No additional warnings for this scene.
Danny took the shirt out of the drawer. It was old, very old, and faded, and incredibly it was a band shirt for Siouxsie and the Banshees, which Danny could never, ever imagine Nicholas listening to. Air Supply, maybe. Anyway, it was a triple-XL and would fit on Nicholas like a dress. Danny realized as he held it up that in fact, it was not Nicholas’ shirt at all, but Danny had seen it at the bottom of the drawer ever since he started doing his – well, their – laundry at Nicholas’ cottage. So it was Nicholas’ shirt, just one he never wore, and one he kept around for apparently no particular reason at all. He was still holding it up when Nicholas walked in the bedroom.
“Please put that down.” His voice was quiet, but severe, and Danny instantly put the shirt down.
“Whose is it? Not yours.” Danny shrugged and turned back to folding.
“No. Not mine.” Nicholas walked over to the dresser. He was grimy from working in the garden and carefully wiped his hands several times on his pants before touching the shirt. He picked it up, carefully folded it, and Danny thought he almost made to smell it or something before putting it back in the bottom of the drawer.
Danny let him stew for a few seconds before asking again. “Then whose?”
“A friend. He was…a close friend of mine. When I was a boy.” Nicholas replaced the shirt carefully and smoothed it down, almost caressing it.
“So…did he…die?” Danny asked what felt like the obvious question, because that was exactly how Nicholas was acting. Instead, Nicholas looked startled.
“No. No, he did not die. I don’t think…I really…damnit, I don’t know.” Nicholas was thunderstruck by the idea, and Danny was very sorry to have brought the topic up at all. He turned and concentrated on the folding, hoping that Nicholas would just go wash up and forget about this weird conversation. They were not really in a relationship, after all, at least that is what Nicholas always made clear despite everything so obviously to the contrary, and so Danny felt awkward prying into something that was clearly ‘personal’ to Nicholas. He wanted to, but Nicholas always found a way to shut him out, and as Danny thought about it he started snorting in frustration and doing a bad job of folding. He was mostly waiting for Nicholas to leave the room so he could kick something.
Instead he felt Nicholas next to him, so close that he smelled the scent of dirt and grass on him.
Nicholas made him drop the clothes in his hands and grabbed his face and kissed him as if they had never kissed before, and soon Danny found himself thrown across the bed as Nicholas mounted him in a fury. It would have been fucking if it had not gone on so long, and it would have been making love if Nicholas were not so fierce and hard and desperate. It was something Danny never saw before, and he knew that it was about that strange shirt, but he could not – when he finally got a chance to breathe – bring himself to ask any more questions about it.
He got his orders and grimaced. Sandford, Gloucester. Brutal murder, one very damaged witness, need artist. He wondered where the hell Sandford was, and when he found out, groaned. A day’s train ride and more than an hour in a taxi after that. One hell of a trip. He packed up his kit: sketchbook, pencils, tech pens, laptop, mini-scanner/printer. He was better when he freehanded on paper, although many of his colleagues took to the new electronic tablets these days. He thought of himself more as an artist than a cop, though, and did not want to turn his back on the “old ways,” even if for him that meant Marvel and DC more than Da Vinci or Boucher.
He was new to the Met. He was actually from Wales, but no, he was actually from London, and got shifted unwillingly and violently to Wales at the age of fifteen. He ran away within weeks of that, and hoofed it across the continent in a weed-soaked haze of alcohol, casual sex, and museums. He never dared to try and let anyone know where he was, least of all his best friend, who he knew would have destroyed his own life trying to hunt him down and rescue him. In retrospect he thought that a dramatic rescue would have been wonderful; as it was, ten years flew by and he became a very good artist and a very bad drifter. He came back to what family was left in Wales and did the only thing that anyone who mattered ever suggest he should do with his life: he got his degree, went to the academy, and became a police officer. His art skills sent him on a unique path and he loved his job, but he did not love Wales, and he kept angling to join the Met in London. He knew who he might find there, even by accident, and that was the only reservation he harbored about it.
Because if nothing else, Toby Conrad had no idea how to explain to Nicholas Angel how sorry he was for disappearing out his life the way he did, or how much he still loved him, even now, twenty years later, when they were surely changed men with nothing in common anymore. He dreaded that moment of ‘accidental meeting’ and skulked around the halls of the Met offices, now that he was there, as if he were checking for monsters in the closet. He supposed he should be grown up about it, find the man, say he was sorry, and buy him lunch or something masculine like that. He had no doubts that Nicholas was now toeing the line of heterosexual upward mobility and was probably married with kids, and would not even want to associate with the queer cop artiste sporting tattoos and a pudgy waistline.
He packed, and then reread his instructions, casually, not really looking for any more information than he already had. He turned the paperwork over and caught the name of the chief inspector he was to report to in Sandford, and dropped like a stone into the chair next to him.
Inspector Nicholas Angel.
The artist was coming down the next day, or rather, would arrive tomorrow evening. Given the nature of the case, it was not difficult to get the bureaucracy at the Met on his side, and they assured him that an artist was assigned and would be en route by morning. Nicholas knew from bitter experience what ‘en route’ entailed and really did not expect the artist to show until late. In turn, that worked out fine. Sheila Harvester was not lucid and still fragile, medically speaking, and it might be a while before she could tolerate her memory being hammered on by a police sketch artist. Nicholas hated the delay in the case, overall, but he thought in the meantime he could just keep the Andes pouring over the facts as they knew them and send everyone else out on the beat to talk to people.
That last was Danny’s idea. In London, just randomly walking up to someone and asking if they knew anything about a brutal murderer hiding in the bushes was, at best, a long shot (although he knew of times when it was tried, in desperation). In Sandford, it was as close to official surveillance as they could get without resurrecting the NWA. So Nicholas sat at the station, at the front window no less, for nearly two full days as his entire team either interviewed the whole population or, in the case of the Andes, mercilessly harassed the CSI team on loan from Northwest Wapping. Given the nature of the case, even the Turners did not complain about being forced to work on their feet for the duration. Nicholas hated being stuck at the front desk, but even now, he was an ‘outsider’ in the village and he needed every ‘insider’ working every lead, so he sat taking calls and directing his team like a conductor trapped inside a sound proof bubble, and it was maddening.
