Sunshine and Beer
by elfin


Twelve noon on a Sunday, a hot day at the end of August.

Blue skies, green grass. 

Peter Pascoe lay on his back on the lawn of the house he'd long-since started to call home.

His sunglasses protected his eyes as his watched the wisps of clouds passing over head.  His usually pale skin had been darkened to a golden tan by two weeks aboard at the start of the month - a lonely vacation in Tuscany that had done wonders for his stress levels.  His naturally blond hair had been turned the colour of honey by the summer sun.

He tilted his head at the sound of activity in the kitchen.  And then his smile lit his features as the back door opened and Dalziel stepped out onto the patio. 

"Hey, welcome home!" 

Andy smiled down.  "Hi, Sunbeam, miss me?"

Peter removed his shades, cornflower-blue eyes catching Andy's breath.  "Only if you missed me."

"Incredibly, believe it or not."

Andy took in his Inspector.  The top three buttons of Peter's light, thin denim shirt were open, revealing the fine line of his collarbone and the smooth skin of the base of his neck.

No finer sight could have greeted Andy after two weeks in the Lakes, despite this being the very reason he'd taken off for the coast in the first place.

He sat down on the edge of the patio, removing his jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt. 

Dropping his sunglasses to the grass, Peter turned lazily onto his front, shirt falling forward. 

Andy closed his eyes in despair.  

"So, how was it?"  Peter's smile was almost as bright as the sun above them.

"Boring."

"That would explain all the phone-calls."  Peter bent his legs at the knees, crossing his ankles in mid-air like some excitable teenager about to find out all the latest gossip.

"Yeah, speaking of which, where've ya been all week?"

Peter shrugged innocently.  "Out."

"Oh, aye, met someone 'ave ya?"

Peter grinned for a moment longer than necessary, perhaps intentionally.  Then he shook his head.  "I've been with Wieldy.  A drink at the pub, even saw a movie Wednesday night.  Do you know how long it's been since I saw a movie?"

Andy grunted.  "You watch yourself, people'll start talking."

"Aye, me going out with Wieldy while I'm living with you." 

Peter was teasing, and Andy couldn't get a grasp on his inspector's mood.  He let it drop.  "I got ya a present."

"Ooo!"  Peter wiggled his toes and watched attentively while his boss disappeared inside the house for a few minutes. 

When he came back outside he was holding a large blue box, around ten inches by ten inches by ten inches.  He placed it on the grass in front of Peter. 

"There you go."  Then he sat down on the lawn. 

Peter lifted the lid from the box and peered down.  It contained four bottles, looking from the top a lot like beer bottles.  Smiling suspiciously at Andy, he lifted one of the bottles out and read the label.  It was white with only two words written on it in light blue script.

'Jenning's Sunbeam'

Peter smiled, unguarded.  He looked up, meeting Andy's somewhat apprehensive gaze.  "I'm touched.  Thank you."

Dalziel shrugged, only half-succeeding in hiding his pleasure.  "It's something they do.  I thought you might appreciate it.  I've almost got your taste in ale sorted.  You'll like that one."

Peter put the bottle back into the box carefully and replaced the lid.  Clambering to his feet, he took the box into the house to find it a space in the fridge. 

Andy dropped back slowly against the warm grass.  It was wonderful to be home.  He'd missed it.  Missed his rugby, missed his work.  Missed Peter every minute of every day.

He'd decided somewhere around Ellesmere that this escaping from Wetherton hadn't worked.  Whatever his feelings for his inspector, he obviously couldn't bare not to be around him.  So he'd have to put up with it. 

If it had just been that Pascoe was easy on the eyes it wouldn't have been so much of a problem.  After his divorce Peter had taken a fortnight off and flown to Italy.  He hadn't had a holiday in years and the break, though lonely, had done him good.  He'd returned with lower blood pressure, a smile on his face and looking great.  More attractive than ever been in Andy's eyes.

A week of that and Andy had taken his long-awaited vacation in desperation. 

The Lake District had been about as far as he'd wanted to venture.  To say he'd hated every minute of it wouldn't have been fair.  Fresh air and not working had done him good.  Hadn't cured the problem though.

He distantly heard the phone ring five times and then Peter answer it.  It seemed like forever before a cold beer was being placed into his hand.  He opened his eyes and smiled up. 

"Who was it?"

Peter settled himself back onto the grass.  "You're not after replacing me, are ya?"

Andy sat up and made a face.  "As if."  He couldn't help himself.  "Who was it?"

"A Detective Chief-Inspector Jardine of Strathclyde CID."

Andy tilted his head to one side.  "Michael Jardine?"

"Aye.  You know him?"

"Not personally.  Protégé of a friend.  What did he want?"

"He and a DI Ross are coming to see us tomorrow morning."

Dalziel looked at him, expecting more.  But Peter was just smiling that odd smile.  "Any reason or do they just fancy a holiday like the rest of us?"

"Case match.  Seems our paper-round murderer was at it up in Glasgow before he moved down here."

Andy sighed, pursing his lips.  It would be good to finally meet the man he'd heard much about over the years.

