

"I mean, I don’t want it. I belong here, this is my home."

"No it isn’t." She shook her head. "You weren’t born here, you haven’t lived here all your life. Your home is in Lincolnshire and you belong with Rosie and I."

This claim on his life angered him, but he managed to keep his emotions in check. "I don’t want to work in London."

"Why? Same job, same rank, better pay. What would be different?"

She was baiting him and he knew it. He decided he wasn’t going to rise to it. "I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, Ellie, but the city’s not quite the same as Wetherton. London isn’t Yorkshire and the Met isn’t the nick. It takes a certain type of copper to work in London and that’s not me."

"It could be."

"No, it couldn’t."

"What’s he said, Peter? That you couldn’t hack it? That you’re too sensitive?"

It didn’t take a genius to figure out who ‘he’ was supposed to be. But his anger melted suddenly. Andy might have thought it, but he’d never said it. Peter knew it might well have been true but that wasn’t the reason he didn’t want to leave Wetherton and he felt safe in that knowledge.

She sat watching him, wondering when he’d ask why it always came down to Andrew Dalziel. Why was he always the bad guy? Why was he the one she blamed for the break up of their marriage? The questions never came. Instead he smiled at her, shaking his head. "He’d be right, wouldn’t he?"

She stopped to change tactics. And while she started to think about Plan B, she really looked at him. "Have you lost weight?"

He shrugged. "A little."

"You look… better." He did. His hair shone, eyes sparkled and his contentment was starting to show through. Not wanting to think what that might mean, she smiled unguardedly and reached up to touch his hair. He allowed the contact, sitting still. Until she moved to kiss him. Then he turned his head away.

"No, Ellie."

His action genuinely surprised her. She was still his wife after all. All that gone between them had been emotions, heartbreak, pain and blame. But as two animalistic human beings she believed that the physical attraction would remain as it had throughout their history together. She was obviously wrong. "Peter?"

"Sorry, Ellie." He shook his head. "I accepted it when you left. I cried for me, for losing Rosie, and finally I accepted that too because I had to."

"We hurt one another, Peter." Her tone acknowledged her part of the guilt but in her eyes as in his he was equally as responsible.

"I know. Let’s not go through it all over again."

When he got back into the office, Andy was gone. But Wieldy gave him a note that Dalziel had left for his inspector. "Like being back at school, passing notes like this," the sergeant murmured as he wiggled his eyebrows. Peter sighed dramatically, taking the note from Wield’s fingers.

‘Forget to tell you about the CC’s bash tonight, ‘White Hart Hotel’ in town. See you there, Sunbeam, got business to take care of. A.’

He muttered something to himself and looked up. "Are you going to this thing tonight with the CC?"

Wield nodded. "Is that what it’s about?"

"Aye. He forget to mention it before of course." He looked down at his suit. It’d do.

"I’ll give you a lift if you want. Save you and the Super having two cars there. Yours’ll be all right in the car park over night."

*

Andy got home just before six. The CC’s annual drinks night had been something that had completely slipped his mind before this morning when the ACC had called him into her office to yell at him regarding a certain detective lying about evidence found.

He had time to shower, change and make himself look gorgeous for his daft inspector. He went into the lounge to pour himself a scotch and hesitated. Since he and Peter had started their mad affair he’d been drinking less, eating better and had even tried to give up smoking. Sometimes he thought he was growing soft; Peter’s influence rubbing off on him as his had obviously affected his subordinate.

He moved from the lounge to the kitchen, filling the kettle and switching it on as the doorbell rang. Padding back down the hall he opened the front door.

"Ellie." Only a tiny part of him was surprised to see her. "Come in, Love."

"Thanks." She followed him in and closed the door behind her, glancing into the lounge as they passed. There was a small pile of books by the armchair, the top one laid open. She smiled to herself, recognising her husband’s passed time. "I hope I’m not disturbing…?"

"No, just having a cuppa. It’s the CC’s annual bash tonight, thought I’d make myself look the part."

She pulled a chair from under the table and sat down, hands spread on the light pine top. "Is he in?" She was pretty certain she knew the answer but wanted to be sure.

"Nay, lass, he’s working as he should be." Dalziel wished he’d hung around long enough at the station to catch Peter after he’d come back from his lunch with his wife. But the truth was he’d been nervous about what news his inspector would have for him and he couldn’t face hearing that news at work. Best they have that conversation at home.

But here was Ellie. The question was had she come to gloat or had she come for his help. He couldn’t believe how frightened he was about finding out.

"I met him for lunch," she told him uselessly. "Did he say?"

"Aye, he got your message last night when we got home."

She read the measured tone of his voice and interpreted it wrongly. "I know you think I abandoned him…."

"I don’t think anything of the sort." He fetched two mugs from the cupboard.

"I thought if I gave a little…." She shrugged. "He seems to think he wouldn’t make it in the Met."

Andy felt like cheering. But the triumph didn’t last long. His gaze settled on Ellie and he sighed to himself. He loved them both in his own way. He’d been at their wedding, was Godfather to their daughter, had prayed for them when Rosie had been in a coma suffering from meningitis and grieved with them when their friends had been murdered. He was a close friend of the family. ‘I didn’t mean to steal your husband.’ He looked away, suddenly as guilty as he’d ever felt.

"…so I have a favour to ask," Ellie was continuing.

Andy poured the hot water. "Ask away, lass."

"Speak to him for me? Make him see sense? I know you could push through a transfer."

Andy put one mug in front of her and sat down opposite. "Ellie… how long do you think he’d survive in the Met?" He kept his voice quiet, his tone coaxing.

She sat back. "So I was right, you do think he’s too soft."

It brought a smile to Dalziel’s face and he wondered how Peter had reacted to that accusation. "He’s not cut out for the Met, lass, and you know it. If he doesn’t want to go all the transfers in the world won’t move him."

She shook her head, sipping at her tea. "What is it with you and him, Andy? From the start you’ve had this odd obsession with him."

Wrapping his hands around his own mug he regarded her. "The first time I really met him we were being held at gun point by a madman who was playing me for an army private and him for an officer. Peter didn’t know what the hell he’d got himself into. He was scared to death, Love, but he held himself together, carried himself brilliantly and ended up taking a bullet for it. I sat by his hospital bed, held his hand, and promised him I’d give him a chance." He took a drink. "It’s not obsession, it’s pride. I pushed him his whole career, but I won’t push him out of Wetherton, Ellie. I owe him more than that."

She nodded, perhaps finally understanding a little of what bound her husband and this man together. "Just… just talk to him for me, Andy, please?"

*

Dalziel stepped into the hotel lounge and looked around. Peter and Wieldy were at the bar, sharing a joke, ordering pints on the Wetherton constabulary. Andy made his way through the small crowd and dropped his hand to Peter’s shoulder. "Make mine a double, Sunbeam."

Peter turned a smile on him that was worth its weight in gold. "What kept you?"

"Some of us have been working," he lied easily, taking his inspector’s untouched pint from his fingers and grinning before supping the ale. "By God, I needed that."

He might have promised Ellie that he would talk to Peter regarding a possible transfer, but there was a time and a place and now, here was neither. Finally leaving his subordinates to their joke-swapping he approached the Chief Constable, feeling that three pints inside him and a fresh one in his hand was defence enough against any cocky remarks the puffed-up idiot might make. At the same time Peter and Wieldy finally dragged themselves from the bar, Pascoe heading off to talk to Novello who was standing looking lost in one corner of the room. Edgar circled around the CC and Dalziel, but was stopped in his tracks by the inimitable red-headed Constable Seymour.

Dalziel clinked his pint glass to the CC’s whiskey tumbler. "An excellent party, as usual, Sir," Andy told his superior with gentle sarcasm.

"Thank you, Andy." The large voice was already slurred. "You’ve been doing well, you know." He winked. "Some good results this year, Superintendent. We like results."

"Yes, Sir." He hid his sigh in his ale.

"You’ve got a good team, Andy," the CC was continuing, and Dalziel thought he caught another wink. He glanced at the door and saw his ACC join the party. He wondered briefly if Rebecca had any idea how fetching she looked in a simple white shirt and black trousers. His libido started to pay attention to just how good until he watched her pass Peter and greet him, hand grasping his arm for a moment as she laughed at something he’d said. Peter was definitely on form tonight, Andy felt with a mixture of pride and suspicion. He’d expected his sensitive inspector to be depressed by his wife’s visit, had even imagined that Pascoe might not turn up here tonight at all. But he was happy, smiling and joking. He frowned to himself, wondering. And then Peter glanced over at him, and smiled that smile that made his whole body sit up and pay attention.

Andy groaned quietly and returned to his pint and to the CC. But to his surprise and slight horror, Chief Constable was also looking over at Pascoe.

"I’ll tell you, Andy," he murmured softly, "if you’re not giving that lad a decent fuck, I’d certainly like to."

Dalziel could barely believe what he’d heard. He lowered his pint, staring at his superior who was still grinning lecherously at Peter. Wieldy, who’d been the only other person in the bar to hear the comment, stood agog at hearing such a vulgar statement from a man he’d always admired.

Had Peter been only what their colleagues believed him to be, Dalziel’s ‘golden boy’, then Andy might have let it go for the sake of his career. But that wasn’t the case.

Andy and Wieldy might have been the only witnesses to cause, but almost everyone in the bar saw effect. In one graceful movement, Dalziel had thrown his pint over the Chief Constable, soaking his face and hair in real ale. Luckily he didn’t compound the incident by following up with an insult. He put his now empty glass down onto the nearest table and walked out of the lounge.

There were several reactions. A few people furthest away from the epicentre of the storm chuckled in amazement. A couple of Dalziel’s own team turned to one another and simply raised their eyebrows, worried that anything more might constitute insubordination in someone’s book. The ACC acted quickly to fetch a towel from the bar to dry off her boss. Wieldy bided his time and when he eventually got the CC alone, some minutes later, he simply told him, "You might owe Mr Dalziel an apology, Sir." He disappeared into the crowd before the CC could put a name to his face. But the man knew now that someone else had heard the utterly unprofessional comment he’d made under the influence of drink.

Peter, who hadn’t quite been able to believe his own eyes as he’d watched his boss throw an almost full pint over the Chief Constable, handed his drink to Novello and went out after Dalziel.

"What the hell was that in aid of, Andy?" he challenged, finding the big man just before he left the hotel’s deserted reception area.

Dalziel turned, ready to swing for the next man who tried to be witty. Seeing Peter, his anger evaporated. He let himself drop back to lean against the wall. Hands dug deep into his pockets he eyed his inspector with undisguised affection. "He… said something he shouldn’t have."

Pascoe’s eyes went wide. "You just threw your career away because of something he said?!"

Dalziel sighed dramatically. "I hardly think throwing a drink over the CC is grounds for dismissal, Sunbeam. Suspension without pay for a year or so…."

But Peter wasn’t going to let this go. "Andy, for God’s sake…. What the hell did he say?"

He hesitated. But the only reason he could think of not to repeat it was his own, daft reoccurring need to protect his student. And that had never stopped him before.

"He looked over at you and said, and I quote, ‘if you’re not giving that lad a decent fuck, I’d certainly like to’."

He’d learnt over time that while he might do things without thinking, Pascoe had the rare ability to act without his brain ever getting involved. Peter turned on his heel the moment Andy finished and headed back toward the lounge without a thought regarding what he was going to do once he got there. But Dalziel was ready. He reached out and caught his inspector’s arm.

"Leave it, Petal. I’ve already defended your honour."

Peter’s changing expression suggested he might have done more than throw his drink over the CC. "He can’t say things like that!"

"One senior officer to another…. He’s of the Old School, Peter, you know that. Things like that are permitted between gentlemen." This strange reassurance didn’t help matters. "Let’s get out of here."

Still not happy, Peter followed Dalziel anyway. Because there really wasn’t any point in doing anything else. If anything was read into their joint disappearance it would be at worst that Dalziel’s high-flying graduate was showing loyalty toward his boss, at best that Pascoe had been ordered to take the Superintendent home. None would have guessed that as they neared Andy’s new Rover, Peter wrapped his arm around his boss’ waist and slipped a hand into his trouser pocket. Dalziel’s eyes widened and he squeaked as skilful fingers rubbed over his waking cock through the material of his trousers before hooking his car keys.

They drove for a mile or so in silence, Andy considering what a mess he might have made to his career. Away from the hotel his imagination was starting to work on what might be happening at the scene of the crime. The CC certainly wouldn’t have repeated his comment to anyone else in that room, he was positive about that. He would have either denied all knowledge of what had set the explosive Superintendent off or made something up. He’d have to get in early in the morning and see Rebecca, clear up his own story. He wondered vaguely if anyone else had heard the slur on his and Peter’s character.

Andy finally decided to think about something else. "Ellie came by this evening," he told his colleague. Later, he’d admit to having given that statement even less consideration that he’d given his action at the hotel before carrying it out.

Peter glanced across at him, not sure he could take much more of today. "What did she want?"

"She wanted me to sort you out a transfer to the Met and failing that she asked me to talk to you, see if I could talk you into moving."

"I don’t believe it."