By the end of the second day, everyone needed a break. They drew straws and Walker landed the night shift desk duty, so everyone else went to camp out at the pub for a while. It was understood that they all were, technically, still on duty or at least on call, but Nicholas turned a blind eye to the drinks on the table because, hell, he needed one too.
They were all corralled in the corner, the ‘Cop Corner’ as it was now being referred to by the locals, drinking and not-really-arguing about whether they were going to play a trivia game or fight it out with darts when Danny saw the stranger walk in. Several people noticed, but not everyone, as their table was a circle and some of them, including Nicholas, had their backs to the door. Nicholas was actually standing next to Danny, leaning into the table, laughing with Doris about Andy’s lack of manly dart-throwing finesse.
The stranger had sandy brown hair in a short cut and was stocky, almost muscular, like a former rugby player. He was clean shaven and for all his strong build was not very tall and even looked rather soft about the face. Danny might have called him handsome if Nicholas were not in the room. He was dressed in jeans and a heavy sweater which both looked old and worn but clean.
The stranger looked around and zeroed in on their table. He zeroed in on Nicholas, in particular, and walked over. A few more people noticed, but still not Nicholas or Tony, and the stranger walked up to the table in a way that purposely put him behind Nicholas. Even the Andes picked up on it and eventually Tony too, so by the time he was standing nearby, Nicholas was the only one who had not seen him. The table shut down as they stared at the stranger, and Nicholas realized that something was going on. He turned around.
“Oi, Nicholas. It’s me. Toby.” The stranger had a London accent and gave him a goofy grin but stood still, not holding out his hand or making any kind of friendly move that Danny would normally expect in this kind of situation. It was as if he was waiting to see what Nicholas would do first, and in fact, that appeared to be what everyone was waiting on.
The color drained out of Nicholas’ face as he dropped his beer glass to shatter on the ground and threw himself into the stranger’s arms.
Toby nearly choked under the assault. Of all the reunions he imagined, Nicholas throwing himself at him in a public venue was the absolute last. Best, but dead last.
After Toby checked into the Swan hotel, he decided to screw it: late trains and a lost cab driver put him in the city – village – well after dark and he felt that he earned a drink or two or seven before facing up to Nicholas Angel in the morning. He almost turned and walked out of the pub when he saw Nicholas, who was still Nicholas with his short hair and his soccer-boy body and his plain, unremarkable profile that altogether just screamed ‘police officer.’ Of course seeing Nicholas in a pub at all was not quite what he expected, much less smiling benignly and laughing in the throng of a half-dozen people who obviously knew him very well. Toby remembered Nicholas the stern, unforgiving outsider who brooked no unproductive pastimes and whose list of friends had one name on it: Toby.
He thought that running out of the building in a panic would look odd, though, and he decided that even if Nicholas threw his drink in his face, he was not going to be a coward about it and walked over to the table.
Now Nicholas was in his arms, and somehow it felt like twenty years of his life never even happened.
He felt Toby’s arms wrap around him as they always had, once, when they were boys. It was no different, almost twenty years later, and it was amazing to him how much the same Toby looked, and felt, and smelled. Nicholas knew they were in public and he knew Toby might not want this much from him and he knew people would talk and he knew that Danny would simply not understand, but Nicholas was haunted the past few weeks by Danny’s assumption that Toby was dead. Nicholas still could not bring himself to track Toby down, and so the terrible, horrible thought simply festered until the moment he turned around and saw Toby standing next to him, with his smile, and his short brown hair, and his strong, strong arms.
Nicholas managed to keep himself from anything more than holding onto him, but still, he registered that they were two grown men standing in a pub in a small village and they were going to lip lock in a fraction of a second if someone did not pull back, and he shocked himself by realizing that he was not about to be that someone. It was, instead, Toby who pushed back just a little, just enough to signal that the hug was over. Still, Nicholas kept a tight grip on his arms as they separated.
“Jesus, Toby…how? Where?” Nicholas simply could not speak and he felt like an idiot.
“Long story, mate.” Toby smiled and did not offer anything more than that. Toby, the quiet one, had not really changed at all, and Nicholas felt blessed that fate brought this one person back to him, despite everything. His thought process completely stalled there, and he felt light headed as he smiled at his first best friend, his first lover, and the man he was still in love with after all these years.
It was impossible not to read the brilliant joy on Nicholas’ face. No one even made fun of it, right away, because it was almost too pure to mock. Nicholas looked as if he was seeing sunlight for the first time in years, and Danny knew that look, because he saw it once, after the first time they kissed. What everyone else at the table might guess and gossip about this stranger, Danny knew with a certain, dead, furious calm: this man was Nicholas’ lover – had been, and might still be, and therefore was a primal threat to everything Danny held dear.
Toby slowly extracted himself from Nicholas’ grasp and nodded to everyone at the table. “DC Toby Conrad, up from the Met. I’m the sketch artist you requested.” He smiled formally, uncomfortable under Nicholas’ stunned gaze.
“Detective Constable?” Nicholas said the words slowly, and Toby realized that everyone at the table and half the people in the pub were all ignoring him completely in order to stare at Nicholas in shock.
“Fuck, Nick, you boys are chummy at the Met.” A skinny man with a large, prominent mustache snorted at Nicholas and everyone guffawed. Toby stood in shock. No one, but no one, was allowed to talk to Nicholas like that.
Nicholas shook himself then and turned on the man, and Toby braced himself for the rebuke.
“Thank you, Andrew. Perhaps you’re feeling left out?”
The entire table roared in laughter, and Toby’s jaw dropped. He looked around and fell into a pair of brown eyes that were dark, narrowed, and thoroughly hostile. He felt like stepping back from the man, who was large although possibly shorter than Toby – it was hard to tell, as he was sitting down. They looked at each other, and Toby felt his entire body being raked in a jealous glare.
