Author's note: all usual disclaimers apply. A passing idea that occurred as I cooked brownies to eat as comfort food while I reloaded everything onto my computer after a hard drive failure. Thank goodness I have my iPad for ILM! And my year has not been nearly as bad as Tommy's.

Barbara Havers looked at her boss and sighed. He looked thoroughly miserable.

"Sir, why don't you come to the pub with us? It will make you feel better."

He shook his head and adjusted his sling. "Thanks, but no. Nothing will make me feel better unless you can suddenly transport me into next year."

"Beam me up, Scotty!"

"Pardon?"

"Star Trek. When Captain Kirk wants Scotty to beam him back to the ship... Teleportation? Never mind."

"Quite." Tommy frowned. "Sorry. I'll see you tomorrow, Havers."

"At least let me drive you home."

"No. Go out. Have fun. Don't worry about me."

"I'd rather make sure you're okay."

He smiled. "Thank you, but I'm fine. Now do as you're told and relax."

Barbara nodded, more to keep him happy than agreement. "Yes, Sir. Have a good night."

"Thanks. I'll be up for most of it reloading my computer."

"You should get your rest... what with that chill and all, and your hand."

"I'm fine," he insisted, "don't fuss. I'll see you tomorrow."

Barbara watched him walk to the cab like a Scotsman returning from Culloden, thoroughly defeated and tired of life. It was only a week into the new year, and already he had had enough to try a saint. On New Year's Day, a lout had sprayed acid on several cars in Belgravia. The Bristol was off the road and required expensive repairs. The next day he had tripped and spilt boiling coffee over his hand. While having treatment at St Thomas' A & E, a meth addict had stolen all the money and his credit card from his wallet. Devoid of funds to get home, instead of phoning her, he had walked through the cold sleet and biting wind, only to catch a chill in his kidneys. Doped up on painkillers, the next night he had taken his laptop upstairs to bed to catch up on his finances. At the top of the stairs, he had tripped. The computer tumbled onto the landing and slid out underneath the railing, falling several metres and smashing on the black and white marble tiles of his foyer.

He had taken Barbara with him when he bought a new laptop at lunchtime, and now he had to try to restore all his files from the estate and charity finances. She wished there was something she could do to help.

"Coming Barbara?" Winston asked as he pulled on his coat.

"Nah, I'm not in the mood. I might have an early night."

"Don't worry about the DI. He'll be okay. Maybe he's getting all his back luck up front and his year will turn around."

She hated being that transparent. "It's got nothing to do with Lynley."

Winston put his hand on her shoulder. "With you, everything has something to do with Lynley."

She shook his hand off. "That's rubbish."

"Is it? Maybe this year you should both stop avoiding the inevitable and see if you can be happy."

"He doesn't see me that way."

"Have you ever asked him?"

"I don't have to. Now go to the pub. I'm going home. To Camden. Alone."

Barbara stopped at her local supermarket to buy something to reheat for dinner. The choices were limited and unappetising. After minutes standing staring at her reflection in the glass door of the freezer, she decided on everyone's favourite, Mac and Cheese. As she walked to the counter to pay, her eye caught the image of chocolate brownies. She paused to stare at the box - Foolproof Chocolate Brownies with Macadamias. The picture looked good, but in her experience, the product never turned out that way. Tentatively she picked up a box and read the instructions. Add two eggs, melted butter, stir with a wooden spoon and bake 40 mins. Even she could do that. Or at least she hoped she could.

Once inside her kitchen, Barbara had her doubts. She found a mixing bowl in the depths of her cupboard. It was covered with a patina of sticky dust, so she gave it a good wash. Her saucepan looked clean, and her one baking dish was about the right size.

"I'm mad."

Carefully she followed the instructions. A brown goo dripped off her spoon when she raised it. Satisfied, she scraped it into her greased pan and with great reverence placed it into the centre of her oven.

"Now just cook evenly please."

Barbara devoured her microwaved comfort food while she waited, her eyes never leaving the oven. The smell wafting from the vent was mouthwatering and as yet did not contain the telltale ash smell that often filled the flat when she tried real cooking. Watching the clock every few seconds, at precisely 40 minutes she removed the tin. It looked like the real thing with a nice cracked hard coating on top, but springy to the touch.

"Hmm, so far so good."

She checked the box. Must cool in the tin. She placed it on the stove top, poked it again, then smiled. It might actually taste good.

Tommy rubbed his temples. He was tired, hungry and grumpy, and had a hint of a headache forming behind his forehead. Luckily, his backup seemed to be uploading smoothly onto his new PC. He moved into the kitchen and tried to pour another shot of single malt. The sling made it nearly impossible, so he pulled it off and tossed it aside. He stretched out his shoulder and arm.

His hand was still painful and swollen. It hurt more moving it around, but at least with two hands, he could make himself a toasted cheese sandwich under his griller. It was all he could be bothered with after his week. He had just put his plate in the dishwasher when his doorbell rang.

"Just what I need."

He wiped his hands on a tea towel and threw it over his shoulder hoping it might indicate to the charity worker, religious zealot or insurance salesman that he was busy. He took a deep breath then opened the door. "Havers! I wasn't expecting you."