Peter waited for verbal comment, but none came.  "DCI Jardine said he wanted to compare notes."

"Aye.  Clever sod that."

Peter felt a spike of envy he didn't quite understand.  "Thought you'd never met him."

"I haven't.  But I knew his boss, Chief Inspector Jim Taggart.  One of the best.  You think we get complex cases.  When they get going up there they end up with bodies littering the place.  Michael Jardine... well, he was to Jim what you are to me."

Peter caught Andy's gaze and asked quietly, "What am I to you?"

Andy stared. 

Suddenly the tension that had been dancing between them for months was pulled as taut as a tight-rope.

 "Everythin', Peter," he spoke quietly, truthfully. 

He expected some kick-back, but the other man just smiled gently and nodded.  "I thought as much."  He lifted the beer bottle - Yorkshire Square, one of his favourites - to his lips and took a long drink. 

Andy just watched him, waiting for something.  He imagined he might have been hurt, or at least taken-aback by his inspector's words, but his tone had been something different than knowing, no where near gloating.

Peter broke the silence.  "Are you hungry?"

"Starving."  Andy hadn't necessarily been talking about food, he wasn't sure about Peter.  Something had changed but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what.  The other rose once again and headed for the kitchen. 


Half an hour later Andy was warm and content.  He could hear his colleague banging around in the kitchen.  The sun was warm, although he was running out of beer.

Peter made several trips outside, putting onto the white garden table plates and bowls containing hard-boiled eggs, iceberg lettuce, cherry tomatoes, potato salad, waldorf salad, cucumber, raw carrots, cheese, fresh bread, radishes, and anything else he could find in Sainburys under the 'Salad' title.

As he'd sliced and diced and prepared, he'd considered. 

Tuscany had cleared his mind and cleansed his spirit.  He'd expected that when he got back Andy would have found him a flat to move into.  But instead he'd found his sheets changed, flowers in a vase on the fire grate and a note welcoming him home and promising him a decent 'British, home-cooked meal' that evening after 'all the foreign crap' he must have been forced to consume. 

A week had passed then, in which some kind of tension, that had always existed between them in what he'd liked to think of as a form of chemistry, had magnified until he'd accused Andy outright of avoiding him. 

Then it had been Dalziel's turn.  He'd announced on the Friday that he was going away.  On the Saturday morning he'd left for the Lakes.  Peter had worried for three days that he'd caused this somehow, that he'd done something terrible and wasn't being made aware of it.

Then on the Tuesday he'd received a postcard that read simply,

'Sunbeam, it's not you, it's me.  Don't worry, I haven't abandoned you.  I just thought a holiday would do me the same obvious good it did you.  Don't do owt I wouldn't do, you'll know I'll find out eventually.  See you in 2 weeks.  Andy.'

It had cheered him no end. 

So much so he'd asked Wieldy if he fancied going for a drink after work.  A drink had turned into a curry. 

They got on well as colleagues and as friends they had a laugh. 

The night after that they'd braved a nightclub, albeit for only an hour before leaving to find a friendly landlord with a slow clock. 

Two evenings later it had been another drink, and so on.  They talked, got to know one another better.

Of the seven nights they'd been out, when Peter had got home from five of them there had been a new message left on the answer machine from Andy. 

They'd ranged from 'Hope you're working hard, Sunbeam.  Give 'em hell' to the more complex and baffling, 'you found someone else, Petal?  Hope she appreciates you like I don't.' 

A combination of working as his own boss, living in Andy's house alone, long late-night talks with Wieldy, a lot of thinking through his own feelings and much looking back on the last five years had resulted in him coming to several dramatic conclusions and a few not-so dramatic ones.

He loved Andy, but he'd known that deep within him for some years now.  He didn't want another relationship that would end in an ultimatum.  He was a copper at heart and nothing was ever going to change that, no matter how many awful things he was to be witness to.

Not until Andy had come home an hour ago had he been able to confirm has greatest realisation. 

That his own feelings, although unlikely, were not unrequited. 

All he had to do now was decide whether or not he wanted to do something about it, and if he did, what the hell he wanted to do.

"Grub's up," he announced as he stepped outside with two more cold beers. 

Andy opened his eyes and looked up to see Peter sitting beside him, leaning over him.  He closed them again, inwardly groaning, trying to halt his body's reaction.  And then something happened that he might have imagined, might have dreamt.  But he hadn't.

Peter leaned in and gently placed three slightly nervous kisses on Andy's lips. 

When Dalziel finally gathered the courage to open his eyes again, Peter was inches from him, smiling wickedly, stunning blue eyes dancing with mischief.  "Tell me this isn't what you want from me." 

There was a gentle challenge in his tone that Andy couldn't bring himself to rise to.  There was too much rising all ready.

"I can't," he managed finally.  "It is what I want.  But, Peter, there's too much at stake."

Peter considered that for a moment.  "You took off to the Lakes because of me."

"I thought if I found some willing racy widow...."

"And did you?"