The whole situation was surreal, unlike anything he ever imagined discovering about Nicholas: chief inspector of a small rural village, up late drinking at a pub, throwing himself into the arms of a man – or anyone, for that matter – in public, and clearly, obviously the object of another man’s serious affections.
“Nicholas…can we talk? Privately?”
They sat at the table, speechless. Nicholas did not know where to begin and he just looked at Toby, waiting, hoping that he would go first. He saw his team, and more importantly, Danny, staring blatantly from across the room at them. He thought it might be better to get Toby out somewhere even more private, but part of his brain screamed at him that it was a very, very bad idea. He tried not to consider why that was such a bad idea, even as he carefully watched Toby’s large yet delicate hands fold and unfold on the table between them.
“I don’t…”
“I’m sorry…”
They began at the same time, then laughed.
“Nicholas, I did not mean to surprise you. Didn’t they tell you who was coming down?”
“They might have. I did not look at the paperwork that closely. This murder is a rough one and we’ve all worked two days of double shifts to keep the ball rolling on the investigation.”
Toby smiled as if really recognizing him for the first time.
“Toby…DC? You joined the service? When? Why in the name of god…” He was going to say, ‘why didn’t you tell me?’ but that question had an obvious answer.
“It sounded like a good idea.” Toby smiled and Nicholas felt his stomach crash again. He realized that this was not going in any direction he could handle. “Nicholas, who’s that bloke you were standing next to? The large kid.”
“Danny. Sergeant Danny Butterman.”
“Mmm.” Toby looked out towards the front of the pub.
“Why do you ask?” Nicholas suddenly felt odd, but did not know why.
“I don’t think he was happy to see me. He knows…about us?” Toby coughed a little, clearly uncomfortable bringing up the past.
“No one knows about…what happened. I don’t talk about it.” Nicholas pursed his lips, trying to shut himself down from the memories.
“Mmm. Nicholas…he your lover?”
Nicholas sat back, furious. “Why on earth would you ask me that, Toby? We haven’t seen each other in twenty years and that’s all you can ask me?”
“Maybe that’s all I care about.” Toby’s eyes narrowed in a familiar, jealous way, and Nicholas felt like he was lost at sea.
“Don’t start, Toby. You know what you mean to me.” Nicholas felt thunderous, but stopped breathing when he realized what he said. It had the same impact on Toby, who just sat and stared at him in shock.
Finally Toby spoke up. “I’ve been through a lot, Nicholas.”
“My father tried to find you. And you never tried to reach me.”
Toby shook his head. “I ran away. To Belgium at first. Didn’t come back for years.”
“You never tried to reach me.”
“Nicholas, I couldn’t. Don’t you know that? What, we could run away together? We were kids. For christ’s sake…” Toby leaned back, angry, and then realized that Danny was still hovering, even from a distance. “Your boyfriend looks like he’s ready to pound me.”
“Do not talk about Danny.”
Toby turned a surprised look at Nicholas, who was fighting down a series of emotions he felt very unprepared to handle. Especially in public.
“I think, Toby, that if we are going to continue this discussion, it best happen in private. Because right now I feel like beating the hell out of you.”
Toby leaned in over the table, resting on one substantial arm. “You and what fucking army, Bruce Lee?” He smiled.
Nicholas tried not to think, and mostly, tried not to think about Danny. He wrapped his arms around Toby’s neck as Toby leaned in and kissed his chest in ragged, gasping kisses. They were both completely naked in Toby’s hotel room, Nicholas supported and held up against the wall as Toby rammed his familiar and entirely welcome cock up inside of Nicholas. His legs were wrapped around Toby and his own cock was rubbing against the curve of his body, his hips angled forward as Toby crouched under him, thrusting up. Toby had tattoos running over his shoulders and down his back, black and abstract images that meant nothing to Nicholas but were beautiful to look at from any perspective.
It was Toby who was prepared, with lube and condoms. He was nonchalant about that, and when the time came, he stated only that he never traveled without his supplies. It was Nicholas’ only hint that Toby’s life had taken a far different turn, sexually, than from where they were headed as boys. It was ironic, but Nicholas assumed that if circumstances were different, he would have stayed primarily monogamous with Toby his entire life. It was not, right then, a comforting thought.
It was almost funny how much they fell back into very old, neglected habits. Toby always topped first, because he took longer, and he loved odd positions such as against the wall or slung over desks. Nicholas knew that later, they would be in bed and Nicholas would be the one inside Toby in something much more akin to making love. Toby was the one who stripped them, teasing Nicholas out of his clothes, but it was Nicholas who kissed first, demanding and desperate for the connection.
“Toby…Toby…thank god…” Nicholas ran his hands through Toby’s hair as he felt him starting to come under him, making the wall rattle as his thrusts grew in power until they were driven by natural need and uncontrolled lust.
“Oh god Nicholas…I love you…” Toby whined and gasped as he pulled Nicholas down onto him, filling the condom in release, then slowly falling backwards to the ground. It was a controlled fall, something Nicholas taught him years ago from his own martial arts studies, and he did not drop Nicholas or dislodge them as he landed gracefully. This was a move only a person with years of sporting practice and practicing sporting sex could master, and it was entirely light years beyond anything Danny could do.
That move and Toby’s words hung in Nicholas’ mind as they laid clutched together on the floor. He loved Toby. He still loved him, and always had, and he suspected he always would.
Just as much as he loved Danny.
Danny stared at his TV. The movie ended, and Danny could not remember how long ago; he only replayed in his mind the image of DC Conrad laughing and Nicholas blushing as they got up and left the pub together. Everyone else at the table with Danny went out of their way not to look at him when it happened, even the Andes keeping a lid on their usual ribald, mocking humor. It could not have been more obvious what was going on if Nicholas had simply thrown DC Conrad over a table and fucked him in the middle of the pub.
Danny was no fool and he knew he was jealous of what was probably going on right now at the hotel or Nicholas’ cottage. He understood that it was his right to be jealous about it. What bothered him most of all, though, was how little care Nicholas gave to his actions. When they were together Nicholas was always harping on about fraternization and ‘small village values’ and the necessity for them to never show each other more than a passing glance in public.