She looked down. "Sorry, a bad time?"

"No. I thought you might be someone..."

"Else? You were expecting company." Barbara's crestfallen look surprised him.

"No. No, I wasn't. I was going to say someone unsolicited. We've had a spate of charity collectors lately. Come in."

Barbara hesitated. "I didn't come to interrupt, Sir. You look like you're cooking dinner. Where's your sling?"

Tommy moved forward and put his arm around her shoulder and ushered her into his hall. "It was annoying me. Sadly, I can't offer you any food. I've just finished a toasted cheese sandwich."

Barbara looked up and smiled. "Really? Gourmet no doubt. Artisan bread and rare sheeps cheese?"

"No. White bread from Tesco and a slice of their cheddar."

"Have you been taking cooking lessons from me?"

Tommy raised his hand to his face in mock horror. "I hope not."

They both laughed as he led them into his study. "Take a seat. I just want to check on my new beast." He sat at his desk, wiggled his mouse and nodded. "Seems to be going too easily. Something must be going to go wrong."

"Don't say that," Barbara said, settling herself into his classic, slightly weather-beaten Army and Navy Chesterfield that sat beside the window. "I'm hoping the worst of the year is behind you."

"Me too." For the first time, he noticed the box file she was carrying. "I take it you've had a breakthrough on Summers' bank statements?"

"What? No. This is... I thought if you were going to be up all night with your PC, you might like some..."

Tommy waited, but when her sentence went unfinished, he turned back to his screen so that she could not see his smile at her unintentional innuendo. "Some what?"

"Nibblies."

Tommy swung around and could not hide his grin. "Nibblies?"

Barbara stood and put the box on the mahogany coffee table. "I don't know what I was thinking. I saw the box at the supermarket and thought it would be... Sorry. If you want some feel free."

Tommy reached the door before her and blocked her path. "I'm sorry I laughed, Barbara. It was your choice of words, not your gesture. In fact, I'm touched you thought to buy me some... nibblies."

"I made them. Well, from a box, but I had to mix them up and bake them."

"For me?" Tommy swallowed quickly to try to ease the lump forming in his throat.

"Yeah, to... to cheer you up."

Tommy still had no idea what constituted nibblies, nor could he guess what she might have baked. Images of lumps of charcoal flashed through his mind, and he chastised himself for being uncharitable. "Stay. Share them."

Barbara did not look at him. Instead, she stared at a piece of carpet "I feel silly now. At home, it seemed like a good idea."

"It was... It is." Tommy put his arm around her shoulder and guided her across to the sofa. They sat together in front of the box. "And your cake tin is very original."

"It was all I had. Summers' bank statements are now in an Asda bag."

"Where they belong."

For the first time since arriving, Barbara looked him in the eye. "Most of my food starts life in one of those bags."

"Then don't eat the bank statements, they're evidence."

"Sir!" Barbara's face opened up with a broad smile.

Tommy was relieved to hear her laugh. He always felt better when Barbara was with him. He lifted the lid of the box. The contents looked and smelled delicious. "Chocolate Brownies! Wonderful."

"Really?"

He turned and smiled at her. "Of course. I love them. It was very thoughtful of you, Barbara." He wanted to give her a quick thank you kiss, but this was Barbara. She moved away every time he tried it. She was not the kissing type, and he respected that. She always sent an unequivocal message that their friendship had limits. He settled for looking her directly into the eyes and smiling. "I'll get some plates." Halfway out of the room he turned. "Don't run away."

She looked up and nodded. "I won't."

In the kitchen, Tommy took a minute to breathe deeply. Despite his grumpiness during the day, which he knew he had unfairly taken out on her, Barbara had taken the time to bake for him and bring it over. She always seemed to understand, and to find the right way to lift his spirits, to make him feel loved. Usually, he could remain composed, but tonight he wanted to step over their line, to test if there could be more to their relationship. Just once he wanted to sweep her into his arms, kiss her senseless and see if she changed her mind, but he lacked the strength for the inevitable argument. He sighed. It was better to have her as she was than risk losing her.

Barbara closed her eyes. For a second she had thought he was going to kiss her. Habitually she avoided touching him fearing that he would see how much she wanted a kiss to be more than a friendly gesture. Tonight, she was not sure how she would have reacted. A quiet room, soft lighting, and his eyes were a deadly mix.

Tommy's return shook her from her reverie. He sat beside her and passed her a plate. Although the one at home had tasted good, Barbara was anxious that her brownies might not meet Tommy's expectations. She waited, and watched him take the first bite. His face lit up with genuine pleasure, and she relaxed.

"These are great!"

"You sound surprised."

"Not at all. They're a perfect antidote to the week I've had. Thank you." Tommy took her hand. He grimaced when he squeezed it gently.

"Your hand is sore."

He gave her a rueful smile. "Yes. I think I've used it too much tonight. It'll be fine."

"Show me."

He let her pull it gently into the light. She carefully pulled back the edge of the dressing. "This is too tight, and your hand looks very red. We need to put a new dressing on it."