"Aye, I could have my pick."  Pascoe wasn't sure if he was being serious or not.  "But for some reason they're no longer enough.  They're not you."

Peter turned himself so that he lay at an angle to his boss, arms crossed on the other man's chest, chin rested on his wrists. 

Dalziel watched him suspiciously.  "What are you doing, lad?"

"Making myself comfortable." 

"For what?"

"For the talk we should have had two weeks ago.  And then after that, we can eat."

"Very kind of you."  Andy folded his left arm under his head.  The other he left on the grass, despite the temptation to wrap it around Peter's back and hold him there.  "Which of us should start?"

"I'll start."  Peter took a deep breath.  "Three years ago, when we were investigating those Choker killings, that gypsy woman read my palm.  She told me that two people were fighting for control over me.  For ages I thought about it, but I'd imagined what she'd meant was for control over my life, my career.  But that's not what she said at all.  She said 'over me'.  For ages I fought against you both; you and Ellie.  Then I stopped fighting.  My feelings for you have changed, like I told you before you sodded off to the Lakes.  I know there're problems, I know it won't be easy, and I know you'd be risking your career for me."

But Dalziel moved his head one side to another.  "No, Sunbeam.  You'd be risking your career.  I'm going no further, but you are.  You're going all the way up."

Peter shrugged.  "Anything you have to add to that, Sir?"

Andy chuckled.  But his gaze was long and hard.  "I could tell ya that I don't want this.  It'd be easier on the both of us in the long run."

"But?"

"Christ, Peter.  You're offering me a fantasy on a plate.  You're lying here on me, more tempting than a brewery open day."

"You could try me, you may find I'm worth the risk." 

Hesitantly, Andy lifted his arm and draped it over his inspector's back, spreading his fingers across the soft denim.  Peter hummed softly.  "How's that?"

"It's a start."

Andy began to rub his thumb back and forth, aware of something momentous happening. 

Turning on to his side he cradled Peter's shoulders as he dropped his inspector gently to the grass and leaned over him. 

"Here's what I have to tell ya.  I love you.  Have done for a long time.  Whatever you want from me, you've got."

Peter pulled his arms from between them and wrapped them around Andy's neck.  There was no resistance as he pulled the other man's mouth down to meet his own and in the next moment he was being kissed thoroughly.  Something in Peter's heart started to sing.  At last! 

Dalziel tried to pull away but Peter'd come this far and wasn't about to give up now.  "Andy...."

"Don't worry, Petal, I'm going nowhere."  He smiled down.  "I've everything I want right here."

*

Peter looked up from the masses of paperwork he had to fill in after Friday's disastrous raid on a house in the dales which had turned up nothing more suspicious than a decent and legal pornography collection despite using ten officers all on overtime pay. 

Wieldy was standing at the door, his nose pressed to the glass, grinning, amused.  Peter beckoned him in and the sergeant opened the door, one arm tucked behind his back.

"What are you up to?"

Wieldy's usually stoic features were dancing with mischief.  "There's been something delivered for you, Sir."

"Oh, aye.  What is it?  Another death threat?"  Wieldy smiled at the old, private joke.  He stepped into the room and closed the door beside him.  As he did so, he took his hand from behind his back in a sweeping arc.

"No.  These." 

In his hand he held a beautifully wrapped bouquet roses. 

Peter rose to his feet, coming around the desk to take the bouquet from Wieldy.  "Something you'd like to tell me, Sir?"

For a moment Peter stared at the flowers, then he glanced up at his friend.

"Andy came home yesterday afternoon."  He shrugged, blushing slightly.  "We... talked."

"I can see that."  At first glanced the roses had seemed white, but there was a hint of blue to them.  There were twelve, and each one was perfect.  He put them down carefully on to the desk and pulled the tiny card from in amongst the leaves. 

'Improbability - best thing that's ever happened to me, Sunbeam'

Peter couldn't keep the smile from creeping across his face.  He handed the card to Wieldy, a distinct show of the trust and friendship between them despite the difference in rank. 

Wieldy read it and handed it back, feeling a warmth in his face. 

If he didn't know for certain, he'd never have guessed it was from their boss.  Peter was staring at the roses.  "I only know of one place that sells these.  They cost a small fortune."

"Grown by Alderman, aren't they?"

Peter nodded.  Alderman still needled him.  They were 99% sure he'd killed at least one man, probably many more, but they'd never been able to prove anything.  He knew Andy hadn't meant to draw his attention to Patrick Alderman.  He was drawing his attention to the fact that over the years he'd paid attention.  He had been listening.  And improbability seemed to fit the situation.

Wieldy perched on the edge of the desk, still grinning.  He picked up the bouquet carefully. 

"They're really beautiful." 

"Aye.  What the 'ell am I goin'a do with 'em?"

"I'll see if I can find a vase."


Dalziel arrived an hour later.  He poked his head around Peter's office door and saw the roses arranged in a vase on the top of the filing cabinet.  He glanced from them to his inspector.  Peter smiled, and mouthed two words.  They set Andy's mood for the rest of the day.

*

very definitely to be continued as a Taggart xover....
elfin