The tone of Peter’s voice should have been a warning. If he hadn’t had the three pints, Dalziel might have caught onto it. But he simply said, "She still loves you, Petal."

Surprising himself with his control, Peter checked the rear-view mirror, indicated, pulled the car carefully over to the kerb and killed the engine.

"How many times are we going to go through this, Andy?"

He heard the measured tone then. "Peter… this is your family. Perhaps… perhaps you should give the Met a chance, a secondment…." But he was already talking to himself. Peter had taken off his seatbelt, opened the car door and gotten out. He didn’t even slam it behind him, just closed it with a quiet click and walked away from the car. Andy dropped his head back to the headrest and blinked the tears from his eyes.

He sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the rain start to drizzle on to the windscreen. Finally, he reached over the steering wheel and cupped the car keys in his palm where they hung from the ignition. Swearing softly to himself, acknowledging what a daft prat he could sometimes be, he shifted his bulk over to the driver’s seat. The Rugby club was just around the corner and he decided he’d go there before going home. He didn’t dare think about whether or not he’d find himself living alone again.

Jacko was sitting at the bar when Andy slouched in. It was fairly empty otherwise. "What the ‘ell’s eatin’ you?" It was his usual welcome.

Dalziel frowned and caught Sid‘s eye behind the bar. "Whiskey. Double." He shuffled up onto the barstool next to Jacko.

"Where’s the Missus?"

Dalziel fixed him with a hard stare, but it soon softened. "We had a row."

Jacko chuckled. "Oh dear."

"That’s not the worst of it. I threw a pint over the Chief Constable at his annual drinkies night."

The other man’s eyes widened, and Sid’s expression was also a picture of surprise as he put the drink down in front of his new customer. When Dalziel tried to pay for the whiskey, Sid held up his hand, "Nay, on the house, Andy. You sound like you need it." He wondered off, obviously amused.

"Quite a night you’ve had," Jacko agreed, grinning from one ear to the other as he sipped his beer.

"Umm." Dalziel threw back half his whiskey.

"Were you serious about…?" he titled his toward the door.

Andy sighed to himself. He’d never actually told Jacko about he and Peter, never actually told anyone, but for some reason the man just seemed to have jumped to the right conclusion. He thought about it, but as long as he didn’t confirm nor deny Jacko’s suspicions they seemed all right just assuming one knew where the other was coming from. "His wife’s back in town," he told his friend sketchily.

"Ah."

"She wants him down in London with her. She came to see me this evening, asked me if I could help talk him into it."

"Bugger, Andy, you have had a bad night."

"Aye. On the way back from the chucking ale over the head of Wetherton Constabulary I went for the try and told him I thought she might be right, he should transfer to the Met."

Jacko chuckled again, obviously glad of this free entertainment on an otherwise quiet night. "Why didn’t you just tell him to piss off out yer house? Less painful for both of you."

"Yeah, yeah." Dalziel threw down the rest of his whiskey and as he put the empty glass down he caught Sid’s attention. "Same again, Squire. And call me a taxi would ya?"

*

The house was quieter than it had ever seemed. Andy paid the taxi driver a decent tip, surprising them both, and let himself in. Switching on the hall light didn’t do much to diffuse the dark. He took a deep breath. Peter belonged here now. When Andy’s wife had left him, the place had felt empty for years. But he’d remained in the house anyway. He had a terrible sinking feeling that if Peter were to leave he wouldn’t be able to stay any longer.

Pulling himself together he hung up his coat, padded through to the lounge, poured himself a large scotch and went to settle down at the kitchen table. One of Peter’s many books lay open, text down on the pine, and he picked it up, reading the top paragraph of the page.

‘As they waited at the coat check, Philip watched Rob close his eyes once, twice, open them, turn, and say, "If it’s not too late for you, would you like to come back with me to my room for some tea or apple juice or something?"

Why had Philip made him go through that?’

Frowning, he turned the book over in his hands, reading the cover. ‘The Lost Language of Cranes’ by David Leavitt. Peter had what could only be described as an eclectic taste in reading material. There were a couple of Mulan Kundara books scattered around the lounge, one ‘Tales of the City’, a few odd historical novels…. Andy shook his head, bemused by his own emotions and he wondered if he’d ever loved his wife with this terrifying intensity.

The rain started to come down hard against the kitchen window. He hoped Peter wasn’t out in it, but he knew in his heart that he would be. His inspector liked to walk, apparently did a lot of it. It was time to think, Peter had told him once, time to be alone, away from everything so that all you’re left with is yourself and you have to take notice. It wasn’t good to lose touch with yourself, the amateur psychologist had spouted one evening over dinner, burying your mind in work was just a way of hiding from what was really the problem, a way of running without ever getting anywhere. Dalziel remembered making some bad quip about Peter obviously not practising what he preached. His colleague had treated that comment with the contempt it had deserved.

"Where are ya, Sunbeam?"

*

Peter took the tumbler of whiskey out into the beer garden. It was spitting with rain and he found himself alone outside. He chose a picnic table with an umbrella shading it from the elements. It was chilly, but hardly freezing. He didn’t want to be inside a smoky, noisy pub. He wanted to think, to make sure that in his own mind he had his priorities straight.

Once upon a time, twice upon a time in fact, he’d loved Ellie desperately. His daughter was and would always remain the single most important person in his whole life. But did he still belong with them? They couldn’t make it work up here, not even for Rosie’s sake, so what made Ellie think they could make it work in London? Especially now that his soul at least belonged to someone else. Had it always? Was that what Ellie had meant when she’d told Andy that he was the problem with their marriage?

When he thought about seeing Rosie only at weekends and during the school holidays he felt a stabbing in his heart. But had he spent that much more time with her when he’d lived with them? Suddenly he felt his balance sliding from under him. He swiped at the tears he imagined were clouding his eyes. But it was just drops of rain blowing in under the umbrella.

He turned his thoughts to himself, to the career he’d worked so hard for. Transfer to the Met was a frightening thought. And that even for a moment Andy imagined he’d be able to go… that hurt. It stung him when he wouldn’t have thought it could. He was fooling himself.

For a long time he hadn’t been aware of his changing feelings toward his boss. At the start he’d liked him, respected him as a good copper, a fine detective mind trapped inside an overweight, medically threatening body. But then he’d married Ellie. And Andy had started to treat him as a friend over and above their professional master/servant relationship. He’d been promoted and Rosie had been born. Ellie had asked Andy to be Godfather. They’d made him a part of the family that day and they’d easily grown closer and closer.

Then everything had changed.

Andy had been shot in the immediate aftermath of the hostage situation at The British Grenadier Inn. Peter had gone straight to the hospital and finally been allowed to see him a couple of hours after he’d come out of the operating theatre. Dalziel had been unconscious, asleep under the anaesthetic. And for an hour or more Peter had sat silently, holding his boss’ hand as Andy had held his on the two occasions he’d ended up hospitalised in the line of duty. Eventually he’d dropped a kiss to Andy’s forehead, whispered a prayer and left. The next time he’d seen him was when Andy’d dropped into the passenger seat of his car and asked why three months had passed without so much as a phone call. Ellie’d called. Sent a card. She hadn’t said a word, just that Peter was snowed under playing at Chief Inspector.

He remembered the night in the Black Bull, after the lunchtime when he’d suggested he could kip on Andy’s legendary comfy sofa.

**flashback**

‘So where are you staying, Petal?’

‘B&B in town.’

‘That must be costin’ ya.’ Peter shrugged. What choice he had got? ‘Come on, Sunbeam, let’s go grab yer stuff and move you in to my spare room.’

He was so grateful that the only way he could express himself was to spring for a bottle of single malt at the off licence on their way home.

**end flashback**

Home.

He threw back the amber liquid and left the empty glass on the table.

*

Andy’s head snapped up at the sound of a key rattling in the front door lock. He lowered the book with his glass as the door opened then closed and heavy footsteps made their way across the wooden floor of the hall. Peter appeared in the doorway, a little bedraggled, but none the worse for wear. Before Andy could get his apology in, the other man asked, "Do you love me?"

Dalziel nodded without hesitation. "Aye, Sunbeam, very much."

"In that case, promise me, Andy, you won’t make me take a transfer."

The Superintendent felt his heart being pulled at; turned inside out. He put glass and book down and got to his feet. When he was sure Peter wouldn’t run, he went to his lover and gathered him into a fierce hug. It was returned with similar force, Peter burying his face into Andy’s neck, just holding on.

"I don’t want to go to London. I don’t want to leave Wetherton. And I don’t. Want. To leave. You. Have you got that?"

Andy almost laughed with relief. "Clear as a summer stream, lad."

"Good." Peter pulled back and initiated a long, deep kiss. "Don’t forget it."

They might have taken it further then, found out how wonderful making up could be. If the doorbell hadn’t disturbed them. Andy sighed. "Christ Almightly."

Peter went out into the hall. "No chance of any sleep anytime soon…." He opened the door and scowled meaningfully at the sergeant standing there.

"Wieldy, this is becoming a habit," Dalziel told him from the kitchen doorway.

"Sorry, Sir." At Peter’s invitation he stepped in from the beating rain.

"If this is about tonight…."

But the sergeant was shaking his head, smiling now. "Not at all, Sir. I wouldn’t worry about that if I was you. I think the worst you should expect in the morning is an embarrassed apology from the CC." His expression gave away nothing, but Andy’s face broke into a relieved smile.

"You heard what he said."

"Certainly Sir, and I made sure he knew he was overheard."

Striding forward, Dalziel patted Sergeant Wield heartily on the shoulder. "Well done, Wieldy. You might just have saved my neck. And in return I won’t tear a strip from you for interrupting yet another blissful night."

It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to read the gradually fading tension between the two lovers. Whatever had been said, everything looked sorted now. Wieldy privately wondered what a full-blown row between these two would sound like. He found he never wanted to know.

"So is there a reason for this nocturnal visit or do you just fancy one of us?" Dalziel was certainly back to himself.

"Another body, Sir," they were told smoothly and regretfully. "Dumped by the side of the A1 at Marten."

*

The rain, now falling steadily, could be seen in the powerful police spotlights that picked out the cordons in the dark of the night. The body had already been covered by the time Wieldy drove Pascoe and Dalziel out to the site. Andy’s first stop was beside the pathologist just removing his gloves. He didn’t need to ask.

"White male, early thirties. I would say he’d been hit by a car but I’d like to do a full autopsy before staking my reputation on it."

Dalziel nodded. "Right. Any ID?"

"None, I’m afraid."

"Peter might be able to ID him for you." It was Wieldy’s voice as he stepped around them and approached the area where the body lay. To the left of them, crouched down with his back to the scene, Pascoe was throwing up what little he’d eaten this evening.

Dalziel was joined by a pale Inspector Pascoe some minutes later. He’d taken a good look at the deceased and understood why the pathologist had speculated upon a hit and run. "You all right, Sunbeam?"

"Sorry."

"Don’t be. Proves you’re still human." He patted his inspector on the arm. "You recognised him?"

"Aye. Mark Casey. He shared a house with Reggie and me." He shook his head. "What’s happenin’, Andy?"

"I don’t know. But you’re gonna have to watch yerself." He let out a long sigh, turning to Wield. "Right, I want witnesses, interviews, the usual stuff. Do what you can tonight, carry on in the morning. Meanwhile, Peter’s goin’a tell me all about his university days, which he’s been dying to do for years."

*

Andy put the mug of hot chocolate into Peter’s waiting hands. He was curled into the corner of the sofa, the arms of his cream jumper pulled down over his wrists. "Thanks."

Dalziel carefully stroked his fingers over Peter’s before he settled into the other corner, sipping his own drink. "Can I tell you something?" The other man smiled and nodded, blue eyes shining in the soft lamplight. "When we were in Frank’s pub - before you fucked up and got yourself taken hostage - hearing your voice outside… it was like a lifeline. I thought with you outside…."

"I messed that up, didn’t I?"

"Peter… none of it was your fault. What I meant was… having you around, knowing you’re close by, it makes all the difference in the world." Andy glanced up. "Bet you never thought you’d hear all that sloppy nonsense from me, did ya?"

Peter chuckled. "I like it," he murmured very quietly. "Andy… when you were shot…."

"I heard your cry, Petal. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it."

Pascoe hesitated, but he said, "I blew your cover that afternoon, didn’t I? That comment about your phrase, ‘shut your mouth, give your backside a chance’. I could have got you killed."

Dalziel reached out, wrapped his hands around Peter’s wrist. "Don’t, Sunbeam, it’s been over a long time. Worse I got from your slip was a punch in the stomach. I got a lot worse from Reynolds’ cockup. That whole thing was a mess. Including, no, especially, you getting yourself used as a human shield and joining us in hell. Couldn’t believe it when I saw ya lying on the floor of the bar, his gun in yer face."

Peter couldn’t think of any way to follow that and decided to lighten the mood. "Are you finally gonna let me tell you about my university times then?"

Dalziel smiled expressively. "Captive audience."

"Something else I never thought I’d hear from you." Peter drank his hot chocolate. "But I don’t know what you want to hear. Nothing… suspicious happened, nothing out of the ordinary. We were students."

Andy frowned. "What does that mean?"

"No responsibility, no worries passed getting your exams, doin’ yer homework."

