Two Pints of Real Ale
by elfin

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As she stepped through the door into the warmth of the pub, Cully saw Scott at the furthest table, a pint in his hand, staring into the dark ale.

She ordered herself a pint, sharing a smile with the barman as she paid.  Then she dropped onto the cushioned bench next to her Dad's sergeant.

"You're looking as if the weight of the world is on your shoulders," she told him, patting said shoulder lightly.

Scott sighed, shrugging off her hand, shaking his head and taking a swig of beer.

"Oh, come on.  I'm not the enemy.  You may not be my type but that doesn't mean we can't be friends."

Another sigh.  But followed by an appraising look and a small nod.

"Sorry."

"Why?"  Smiling, she started in on her ale.  "Tell me what's wiped that perpetually bewildered grin off your face."

"Your Dad."

"Ah."

"He hates me and I have no idea why."

Cully put her glass down with a deep breath.  "He doesn't hate you."

"He does!  I can't do a single thing right.  Every time I turn around he's frowning."

"Scott...."

"It's true!"

"Scott... he doesn't hate you.  It's just...."  She paused, unsure that she should be saying anything.

"Just what?  If there's something I can do to make my time here any easier...."

She looked at him, suddenly angry.  "Why is it about you?"

He stared back, thrown, "What?"

"What about him?"

"What about him?  He's the one making my life a misery!"

Her anger vanished as quickly as it had come.  "Because in a way, that's what you're doing to him."

He shook his head.  "Look, we have our professional differences but...."  Cully's hand on his arm shut him up.  "It's not professional.  It's personal.  It's Gavin."

The expression on Scott's face almost made her laugh, like suddenly the world around him had gone totally insane.  "Who?"

"Gavin Troy."  Still he looked bemused and that surprised her.  "You do know who he is, don't you?"

A quick shake of his head, a steadying mouthful of ale.  Scott stared at her, waiting.

"Oh my God...."  She wasn't sure which surprised her most, that Scott had never asked about the man who had previously occupied his desk and his place at Barnaby's side, or that her Dad had never mentioned his old sergeant.

"What?" he snapped out.

"Gavin was Dad's sergeant before you."

The explanation fell short of earth-shattering by a very wide margin as far as Scott was concerned.

"And?"

"They were close."

"Close?"

"Friends.  Deeper, I think.  Inseparable sometimes."  She smiled at a particular memory.  Her Dad had been a happier man when Gavin had been around.  "You know when you sometimes pop round for supper and you get a welcome colder than the arctic?"  Scott nodded with a roll of his eyes.  "Gavin was always round, dropping in for breakfast, evening meals after work.  Dad didn't mind, often invited him."

Scott frowned.  "The same age as your Dad was he?  Didn't this guy have a life?"

Cully shook her head, taking a great satisfaction in correcting him.  "Younger than you by a year or two."  Protective now, she added, "And yes, he had a life.  Football on Tuesdays, cricket at the weekend.  We used to go to plays together.  He's a fan of Pinter."

Scott hadn't heard of Pinter.  He sighed, picturing a young stuck-up Oxford graduate who fitted seamlessly into village life.

"If everything was so blissful," he wondered aloud, "why did he leave an opening for my superiors to dump me in?"

"He made Inspector and took a job in Middlesborough CID."

A hard act to follow indeed.  He shook his head.

"Great."  Cully reached an arm around his shoulders, squeezing in a friendly, sympathetic gesture.  "So what do I do?"

"Don't try to be Gavin's replacement.  Don't try to wriggle into Dad's life.  Listen to what he says.  He turned Gavin from a bigoted idiot into a mature, skilled detective, he could probably do the same for you."  Scott groaned and Cully laughed.  "Come on, I'll buy you dinner."

~

Tom Barnaby sighed when the doorbell rang.  He was comfortable, lying on the sofa reading, a single malt whiskey at his fingertips, toes curled into the cushions, enjoying the peace with Joyce away at her mother's for a couple of days and Cully out for the night with a friend.

The doorbell probably meant Sergeant Scott.  Which meant work.

He considered ignoring it, but it rang again.  His car was in the drive, Scott knew he was in.

A third ring. 

Tom dumped the book and clambered off the sofa with a heartfelt mutter.

Flicking on the hall light he opened the door.

His face lit up.  Gavin was standing on the doorstep, hands in the pockets of his jeans, creme denim jacket hanging from broad shoulders, bright smile on his face.

"Troy!"

"Hello, Sir.  Not disturbing you, am I?"

"No!  Come on in!"  He stepped back, gesturing Troy inside, closing the door behind him as the young man turned.

Tom drank in the sight of him for a second or two before stepping forward. 

Troy hugged him as he was held tight. 

"Oh, I've missed you," Tom told him roughly, wondering at the weight that had seemed to lift from him by just seeing this man again.

Slowly, Troy stood back, brushing his hands down Tom's arms as he did.  "I've missed you too.  In fact, that's kinda why I'm here...."


fin?
elfin