DC Conrad showed up and Nicholas was acting like a high school girl with a crush on the football captain, walking away from everything that seemed to matter to him before, including Danny.
The Harvester girl was still mostly out of it. The beating she took was focused primarily on her torso, and there was damage to internal organs, but it was the one or two blows that landed on her skull that were causing all the medical delays. She woke up delirious, passed out, woke up lucid, passed out, and randomly repeated the cycle. Her mother was distraught and would not let anyone visit her until she stabilized, which the doctors said might be ‘a while’ with no clear parameters to that statement.
The end result was that DC Toby Conrad had a lot of time on his hands. He offered to help more generally around the station until he could spend quality time with the witness, and everyone was glad of it. Even Danny, who was pleased to keep an eye on the competition. He felt like a nancy girlfriend with all the thoughts racing around in his head but then, Nicholas was acting like a skirt-chasing boyfriend and despite the fact the ‘skirt’ in question was barely a stone lighter than Danny and a quarter of a meter taller, it was the principle of the matter.
Conrad was placed at the front desk, to Nicholas’ evident professional relief, as he could now make a nuisance of himself with everyone else. He trailed the Andes and reviewed their notes and dropped by the hospital to check on the witness and checked up on every lead that had already been checked on and generally drove everyone crazy. That, overall, was pretty much business as usual. The difference was the calls to ‘base’ that Nicholas made every ten minutes for absolutely no reason at all, for which he would clearly state that he was checking in for no reason at all, simply to have DC Conrad say “Oi, Nicholas, as usual” which was some kind of damn code phrase that Danny did not understand.
That night Nicholas disappeared. He was not at work and not at the pub and not answering his cell phone. Danny, with tremendous guilt, stopped by the Swan and chatted to the girl who worked the desk (his second cousin, Annie Draper) about whether she had “maybe perhaps might have possibly” seen Nicholas. Or Toby. She claimed not to see either one of them since they left together that morning.
Danny got out of the lobby before letting himself lose it. He kicked the fountain and kicked his car and when he got home to his flat kicked the damn coffee table until a leg was broken off. It was not as if he did not suspect it, but now he had proof, and now it was really happening, and short of marching into Nicholas’ cottage to physically break them apart, Danny was powerless.
He sat on his couch with the television off, drinking.
Toby was home. He sat in the kitchen while Nicholas cooked something experimental out of an Italian cookbook and fussed with his herb garden. He was sketching Nicholas in motion, which had been one of his favorite subjects when they were kids. He never knew what happened to the acres of drawings he had of Nicholas stretching and practicing judo and jogging and studying. The nudes he never sketched a face to, just in case his mother or – worse – Nicholas’ mother ever came across them. Not as if anyone could not know whose body it was through cursory inspection, but it was the type of childish attempt at deception that children do when they think that adults are idiots.
Now he did not worry about it. He just sketched.
“What. Is. That.” Nicholas leaned over, the cooking spoon coming perilously close to dripping on Toby’s drawing.
“You! My Angel.”
“You are acting like a child.”
“Still. It’s you.”
“Why do I have wings?”
“Idiot.”
“And what is that?”
“Your vaporizer ray gun.”
“There is no such thing.”
“Right there.”
“No such thing, Toby. And that’s not a Met Badge…”
“No, it’s a badge of the Amazing League.”
“What?”
“Don’t you have to be stirring or something?”
“…You made me into a comic book character.”
“Better than a muppet any day. And not a comic book character, a graphic novel superhero.”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“Nope. Right there. See? Ray gun, Amazing League badge, wings…The Copper Angel. Cop by day, Angel by night…”
“Oh my god.” Nicholas looked horrified.
“It’s brilliant! My very own super cop super hero.” Toby ripped the drawing out of the sketch book and stuck it on the fridge admiringly. Nicholas stared at it with his mouth open in a mix of confusion and despair.
“You don’t have to like it.” Toby said airily, used to far harsher art critics than his Nicholas, who was still staring stupidly at the drawing.
“No, it’s beautiful. I’m beautiful. You’re…amazing….but it’s still dumb.” Nicholas shook his head and went back to the stove.
“How long until dinner?”
“Thirty minutes. This stews, then we pour it over that.” Nicholas pointed to various pans.
“Thirty minutes?”
“Yes. Time for a shower. Keep an eye on…hey!” Nicholas yelped as Toby picked him up and dumped him on the dinette table and set himself between his legs.
“Quickie, then shower. Put the spoon down.” Toby grabbed the hand that was raising up to whack him with the spoon and leaned in, taking Nicholas’ mouth into his and undoing his pants with the other hand. Once the spoon dropped he pushed Nicholas backwards to take the pants and underwear off and pulled down his own sweats.
“Toby…”
“At your command, darling.”
“…don’t call me that.”
“Yes, sweet heart.”
“Not that either.”
“Smacky Pie?” Toby grinned.
Nicholas went to sit up but Toby bent down and sucked Nicholas’ barely stiff cock into his mouth, sucking hard. Nicholas yelled out and smashed back onto the table. Toby wet his fingers down and pushed them into Nicholas without much ceremony as he teased and licked his cock, and just as he knew would happen, Nicholas stopped fighting and began bucking.
“Swear to god, you are such a whore.” Toby smiled as he stood up, settling in closer with his cock in his hand. Suddenly he felt Nicholas’ foot on his chest. “Shit, Nicholas, what…?”
Nicholas shoved him off with his legs and rolled off the table, picking up his pants. “I don’t appreciate that.”
“It’s a joke, just…a joke. Everyone says it.”
“Not to me.”
Toby put himself back together as Nicholas pulled on his pants. “What the hell is going on?”
“Not a damn thing, Toby.” Nicholas walked out.
At eleven that night, Danny was not drunk. Not really. Not totally. But just enough.
“Yeah?”
“This is Nicholas’ cottage.” Danny pointed at the ground.