"Someone’s knocking your lot off, Sunbeam. There must be a reason for that."

He sighed. Glancing at the clock above the fireplace he followed it up with a groan. Gone two am. "You think a hit and run’s too much of a coincidence."

"Peter, they’re your friends. Did you know Pauline Greenham and Mark Casey were up in this neck of the woods?"

"I haven’t kept in touch. Ellie and I… we stayed in contact obviously, and Timo, Rose, Colin and Carlo…." He faded off, remembering the four close friends who’d been murdered, whose blooded corpses he and Ellie had discovered that terrible morning.

Andy reached across, touched his lover’s hand. "We can do this tomorrow, Sunbeam."

Shaking his head, Peter put his mug down onto the carpet and shifted around into the crook of Andy’s arm, stretching his legs out over the sofa. Andy too ridded himself of his mug and moved to make room, also bringing his legs up. Holding Peter snugly, he rested his cheek on top of his head.

"I’ve lost too many friends," Pascoe murmured. "Lost so much…."

"Come on, lad," Andy’s tone remained gentle. "Life goes on. We all lose people. That’s the way of it. There’ll always be survivors left alone to grieve. You have to remember the good times, the laughter and the smiles."

Peter snucked down into the embrace, pillowing his head against Andy’s shoulder. He felt big fingers combed through his hair and smiled contentedly. He let his eyes close. "There was a reunion, about a year ago. Ellie and I went. Pauline told us she thought Reggie was abroad somewhere."

"Was Mark there too?"

"Aye. He were happy enough, just got a new job in the city."

"Then what was he doin’ up here?"

"No idea…."

Andy slipped into quiet thought for a while, trying to put three and three together. "Is there anyone else we should be warning?" he asked finally. There was no answer. Looking down he realised Peter had fallen asleep. His breathing had evened out and his head was heavy against Andy. Dalziel sighed ruefully. They’d both regret this in the morning.

Dropping his head back into the corner of the sofa Andy found his lover’s hand where it rested on his stomach. He covered it with his own and closed his eyes. Before he followed Peter into sleep, he swore silently that whatever was happening, he would do his damdest to keep his inspector safe.

* * * end part one * * *

Part Two

Straightening the crick in his neck, Andy sipped his coffee as he stared out of the front window. "Where’s your car?"

"At the station." Peter joined him, looking out. "Where’s yours?"

"At the Rugby Club."

He thought about that and a few seconds later came to a conclusion. "I’ll ring Wieldy."

"Right. I’ll get a taxi, you wait for him, get him to take you to the club and pick up my car." He sighed loudly. "I want to catch Rebecca before she throws my belongings into a box and leaves them on the station doorstep."

Peter chuckled at the mental image while he went for the phone.

As it turned out, Dalziel needn’t have bothered. When he poked his head around the door of her office, she was all smiles and waved him inside. "I don’t know what it is with you, Andy, but you’re the first person I’ve ever heard of to get an apology from the CC after throwing his drink over the man."

Dalziel’s eyebrows rose. "Apology?" Mentally, he thanked Wieldy again.

"Before I left last night, he came up to me and said I was to give you his full apologies and no harm done." She shook her head in disbelief, smiling almost proudly. "What happened, Andy?"

But he titled his head. "Sorry. He’s apologised like a good sport. I’ll not take it any further."

She nodded. "All right." Then paused. "Let me take you somewhere at lunchtime. Maybe I’ll get more out of you over a large whiskey and some good food."

Peter in his turn put his head around his boss’ door when he eventually got in. "Well? Can’t have been that bad, you’re still here."

Andy grinned. "Full apology and lunch with the ACC today."

Peter stepped further into the office, lowering his voice. "Oh aye, got competition have I?" He dropped Dalziel’s car keys into his open palm, grinning. If it were possible, finally progressing the sexual side of their relationship had brought them closer on a level that seemed to run like an invisible connection between them.

Andy dropped his head to one side, expression set in disbelief. "As if. So what are you up to?"

"Wieldy’s found out that Mark Casey was engaged to a Laura Masefield. He got an address, I’m goin’a go visit, see if I can find out anything."

"Right." Peter was half way down the corridor when Andy added loudly, "Take someone with ya."

Peter spotted Wieldy halfway down the hall and was about to call him, but as he passed his own office the telephone started ringing. He nipped in and grabbed the receiver.

"Inspector Pascoe."

"Mr Pascoe? It’s Colin Dickinson from Comet. Your order’s arrived and I need to arrange a delivery time."

It took a moment, but then he remembered. The present for Andy. "Excellent. That’s great." He considered for a moment. "Look, can I call you this afternoon?"

"That would be fine, Mr Pascoe. Speak to you then."

He put down the receiver and picked up his car keys. Wieldy had disappeared from the corridor, and the thought of taking someone with him had vanished from Peter’s mind.

*

Rebecca put the glass down on the table in front of her Superintendent. She sat down next to him, sideways on the long seat in the window, facing him conspiratorially.

"So, come on, Andy. What could the CC possibly do that would end up with you throwing your pint at him and then him apologising?"

Andy sipped his drink. It was a very smooth, very expensive whiskey. "He made a remark about Peter."

She stared at him for a moment. "You are kidding?"

"No."

"The Chief Constable, your boss’ boss, the man who could end your career, made a remark about Inspector Pascoe and you threw your drink over him?" Andy nodded. "What the he say for God’s sake?"

"He insinuated that one of us, he or I, should be giving Peter one up the arse."

Her eyes widened. Then she shrugged. "He was drunk. It was a throwaway comment." She watched as Yorkshire’s best Superintendent took a long drink of his whiskey. "You took it personally." She sounded surprised, shocked even.

"Aye, I took it personally. Peter’s the best copper I’ve ever known. He doesn’t deserve to be badmouthed like that." There was real feeling in his tone and he wondered when he saw her expression change if he’d spoken a little too openly.

"You’re really fond of him, aren’t you?" She’d gone from disbelief to being quietly touched.

"He’s a good lad."

"Wield’s a good lad. Pascoe’s a fine detective. You should be proud."

"I am, believe me."

The waitress brought their plates to the table. Rebecca, always trying to watch her slim figure, had ordered smoked salmon sandwiches, while Dalziel, only sometimes thinking about his figure - although granted doing it a lot more now he had a young lover to keep interested - had plumped for steak and chips. She was been paying after all.

"So… Andy, why’ve we never done this before?"

He laughed. "I’ve got a reputation to keep up."

She smiled courteously. "I thought we’d be doing it a lot. That time you got me to the Black Bull after sending your inspector packing." Andy cringed inwardly. He remembered that, he’d told Peter to go and get himself something to eat, after the disaster of the rabbit stew the night before. "I might have thought you were coming onto me. If you’d ever asked again."

He wondered vaguely if she was fishing for something. Or was she coming on to him?

"You’re wonderful company, Rebecca, I’ve just been busy, that’s all. Crime not sleeping and all that crap."

"Indeed, Andy. All that crap." She touched his arm in what might have been misconstrued or not, depending on your point of view. "So why not let it have its wicked way for a time and take me out to dinner tonight?"

In his mind, he was swearing silently. "Rebecca… I’m flattered."

"You’re supposed to be flattering me!" But at least she was still smiling. "Have you met someone, Andy?" He didn’t answer her, just smiled and chewed his steak. "I’ll find out," she warned playfully. He doubted it, but the challenge in her voice was a relief.

*

They got back to the station around two thirty. Andy was dying to tell Peter that the ACC had been hitting on him, but his inspector was no where to be found.

Sergeant Wield headed him off in the corridor, waving a sheet of A4 paper around. "Sir…."

"Wieldy, where’s Peter?"

"No idea, Sir. I’m not sure he’s back from his meeting with the fiancée yet. There is something, though. Pathologist isn’t sure now that the first body we found, Pauline Greenham, is actually Pauline Greenham at all."

"Peter identified her, didn’t he?"

"Aye. But apparently, Pauline had a sister - a twin called Charlotte - who was married with a young daughter. The pathologist claims the Pauline we’ve got had a child a couple of years ago. As far as we can gather, Pauline Greenham has never had a child."

"Do you have an address for Charlotte?"

"Aye, Sir."

"Right, come on. You’re driving."

"I’ll tell ya, Wieldy," Dalziel sat comfortably in the passenger seat of Sergeant Wield’s Ford Escort, "someone’s playing silly buggers with us."

"Did someone want us to think it was Pauline, or did the killer make a mistake?"

"Good question." Andy gazed out at the woodland beside the country road. "We need…." He trailed off. "Stop the car." So unexpected and sudden was the request, Wieldy brought the Ford to a squealing emergency stop before questioning the order. But Dalziel was out of the door and running.

The sergeant pulled the car to the grass kerb and killed the engine. Only then did he see the headlight of a dark blue Audi poking out over the edge of the ditch at the side of the road. Picking up the police radio, he called for an ambulance.

Andy ran across the wet grass of the bank. He knew the car, he knew the number plate. As he came around he saw the smashed glass of the windscreen and the blood in the webbed pattern in front of the driver. Steadying his bulk against the wing mirror, he could barely bring himself to look inside. The driver’s door had crumpled, caved in by the impact of the rear right hand side of the car against the great tree it had hit.

Peter’s head was dropped against the steering wheel. Blood from the open wound on his forehead had dried on his face. One hand was hooked through the bottom of the wheel. His other arm was hanging by his side. With a shaking hand Andy reached in through the smashed window and pressed fingers to the cold neck.

"Oh God, please…. Please please please…." He steadied himself and found a weak pulse. "Wieldy! Call an ambulance!"

But his sergeant had done all that, he’d also rung for backup when he’d come close enough to recognize the number plate.

"Done." Wield was already prepared. The call for the ambulance had already reassured him that at least their colleague was still alive. He was a mess, though, that was immediately obvious from the expression on Dalziel’s face.

The driver’s door wouldn’t open. Despite the limitations of being outside the car when the patient was inside, Wield reached in through the open window and performed a preliminary first aid check. He found the pulse again, checking breathing.

"Sir, you need to monitor his pulse continuously." He made the statement in a tone close to giving an order. In this state, Andy needed something to do. "If you lose it, we’ll need to move him out of the car and perform CPR. Otherwise we leave him where he is. All right?" Andy nodded, and reached in through the shattered glass, settling his fingers against his lover’s neck and finding the shadow of his heartbeat. He didn’t take his eyes off the injured man, as if by watching him he could will Peter to live.

Wield went around the car. He tried the passenger door and when it opened he thanked whichever God was looking out for Peter this day through the corner of his watchful eye.

"Hey, Peter," he spoke cheerfully as he carefully climbed in onto the passenger seat, ensuring his extra weight didn’t cause a shift in the car’s position. It didn’t. He knew Andy was glancing between them, eyes wide and worried. Wield too checked again for a pulse. Still there, still weak. "We’re here now, Peter," he reassured, "you’re gonna be fine. Made a bit of a mess of your car but I’m sure it’s nothing the Wetherton CID can’t sort out."

Peter’s breathing was shallow and irregular, gasping. But his airway seemed clear and Wield didn’t want to move him an inch if he didn’t have to. Outside the car, Andy swapped arms and crouched down. "Come on, Sunbeam, stay with me. You can’t leave me now. I love you, Peter. Just come through this, please."

In the distance, Wield started to hear sirens. They were faint, and at first he believed he was imagining them. And then they were closer and louder.

"The ambulance is here now, Peter," the sergeant told his boss happily. "You’re going to be fine." The sirens were now clear in the silence of the ditch. "I’m going to get out now," he explained, "Andy’s here with you, and I’m not going far. I need to let the ambulance men reach you. All right?"

The two ambulance men took in the scene in a second. Wield was obviously in control, although the patient was a colleague. The bigger man looked in shock himself. One of the two - Mike - approached Dalziel, drawing him back from the car while the second one - Paul - leaned in through the window to check pulse and breathing. "What’s his name?"

"Peter," Andy told them, "Inspector Peter Pascoe."

A nod. "Peter, can you hear me? My name’s Paul, I’m an ambulance man. We’re going to look after you, Peter, don’t you worry…." The litany continued while Dalziel was moved back further from the scene to allow a third member of the ambulance crew - Simon - to begin setting up oxygen, saline and blood.

Paul beckoned Wield forward. "Hi, can you tell me what’s going on?"

"Yeah…." Wield slipped into professional mode with some difficulty. Now that rescue was here the initial shock was starting to set in. "Superintendent Dalziel saw the car as we drove passed. The last time we saw Peter was this morning, around nine-thirty."

"Your name?"

"Sergeant Ed Wield."

"Right, Ed, you did the right thing, okay? Just take a few deep breaths and relax."

Wieldy did as he was instructed. "I’m usually all right with these things."

"And usually it’s not a colleague, is it?"

Simon had set up the essential lifelines and was now around at the passenger side of the car. He checked as Wield had done that his extra weight didn’t affect the balance and climbed inside, talking continuously to Peter. His experienced ear listened and translated the soft beeps of the basic instruments monitoring pulse and respiration while he started a complete physical examination of his patient.

