Dusk

Dusk
by elfin

The sun was just starting to go down on the warm summer evening.

The barbecue embers glowed red. The wonderful smell of burnt coals and food still hung in the air.

"We'll leave you men to it," they'd said, and the women were just entering the house carrying the dirty dishes. Their chatter was fading to nothing now, the door closing behind them.

Tom Barnaby sat with his back to the kitchen window. The light from the house barely touched him.

Opposite him, on the other side of the wooden picnic table, Gavin Troy let his grey gaze drift from the movement in the window to the man who had, up until five thirty that afternoon, been his boss.

He lifted his pint glass, smiling across as he caught Tom watching the golden liquid slide between his lips. He parted them a little further, running the tip of his tongue over the rim of the glass.

Tom chuckled affectionately. "Don't tease."

Troy blinked innocently but brought the glass back down, holding the base of it loosely with his right hand while his left reached out across the wooden tabletop.

Tom reached out too, the gesture protected from spying eyes by the angle of his body.

He caressed Gavin's fingers idly, stroking up and over the back of his hand.

"I'm am going to miss you," he admitted quietly.

Turning his hand, Troy returned the simple touch, lazy and unhurried.

"Me too." He sighed softly. "We both agreed..."

"...that this is for the best." Tom nodded. "I know. It's just... now it's happening."

For a time they sat in silence, fingers brushing palms, subtly teasing as they had done in the past. Only now there was sad tint to the light caresses. They needed to let one another go, and that wasn't as easy as they'd imagined it would be.

~ two years before ~

'Where angels fear to tread.' The end of the proverb came to mind as Barnaby bounded up the stairs three at a time.

He'd had a moment to decide.

Their suspect had gone haring out of the cottage door, he should have gone after him. But Troy had run upstairs the moment they'd entered the house and found Nico and Cully, both absolutely fine.

Their still nameless suspect had come down, but his sergeant hadn't. His top priority had to be apprehending the man they believed had already murdered two people. He should send Nico and Cully up to check on the possibly injured policeman.

But he couldn't. He glanced at the open door before too launching himself upstairs.

Turning onto the landing he found Troy slumped against the wall. He looked dazed. And there was blood - lots of blood. Troy's left wrist was slashed.

"Call for an ambulance!" Tom yelled down.

His daughter's voice came back. "Is he all right?"

"No! Get an ambulance!"

Kneeling down, Tom picked up Troy's left hand and clamped his own over the wound in the wrist, holding it as tight as he could, trying to remember his first aid courses, wondering how long it had been since using them and wishing his mind hadn't gone blank. He wasn't one to panic, so why was it happening now?

He kept as much pressure on the cut as he could, tearing his eyes from his already blood-covered hand to glance up into frightened grey eyes.

"It's all right, Gavin," he reassured, forcing himself to be himself. "You'll be fine."

Troy nodded once, sharply. But he was shaking, fine tremors gripping him every couple of seconds.

Tom recognised a man going into shock and recalled something about tea and keeping legs elevated. Neither action seemed appropriate.

He grasped Troy's shoulder with his free hand, silently admonishing himself; 'Pull yourself together, man.' To Troy he said, "It's okay. You're all right."

Another nod. Eyes locked on to Tom's and he watched a plea slowly mutate into a heart wrenching trust. Troy trusted him not to let go and he had no intention of doing so. God, when had his young sergeant become so important to him?

"I don't want to die." It was a whisper and it took Barnaby by surprise.

He shook his head. "You're not going to die. I won't let you die."

Cully and Nico came upstairs, Cully stepping around her father, looking for the bathroom. Nico hung back.

"The ambulance is on its way."

Tom nodded, breaking his eye contact only to glance at Cully when she crouched down beside him. She'd found a first aid kit and was taking out a bandage.

Tom let up his grip as Cully started to wrap the dressing tight around Troy's wound. He let his hand slide down to take his sergeant's fingers in his own, holding them, keeping the physical connection.

"Gavin?" Cully checked his eyes. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Tom returned his attention to Troy, glad of his daughter's presence as well as presence of mind. He wondered where his had vanished to.

Troy was looking at her. "My head hurts."

She pushed his hair back from his forehead with fingertips, being very careful not to hurt him. There was a red mark on his right temple but a brief sweep through his hair reassured her that there was nothing else obvious.