“Yeah, it is. Why are you knocking on the door at eleven o’clock at night?” Toby stood in the doorway, blocking it.
“Where is Nicholas?”
“Sergeant Butterman, sir, what are you doing on the front stoop?”
Danny drew in a long breath, trying not to shout. “I want to talk to Nicholas.”
“You can’t. Good night.” Toby backed up to close the door but Danny barged in.
“Nicholas!”
“Shut up! He’s not here.” Toby slammed the door closed behind him.
“What?” Danny stood in the foyer, confused.
“Shit, you’re drunk. Fabulous.” Toby cursed and shoved by him, heading to the kitchen.
“What did you do with Nicholas?” Danny followed him.
“We had a fight, we ate dinner, we fucked, he went to work.”
“Wha…what?” Danny stood in the kitchen, blinking.
“You heard me.” Toby pulled a lager out of the fridge and propped himself up against the counter, staring at Danny, who just stared back at him, wandering from emotion to emotion without knowing which one he should grab and act on. Finally Toby groaned. “How long you two been together?”
“Together?”
“As in, a couple? Together? Dating? Fucking? Am I ringing any bells here?”
“Well…it’s hard to say…I mean, if you count from when we first starting working together….or from when…you know…” Danny answered, surprised that they were not fighting. He thought they were supposed to be fighting.
“Year? Two years? Give me some kind of number. Any number.”
“Two?”
Toby nodded and drank from the bottle. “He doesn’t talk about you.”
“He doesn’t?” Danny was crushed and wondered how mean Toby was going to get.
“I bet he did not talk about me, either.”
Danny blinked and shook his head. “No, not…ever.”
“Not even my name.”
“No. Just your shirt.”
Toby stopped cold. “What?”
“Your shirt.” Danny pointed to the ceiling. At the carefully blank expression on Toby’s face, Danny shrugged. “Here.” He walked out and went upstairs to the bedroom. He stopped for a second, there, seeing the bed a torn up mess, but he kept walking over to the dresser. He heard Toby behind him, and he did not really know why he was doing this instead of picking a fight – a fight seemed much more sensible – but he just opened the drawer and dragged the shirt out.
Toby walked over and took it and held it up, recognizing it, in shock.
“Never told me it was yours. But…” Danny bit his lip.
Toby held still for a moment, then held it to his face, rubbing himself against it. Danny watched as he inspected it, turned it over, and held it in his hands like a delicate piece of glass. “He bought this for me…I left it at the flat, didn’t have time to pack, the social workers never let me…it was at the flat…”
“Social workers?”
Toby did not hear him. He was curling up, holding the shirt to his chest, and collapsing to the ground. Danny never saw someone nearly as big as himself move quite that gracefully, falling as if in slow motion until he was on his knees on the floor. And it was only then that Danny, still somewhat drunk and utterly confused, realized that Toby was crying.
He did the only thing he could think of, which was sit down next to him and start rubbing his back. Toby shook his head, but Danny kept rubbing, and Toby kept collapsing as he heaved into sobs, and soon Danny was holding on to Toby for all he was worth. It was peculiar not because it was Toby, but because Toby did not seem at all uncomfortable with being held by another man, or ashamed by his tears, or confused at being in the arms of his lover’s boyfriend. He was just crying and clinging to the shirt, accepting Danny’s ministrations, and unwilling to let go.
Danny felt him calm down, and breathe slowly, but he did not move. They were facing each other, Danny by now resting his back against the dresser as Toby curled into him. He kept rubbing his back and eventually started running his hands through his hair and across his face, feeling Toby relaxing as he did. Danny felt himself starting to slide back into sobriety, and he was not happy about that. He really wanted to blame all of this on the booze.
“Thank you.” Toby finally pushed back and looked at him, sitting up and crossing his feet. “You didn’t have good reason to do that.”
Danny shrugged.
“He really never told you about the shirt? How he got it?”
“No.” Danny shook his head, curious but still feeling like they should be fighting or something.
“I can’t tell you either. I don’t know how he got it. Our flat was a crime scene, sealed off…my mother was arrested for aiding and abetting armed robbery. It was really about drugs, she was a junkie. When they nicked her, they grabbed me and hauled me off to relatives in bloody Wales. I was a minor so…he bought this shirt for me, god I don’t remember when. I loved the band. But I did not get a chance to pack my own things and it was left behind. I just thought it…disappeared. I don’t know how in the hell he could have gotten it, without crossing a crime scene and stealing it.” He kept inspecting the shirt as he talked.
“Nicholas wouldn’t do that.”
“I know.” They looked at each other, understanding that somehow, Nicholas did just that, in order to get at something of Toby’s, and that was how desperate he had been.
“You two…friends?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
Danny nodded, rightly chastised.
“We fought about you.” Toby said quietly, answering the question Danny never asked earlier.
“Really?”
“No, not really. Not really about you, right? Just…I said something and he thought I was calling him an adulterer, or whatever. I don’t know. Hit something with him. He’s…not happy about what he’s doing.”
“Then he should stop.” Danny said crossly, and folded his arms, looking at the wall.
“He won’t.”
“You’re not helpin’, there.”
“I don’t intend to ‘help’, Butterman. I love him.”
Danny narrowed his eyes.
“You know I’m willing to accept that it won’t work out with us, believe it or not. We’ve both been through a lot and it’s been twenty years. I’m not stupid. But I’ll be damned if I don’t get the chance to try.” Toby looked at him angrily, and Danny realized that he was up against a mountain. As much as Danny loved Nicholas, there was something downright desperate to Toby’s words, and fight it or not, that was the same thing possessing Nicholas as well.
They seemed at an impasse when Toby put his hand on Danny’s leg. “I never meant to cause this much trouble, and I’m sorry. I really thought…I just knew that he hated me. I dropped him, never even tried to call or write or anything. I knew he had no way of finding me and…I just let go. I thought he’d never forgive me.”
“You love ‘im but you just let him worry about you for twenty years?” Danny said, affronted. Toby dropped his hand and looked at the shirt.