Mike had tried to coax Dalziel away from the scene into the ambulance, but he wouldn’t be moved. More sirens closed in on them, the police on their way to cordon off the scene. Somewhere in the back of Dalziel’s mind he thought he should be doing something, perhaps looking the car over for evidence that this wasn’t an accident. But there were professionals to do that, and he still couldn’t seem to take his eyes from his inspector’s inert form.

Peter’s head had not been moved from where it rested on the steering wheel, although there was now a rough field dressing over the wound. The blood remained on his face. An oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth. IVs for saline and blood ran into lines inserted into his arm. Simon was manhandling him gently from within the car while Paul had stayed outside, checking Peter’s spine for injuries.

Andy stared at the image of his lover, slumped in his wrecked car, close to death. How long had he held on for? How long had he been alone, struggling for the next heartbeat? He so badly wanted to go to him, hold him, reassure him. But he knew better than to move.

One moment it seemed the scene was quiet, the next there were coppers everywhere. Uniforms, and Sergeant Seymour. They’d not sent anyone more senior because they knew that Dalziel and Wieldy were on the scene. But it didn’t take a genius to work out that their Superintendent wasn’t going to be much use for a while.

Wieldy took Andy from Mike’s custody, allowing the third ambulance man to go and assist his colleagues in finally getting Peter from the car to the ambulance. The police unit had brought cutting equipment and instead of trying to manoeuvre their patient out through the passenger door they simply cut open the driver’s side and sliced away part of the roof. Then they lifted him out and straight onto a stretcher.

Dalziel approached then, Wieldy close behind. "Peter? Come on, Sunshine." But there was nothing, no response, just the soft blip of an irregular pulse.

"Superintendent!" Wield turned but Andy didn’t respond. There was a young, eager constable approaching them. He held up his hand, stopping the running man in his tracks. "Not now, lad," he murmured quietly.

"I was told to report to Superintendent Dalziel, Sir."

"Not now!"

Andy stood by as Peter was loaded into the back of the ambulance. Mike dropped a hand to his shoulder. "Get your sergeant here to follow us, okay? Wetherton General. He’ll be taken straight into A&E, into X-Ray and then if need be into theatre, okay?"

Dalziel nodded. Wieldy was next to him now, waiting. He let his gaze settle on Peter as Paul started to undress him to check properly for more injuries. The parts of him not exposed were covered by blankets. He needed to be kept warm, Wield understood that. The shock alone should probably have killed him by now. He didn’t dare think of Peter’s chances.

"Come on, Sir, I’ll drive you to the hospital." They watched while the doors of the ambulance were closed and the vehicle pulled away. Andy glanced back at the swarming police officers and the mangled wreck of Peter’s Audi. Then he went around to the passenger side of his Rover and got in.

The journey to the hospital was a long one, and Dalziel’s furtive imagination was working overtime. What if Peter died on the way, with only strangers by his side? What if he was never to hold his beloved Sunbeam in his arms again? See that sunshine in his smile, the light as it played in his eyes. He put his fist to his mouth, a small moan escaping his throat. Wieldy glanced across. "He’ll be all right, Andy," he told the boss certainly.

Dalziel looked over. "Oh God, Ed… I hope so. I couldn’t live…."

"He’s a tough one is Peter. He held on for us, he’ll hold on now."

Andy looked out of the window, unable to think straight. He couldn’t recall ever being this terrified before. As they started into the town, he gazed up at the building clouds and silently uttered a small prayer.

*

If the journey had been a nightmare the waiting was almost unbearable. Andy chain-smoked and chain drank the coffee Wieldy kept on constant supply. It was two hours before a harassed-looking doctor came out to see them.

"Superintendent Dalziel?"

"Yes." He stood, sergeant at his side, hands shaking. "How is he?"

"I’m Doctor Collins, Matthew Collins. He’s okay. He’ll live. He has severe bruising, cracked ribs, a broken wrist, fractured ankle, fractured skull and he’s lost a lot of blood. We’ve done scans and they don’t show anything abnormal but he took a serious crack to the head from the steering wheel. He’s unconscious and until he wakes we won’t have a completely clear picture of the full effects of the head injury."

"But he will live?"

"Yes."

Dalziel sighed his relief. "Can I see him?"

"Yes. We’ve moved him to a private room as requested." Andy nodded. "If he has family, you should inform them."

Wieldy spoke confidently. "He’s separated, but we are finding his wife."

Collins nodded, and finally he led them to see Peter.

Wieldy remained in the doorway while Andy stepped inside.

Dalziel seated himself beside the bed, lowering himself with trembling arms carefully into the chair. Peter was lying on his back, oxygen mask over his face. A large dressing covered the long, stitched gash in his forehead where the skin had been torn and the skull introduced to the plastic of the steering wheel. Under that neatly repaired skin lay the hairline fracture of bone the doctor was worried about.

They’d wiped away the blood from Peter’s face leaving him too pale, almost white. His left arm was under the sheets, slim cast over the broken wrist and around the hand. His right arm was above the sheets and two saline drips - the same substances as they’d started dribbling into him at the scene - ran into an IV line in the back of his hand.

Andy reached forward and slid his hand under Peter’s, closing his fingers lightly up over those cold ones. Tilting his head, he gazed at the peaceful face. He wasn’t aware of Doctor Collins watching with interest. But in the doorway, Wieldy was aware of it. He recognised in the man’s expression something he knew deep within himself. And he caught himself smiling. A glance at Peter wiped that from his face.

There had never been any jealousies, any niggling hatreds. He’d liked Peter from the start, when they’d stood at his bedside and he’d asked Dalziel what he’d do with Sergeant Pascoe once he was recovered from the bullet wound. ‘I’ll likely keep him,’ Dalziel had replied. And now Peter was his friend, a part of his life, and he couldn’t imagine that life without him in it.

He’d never seen Dalziel like this. Tenderness and compassion weren’t emotions most would have associated with the Superintendent. But they were there, especially in his dealings with Peter. He’d never really shouted at his inspector, not for long, and there hadn’t been one row hadn’t ended in a reunifying pint in the Bull. And the digging remarks, the barbs he sometimes hit out with never seemed to touch Pascoe. As if he’d always known that Dalziel had never once meant any of it.

Andy was staying, that much was obvious. Wieldy had people to contact, a statement to make most likely. The doctor followed him out of the small room. There was nothing more that they could do for Peter at the moment. Keep checks, make sure his condition remained stable, bring his temperature down and get his blood pressure up.

When the door clicked shut, Andy got to his feet and leaned over, kissing Peter’s forehead gently before sitting back down. "I thought I told you to look after yourself, Sunbeam," he reprimanded gently, stroking Peter’s fingers with his thumb. It was all he could find the words for, despite the million or so things swamping his brain.

A monitor on the other side of the bed registered a heartbeat that sounded a lot stronger than it had done in the car. He could guess that under the sheets Peter’s rib cage and abdomen were black and blue, the effects of shaking the frail human body around in a crashing car. How quick had it been? Had someone caused this somehow? Had Peter known what was happening? Had he been conscious for a time, lying awake but unable to move, tasting blood in his mouth from the wound in his head?

"I’m here now, Petal," he told his lover, touching his hair gently. "You’re not alone now."

*

Rebecca was standing beside Andy before he realised she was there. It was a little after seven. The light was fading outside the window. As if she had just woken him to the fact he’d been sitting there for several hours, watching and waiting, his stomach rumbled quietly to complain about the lack of anything substantial to soak up all the coffee he’d drunk.

"Andy, how is he?"

He glanced from his boss to his inspector. And he relayed what Doctor Collins had told him earlier. Rebecca nodded. She turned, bringing a second man into view, a man Andy hadn’t even known was there. "This is PC Wilks, he’ll be watching over Peter for a while."

Andy frowned, at first not quite understanding what she was talking about. And then it clicked. "Police guard? Why?"

She hesitated, not really wanting to talk about it here. "Let Greg here sit with Peter for a short while. I’ll buy you dinner in the canteen."

Andy looked hesitant. But he nodded. Squeezing Peter’s hand once, promising him he’d not be gone long, he stood. Before leaving he told Greg Wilks, in no uncertain terms, that Peter was the most precious thing he’d ever looked after and nothing, on any account, was going to happen to him while Dalziel was away. Greg reassured him with the ease of one who had the makings of becoming a fine Sergeant.

Rebecca bought him a large coffee which he sipped, a plate of chips which he picked at uncharacteristically, and a chocolate cookie he didn’t even acknowledge. They sat at one of the small plastic tables by the window of the hospital canteen, the sun dipping below the horizon outside.

"You look terrible, Andy," she told him, not unkindly.

"Not as terrible at Peter looks." He abandoned the chips and pushed the plate to one side, wrapping his hands around the mug of hot coffee.

"Doctor Collins said that his chances are good. It’s just the effects of the shock and the blood loss they’re worried about."

"Aye…." He gazed into the dark brown liquid. "Brain damage due to lack of oxygen." He swallowed hard. The thoughts swirling around his mind were messing him up. But he couldn’t talk about them, not to Rebecca. After this he wanted the world to know how much he loved his inspector, how dear to him the man lying unconscious in that tiny room was, how much that one life meant. But people did things in times of stress that they later lived to regret. He had enough presence of mind at least to recognise that reaction within himself.

Shaking himself mentally he tried to think like a policeman, yet could only come up with one question. "Why the guard?"

"The lab boys have been looking at Peter’s car and at the scene itself. Apparently the evidence on the road and the indentations at the back of the car suggest he was hit from behind, lost control and span. The road surface was slippery from the rain earlier in the day."

"Someone forced him off the road?" Andy stared, incredulous. And then things started to fit. Someone had tried to kill Peter, the most precious person in the world. He felt stunned, and the feeling was strangely alien to him. It was the time to start putting together the jigsaw, working out who was left, who had motive and opportunity while bodies cooled in the morgue or victims fought to recover in hospital. But the jigsaw was blurred this time. He couldn’t focus on it, just kept seeing Peter in the front of his car, blood on his face, as if he was already dead.

Dalziel squeezed his eyes shut and uttered a quiet moan as he sipped his coffee.

"Andy, you should go home, get some rest."

But he shook his head. "I can’t leave."

"He’s quite safe."

Another shake of the head. "He’s not out o’ the woods yet."

*

Wieldy stepped into the room, surprised to see the uniformed officer sitting at Peter’s bedside. "Where’s Superintendent Dalziel?" he asked, flashing his ID at the PC.

"He went to the canteen with Assistant Chief Constable Felling."

"Right." He looked from Peter to Wilks. "Could you give us a few minutes?"

The young officer hesitated, then nodded and left.

Wieldy perched himself on the edge of the bed, taking Peter’s hand into his own. "Hey, Pete. It’s all right to wake up, you know. It’s not such a bad place this. Food’s okay too, according to Sergeant Burns." He studied the strikingly beautiful features, a face he’d always found so attractive. "You know what the Super’s like when he’s miserable. Alligator with a toothache. And nothing’s guaranteed to make him more miserable than having you stuck in here, you know that."

Doctor Collins stepped quietly into the room and smiled at Sergeant Wield as he turned. "You look knackered," the detective told the doctor frankly.

"Coming to the end of a sixteen hour shift," he was told in a tone at least bordering on cheer. Off the expression that crossed Wield’s face Collins added, "Don’t worry, your inspector here’s still in the best hands."

"I didn’t doubt it."

The doctor checked the monitors and then leaned over and removed the oxygen mask from Peter’s face. He waited, but the readings remained steady. "Good." He shut off the oxygen supply and checked the IV lines. "We’ve given him three pints of blood, that should be sufficient."

Wield nodded. "Aye, three pints is his usual limit."

Collins looked up and laughed. He held his hand out. "Matthew."

Wield took it with the hand that wasn’t holding Peter’s, crossing his arm in front of him to do so. "Ed Wield."

"It’s good to find a sense of humour in the force." He glanced at where the sergeant’s hand cradled that of his patient. "Popular, is he?"

"Aye." Wieldy nodded. "The Super’s protégé as was. But he hasn’t stood on anyone’s shoulders or toes to make it to where he is now. He’s clever and fair."

"Dalziel, is it?" Wield nodded. "He seemed fairly cut up."

"Well… as I said, Peter was his student. They’re close, personally as well as professionally. Dalziel is Peter’s daughter’s godfather."

"Andy…." The quiet, rough voice got both their attentions.

Wield leaned forward. "Peter, it’s Ed."

"Ed…." Peter opened his eyes, squinting in the relative light of the room. Then closing them again he crumpled his face and pulled his hand from Wield’s light hold in order to touch his aching head. Collins stopped him, gently catching his wrist.

"You’re in hospital, Peter." He told him carefully. "You were in a car crash."

Peter opened his eyes, pain etched into his features. "Andy?"

Wield stood and went to the door, poking his head out into the corridor. He got the PC’s immediate attention. "Find Superintendent Dalziel."

The uniformed officer nodded and headed off at a run straight for the canteen. Wield smiled his appreciation.

"Pauline Greenham isn’t dead. We never got over there to see this twin but I don’t think we’d have found her if we had."

Andy looked up as Wilks came into the canteen. But Rebecca got her words out first. "Shouldn’t you be with Inspector Pascoe?"