Sitting back she saw Troy close his eyes. "Oh no, no you don't!"

Tom reacted too, everything flooding back now. He squeezed the fingers in his grip. "No sleeping on the job, Sergeant!"

The grey eyes snapped open and Troy breathed a whisper. "Sorry, Sir."

He smiled fondly. "That's all right, Troy. Just don't do it again."

In the distance he could hear the sirens of an ambulance and at least two police cars. They'd called for backup on their way out here. There would be hell to pay later.

They sat together on the landing, Nico watching over them as Tom teased his sergeant into staying conscious. He got a definite chuckle from Troy and a laugh from Cully, even managing to coax a smile from Nico before the small cottage was invaded by police and ambulance men.

~

"You look tired."

DCI Barnaby was watching Troy as he looked over files on their latest case. His sergeant had been off work for a week after an overnight stay in hospital while the doctors watched him for signs of concussion. The stitches in his wrist were due out in a couple of days and it was still bandaged under his shirt.

His first day back had been spent searching files for evidence in a fraud case being chased up by their colleagues in the Met.

"To tell you the truth, Sir, I feel it." It was only three thirty, Troy sounded disgusted with himself.

"Why don't you go home? This will wait another twenty four hours."

Troy sighed and Tom watched him considering turning down the rare offer. But he really was completely exhausted and finally he dropped his pen to the desk and pushed his chair back.

"Thank you, Sir."

Barnaby went back to his own paperwork, wrapping up a burglary in Causton. He looked up again as Troy crossed the office.

"Gavin...." It was rare for him to address the young man by his Christian name and the surprise was there on Troy's face.

"Sir?"

Tom hesitated. "Would you like to come round for dinner later? Joyce is away at her sister's and although I'm not the greatest of cooks...." He trailed off. What the hell was wrong with him?

But Troy smiled brightly. "Yes, I would. Thank you."

"Around seven?"

A nod. "I'll see you then."

~

He couldn't help but wonder if he was going slightly overboard. The kitchen was a disaster area. Joyce usually refused to let him cook anything more complicated pre-prepared meals for this precise reason.

After Troy had left the office he'd snuck out himself, heading for the local stores to pick up a couple of steaks, fresh veg, potatoes and ingredients for a sauce and desert. He'd spent the last two hours making a mess of the kitchen, sipping a glass of wine and thoroughly enjoying himself.

He'd already decided that if all else failed he'd take Troy to the local Chinese.

The doorbell rang just after seven.

Tom turned down the heat under the sauce and threw the tea towel onto a dirty pan, going out into the hall to open the door, forgetting he was still wearing the apron he'd donned after covering himself in the first pan of peppercorn sauce.

Troy resisted the first obvious comment as he stepped in to the house, handing his boss a bottle of red wine with only slight embarrassment. He'd been here for more dinners than he could count but none of them had been cooked by his boss, as far as he knew.

"I wasn't sure what would be appropriate."

Reading the label, Tom's eyebrows rose in appreciation. Troy smiled to himself in relief. He'd spent half an hour at the off-licence, spending more on that one bottle than he'd spent on wine in as long as he could remember. "This will be perfect."

Troy stepped into the kitchen, used to dropping in early and joining the Barnabys for breakfast in the clean, bright room. He stopped in the doorway.

"Sir... is everything all right?"

He didn't miss the DCI's warning glance as the older man brushed passed into the chaos of pots, pans, bowls, spoons and spatulas, putting the bottle on the already made table - apparently the only clean surface.

"Corkscrew's in the drawer next to the sink. You know where the glasses are. And it's Tom, we're off duty."

Troy smiled, a little uncertainly, hung up his coat and set about opening the bottle and pouring wine.

Tom glanced over and sighed softly. He wasn't sure now what he was doing.

Troy looked all of sixteen in a black shirt and jeans, his sleeves rolled up, shirt open at the neck. He looked comfortable enough though, sitting at the round table, sipping his wine and reading the blurb on the back of the book Cully had left lying around during her last whistle-stop visit. But he was just a kid! A young detective sergeant on the fast track upwards. In a couple of years he'd take and pass the Inspector's exam and some busy city CID would snatch him up.