"The doctor told me to do it each day, but I can't do it myself."

"And you didn't stop to think someone could help you?"

"I didn't want to impose."

Barbara snapped the box file shut. "No more treats until you behave. Do you have a clean bandage?"

"In the kitchen. They gave me spare dressings at the hospital."

"Up you get."

"Barbara, there's no need to fuss."

She lowered her eyes. "I'll go, and the brownies will go with me."

"Spoiled sport."

Barbara stood and picked up the box.

Tommy shrugged. "Okay, okay."

He happily allowed her to shoo him into his kitchen. His hand ached, and he regretted not returning it to the sling. "Thank you."

"I haven't done anything yet," she said as she washed her hands thoroughly.

"You have. The brownies. This. I appreciate it."

Barbara carefully unwrapped the bandage and slowly removed the dressing, trying not to pull any of the wound. The back of his hand was postbox red. The skin was tight and swollen with large blisters that slowly oozed plasma. Around the burn, there was bruising fading to shades of green, grey and blue away from the injury. Even his fingers were swollen and yellowy. He winced when he tried to flex them.

"You don't do things by halves do you?"

Tommy decided to test the water. "Some things."

Barbara did not look at him as she opened the sterile dressing the hospital had given him and carefully covered his hand. "Like what?"

"Thanking you for coming over, and for cooking for me. Looking after me. It means a great deal. I don't think you realise how much."

"It's what friends do."

"I've also been remiss by not telling you that I treasure your friendship above everything."

Barbara smiled then began to wrap a fresh bandage around his hand. "Yeah, me too."

"I don't want you to go."

"I won't. No one else would put up with you. Or me."

Tommy took a long breath before he spoke. "I meant, I don't want you to go tonight."

She looked up. She inadvertently pulled the bandage, making him wince. "Oh, sorry."

"Don't be sorry, about anything." He smiled at the sweet, confused look on her face. He could read the thoughts racing through her mind. Most of them were panicked ways of trying to interpret what he had said. None of them was 'no'.

"Sir, I don't think I understand."

"Don't you?" Tommy leant closer. Her fingers were now massaging his wrist and forearm. They hurt and soothed in a weird balance that suited the moment.

"I..." Her words died as Barbara looked into his eyes.

Tommy tried to hide nothing, letting her see his doubts and fears as well as his love and hope. "I love you, Barbara."

Barbara blushed. Her hands stopped moving but still held his arm firmly. With his uninjured hand, he reached up and caressed her cheek, guiding her face closer. With his intention clear, he paused an inch from her lips, allowing Barbara to decide their fate.

"Sir... I..." She closed the gap. Her lips met his in a soft kiss before she pulled away.

"Barbara?"

"I don't know why I did that. Sorry, but this is... crazy."

Tommy still had his hand against her cheek. He stroked it gently with his thumb. "Why?"

"Your hand."

He nodded. "It's not ideal, but maybe it's a blessing in disguise, so we take everything slowly."

"I didn't mean that." She put the back of her hand on his forehead. "You must have a fever. Delirium."

Tommy laughed and shook his head. "Neither. Just lovesickness."

Barbara tried to pull away. "Why? Why now, after all these years?"

"Because before I was a fool. When you came tonight, and it wasn't about work, and when I saw your face as I tried your brownies, I knew then that... my feelings were returned. They are, aren't they? I can't be that wrong at reading you after all this time."

She looked down. "You were never supposed to know."

"Neither were you, but as we both do now, it is impossible to ignore. And why should we? We're adults. Neither of us has other entanglements."

"Entanglements? Is that what I will be? An entanglement?"

"No. I simply meant that we wouldn't be hurting anyone."

"And when this phase passes, then what? I like what we have. I don't want to give that up."

"We won't. It will become even stronger."

"Sir, I am not your type. I can't keep you happy for long."

"You are the only person who has ever made me truly happy."

Barbara closed her eyes. "Yeah, you too. You're going to regret this."

Barbara kissed him. This time it was not a shy peck. Their lips had both parted almost as they touched. His tongue found hers quickly. She had never kissed anyone like that, but she ignored her fears about appearing naive and foolish, and just focused on how good this felt. Slightly breathless, she pulled away. Tommy rested his forehead against hers.

"I don't regret that at all," he said as he pulled her into an embrace and gently stroked her back. "In fact, I think we should grab those brownies and go upstairs."

"I..."

Tommy moved his head back and smiled at her. "It's okay. I know. We can eat brownies and watch TV if you like. I just want to be with you."

"But... you..."

He continued to caress her back. "What?"

"Have a reputation. You won't be satisfied..."

Tommy silenced her with a glare. "My reputation is exaggerated, and contrary to popular belief, I am not after only one thing. I have a confession. When I held you once before when you were upset outside that pub, I felt ashamed because I enjoyed it. I felt like I had found something that was missing from me."

Barbara closed her eyes. "So did I."

"I want to feel that again. Anything more can be later, whenever you are ready. Will you stay?"

Barbara pulled him into her arms and buried her head against his chest. His arms locked tightly around her. "You better get the brownies then."