"Sergeant Wield and Doctor Collins are with him." Andy’s stomach flipped over and he was suddenly glad he hadn’t eaten. "It’s all right, Sir. Inspector Pascoe’s awake and he’s asking for you."

Wield turned as Andy rushed slightly breathlessly into the room. His eyes locked with Peter’s and he grinned. "Hey, Sunbeam."

A small injection of morphine had wiped the pain from Peter’s face and glassed over his gaze slightly, but he was awake, and aware. Wield moved back and Dalziel sat himself in the seat next to the bed.

"Andy…."

"It’s all right, Petal." Dalziel took his inspector’s hand into his own, minding the IV line. "You’re in hospital but you’re going to be fine."

Blue eyes closed slowly, but Peter dragged them open again. "What happened?"

"You were in a car accident. We think you were forced off the road. Do you remember that?"

"No." He took a deep breath.

"That’s all right." Andy paused, giving Peter time to decide whether or not he was going back to sleep. When the blue eyes opened again to gaze at him, he asked, "What’s the last thing you remember?"

The glassy regard slipped from Andy for a few seconds, and then refocused. "I was… in the Bull… with Wieldy. You came in… something about the Cheshire cat…." So much had happened in the last few days that it took Dalziel a moment to remember when the last time they’d been in the Bull had been.

"Four days ago," Wield put in quietly.

The words obviously upset Peter. He weakly squeezed his fingers around Dalziel’s hand, his expression becoming pained and confused, breathing becoming rapid and ragged. Andy reached up, swept one large hand over Peter’s hair, careful to stay away from the dressed wound on his forehead. "Easy, Sunbeam."

Doctor Collins put a gentle hand on his patient’s shoulder. "Relax, Peter." He introduced himself briefly. "Memory loss is quite usual under the circumstances. You’ve got at least mild concussion. Don’t push yourself. The time you’ve lost might come back, it might not. It’s nothing to worry about."

The words coming from the professional seemed to calm Peter. He tried to turn on to his side, still only half awake, but again Collins’ hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Your chest and abdomen are badly bruised, Peter, you’ll be more comfortable on your back, take my word for it."

Dalziel watched the slight annoyance cross his inspector’s face. Peter always slept on his side, if he tried to sleep on his back he’d toss and turn until Andy kicked him. "Do as you’re told for once, lad." But his voice and tone were infinitely gentle.

Peter actually smiled slightly. The stress lines faded from around his eyes and he started to fall asleep. And then suddenly he squeezed Andy’s hand tight and they heard,

"D… 987… 5TR."

Dalziel leaned in. "What was that, Petal?" But Peter was already asleep.

Wield, who a good mind for car number-plates, noted down the sequence Peter had given them. "Could be car that ran him off the road," he surmised quietly.

Andy glanced at the doctor. "Would he be able to remember that?"

Collins shrugged. "It depends. Perhaps if he’d seen the car following him, memorised it with a mind to checking it later. It’s not very likely that he’d remember anything up to around fifteen, twenty minutes before the accident itself. Head injuries like this almost always cause concussion. The brain’s normal activities are interrupted and messed up."

"So the fact that he’s recalled it means the car was around for some time before that."

"If it was the car that hit him." Wield hated to go against his own suggestions, but Dalziel always needed a sounding board. Usually Peter would play devil’s advocate to their boss’ God.

"It made an impression, that’s for sure," Collins put in. "I doubt he’d even know why he’d remembered it. I would guess it’s just something his mind’s pushed to the forefront in the absence of anything else."

"Wieldy’ll check it out anyway, won’t you lad?"

The sergeant’s expression beamed. He would. He’d find the bastard who’d done this to Peter and put him or her away for a very long time.

Andy made himself comfortable in the chair. He’d briefly explained to Rebecca what Peter had said, and the likelihood that he’d never recall exactly what happened that lunchtime. She invited him to have a break, have a drink with her at a nearby pub, perhaps get some food. But Andy declined. He wasn’t hungry, and he wanted to be there in case Peter woke again.

"He seemed disorientated," he’d explained, "he’s a meticulous bugger mentally, it’ll upset him to not remember things."

Luckily she’d accepted his excuse at face value, at least he hoped she had.

Matthew Collins had also told him to go home and get some sleep. "It’s what I’m going to do before I climb in with one of the patients!"

Andy’d said that he would, in a little while. For a time, he was content just to watch Peter sleep. He said a little prayer of thanks to a God he’d never been sure he believed in.

*

Just after midnight, Andy opened the door to his house and closed it again. It was cold and quiet. These last two months with Peter living in the place had brought it to life for the first time in fifteen years. Long before they’d started their more intimate relationship Peter had been referring to the house as ‘home’. As he’d told Ellie, as much as he loved the man, Peter was undoubtedly the most untidy bugger he’d ever known. But despite the dirty washing up, the socks in the oven, the bathroom… despite all that, and the fact that Peter had been a misery guts for weeks, he’d enjoyed having the company, had begun to love hearing someone else moving around the house in the mornings and evenings.

The final break had come after Peter had shot a man about to blow two large holes through Dalziel’s chest. Peter had saved his life that afternoon. By the time Wieldy had dropped him at Ellie’s, they’d had a few beers. The adrenaline in Peter’s system had to be displaced. They hadn’t been sure for an hour or so if he’d be okay, and Dalziel had watched him carefully throughout the night but after the fifth pint they’d decided that Peter was going to be just fine, better perhaps than he had been recently. He’d be investigated and praised, perhaps even decorated. But Ellie had been even less impressed with her husband’s new-found confidence than she had been with his underling status.

And for some reason that finality cheered Peter no end. Andy noticed him smiling again, more and more. He still missed Rosie, every day he was away from her. But he spoke to her over the phone - Ellie didn’t seem to want to keep them apart - and he’d seen her a couple of weekends. He wasn’t going to fight for custody and Ellie wasn’t going to deny him access. They’d talked about taking her away for the weekend, he and Uncle Andy, staying at the Alton Towers hotel, or perhaps even to DisneyLand in Paris. Ellie had already said she’d be glad for the break.

The thought of her made him pick up the telephone. Wieldy had been trying to reach her all afternoon. As far as they knew she was staying at her parents’ home in Lincolnshire. But no one had been answering the number Andy had for her and he wasn’t aware of a mobile number for her. She hadn’t apparently returned to London either. He dialled the Sopers’ number. And let it ring.

"Hello?" The voice was Ellie’s - tired but definite.

"Ellie, Love. It’s Andy."

"Andy… it’s late."

"I’m sorry, Ellie. We’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon."

She could read his voice. "What’s happened?"

"Peter’s been in an accident. He’s in hospital. He’s all right, Love, but I thought you’d want to know."

"Yes…." She trailed off. "What happened, Andy?"

"Someone ran his car off the road. He’s bruised, broken bones, nothing too serious. I left about half an hour ago and he was sleeping. It happened around lunchtime, and he was unconscious until early this evening but the doctor’s happy enough."

"Are you telling me… someone tried to kill him?"

"We think it may be connected to two murders in the last week and another five discovered last year." He explained briefly what had occurred, reminded her about the bodies Peter had inadvertently dug up and mentioned the names. She recognised them, and promised him she would have a think about it. Meanwhile, she would see Peter in the morning. Andy told her he would see her there.

He hung up, feeling more than a little guilty. Ellie would find out about he and Peter sooner or later. She already suspected there was something more between them than the close professional partnership of master and slave. But whether she imagined her husband was even capable of, let alone having, a homosexual love affair with his boss he couldn’t say.

He made himself a hot chocolate in the empty kitchen, remembering mornings with Peter looking like hell, evenings taking a naked Pascoe into his mouth as he sat on the kitchen table, nights when they’d come in so tired they’d just stood and held one another. As he waited for the milk to boil he recalled one particular night just after they’d begun this relationship.

** flashback**

Dalziel looked up from his cooking as the front door opened and then closed again. "Peter?"

"No. Burglar." The blond poked his head around the kitchen door and grinned. "Something smells great."

"Aye, as it bloody well should! I’ve been slaving over this hot stove since I got back!" But the was nothing harsh in his voice, and he murmured something unintelligible when Peter’s head appeared on his shoulder. "Good day at the office, Sunbeam?"

Peter nodded, dropped a quick kiss to the back of his boss’ neck and went off to get changed. "ACC was looking for you earlier," he called down from the stairs.

"Oh aye, probably wanted to take me out to dinner." He grinned to himself, waiting for the smartass reply.

"I think she wanted to beat you around the head with the report she was carrying."

Humming softly, Andy moved from the oven and opened the fridge, picking out the bottle of Chardonnay he’d put away earlier. He turned, only to have the bottle plucked from his hands. Peter had swapped his suit and tie for a loose white T-shirt and faded blue jeans. His glow of his blond hair and summer-sun kissed skin was accentuated by the bright white of his top, recently washed and ironed Andy noted with pride. It seemed the skills of a great detective weren’t all he had to teach his protégé.

"Corkscrew?"

"You mean you don’t know by now?" Dalziel pointed across to a drawer in the far kitchen unit. "Glasses are…"

"I know where the glasses are." He popped the cork and poured, taking an appreciative sip. "Anything else I can do?"

"Sit down and pretend to be hungry."

"No need for pretence." He picked up his knife and fork and waited, grinning.

Andy shook his head and started to serve. "Now you’re not going to tell me that Rosie has a chicken, are you?"

Peter grinned and shook his head. "She doesn’t have a chicken, or a vegetable patch." Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t what Andy presented him with. Small chicken pieces in a red wine sauce with ginger potatoes and asparagus. Pascoe was genuinely impressed. "Wow."

Andy grinned as he sat down opposite his lover. "See, didn’t know I could cook proper, did ya?"

"You never fail to surprise me," Peter conceded.

Peter took the remains of the bottle of wine into the lounge with him, expecting Andy to follow. But five minutes later he heard the clatter of pans and made his way back into the kitchen. "You know there’s something extremely worrying about this obsession you have with cleanliness." He lifted himself to sit on the draining board just as Andy went to put his first pan down on it.

"Get yon gorgeous ass out the way, lad."

Peter wiggled his eyebrows. "You’ll have to move it yerself."

Andy dropped the pan back into the soapy water and moved across. Without warning, he grasped Peter around the ribs and started to tickle.

"Hey! No fair!" Peter tried to back away but Andy’s unforgiving fingers dug gently yet effectively into his sides. "Get off!" He couldn’t fight back, couldn’t even get his own hands between himself and Andy. A minute or so later he was fighting just to pull in oxygen. Andy finally relented, wrapping his arms around his beloved colleague and hugging him tightly as Peter collapsed against his shoulder panting and laughing. "That was uncalled for," he managed to say.

"You challenged me."

"Umm…." Peter shifted his legs out from between Andy and the unit and wrapped them around the other man’s waist, bringing them closer.

Andy released his hold and leaned back slightly, hands still caressing the man close to him. His regard was as intense as it always was in these moments. At the start it had embarrassed Peter to be looked upon with such obvious adoration, now he had learned to bask in it.

"Ellie told me I’d become an obsession with you. Mind you, she also said you didn’t fancy me…."

Andy laughed. "Not such a bright lass after all. When was this?"

"As we stood outside the church after our wedding."

The laugh faded. Dalziel combed his fingers through Peter’s hair, smoothing it, loving the feel of it as it tickled his skin. "I’m sorry, Sunbeam. Guess I was the problem from day one, ay?"

Peter shook his head. "I shouldn’t have married her."

"Don’t, lad. No use in second-guessing as the yanks say. You’re ‘ere now, where you belong."

That at least was something they both agreed on. Happily, Peter dropped his mouth to Andy’s, kissing him luxuriously. He felt Andy’s hands on his sides and back, not tickling now, touching him as he liked to. Sometimes Peter thought Dalziel held him like this to convince himself it was real.

Andy’s lips traced their way over the line of Peter’s jaw, cuddling his squirming lover in his arms. "Stop it," he muttered, smiling.

"Can’t help it! Tickles!"

Andy let him go completely, although he didn’t move away. "What does?"

Peter shivered lightly. "You’ve made me all sensitive," he complained.

"You’re a sensitive bugger anyways," Andy told him certainly, "but you’re bloody ticklish and I love ya for it." He dropped a kiss to Peter’s mouth before grabbing him under the arms and hauling him straight off the draining board. Peter would never know how the other man managed to do that. "Now do the drying up or sod off and read for ten minutes."

He expected Peter to leave, but instead he picked up the tea-towel and took the pan from Andy just as he was about to finally put it down on the draining board. Dalziel stared at his colleague. "I didn’t know you knew how to use one o’them."

Peter just cast him a sarcastic look and carried on. Five minutes later Andy squeezed out the dishcloth and emptied the bowl. Peter put the last plate away and draped the tea-towel over his shoulder, hands on his hips. His expression was downright obscene.

Dalziel had once imagined that his sex drive had put itself permanently on hold after his wife had left him. But since he’d started working with Pascoe it’d been kick-started. When Peter and Ellie had gone off on their honeymoon he’d met Bonnie Fielding and two afternoons of passion had made him realise that particular aspect of his life wasn’t in fact over as he’d imagined. It hadn’t taken him long to work out where the sexual energy was coming from. Wieldy had once muttered something about there being more tension between Dalziel and Pascoe than there was in a weekly episode of ‘Cracker’.