“Yeah.” He put the shirt up to his face and breathed into it, clearly trying not to cry again. This time, Danny offered no comfort.
“Y’takin’ him away from me.”
Toby just nodded, still holding the shirt to his face. Danny got up and left the room, and went back down to the kitchen, uncertain if he was leaving yet or not. This time he went to the fridge himself to pull out something, anything that was not cranberry juice, and he saw a drawing hanging on it. It was some kind of super-hero-Nicholas, with wings and a ray gun, an Amazing League badge on his chest, his aviators and protective vest on and looking glorious as if he was emerging from the clouds. Across the bottom in loopy, artistic scrollwork was “The Copper Angel” and Danny knew who drew it. He just stared.
He heard Toby come in and stand over by the wall, near him, watching him.
“That’s…good.” Danny said, pointing.
“Generous of you to say so.” Toby said darkly.
Danny spun around. “You got no reason to hate me! I ain’t done nothin’ to YOU! This is YOUR fault!”
Toby looked down, and had the decency to look ashamed. “Right.”
“I just want to beat you up!” Danny snarled, but unwilling to do anything about it.
“Well, I’ve been in harder fights for less. We could always go out back and ‘man’ it out.” Toby laughed bleakly, and shook his head.
“I can’t hurt you.” Danny said, moving to lean against the sink, facing the window, looking out into the night. “Nicholas…loves you. And I can’t change that.” He lowered his head and forced himself not to cry, just closed in on himself.
“Hey.” He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and he wanted to brush it off, but he thought even the slightest movement would make him shatter. “Hey.” He felt Toby stand behind him and then wrap his arms around him, pressing himself into Danny’s back, pulling him close. It was bizarre to be held by a man larger than he was, nearly as heavy and definitely taller, after spending so many nights with Nicholas’ light and willowy frame next to him. It was worse that it was Toby. Yet for all that, Danny could not do anything but stand there and try not to cry. He felt Toby put his head down, to rest it against Danny’s neck, and the flush of anger and despair that Danny was caught in changed into something else entirely. He knew Toby felt it too because he tensed up, and they both stood solidly frozen together, neither one prepared or willing to press the moment to anything else. Finally Toby let go and stepped back.
“Nicholas is at work, at the front desk, covering for Tony, whose kid got sick or something. If you want to talk to him.” He walked out and up to bed, and Danny stood there as he heard the lights being turned off upstairs and Toby crawling into bed.
Danny went home. There really was nothing, anything, he could say to Nicholas that would change what was going on.
Tony came in finally at two in the morning, the emergency not so bad an emergency, and the doctor at the ER had sent the Fisher’s home with a sample dose of some medicines and a prescription. Nicholas was glad, because he wanted some kind of sleep this week, and headed out the door already nodding off.
Nicholas walked down the street, knowing that Toby was at his cottage and Danny was home at his flat, and neither man was really expecting him and yet they both believed he would be there, in two places, for two men, at the same time. It was impossible and Nicholas knew it, and he stood motionless, unable to decide what to do. He put his life on the line for Danny, to save him in the way he never could save Toby, and that made Danny precious to him. Yet Toby’s return, accidental and welcome, was a gift that he never expected to even deserve. Toby was ready to start over, to take Nicholas into him and simply create the life they never had a chance to make, but to do that, Nicholas would have to give up everything he had with Danny.
It was one or the other, and for that, he hated them both.
“Why are you on the couch?”
“Mmm? Mornin’…” Nicholas sat up, blinking.
“On the couch?” Toby stood over him with a cup of coffee, handing it out to him.
“Got’n late, didn’ wan’ to wake you.” Nicholas yawned.
“Why. Are. You. On. The. Couch.” Toby glared at him, and Nicholas finally woke up.
“We…I…need to talk.” Nicholas stared at the cup in his hands. Toby sighed. First one, now the other. He decided not to tell Nicholas about Danny’s visit, as it would probably push the conversation into even more unpleasant areas than where it was already headed.
“Sure.”
“Toby…Danny and I…we’re…together.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Toby sat down on the couch, forcing Nicholas to pull his feet up.
“I love him.”
Toby looked at him. “Oi. Great. But you’re fucking me, and I’m the one sleeping in your house. Should I just take this at face value?”
Nicholas squinted and put down the coffee. “What do you mean?”
“I’m just a trick. Here for a few days, nothing serious, get your balls off, and away I go. You go back and make nice with Butterman and you two get married and raise a family. Right? That how it is?” Toby flushed, getting angrier as he talked.
“Toby that is not…”
“It sure as hell is!”
“It is not! How the hell can you say that! I’ve waited twenty years for you!” Nicholas jumped up, too agitated to sit still.
“Don’t put that on me! It works both ways!”
“You ran! You left me and never even told me what was going on, or where you were, or what happened! I tried, Toby, I had my father burning up his network and calling in every favor to find you! I would have done anything to get to you!”
“You weren’t there when I needed you!” Toby stood up and pushed him.
“I fucking love you! What more do you want?”
“You weren’t there!”
“I was in school! Where I was supposed to be! Where you were supposed to be!” Nicholas was screaming, and grabbed his shirt. “Why the fuck did you skip? Why the fuck did you just GIVE UP?”
They stood, not nose to nose but up against each other, both men furious and clinging, and Toby gave in first. He had to, because it was his shame, and his mistake, and he had made them both pay for it for too long. He let go and stepped back.
“I was ashamed, Nicholas. I was a fucking loser with criminals for parents and no future and you…were perfect. I’d only drag you down, I knew that, and I was a fuck up anyway.” He ran his hands through his hair and sat down again, looking at the floor. “God I hoped…not when I saw you, I still thought you’d be mad at me, hate me, or something. But the other night, when we were in my hotel room, I just thought…hoped…this would be my second chance. My chance. But it isn’t, is it?”
Nicholas stood still at the sudden revelations, and crossed his arms, but did not answer.
“It’s been twenty years, Nicholas. We should have both known this was just…”
“A trick? Overnighter? A quickie?” Nicholas snapped the words angrily.
