Going Dutch
by elfin
PG
He hasn't slept in days - since waking up feeling like death, lying
next to it, covered in blood, and this whole nightmare had begun.
But as exhausted as he was, he was still fretting, obviously still
going over it all in that busy detective brain of his.
Peter sat and watched as long as he could bear while Andy, still almost
fully clothed in his crumpled white shirt pulled out over dark
trousers, shifted restlessly on the mussed up sheets of the hotel
room's double bed.
Finally he dropped the trashy newsagents novel to the carpet and kicked
off his shoes, moving to first sit then - bugger it all - lie on the
other side of the mattress, plumping up a couple of pillows, leaning
back against them.
"Go to sleep," he murmured softly.
Andy settled awkwardly along his side, head turned away from him, and
within minutes, without a word, he was snoring softly, fast asleep at
last.
Peter too closed his eyes. There was still too much adrenaline
washing through him, making him feel vaguely nauseous. It would
be a little while before he relaxed, accepted it was over and Andy was
with him, safe, exhonerated. There'd never been any doubt in his
mind. Dalziel had done some questionable things in his time but
date rape and murder were so far out of character it would have been
laughable if the evidence hadn't been so blatently obvious.
Obviously planted. Obviously a set up. Hadn't he known all
along?
Too reliant on procedure - that was his problem and he knew it.
Too scared to go with his first, gut instinct. How many dinasour
coppers had gone under because they'd followed their feeling about a
case? How many criminals caged due to it?
He shifted slightly, not wanting to wake Andy, and slipped down the
pillows a fraction, resting his cheek against the light, thinning
hair. He wasn't sure who he'd been more frightened for, Andy or
himself. Too set in their ways now to change, lives too entwined
to separate. Losing Andy, even for a short time, had felt like he
imagined losing a limb would feel; still aware of its presence but
unable to see it or touch it or use it.
Andy's possible guilt had been an unthinkable thing. He got drunk
and passed out, that's what usually happened. Peter had witnessed
it on countless occasions. And nothing stronger than a Rennie
passed his lips without a full forensics work up on the ingrediants
listed on the bottle. No drugs, not for Dalziel, not even in
Amsterdam.
Turning his head, Peter pressed his lips to Andy's hair in something
that might have been a kiss, might just have been a deep breath.
But lifting his hand to rest lightly on Andy's hip; that was definitely
a deliberate stroking of his fingers over rough material before finally
the adrenaline started to dissipate and he slowly drifted off to sleep.
When he woke he had no concept of what time it was, just that Andy was
stirring next to him. He opened his eyes just as the big man
shifted back against him, paused, and turned over with some effort.
He said nothing, just looked at Peter, the gaze impressively assessing
for someone who'd snatched only a handful of hours' sleep in the last
few days. Peter smiled, knowing at last where the fear he'd felt
during those days had come from. Bringing up the hand that had
slept on Andy's hip, he brushed his palm over the fine head of hair and
without drama or angst, leaned in to kiss him.
Definitely a kiss this time. Andy's mouth moved cautiously over
his own, at first questioning, then inviting more. Peter was
still smiling when he broke away.
Voice rough with sleep, Peter could hear the repressed tears when Andy
said, "Thanks for believing in me, Sunbeam."
"You know I do."
"I think I do now."
"Go back to sleep. I'll still be 'ere in the morning."
He hesitated, but settled in against Peter and closed his eyes
again. "Can we go 'ome in the morning?"
"Thought you might want to see the canals." He couldn't hide the
amusement in his voice, and Andy - wisely - chose to simply ignore it.
fin
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