And Andy had discovered something about himself. He could become hard with a single thought about Peter. Just glancing at the man could take his mind off any subject anyone could care to mention. But when Pascoe was trying, he could wipe his boss’ mind clean. And tonight he was trying. His stance, with the gorgeous smile and the white t-shirt and jeans that were hugging his slim form, was delicious. The evening sunlight coming in through the kitchen window was playing in his honey blond hair making Andy’s fingers desperate to touch it.

‘What does someone like you see in someone like me?’ Andy wondered, but he said nothing. They’d been through that. Out loud he said, "God, Peter, you make me feel about sixteen years old sometimes."

"Come ‘ere you old fool." Despite his words, Peter met him half way, arms wrapping around Dalziel’s neck, mouth finding the other man’s.

Andy sometimes imagined he needed Peter more than he needed oxygen. Slim fingers had already worked their way under his shirt, were teasing the skin up his spine, the sensual tickling making his toes curl. Dalziel caught the base of Peter’s T-shirt and lifted it, forcing Peter to disentangle first his arms, then his tongue and lips so that he could remove it. Discarding the cloth, he turned them, backing Peter up until he was sitting on the kitchen table.

Leaning over his lover, Andy sealed their mouths together again, tongue flicking over Peter’s. He moved his hands from slim shoulders to muscular arms. His mouth travelled over the slightly stubbled line of Peter’s jaw, kissing tenderly….

He was shaken from his musing by the sizzle of milk against the hot stove. Fighting down the feeling of loneliness, he poured the milk into his mug and stirred in the chocolate. He wondered into the sitting room and sat down in the armchair, turning on the television more for company than any desire to watch it. After ten minutes of flicking from channel to channel he turned it off again. He drank his chocolate and went to bed.

Three hours later he rose and made himself a second hot drink. He switched the television on again but there were less channels than before and still nothing that held his attention for more than a minute.

Finally he fell asleep on the sofa until the dawn woke him and he went to shower and shave. Instead of a suit he pulled on a sweater and faded jeans and headed out for the hospital just after seven.

*

Matthew Collins was already in. The few hours sleep had done him good and he was coming out of Peter’s room, smiling at the progress his patient had made, when Dalziel came plodding down the corridor.

"Good morning, Superintendent," he greeted cheerfully.

Dalziel smiled. "Better call me Andy," he suggested, "can’t have you being all formal when you’re looking after my lad."

"I totally agree."

"How is he?" Andy asked it as if he feared the worst.

"He’s had a good night, he only woke once I believe. We’ll going to do another scan this morning, just to make sure there’s nothing going on we should know about."

Andy felt relief at the news that Peter had slept soundly, mixed with the fear of what a brain scan might show. Collins seemed to sense that fear. "In my professional opinion, he’s doing a lot better than I’d expect given what he’s been through. I’d be surprised if we found anything but if we do, it’ll mean catching it early enough to be able to do something about it." He patted Dalziel’s arm. "He’s strong, like his boss." And he winked before strolling off toward the Trauma Ward.

Feeling a little better, Andy approached the PC who’d been on nightshift outside Peter’s room.

"Morning, Sir."

"Morning, Battershill." Dalziel prided himself on knowing some of his men by sight. "When’s replacement due?"

"PC Wilks is in at nine," he told the Superintendent confidently.

"Right, then. You get off, get some sleep. I’ll stay until Wilks gets here."

Battershill’s tired eyes lit up. "Thank you, Sir."

Peter was sound asleep when Dalziel quietly closed the door behind him and settled down into the chair next to the bed. He’d brought his blue towelling robe with him for his inspector and some of Peter’s own clothes in case he wanted them. He’d also grabbed a couple of books that he knew Peter hadn’t read yet, books he’d bought last weekend and had barely had the time to look at.

Not wanting to disturb, he rested his own head against the chair’s high back and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t sleep, not with Peter’s life to safeguard. But he let his mind settle finally on the case in hand. It seemed only minutes later that he was disturbed by a rough voice calling to him. Almost an hour had passed and breakfast had arrived.

"Andy?"

He opened his eyes and sat up. "Morning, Sunbeam."

"How long have you been here?" He was certainly more coherent this morning.

"Not long. Couldn’t sleep at home."

Peter smiled. "Missed me?"

"Nah, there’s plenty willing to keep me awake while you’re not around." The teasing in his voice betrayed the obvious answer to Peter’s question. "How are ya feelin’?"

Pascoe thought about that one. "Like I’ve been run over by a traction engine." He closed his eyes for a time. They’d given him painkillers around seven when he’d woken in agony and the effects of the strong medication were taking their toll. But he didn’t want to sleep again, not yet. He reached out his hand and Andy took it immediately, lowering it back to the bed as he wrapped his fingers around it. "How’s the Audi?"

"A right mess." Andy rubbed his thumb over the back of Peter’s hand, away from the IV line. "Nothin’ the insurance won’t pay for. Add it to the compensation you’re likely to be awarded and you could buy something sportier. I can just see you in a Ferrari."

The idea coaxed a smile from Peter. "That’d look good at crime scenes."

"Aye, pair of shades and you’d look like a real prat."

He fell quiet for a while, before he asked, "Who found me?"

"I did, Sunbeam, Wieldy and me. We were on our way out to see the mysterious twin." He wished they knew when the crash had occurred. They were relying on forensics to be able to tell them something but it would be vague.

"I’m sorry," Peter murmured.

"Don’t, lad. Wieldy was great, did all the first aid stuff, got me keepin’ a check on yer pulse to keep me occupied. I’m glad he was there but I’m not sorry it was us who found you."

Peter closed his eyes and let himself drift off for a time. When he woke again, he said without peeking, "Stop eyeing up my breakfast."

Andy chuckled. "I was doing no such thing."

"Likely story. I can hear yer stomach from here."

"Well I haven’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime!" He stated the fact as if only just realising it himself. "Rebecca bought me supper in the canteen but I wasn’t hungry."

Peter smiled softly. "I don’t believe you." He opened his eyes again, searching Dalziel’s gaze. "How was your lunch date?"

"There you’ll never believe me."

"Try me."

"My boss, our ACC, was coming on to me."

Peter wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much. "You’re right, I don’t believe you."

"I had to fight her off with me steak."

"There’s a interesting image." Making a decision, Peter retrieved his hand and started to push himself up into a sitting position.

"Peter!" Andy got up, deciding it was better to let the patient sort himself out and just be there as a support. Peter pulled himself up using Andy’s arm and shoulder. As he did so, the sheet fell away and the hospital gown rode up, Andy saw the bruises on his lover’s abdomen. "Christ, Peter…." Pascoe looked down at himself then up at Dalziel. "I made quite a mess of myself as well as the car."

"Someone did." He swept his hand over the blond hair. "But you’re still gorgeous."

Making sure Peter’s pillows were propping him up, Andy pulled the blue robe from the bag he’d bought. "Here you go."

Peter looked relieved. Hospital gowns never left too much to the imagination. "You’re a star." Dalziel helped him into it carefully. He put the clothes into the locker next to the bed and piled the four books next to the water jug. Peter lay back, recovering himself from the pain of his movements despite the medication in his system. The robe smelt of Andy and for a while he was content just to relax into that warmth and safety.

Dalziel let him rest. He turned when a small tap at the door drew his attention and he beckoned Wieldy in. "Morning, Flower."

"Morning, Sir. Where’s the PC?"

"Sent him home. The next one’s due in at nine. I can stay until then." He glanced at the newspaper folded up in his sergeant’s hand and reached for it. He knew what to expect. The headline read,

‘Copper Found In Car Wreck’.

‘A senior policeman was in hospital last night after the wreck of his car was discovered in a ditch off Berkham Road by his own boss.

Inspector Peter Pascoe, who last month became a local hero when he saved the life of Superintendent Andrew Dalziel during a shooting at an office in Leeds, had the favour returned when Dalziel spotted the mangled Audi while driving out to interview a suspect.

It is believed that the inspector had been working on the cases of two murder victims thought to be connected. Police will not say whether his crash was an accident or whether they are treating it as suspicious.

The road was wet but there’s no evidence to say that Pascoe was speeding, only that he lost control of his Audi which plunged backwards down the small embankment before the rear of the car smashed into a tree.

Doctors say he has sustained several injuries and is suffering from concussion. He is expected to make a full recovery.’

Dalziel glanced up at Wield. "Aww… Wieldy, you didn’t get a mention."

But the other man was smiling. "Doesn’t bother me, Sir." Andy knew it was the truth. His sergeant preferred to keep a low profile, despite the fact that a high profile in Wetherton was nothing to shout about. Only Andy Dalziel was infamous throughout Yorkshire and the surrounding counties’ forces. And that had taken some working at.

The newspaper had a photo of the mangled Audi, taken at the scene over the police cordon, and an inset of a photograph of Peter that Andy remembered from a couple of weeks ago, when they’d reported the firefight in Leeds during which his inspector had indeed saved his life. The picture didn’t do him justice.

"Morning, Ed." They both looked up to see Peter watching them. "Did I make the newspapers again?"

"Front page, Sunbeam." But Andy kept the paper away from him. "Ready for your breakfast?"

Peter tipped his head to one side on the pillow, regarding his superior with what he hoped was exasperation. "Give me the paper, Andy."

Dalziel hesitated, but it was he who had in the past pushed his often unwilling student toward those things Peter would perhaps rather not have been coerced into doing. Andy handed him the newspaper and watched him carefully.

A few seconds later Peter’s hands started to shake. He dropped the pages to the sheets but continued to stare at the image of his car, the wreck he’d been cut from, the crash he had no recollection of. Tears formed in his eyes and Dalziel stood, perching on the edge of the bed next to him and putting one arm carefully around his shoulders. "Come on, Petal," he murmured softly, pressing his lips to Peter’s hair. "It’s all right now." He recognised shock when he saw it and swore silently at himself for letting Pascoe see the paper.

Wieldy watched the gesture of undisguised affection, unsure whether or not he should leave.

"Wieldy, get us a couple of tissues will ya?" Dalziel pointed to the box on the table under the window. "All right, Peter, you’re safe now," he reassured as he gently cuddled his lover. He shunned the selfish hope that this would jog the memory, that the tears would work something lose. But Peter said nothing, just leaned into Dalziel’s warmth and rested in the offered comfort. If he did remember, Andy was confident he’d be the first to know.

He pulled himself together, picking up the paper again. But Andy deliberately took it from him. "Later, Sunbeam, ay?"

This time Peter nodded and let it be taken. After a couple more minutes Dalziel moved away, back to the chair, and throwing the tissues balled in his hand into the paper bag taped to the side of the cabinet Peter reached across for his breakfast. Wieldy helped him with a grin, one Pascoe couldn’t help but return. "Hospital food," he murmured with apprehension.

Wieldy nodded slowly. "Could be anything."

Peter drew the tray to him and took a hold of the handle embedded in the metal cover that sat over the plate. "But will it be dangerous?"

"Dangerous perhaps, illegal definitely."

Peter chuckled and immediately regretted it. He winced as the movement aggravated the bruising and Wield’s regarded turned to one of empathy. "I shouldn’t make you laugh."

"No, you shouldn’t." His tone was rueful but he managed a smile as he lifted the cover from the plate.

*

For three hours after they wheeled him back from the scan, Peter slept. He’d been given another dose of painkillers and after the strain of the morning his exhausted body demanded respite. Nothing in the world could have woken him. He lay on his back, head turned to one side, Andy’s blue dressing gown wrapped around him under the sheets. Yet another saline drip had been started, the last the doctor had promised him, but the monitors had been switched off and he looked relatively comfortable.

PC Wilks had been given photographs of those allowed to visit his ward. Ellie Pascoe looked just like the shot Dalziel had found of her from the Pascoes’ wedding. She stood for a few minutes, unsure if she should stay or not. But finally she sat down in the chair next to the bed where she remained for a time, wondering whose the blue robe was and taking a fairly accurate guess.

Wieldy had left the newspaper on the bedside cabinet when he and Dalziel had headed out for the station. She picked it up, feeling a shiver run down her spine when she saw the picture of her husband’s Audi. She read the article, hating to be reminded of the shooting in Leeds that had led to the final breakdown of her marriage.

"Andy…."

Ellie folded the paper and replaced it, leaning forward and hesitantly touching her husband’s hand. "Pete, it’s Ellie." He was still groggy from the medication, but he looked up at her with a glazed expression.

"Ellie…." Confusion crossed his face. "You’re… you’re supposed to be in London."

She frowned. "You know I’m up here. We had lunch, remember? Talked about you coming down to live with Rosie and I, about your transfer to the Met."

Peter’s lips parted, allowing more rapid, panting breaths that started to come now. Had the monitors been connected, they would have registered a sharp increase in heart rate. His reaction surprised and frightened her a little. "Pete, it’s all right, you’re all right."

"I didn’t…." His eyes closed but he shook his head. "No, Ellie…."