“Stop, just stop.”
Nicholas did, but did not move. Finally he blew out a heavy breath of air. “I don’t know what this is, Toby. I love Danny, I risked my life for him. But I don’t think I would have done that if I did not know how…horrible it felt to lose you. I don’t want to lose you again.” He put his hands on his hips, looking off into the distance. “No, I can’t lose you again. I won’t allow it.”
Toby shook his head at Nicholas’ ability to disregard reality for the sake of his high-minded altruistic ideals, a talent which was remarkably unchanged over the years.
“Nicholas, we need to go to work. We can’t solve this right now.” Toby got up and left the room to get dressed, leaving Nicholas steaming along with his coffee in the parlor.
The first thing that hit them when they walked though the door was news that the Harvester girl was awake, lucid, and communicating. Toby did not even hit pause as he grabbed his supplies to head out to the hospital. Tony offered to drive him, and Nicholas appreciated that, because he needed to review the case with the Andes and catch up with more general issues with Doris, and somehow, find a way to talk to Danny.
“Can we just talk?”
“’Bout what?” Danny shifted, leaning against the lockers.
“Toby?”
“Nothin’ to talk about, Nicholas. Is there?”
“Danny…”
“I know what you’re doin’, so you can lie and you can make excuses but it won’t change anything.”
“I suppose not. But…there’s history there, with us, and it’s difficult…”
“I said there was nothin’ to talk about.” Danny stood up straight and glared at him.
Nicholas stared at him, trying for words, seeing the hurt and anger in Danny and unable to make any promises to him that he knew full well he would not keep.
“You just walked on me, Nicholas. All obvious like, not carin’ who saw or what you were doin’. You know I think that hurt more than anythin’, because with me you always hide and keep us a secret and act all ashamed…”
“I am NOT ashamed of us, Danny…”
“But with ‘im…everyone sees it. Everyone knows. Two days and everyone knows. And they know it’s not me.” Danny was fighting off tears, more of anger than sadness, and Nicholas thought he was one breath away from getting the hell beat out of him by Danny.
“Danny, I swear, I love you. And I’ve told him that.”
“Don’t think it matters, yeah?” Danny said and shoved him as he walked out.
The drawing was done quickly and Toby was back at the station by early afternoon with a mock up and they started running it through the databases for a visual match. It pretty much signaled the end of Toby’s assignment, and Danny was relieved beyond words. Even if things went badly with Nicholas, with Toby out of the way, they might be able to salvage something. Anything.
But he could not rid himself of the idea of Toby hovering in London, waiting to pick up the pieces if things could not be salvaged. Nicholas might never leave Sandford for a better job or more money or even a promotion, but he would leave for Toby, and Danny knew it.
“I’ll be here tomorrow, to make sure we don’t need to go back to the witness on the profile, but I’m leaving tomorrow night. Taking a late train out of Northwest Wapping, so I’ll have to be in the taxi by eight o’clock.” Toby said casually over a late lunch, trying not to fidget. “So…tonight’s my last night in town. I’ll be spending it at the hotel.”
Nicholas did not answer.
“Clue: you are not invited over.”
“I won’t lose you again.”
“Lose what, Nicholas? We have nothing but bad memories now. Right? You’re in love with someone else and…”
“Damnit, Toby! Nothing is ever that simple!”
“Sometimes it is. Answer me this: Will you transfer back to London?”
Nicholas looked stunned, and Toby already knew the answer.
“Well?”
“No!”
Toby shrugged and shut down, knowing that further conversation was pointless.
“Toby, I mean…I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Obviously.”
“And you aren’t helping matters.”
Toby leaned over and whispered. “I love you. If you asked me, I’d move to this godforsaken pit of a village in the middle of nowhere. Tomorrow. Today. I’d do it. If you asked, but you aren’t asking, and you won’t leave, and no matter what you say, you don’t love me. You just feel bad about what happened to me. Well, get over it. I’ve moved on from that, and now this is just us, and it isn’t working.” He stood up and threw his napkin down and walked out of the pub before Nicholas could marshal an answer, and knowing full well that he would get stalled paying the bill and not catch up with him before he was at the station.
“You’re being jealous and selfish. That much hasn’t changed.” Nicholas surprised him by showing up next to him on the sidewalk.
“And you are still oblivious and emotionally weak. Boys will be boys.”
Nicholas actually laughed, and Toby stopped, smiling at him. “Did you pay the bill?”
“Told them to put it on the station tab.”
“The station has a tab?” Toby gawked, and knew he sounded stupid, but he could not imagine Nicholas authorizing a tab at the local pub for the whole department.
“They do catering now, too. Sometimes we order in lunch.”
“Oh.”
“Toby…would you please give me a chance, here?”
“To do what, exactly?”
“I don’t know.”
“That seems to be the whole problem, Nicholas.” Toby shoved his hands in his pockets. They were already at the station, and they just stopped and looked at each other for a beat before walking in together.
Nicholas stood at the door, holding his breath. He knew what would happen if he knocked. He knew how he felt. He knew what Danny thought and what Toby wanted and he knew that he did not really know what he needed. Other than this.
He knocked.
“Nicholas, for god’s sake…” Toby shook his head as he stood in the door of the hotel room.
“Let me in.”
“No…please, don’t you understand what this is doing to me? That I love you? Just…go home to Danny.”
“Let me in.” Nicholas said it again, growing desperate. Toby looked at him, anguished, and Nicholas stepped into him, pushed back, and closed the door behind him.
He took him to the bed and they started kissing before they even got there, and this time, it was Toby who was desperate for his mouth. Nicholas fought him for the lead and finally won, laying on top of him as they undressed each other, and fisting Toby’s cock before going down on him. He held off, though, working him up, finally pulling himself onto his knees as Toby gasped, annoyed at the delay. Nicholas prepared himself with Toby’s ever present condom and lube but did not prepare Toby at all, moving quickly and pressing hard into him until his cock sunk fast and deep, causing Toby to cry out, and Nicholas started pounding his hips, furious at everything, mad at himself, desperate for release and dreading the aftermath. For all that, it was not over quickly, because he kept pulling back from the edge, long after Toby finally fell into a shuddering orgasm, and long after Toby whined in protest. Finally Nicholas pressed his face into Toby’s chest and cried, fucking him furiously, determined never to stop, and came with a deep agonized groan that shook them both.
