He stood and watched them for a moment. He thought he was over that feeling, he'd dealt with it all years ago. He turned away. Pub? He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. Honestly. The last place on earth he wanted to be right then was the pub.
He knew where he should be. With the team, celebrating a victory. Acknowledging once again, he had come on too strong. And he knew what they'd think if he didn't show. DS Turner, too big a fish to drink with the plebs.
Suddenly, he had enough of all of it. Being Detective Sergeant Stuart Turner. He wanted to hold out a hand and hitch a ride to anywhere else. He had sworn to himself a long time ago that he was never going to feel like this ever again. He walked out into the cold night air.
Pub? Or home? He hefted his car keys in his hand and knew there was really no choice. He didn't want to face anyone who might know him feeling like this.
*~*~*~*~*
He pulled the Alfa into his parking space outside his flat. As he switched off the ignition, he realised that he had no idea just how he had arrived home. Wonderful...idiot. He locked the car carefully and headed for his flat.
~*~*~*~*~
He drifted around his kitchen, pulled open the freezer, and stared at the one remaining frozen dinner. He pulled it out. Thai Green Curry. He pulled the meal out of its cardboard box, stabbed the plastic cover a couple of times with real vengeance and shoved it in the microwave. He leaned back against the counter.
Behind him the microwave dinged. He glanced sideways at it. And knew that attempting to shove food past the aching dry void in his throat was pointless. He walked away.
He couldn't face television. Being on the outside looking in. He had enough of that in his daily life. That thought surprised him. He thought he'd made his peace with all those feelings eighteen years. He'd buried them all with his mother. He bent down to shuffle through his music collection. Something that went with his mood. Music to cut your throat by. That thought shocked him, that wasn't him, wasn't the persona he'd built up for himself. He stuck a Cash cd in the player, turned down the lights, and slumped down on his sofa.
As the strains of If You Could Read My Mind quietly plucked at his nerve endings, he lay back, and flopped a weary arm across his forehead. As if he really could press the unwanted memories back in their box. This was stupid. He had been years older than Tommy was right now. Perhaps it was because he knew what was coming. Perhaps he was just feeling sorry for himself because he was lonely. Coming home each night to his lonely flat. No one to come home to.
He had a sister, but she had her own world and circle of friends, and her family, and her brother just didn't seem to fit. Sometimes they felt like complete strangers. He never saw his father. As far as Graham Turner was concerned, his son was an adult. They weren't an over demonstrative family at the best of times, and his father had his younger sister to be concerned about. Stuart was old enough to take care of himself. So he had. Winning gained his father's approval, and confirmed his belief in himself. He didn't need people. If he could rely on himself he could survive, people just weren't part of the plan.
Perhaps this was all just self-pity. But that didn't explain the pain in his heart. He looked up at the ceiling, as it blurred, and the tears fell. He was alone, no one would ever know. His persona was intact. And if they thought him a stuck up idiot, wasn't that what they had been thinking almost from the start.
The sound didn't register at first. Then he recognised the front door bell. He didn't move. It went again. He wasn't going to answer it, but it went again. And then, again. Whoever it was, wasn't planning on going away. Someone was as stubborn as himself. He got to his feet, wiped his shirt sleeve over his face. With luck he could give whoever it was short shrift and be left alone in peace.
He yanked open his front door.
"I wondered when you were going to let me in."
She moved towards him, and for a moment he stood there. The one person who could see through him however many barriers he put up.
"Jo." He stepped aside. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you."
He looked puzzled, "Why?"
"Because I know you; because I read between the lines, and because Mickey told me about something you said. Then when you didn't turn up at the pub. All the clues fell into place."
"Clues?"
She tapped the side of her head with an index finger "The little grey cells."
"Ace detective." He grinned.
His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was a start, she decided.
"Coffee?" he said.
"How about some of that Blue Mountain you've got stashed away somewhere?" She countered, they'd all been full of ripping him off the last of his favourite coffee, and she wanted one his slightly rueful responses; perhaps that would wipe away the pain she could see in his expression.
Another grin, as cockeyed as the first. And this is some of my best material too. She resisted the urge to put her arms around his neck and just hug him. Provoking an opening of the floodgates wouldn't do at all. If he felt comfortable enough to open up, he would. She just had to bide her time. She followed him up to his lounge. Something mournful on the sound system. He was in the kitchen, she could hear banging, and he was fiddling with the coffee machine.
His back was towards her, she glanced to the left, just past him she could see the microwave door was open, and the abandoned meal inside. She could tell by the set of his shoulders he was hiding from her, not just fiddling with the coffee machine. She put a hand on his back, feeling the muscles tense beneath her fingers. He half-turned towards her and seemed to hesitate, and she watched as his defences crumbled.
She stepped in and hugged him then, as his arms went round her waist and he clutched her to him so fiercely that she wondered if she would ever draw breath again. He didn't make a sound. Buried his face in the side of her neck and her shoulder, and her shirt grew damp.
There wasn't much she could do, other than make soothing noises, and gently hold on until the storm had passed.
She felt his fierce grip loosen, and he turned his face away, clearly trying to recover his position. Well, this time she wasn't going to let him retreat.
He started to fiddle with the coffee maker again, and she put her hand out and covered his. "I think we need something a little stronger than coffee, don't you?"