He'd leave and Tom knew he would miss him terribly. His gaze lingered for a moment and in that moment Troy looked up.

He caught Tom staring and smiled in return, lifting his glass slightly in a toast. "It's good," he complimented himself.

Barnaby nodded. "It should be. I can guess how much you paid for it."

Troy shrugged. "How often does your boss invite you over for dinner?" Then he blushed and went back to the book.

Tom chuckled, keeping the sound strictly to himself, and went back to making dinner.

It was ready a couple of minutes later.

Troy put the book down, unable to help the surprise on his face when he saw the plate being offered to him. He took it and watched Barnaby sit opposite him.

"This looks great!"

"Thank you, Gavin." Tom unfolded his napkin, not quite able to kick the habit drummed into him at even before his marriage. "You don't have to sound so surprised."

The steaks were cooked to perfection. The Peppercorn Sauce Mark II was just right. The chips - real chips and not merely cooked in the oven - were just on the right side of crunchy and the runner beans weren't limp. A triumph of determination over culinary incompetence, Tom decided privately.

They ate in a companionable silence for a couple of minutes before Troy picked up his wineglass.

"How long have you and Mrs Barnaby been married?" he asked, interested. Personally, he couldn't hold together a relationship for more than a week, it seemed.

Tom too tasted the wine. It went well with the food.

"We've been married for twenty three years but we've been together for longer. We met at a rally in London, walked side by side for some good cause, holding up our placards and shouting what everyone else was shouting. I can never remember what the rally was for but I remembered her telephone number when she gave it to me, I can still remember it now."

Troy smiled. "Is it difficult? Living with the same person for so long?"

Tom considered his answer. "No, not really. We're both very independent people, more so now that Cully's left home. Joyce puts up with me, allows me my freedom."

"I hope I get as lucky."

Half an hour later, plates cleared, Tom held his breath as he opened the oven door. The god of cookery was definitely looking over him tonight. The chocolate soufflés were perfect.

Presenting a bowl to Troy, following it with a pot of clotted cream, he watched the young man's eyes light up.

"Did you make these?" he asked on the spur of the moment.

Tom laughed. "Yes! They're not that difficult. Mind you, I'd be singing a different song if they'd sunk the moment I'd opened the oven."

"And you're always getting at me about watching what I eat!"

"If you don't tell, I won't."

Troy took a first mouthful and closed his eyes to savour it. "It's a deal, Sir-Tom."

"...so there I was, standing in the middle of four lanes of traffic feeling like a complete prat, just waiting for the first accident."

Tom was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe.

"I thought I was the only copper ever to have these things happen to him!"

"I think you were!"

Troy shook his head, sipping his coffee, smiling brightly. They were both a little drunk, after the wine. And then the second bottle of wine. And the port with the stilton.

He was comfortable. And he was enjoying himself.

"I suppose nothing like that ever happened to you?"

"No. Nothing." But Troy wasn't believing a word of it. "All right. Maybe once or twice. There was the time I almost killed a vicar."

With the second coffee the conversation mellowed out.

When comfortable silence settled between them for a short time, Tom leaned forward, arms folded on the tabletop.

"Gavin... can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"What's with the blatant displays of homophobia?"

Troy's eyebrows rose. He opened his mouth to speak but he couldn't find the words.

Tom waited.

Finally, Troy sighed, head dropping. He stared into his coffee.

"I know, it's not professional."

But Tom waved away his almost-apology, dismissing it outright.

"I don't care about that. I care about you, and...." He stopped, realising what he'd said. He raised a hand to his mouth. "Whoops."

Despite the subject, Troy couldn't help his giggle. He'd picked up on his boss' words and they'd warmed him. He'd known it, of course, he'd become a member of the Barnaby family in a way. But to hear it was nice. "And?" A part of his mind was telling him not to push it, that he didn't want to go to where the conversation was headed. But it was being ignored.

Tom looked at him, lost. "And?"

"You said 'you cared about me and....' And what?"

"Oh. And...." He faltered. Then his expression turned serious. And I don't like to think of you feeling you have to hide who you are."

Troy's eyes widened. He'd known where the conversation was veering towards but hadn't quite expected it to take so little time to get there.