He wanted to get up and leave, then, and walk out. He did not want to be there, cheating on Danny, in love with another man – in love with two men – and unable to stop himself from doing everything wrong. But Toby held onto him as he collapsed, and he simply could not imagine being anywhere else.
Toby got up out of bed after Nicholas left that night. They did not say anything concerning what was going on, but Nicholas held him in a deep hug after he was dressed and said only, “I love you.”
He got up later and showered and dressed and walked around the village aimlessly, wondering if Nicholas went home or had the balls to go to Danny. He ended up by the castle as the night started lifting and the tremulous strands of dawn appeared above him. He knew that at some point, Nicholas would be backed to the wall, and would force himself to choose, and Toby was terrified of being the one left out of his life. It was possible, though, and he had to consider it, but he did not know what to do. If Nicholas crossed him out now, then it would be twenty years of pain and love for nothing. But he, Toby, was not a bastard and he was not going to purposefully break up something important to Nicholas. That was really the bottom line, and he hated it but it was true: he needed to cut things off with Nicholas before Nicholas felt the need to destroy what was left of them in order to keep his relationship with Danny safe. He knew Nicholas would do that, because that was the only way Nicholas worked: black or white, Toby or Danny. One had to go.
He was man enough to cry, even weep. He did, sitting next to the grazing field at the Castle, bowed over, hating this damn village and hating every moment of his life and knowing that he would burn for Nicholas forever.
Nicholas stood outside his office, speechless, staring Doris down with an intensity that sent her wilting back to her desk. Toby had come in at dawn and packed up and was already gone. It was to be his last day anyway, and he left a note with the night shift Turner saying that he needed a break and was taking a vacation day. Nicholas held that note in his hand, confused, furious, and struck dumb.
He finally managed to walk to his desk and sit down, and that was the first time he saw the letter addressed to him sticking out from under his keyboard. It had his name on it in thick, dramatic gothic lettering that looked nearly like mediaeval graffiti. The letter was less bold, but very clear: don’t call, don’t email, don’t visit. It was a ‘we’ll always have Paris’ letter and it was kind and sorrowful but firm: Stay away, Nicholas, for both of our sakes.
Toby was gone again, and this time, forever. Nicholas’ world went black.
Danny walked in to frightened looks from everyone, including the normally impervious Andes. They all cast glances towards Nicholas’ office, and Danny followed the trail of their eyes until he was standing outside the door. The blinds were open and so was the door, and nothing looked amiss, except Nicholas himself. He was sitting in his chair but his upper body was sprawled across the desk, motionless, his head down.
“Nicholas?”
Nicholas shook his head. “Go away.”
“No.” Danny came inside and closed the door behind him, and closed the blinds. It was not much privacy, but it was something. “Wot’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing.”
“Now yer lyin’ to me. What good is that?” Danny sat down across the desk from him.
Nicholas looked up, and it did not appear that he was crying, only that he might at any second. Danny shifted.
“This about Toby, then?”
Nicholas nodded.
“He’s gone?”
Nicholas nodded again.
“You want me to say I’m sorry?”
Nicholas cocked his head, then shook it. “No. I know you aren’t.”
Danny shrugged. “Not going to lie about it. But you are…making a bit of a scene.” He coughed. This was Nicholas’ domain, where he was boss, and it felt odd to be chastising him in his own office.
“Danny, I don’t fucking care.” Nicholas lowered his head back down.
Danny just stared. “Nicholas, what the hell is this about? You haven’t been talking to me since he got here. Now…this…you want to follow him back, that’s it, isn’t it? This is it. And you just can’t tell me.” Danny straightened up in his chair, angry, hurt, and terrified.
Nicholas looked at him without raising his head. “Danny…no…”
“Then what the fuck is going on?” Danny leaned forward and slapped the desk, making Nicholas jump back.
“Danny…it’s…we’re not old school friends. I mean we were, but…there is a lot more to it than that.”
“Then I think you better tell me.” Danny sat back and crossed his arms. Nicholas straightened up and looked at a letter lying folded by his keyboard, then back to Danny.
“That shirt you found. The band shirt. It’s Toby’s.”
“I know.”
Nicholas looked surprised, but carried on. “We were kids, Danny. We…god, this sounds so corny. We were in love.” Nicholas relaxed at the admission, and then went on, and told Danny everything about their lives together as boys, up until their last night together, and Toby’s fears, and the heartbroken desperation Nicholas had felt when Toby was taken away by the authorities. Twenty years ago.
After a long, silent pause, Danny shook his head. He could not even begin to imagine the loyalty – the love – that would drive a man to cling to something like that so passionately for twenty years. Or maybe he could, because he knew that if Nicholas went back to London, Danny would hold onto him in the same exact way. “Nicholas…why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know how.” Nicholas looked lost, and sad, and Danny could not bear to see that.
“So…y’goin’ to London, then?”
Nicholas looked at him, surprised. “No. Of course not.”
“But…Nicholas, if he’s that important…”
Nicholas threw the letter at him. “Read it. I’m not keeping anything from you.” Nicholas said it angrily, and Danny flinched but grabbed the letter and read it. He folded it back up and handed it to Nicholas.
“He did this for you.”
“I think he thinks he did this for me.” Nicholas crossed his arms and shook his head.
“Nicholas…” Danny bit his lip.
“I am not going to London. I am staying here. With you.” Nicholas said the last part softly, gently, looking up at Danny and trying to smile, but not making it work.
Danny knew something was wrong. It was everything he wanted: Toby gone, Nicholas here, staying for him. But it was wrong, somehow, and Danny did not understand why. Finally Nicholas sighed, and looked out towards his office window.
“Doesn’t matter, Danny, what happened with me and Toby. He gave up on me a long time ago.”