She squeezed his fingers gently. "It’s all right, Love. We can talk when you’re better, all right?" She reached up, stroked the backs of her fingers over his stubbled cheek. "You need to rest, Pete." His breathing eased. "Rosie sends her love. I’ve told her you’re poorly but you’ll get better and you’ll come to see her when you’re well." She thought for a moment that he’d fallen back to sleep, but a few seconds later he pulled his hand from hers and tried to turn on to his side, away from her. The pain caused by his attempt woke him properly and his cry, his obvious sudden discomfort, made her rush to the door and alert a passing nurse.

Dalziel saw the commotion as he strode down the hospital corridor. Two hours at the station, away from here, had been about all he could bare. His temper had frayed until he’d yelled at PC Singhe over nothing. At that stage Wieldy had finally gathered the courage to suggest the boss should personally check on his inspector, see if he’d remembered anything else that might help with their inquires. It was the only excuse he’d needed and Andy had driven through town as if the devil were at his back.

Silly really, he told himself. Peter would be sleeping after his scan. The results probably wouldn’t be known yet and even if they were, there was nothing he could do one way or the other. But he needed to be here. Even stepping into the hospital building had eased his pulse, calmed his nerves. An effect which had lasted right up until now. He saw the nurse go quickly into Peter’s room and he too set off at a run.

Ellie looked across, surprised when Andy rounded into the doorway. He barely registered her presence. "Is he all right?"

The nurse glanced at him kindly as he stepped into the room. "He’s fine, just tried to turn over in his sleep that’s all."

Peter was once again on his back, eyes open and filled with the mist of unshed tears. Not really caring what Ellie or Sister Dougal thought, Andy pushed between them and sat himself on the edge of the bed. Covering Peter’s hand with his own he murmured in a mock-stern tone, "Now listen, Sunbeam, I thought I warned you to do as you were told." Peter’s eyes locked on to his face, and their patient calmed instantly. "You have to stay on your back for a few days, okay? Wouldn’t have thought it would be too much of a problem for a lazy sod like yerself." His words left the nurse smiling, Ellie stunned. But Peter blinked the moisture from his eyes and wrapped his fingers loosely around Andy’s hand before nodding once, lids closing slowly. A few minutes later he was sleeping soundly once again.

"You just have to know how to talk to ‘em," he offered as an explanation to the two women. Nurse Dougal left her patient in what were obviously very good hands. Ellie sat back down, noting that Andy hadn’t pulled away from Peter’s grasp.

"What’s wrong with him, Andy?" she asked uneasily.

"The crack he took to his head, presumably from hitting the steering wheel with it, has left him with concussion. He’s lost around four days we reckon."

She worked back through the diary in her mind. "He didn’t know what I was doing up here."

"No, from what we can work out, his last memory is of the night we got your message on the answer machine, but before that. He and Wieldy and I met in the Black Bull. He remembers that vaguely, but nothing after."

"He will be all right though?" The news came as a shock.

"He’ll be fine, Ellie."

After a few minutes he reluctantly took his hand from Peter’s, making sure he didn’t disturb the sleeping man. "I’ll let you have some time with him," he told her quietly. "Don’t worry too much, ay? He’s a tough ‘en."

Ellie nodded her thanks and watched him leave. Turning back to her husband she sighed. And for a brief moment she wondered if she’d spent the last few years wrongly labelling Dalziel as the bad guy. And then she thought about Peter’s instant reaction to his presence. He’d always been between them, always had a part of her husband she’d never even seen.

Outside the room, Dalziel almost walked into Doctor Collins. "Doc…."

"Super… Andy." He smiled, waving a large-sized envelope around. "The results of the scan from this morning. He’s clear." Andy closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the utter relief the news brought.

"Thank God."

"You can break the good news, if you’d like."

"Thanks, but" he indicated the door, "his wife’s with him at the moment." He missed the leap of Collins’ eyebrows. "He’s sleeping… and I should get back to the station."

The doctor nodded, and Dalziel thought he might have seen a deeper understanding in the man’s face. "Back later?"

"Of course." He hesitated. Something drew him to this man, something he couldn’t quite grasp. He wanted to say more, but instead he just stepped around the doctor and headed out.

*

The next few hours passed with agonising slowness. Andy read the file on his inspector’s car crash from cover to cover, the first time he’d read any file so completely in a very, very long time. The car had indeed been hit from behind, at a speed of about forty miles per hour. Peter had lost control on the slippery road surface and the car had spun 180 degrees. The driver’s side rear wheels had ridden up onto the grass at the side of the road and the momentum had taken the car down the slight incline until the rear driver’s side had collided with a massive oak tree. It had hit at about thirty-five m.p.h.

But the detail that caught Dalziel’s eye was a single line within the paragraph describing the inside of the car. Peter had been thrown forward at the moment of impact, and his body had hit the steering wheel with enough force to cause severe bruising and to crack ribs. His wrist, where he’d been gripping the wheel, had been snapped clean. His ankle had suffered a similar but less harsh fate against the brake. He head had been cracked against the top of the steering wheel. The blood from that wound had splattered against the broken windscreen and window.

But why? ‘Seatbelt tampered with, locking mechanism broken. Driver’s airbag removed.’ Someone had planned this with deliberate cruelty. He thought back to the night before the crash. Peter had left his car at the station and Wieldy had given him a lift to the CC’s bash at the hotel in town. The Audi had remained in the station car park all night. Someone had broken in, done a professional job with the seatbelt and airbag, and then locked the car and walked away. They’d watched then, lain in wait until Peter had been vulnerable, followed him the next day and in a quiet, lonely spot driven into the back of him and sent him careering off the road. Left him for dead.

Andy felt a surge of anger, a terrible hatred for the person who’d done this. He put the report down and put his head in his hands. There were photos, detailed shots of the car, each dent, each smash, the broken windscreen and the blood. Peter’s blood.

"Sir?"

He looked up into Wieldy’s concerned expression. He was too tired to shout. He just sighed. "What can I do for you, Sergeant?" he asked wearily.

"I was about to ask if you felt like a pint and a pie at the Bull."

Dalziel smiled, genuinely thankful for his staff. "Aye, Ed," he murmured, closing the cover of the report and placing it carefully to one side, giving it more respect he’d ever gave any paperwork. "I reckon that’s the best idea you’ve had in ages."

The pub was quiet. There was a couple in the far corner of the bar but other than that they were alone. Wieldy bought the drinks and ordered the food. It occurred to Andy that the last time he’d eaten was in a pub with someone buying lunch. He felt a twinge of guilt that he was here while Peter lay in hospital and just kept telling himself that all was well, that Peter was on the way to a full recovery.

Wield put the pint down in front of his boss and sat quietly. And for a short time they sat in silence, just sipping ale, lost in their own thoughts. Wieldy finally broke in.

"I think the doctor looking after Peter is gay."

Dalziel’s eyebrows rose up over the rim of his glass. Whatever he was expecting, it hadn’t been that. "Think he fancies you, do ya?"

"Don’t know. I like him though. And his working hours must be worse than mine. Jase got sick of me cancelling dates on him."

Andy nodded in sympathy. "The job destroys relationships. My wife left because of it, Peter’s Ellie, your Jase. Casualties of crime. We’re as much victims as those we investigate." The words and tone were unusual coming from Dalziel. He normally left the pontificating to Peter. "I hope I’m not fooling meself, believing Peter and I’ll be all right because we work the same hours and both understand that the job comes first."

Wieldy smiled. "I think you’ll both be absolutely fine." They belonged together, to the sergeant that was a blatantly obvious fact. Dalziel and Pascoe would hopefully come to see it themselves one day, and to believe in it.

A couple of minutes later, their food arrived. As they ate, Andy filled his sergeant in first on the good news regarding Peter’s second brain scan, and then on the findings of the report on Peter’s car and the scene of the crash. Outside, the rain started to tap against the window.

Food finished, Wieldy bought a second round.

"He keeps trying to sleep on his side," Andy murmured, half lost in thought. "He can’t sleep on his back." He glanced up and saw the grin on Wieldy’s face. He shook his head. "Christ, look what he’s turned me into! A big softy." He pulled a face. "My hard-won reputation’ll end up down the bog at this rate!"

*

The evening hours found Andy back at the hospital, sitting comfortably on the side of Peter’s bed. Doctor Collins had intercepted Dalziel when he’d arrived back and had warned him that Peter had been very down that afternoon, ever since Ellie’d left. He’d been reading but hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and hadn’t asked for any painkillers since they’d administered the small morphine dose after the scan that morning.

"She said I was… going to transfer to the Met," he told Andy quietly.

"That’s nonsense," Dalziel reassured him. "She asked you to move to London with her, told you she’d settle for you getting a job at the Met. Even asked me to talk to you about it. But you never agreed, in fact you made me promise I wouldn’t sign a transfer. You’re staying put." That was an obvious relief. "Besides, you wouldn’t get away from me that easily." Peter actually smiled. "Why don’t you let me get you some Paracetamol or something? You’re in pain."

He nodded hesitantly.

Having taken the two strong painkillers, Peter eased himself down into the pillows, half-sitting, half-lying. "I don’t deserve you, Andy," he murmured softly.

"Don’t be so daft, Petal. You deserve better."

But the young man shook his head. "I’ve been thinking, about when you were in here, after Reynolds shot you in the pub. I was here for the first few hours. I sat with you in Intensive Care, held your hand. I thought, what was the point? What had been the point in doing what we’d done, going through what we’d gone through just for you to be shot by one of our own? I left the hospital more depressed than I’d ever felt. I went home. Ellie… when I told her…." He sighed. "It fell apart so quickly after that. I didn’t have time to think. Weeks of rows getting more and more… bitchy, lasting longer and longer. When she sent Rosie to stay with her grandparents, I was furious. When she told me to leave, about two weeks later, I fell apart. Wieldy’ll tell you, if you ask him."

Andy shook his head. "Peter…."

"I just wanted you to know why I didn’t come and see ya. I just…. I couldn’t. Because you’d know there was something wrong. And then when you came and sat in the car that night… I felt so guilty, and so glad to see you. I just couldn’t say it. I couldn’t face you tellin’ me I told you so."

Andy got up then, moved to sit next to Peter. The other man settled himself against Andy’s side, just needing to feel his lover’s arms around him for a while. "Did I ever?" Peter shook his head. "That’s because I honestly thought you two would make it."

But there was more. "That night, in the car, I wanted to tell you how much you meant to me, how much I wanted to have you back, to take all the responsibility you’d dumped on me and let me crumble."

Andy rubbed his hand over Peter’s shoulders and back. "It’s history, Peter," he told his inspector gently, "let it go."

"Consider it gone." The slightly slurred edge of his voice let Andy know that the drugs were kicking in. He held Peter as gently as he could, staying away from the bruises. One arm rested around his shoulders, the other lay down the length of Peter’s arm, the right one, the one that didn’t end in a slim cast. Their fingers were linked, Peter’s hand lying on top of Andy’s. "Taking a risk, aren’t we?"

"Definitely." Dalziel dropped a kiss to his lover’s head. "Anyone could walk in. The ACC, Ellie, PC Wilks. More likely it would be Wieldy, or that doctor of yours he’s got a crush on."

Peter turned to smile up at him. "Really?"

"Aye, reckons he might be in with a chance too."

It was something he’d have to look out for, Pascoe thought. He’d stopped fighting the numbness of his mind under the medication he’d taken. The pain was distant now. He was surrounded by Andy, his warmth and touch, and for now he was content to sleep.

Sometime later, Andy backed out and lay Peter down onto his back. He muttered under the influence of the drugs but didn’t wake. It would be a couple of hours before he’d leave for the empty house. He picked up one of the books he’d brought in, ‘Anti-Illuminati’ by Jerome Elliot Plotkin. Suspicious, he settled down to read it. Peter, it seemed, would read anything, fiction or factual. He remembered one that he’d been involved in when he’d first moved in, ‘Erotic Art of Magic’. Dalziel, when he did pick up a book, preferred a plot, a lead character and at least one heroine, preferably in distress.

His relationship with Peter was changing him. He understood a little better what Wieldy went through every day of his life, the secrets he had to keep because the world - especially their world - was still a prejudiced one. To broadcast your homosexuality was akin to signing a death warrant for your own career. Certainly Peter’s would come to a skidding halt if this was ever to come out. The Powers That Be had their suspicions about Wieldy, that’s why he was still a sergeant while Pascoe was well on his way to another promotion and the title of Chief Inspector.

Dalziel wasn’t going to do anything that would slow down Peter’s climb. Sooner or later he’d overtake Andy and that was fine. Perhaps he’d retire then. Or perhaps he and Pascoe could continue to work together, partners in crime. From that moment in the car park outside the courthouse when Peter had asked Dalziel if everything was all right, seemingly blind to the shotgun pressed into the superior’s gut, their lives had been inexplicably entwined. He wouldn’t have had it any other way.

* * *

Andy watched Peter struggle into the loose jogging trousers and baggy jumper he’d been instructed to bring. Doctor Collins stepped into the room and as Dalziel had done before him tried to assist his patient in dressing. He received the same muttered denial Andy had and so backed off, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Now are we clear on the instructions?"

Peter’s head finally poked through the neck hole and he rolled his eyes. "We’re clear."