"How...?" It was redundant. Barnaby had been a detective for twenty-five years. He was trained to pick up things about people. He could spot lies from strangers, it would be easy for him to see one so forced from someone he worked with day in, day out. It was pointless denying it but for future career moves it would be worth knowing where he went wrong.

"A case of 'methinks he doth protest too much.'" He smiled. "Homophobes usually stay away from gay men. You tend to gravitate towards them even as you're making insulting remarks."

Troy took a deep breath. "Sorry, Sir."

Tom frowned. "Don't be sorry! Just be who you are."

"You don't... mind?"

"Of course not!" He was appalled at the suggestion that his sergeant's sexuality bothered him. He would have liked to say that it was none of his business but that wouldn't have been the truth. "Before I married Joyce I told her I was bi-sexual." Troy's reaction was impressively hidden behind an expression of nonchalance, but his eyes were giving him away. "I thought she'd run a mile but she didn't. Then when Cully was eighteen I told her too."

Troy was still looking at him, still assessing. Tom gave him time, sipped his coffee, watched grey eyes appraising. The alcohol in his bloodstream was relaxing his carefully constructed masks and he wondered if the warmth he was feeling, his affection for the younger man, was starting to show.

"Why are we having this conversation?"

"I just didn't like you thinking that you had to pretend."

"The force isn't known for its open-mindedness when it comes to this particular subject."

"I'm well aware. But I'm not going to say a word to anyone."

Nodding, Troy finished off his coffee and reached for his not-quite-empty wineglass.

"Can I ask you something now?"

"Of course you can."

He swallowed. "Do you...." He hesitated. "Do you find me attractive?"

A slow, sly smiled curled Tom's lips. "Of course I do," he murmured softly over the rim of his coffee cup.

"But you... you can't make a move."

Putting his cup down on the table, Barnaby said carefully. "I'm your superior officer." He didn't want to put Troy off. He wanted this more than he knew he should.

Troy was watching him intently. "So... what if I did?"

Tom knew he shouldn't but it was too late. They both rose from the table at the same time, Troy reaching for the older man, closing the gap between them as soon as he could, tilting his head and offering himself to be claimed by Barnaby.

Tom's mouth covered Gavin's, taking control despite being the shorter man. Sweeping his arm across the table he cleared the surface, pushing the glasses, cups and cutlery back but managing not to knock them off. With a gentle push he sat Troy on the edge, bringing them to the same level, eye to eye.

Still mouth to mouth.

They went for the buttons on each other's shirts like desperate teenagers, slowing down only when hands were touching bare skin.

Breaking the kiss, Tom brought his hands up to Troy's shoulders, lingering over pebble-hard nipples, so hard himself he was worried he'd come at the first touch.

"Gavin...." He didn't know what he was going to say. Stop? We can't? You don't want this?

"Please."

One word and all his wise words of caution were forgotten.

He nodded. "But how about somewhere more comfortable?"

~

A call at six thirty am woke them both. Tom hugged the young man snuggled in the bed with him before reaching back to pick up the cordless telephone.

"DCI Barnaby."

Sleepy and warm, Troy turned over and listened to Tom's end of the conversation, which wasn't very long. When it ended, he was pleased to be surprised by a long kiss planted on his mouth.

"We have to go."

"I gathered."

But neither of them moved.

"Gavin...."

"Listen, I know where I stand. I knew when I jumped you last night. It would be great if we could do this again sometime but I'm not about to turn into a bunny boiler."

Tom stared at his lover for a moment before bursting into laughter. "I was going to ask you if you wanted a coffee." He winked. And Troy grinned.

~ ~

Back in the garden, the sun was low now, the day almost over.

"We knew it wouldn't last forever." Tom heard the wistful note in his own voice and chided himself for it.

"I don't think we knew... how much it had come to mean to us." It was spoken quietly, and Tom realised with sorrow how unsure Troy was of his place in his life.

He curled his fingers around those still playing against his palm, holding the cool hand, stilling it.

"I've always known how much you mean to me. That won't ever change. Don't ever think you're not welcome... if you need to come home."

Troy found himself swallowing passed a lump in his throat, brushing tears from his eyes. "Thank you." It was barely a whisper.

They sat together as the sun set. Tomorrow was a new day, the day Gavin Troy left his heart in Midsomer and moved on.

To Be Continued in 'Summer Solace' coming soon....

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