"Six weeks of complete rest. The only exception is a visit here once a week to make sure you’re mending."

Peter nodded. Two crutches awaited him on the bed but he’d discovered that to use someone as a support in place of the crutches caused him much less pain and was far easier. Andy had been used most, Wieldy when he was around, even Matthew Collins.

A nurse dropped in to hand him three packets of painkillers. "I’m absolutely serious about the rest, Peter." He wiggled his finger pointedly. "I have spies."

"Which reminds me." Peter lifted the top book from the stack in the carrier bag next to his feet. He opened the cover and took the business card that was sitting there, handing it to his doctor. "Ed Wield asked me to give you this." Matthew turned the usual police card in his fingers and saw the local telephone number scribbled in a neat hand on the back. He smiled.

"I’ll call him later."

Peter nodded as he glanced at his shoes before looking over at Dalziel who sat back. "Oh now you want my help."

*

Sergeant Wield and Constable Ivor Novello climbed gracefully out of the car. Warrant in hand, Wieldy strode to the large double garage door and opened it. In the semi-dark a dark blue Volvo had been backed in. The left headlight was smashed and there were scratches and small dents in the front radiator grill. The number plate was cracked in two place, one through the ‘D’ of ‘D987’ and the other through the ‘T’ of ‘5TR’.

Sergeant Wield rapped on the door of the house and waited. When the door was finally opened, the spitting image of their dead Pauline Greenham stood before him. "Ms Greenham?" She frowned at him. "You’re under arrest for the murders of Mark Casey, Reggie Glenayre and Charlotte Greenham, and the attempted murder of Detective-Inspector Peter Alex Pascoe."

*

Peter hobbled out into the car park. The Rover was a welcome sight – freedom after being cooped up for too long. Just as they reached the car Andy’s mobile rang.

"Dalziel." He half-listened while the rest of his attention was taken up with watching his inspector work out how to best get into the passenger seat.

"Another thing, Sir" Sergeant Wield was obviously excited. "A Miss Pauline Greenham’s here to see you."

The Superintendent dropped down into the driver’s seat next to Peter. "You serious, Wieldy?"

"Aye. The plates D987 5TR belong to a dark green Volvo which when we found it displayed distinct evidence of having collided recently with the back of a blue car."

Dalziel glanced at Peter. "Hold her, I’ll drop Peter home and come in." But Pascoe was shaking his head.

"Take me with you," he whispered urgently. Andy stared pointedly at his inspector. He hesitated. But finally he nodded.

"We’re coming in, Wieldy." He disconnected the call. "I should be taking you home," he told Peter, "Matthew’ll have me hung."

"I want to see her." Peter gazed out of the window. "She tried to kill me, Andy. I want to know why."

*

Peter dropped his arm from around Wieldy’s waist a second or two before Wield let his own arm fall. He stared at the wreck of his car where it sat in the police lab’s impound garage. Leaning all his weight on his left foot he reached out and touched the roof of the Audi. "I’d only had ‘er three months," he murmured.

Using the car for support, he limped around it, touching the devastated body, the metal scraped bare of paint. The web of cracks in the windscreen was intoned with his blood. It was on the steering wheel and the dash. He started to shake again, tremors that appeared to start at his fingers and work out from where he touched the car.

A hand on his shoulder at first surprised then steadied him. "Peter?"

"I’m all right… just…."

"You shouldn’t be out here. You should be resting. He should have taken you home."

Peter smiled lopsidedly at his sergeant. "Anyone else starts mothering me I might just scream." He moved around to the relatively unscathed bonnet of the car and perched on the rounded edge. "I gave your card to the doc," he murmured, "he’ll ring later no doubt."

Wield failed to hide his smile. "Thanks."

"Anytime." He rubbed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on.

"Come on, Sir, you should be home."

Peter couldn’t help but agree. "He’ll probably be a while," he muttered. "Couldn’t give me a lift could you?"

"I’d have thought so, seems I owe you one doesn’t it?" He thought about his boss’ doctor and smiled.

*

"And two days after that, you attempted to kill my Inspector," Dalziel stated calmly. "You forced his car off the road and then you left the scene. We have samples of his car paint from the dents at the front of your Volvo. We have your number-plate as told to us by your attempted victim. We do have witnesses to that statement. We also believe you killed your own sister in order to make us believe that you’d been killed. You knew Peter would identify her, like he’d identified that pendant you gave to Reggie at university."

She remained silent, as did her solicitor.

"I just don’t know why. Like I don’t know why you killed the other five students when you murdered Reggie."

She looked at him. And then she leaned forward. "When we were at university, Reggie could have had me. I was everything he should have wanted. But he didn’t want. He had this thing for Pete, unnatural it is. And then one night, I got ‘im drunk and made myself available, made myself attractive and he goes and sleeps with Mark Casey instead."

Dalziel felt he understood at long last. Not just her reasons and her motive, but her direction. "You should have been what he wanted, but in the end you couldn’t ever be. Must have been frustrating."

"It was."

Instinct, something in the way she played with her fingers, made Dalziel take the almost-empty cigarette packet from his jacket pocket and offer her one. He lit it for her. "You’d been thinking about it, hadn’t you? For five years. Then what?"

She chuckled to herself. "You won’t believe it. I saw Peter. Hadn’t seen ‘im in ages and then one day I’m up at the university and I see him, with you."

As if that explained everything she stopped. "Sorry, you’ve lost me."

She looked straight at him, grey eyes dancing. "I thought he was with ya, in the biblical sense. Didn’t know he was a copper. You two looked… you were laughing. And it brought it all back. I started to watch and later I realised what Pete was. I knew I’d have to be careful. So I killed Charlotte. Then I saw Mark Casey in a pub one night. I could barely believe my eyes."

As she talked, Andy let the tape take it and permitted his own attention wonder to her solicitor. He was the quietest one he’d ever met. He hadn’t spoken once. Maybe she’d instructed him not to. Maybe she wanted to confess. Dalziel hoped there wouldn’t be any surprises with his one.

"I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw Pete’s car in the car park that night. I broke in, fixed the seatbelt and the airbag and left it much as I’d left your place. As if I’d never been there. Next day… I waited. I saw him leave and followed him. I didn’t know he’d seen me, I thought I was being careful but I obviously wasn’t. It was perfect. No other cars, lots of trees. I sped up and drove into the back of him. He lost control for a moment and swerved. I hit him again, and he lost it completely. As the car spun I saw him thrown forward and hit the steering wheel with his forehead. It was violent. I saw the blood splatter on the window and then the car went over the bank and hit the tree. It seemed to crumple and the windscreen shattered. He was thrown forward again, against the steering column. So quick and loud… and then it all went quiet and he was just there. I thought he was dead. I should have checked, should have finished it. But there was blood. I hate the sight of blood, makes my skin crawl."

*

Dalziel switched on the small lamp in the corner of the lounge and stood for a few moments watching Peter sleep, stretched out on the sofa. His breathing was deep and even, his arms folded protectively in front of him and despite everything he’d managed to at least tilt himself to one side. His head was pillowed on the cushions, legs bent, the slim cast on his right foot and ankle up on the arm of the sofa. He looked rested and peaceful at least.

Andy left him and moved into the kitchen. He’d stopped in at Sainsburys on his way home, knowing full well that since Peter had been in hospital he’d had no fresh food in the house at all. He’d even lost a bit of weight with the worry. But after so many days of hospital grub, Peter deserved something home-cooked. He put the grape juice in the fridge and turned on the oven. With vegetables to peel and a sauce to prepare, he lost himself in the cooking and time passed unnoticed.

An hour later the aroma of ginger vegetables and herbed chicken was roaming through the house. Peter woke slowly to the wonderful scent and saw Andy sitting in the armchair opposite him reading the newspaper and supping a beer.

"’ello."

Dalziel folded down the corner of the paper and smiled over at him. "Evening, Petal."

"Dinner smells good."

"Should do." He watched while Peter pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Did she confess?"

He didn’t have to clarify the question. "Yeah, she did. I think her solicitor was dead mind." He chuckled. "I should have brought you straight home."

Peter shook his head once, gently. "Wieldy was after getting home early anyway."

"I bet." There was more Peter would need to know eventually. But not this evening. "Grubs up when you want it."

"Kitchen?"

"Bollocks. Get yourself comfy there. I’ve got to look after you now. I can do the nurse bit."

A brief image of Andy in a nurse’s uniform popped into Peter’s mind and he smiled to himself. Andy’s eyes sparkled and he wagged a finger at his lover. "Behave."

Peter smiled sheepishly.

Dinner was, as usual when Dalziel took to the kitchen, mouth-watering and delicious. Peter speared a final carrot, a thoughtful expression playing on his face. "Four days, Andy. What have I forgotten that I should remember?"

Dalziel had to think about that himself. They’d already been through Ellie’s visits – her lunch with Peter and her evening call on Andy. One dull evening sitting with Peter on his hospital bed Dalziel had recounted the amusing story of The Superintendent, The Chief Constable, His Pint and An Obscene Suggestion.

"There’s nothing important, Peter."

But there was something in Andy’s hesitation, in his eyes and tone that gave the wink to the detecting part of Pascoe’s brain. "What is it?"

Dalziel muttered something under his breath. He finished his last roast potato and put his tray down onto the floor. Then getting up, he perched on the edge of the sofa at Peter’s hip. "There is something." He thought for a moment, trying to figure out how best to say it. "The night we were at the Bull – you remembered something about a Cheshire Cat."

"Aye. I can’t…." He looked up suddenly. "Yes I can! I’d told Wieldy about you and I… and we were swapping… remarks, crude jokes… you came in and told us we resembled Cheshire Cats."

Andy held his breath. "Go on."

Peter scrunched his face in thought. It was like pushing through a stone wall in his mind. There were hints, glances but without context they meant nothing. "I’m sorry…."

"Don’t be daft. We got back ‘ere from the pub and there was a message on the answering machine from Ellie, asking you to meet her for lunch. I got all pissy and you had to talk me down from the kitchen sink. We went to bed. Together. And you asked me…."

"I asked you to make love to me." His smile was its own reward, mirrored as it was on Andy’s face. He suddenly felt terribly shy. "I remember."

Dalziel’s relief was palpable. "I’m extremely glad about that. I was thinking I might have to give you a detailed recap."

Peter grinned. "Maybe I should have let you." He could still feel the blush in his cheeks.

For a time he looked every which where but at Andy. And then finally he met his lover’s gaze. "I remember it being… intense."

"Aye, it were that all right. The most intense experience of my life anyhow." Dalziel’s eyebrows danced to the light in his eyes. "You once used the phrase ‘mind-blowing’. It was that. And more. And when you’re up to it, I’d like you to return the favour."

Peter swallowed. "Andy… you don’t have to. I asked you because I wanted to… I’d been thinking about it for a time, I know that. But it’s not something I want to force you into. It doesn’t matter."

"Does to me. Don’t get me wrong, I never thought in a million years I’d ask anyone to stick their cock up me arse, not for any reason! Even when we started this it wasn’t something I wanted. But now… Christ, Peter, you have to feel what I’ve felt."

For a few seconds they sat and watched one another, sharing more in the silence than they’d have been able to with words. Eventually, Andy indicated Peter’s half-eaten dinner. "You don’t have finish that."

"I was doing fine," Peter protested indignantly, "until you got my body thinking about other things."

"Sorry." Andy stood, but Peter reached and grabbed his wrist, stroking the smooth skin at the base of his hand with his thumb.

"I doubt it’ll be too long before I’m up for it," he murmured softly, smiling.

Andy let his hand slip down into Peter’s grasp. "I’m supposed to be looking after you. Do as you’re told or I’ll confine you to bed."

"Promises, promises."

Andy picked up his tray and headed for the kitchen. "Severe way to get out of doing the dishes don’t ya think?" he called back through.

And suddenly Peter had another flash of memory. "Oh God!"

Dalziel was back in the doorway in a moment, concerned. "What?" He was being waved at with a fork.

"I’ve got you a present. I ordered it a couple of weeks back and on the day of the accident they rang to arrange a delivery time – I said I’d ring them back later. But I never did."

Andy stared at him, baffled. "What are you talking about?"

But Peter was grinning. "Throw me the phone and bugger off for a few minutes."

*

At ten-thirty the following morning, Andy was interrupted from reading through more case notes – these regarding a series of burglaries on petrol stations (fuel, not cash) - by the front door bell. Peter, reading on the sofa, went to get up but Andy froze him in place with a single look. "Oh no you don’t. I’ll go." He glanced out of the window, frowning when he saw the Comet lorry parked outside.

Opening the door suspiciously he watched the driver approach with a clipboard.

"Mr Andrew Dalziel?"

"Aye. Why?"

The driver grinned and nodded. "Delivery for you, Sir." He opened up the back of the truck and disappeared up inside for a few minutes. He eventually came back down the ramp with a large crate on a trolley. Rolling it up to the house he parked the trolley and handed Andy the clipboard. "If you could just sign here, Sir."

Andy frowned, glancing behind him at Peter where he stood in the door of the lounge. "Not until I know what you’re about to drag into my house."

The driver leaned on the crate, "This, Sir? This is your new dishwasher."

fin

elfin

14^th Sept 2000

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