Homecoming

Disclaimer – All characters are the property of Thames TV and I make no profit from their use.

A little friendship or more piece, written a couple of years ago for Webbswoman and now finished and posted. Can't believe this fandom's still going strong!

'I've missed you.'

'Yeah? Word to the wise, Jack, that isn't the kind of greeting you can get away with using in public.' Mickey paused for a minute, shifted his backpack and let the crowd mill around between them for a while. He took a deep breath and even that was different: it tasted of cars and people and somehow of London. He scuffed one foot against the damp tarmac, and it felt so good to be home.

He looked up again and this time caught Jack's eye. Smiled. 'Hello.'

They met halfway along the walkway, Jack throwing an arm around his shoulders and hugging him, almost fiercely. Mickey raised his arms as best as he could and returned the gesture.

'Welcome back.'

'Thanks.'

'Car's just over t-' and whatever else Jack had been going to say was eclipsed by the thunder of another plane taking off.

'OK.' He let the older man shoulder one of his bags and mutter something about the weight of it, then followed him. He couldn't see Jack's car.

'How far we gotta go? This is heavy.'

'Eight thousand miles not far enough for you? It's that blue Mazda over there, look. Down at the end of that row. And I take it you want to stop and get dinner somewhere?'

Mickey glanced up at the grey sky and shrugged, trying to work the times out. 'Breakfast, I think. But you don't need to.'

'I'm not cooking for you as well as taking you home. And can't you walk and talk? It's going to start raining again in a minute and I don't image you thought to bring a jacket with you.'

Mickey grinned, came a couple of steps closer and hugged Jack again.

He burst out laughing. 'People are going to start talking again, Mickey.'

'Yeah. Well. Won't be the first time, will it? And there's plenty of other people around here hugging each other.'

'C'mon, will you?' Jack moved away, sighing pointedly at the weight of the bags he was carrying.

'I don't know what you're moaning about, guv. You weren't the one who had to carry it all for six months. Or pay the excess baggage charges on it.'

'Well, I'm an old man. And Mickey...you don't have to call me guv. Not now. You know that.'

It hurt; felt like a stab of loss and regret, but at least the situation was of his own making and the pain was that of the inevitable, long expected. He'd known – really known – for the past eight months or so that Jack wouldn't be his guv'nor for much longer, but the reality was different to what he'd expected.

'I don't think I'll ever get used to that, Jack.'

'Don't worry about it. I'm sure I can still remember to answer to guv as long as you answer to minion or something.'

They'd reached the car now and he wolf-whistled when he saw it; all sleek metallic paint and pale tan leather. Jack threw his bags into the boot. 'C'mon, get in.'

For the first time in a long while, he felt self conscious around Jack, aware that, although he'd had a shower somewhere back in Sydney, that had been 48 hours ago and the first for a long time. He had a beard now, and it was longer than his hair, which he'd made a cack-handed job of shaving off a few weeks back, and his shoes had holes in, which hadn't mattered in the Australian heat because he'd gone barefoot for most of the time, but was already proving uncomfortable back in London.

'Get in.'

'Look at me...'

'You're a damn sight better than when,' Jack paused, as though censoring what he'd been going to say, 'than when I picked you up after that football match to run you down the hospital because someone had stamped on your ankle and you threw up on me halfway there. It doesn't matter, does it?'

'Have you got a blanket or something?'

'Oh, honestly.' A smile softened Jack's face. 'It never matters for us, does it?'

He did as he was asked, feeling the old memories and loyalties tugging at him like traces once again. They hadn't spoken much while he'd been away, although he'd emailed whenever he'd found himself near a computer and he'd composed long letters in his head when he'd found himself walking long and empty roads, or gazing at clusters of strange stars too numerous to count. Letters composed of things he could never say or admit, given birth by the joy of feeling young and unafraid and whole again. And sometimes, Jack had answered the emails.

'No...' The leather seat was like a bucket, low slung and seeming to hold him in place. He wondered how fast it would go, whether Jack would let him drive it.

Jack reversed out in silence, kept silent until they were out of the immediate environs of Heathrow and then said sternly, 'Will you quit that?'

'What?'

'Worrying so loudly. There's nothing that you can do to this that a quick clean won't sort out. And if you're still worrying about calling me guv, don't. It's not exactly easy, trying to call your friend something different all of a sudden.'

He nodded, remembering the different names he'd used in the emails and those unwritten letters, and how easily some of those had come to mind. 'Long as you don't mind.'

'Of course not. Why should I mind what you call me?...Mickey, are you blushing?'

He wasn't, or so he told Meadows firmly.

'Fine, ok. Indian alright for dinner?'

'Urrgh. It's my breakfast, remember?' and he was glad the subject had changed.

'You're the one with jetlag, remember, not me. I think it's a reasonable thing to eat at half seven and you can watch me if you like.'

'Oh, shut up.'

Laughter, like starlight, filled the car.

'So, what are you doing now?' Mickey asked later, through a mouthful of bacon. They'd compromised and found a cafe doing an all-day breakfast. Jack appeared to have almost dozed off in the last few minutes, blue eyes open the barest fraction, tea mug cradled in both hands. On the radio, Noddy Holder was screaming about Christmas and for the first time in a long while, Mickey found that the song raised no chill dread in him.

'Shouting at people, running around after people who can't do their job, going to conferences to tell other people how to do their jobs and the like. You know, all the glamorous stuff us high ranking lot get to do. Get photographed or put on the TV news a lot, normally when they want to moan about something we're doing.'

Mickey grinned across at him. 'When's the plastic surgery starting then, guv?'

'They tell me I look good in uniform, contrary to what you told me on my first day. Don't you miss it at all?'

Taken aback at the sudden change, he thought for a moment, then shrugged. 'It's not like I've been around to miss it, is it? Maybe if I'd been there all the time and everything, but...it was like being in a different world out there. I didn't remember being a copper for most of it. And...' There was a lot more that he wanted to say, but nothing he was going to say in public.

They headed back outside; he paused for a moment and looked up at the stars.

'They must look strange to you now, Mick.'

'Yeah.'

'What were you going to say in there earlier? When you stopped?'

'Nothing.'

'I thought you might have outgrown that. You were looking evasive in there, and trust me, I can still see through that beard of yours.'

He kept his attention focused on the stars, wondering if it was too late to place a wish on one of them. 'What were the others saying about me leaving?'

Jack came a little closer to him. 'I don't hear the gossip like I used to, mainly because I haven't got you running around collecting it. But I know they think you did the right thing and so does Smithy.'

'And what about you? What do you think about it?'

Jack touched his shoulder lightly. 'Same as I did when you first asked me about it. That I damn well miss having you around, and I'd have you back tomorrow, but that you're damn good with kids and I know you'll make a difference and everything's sorted for you. I think you'll be fantastic.'

'Yeah...but...the idea is to stop them ending up like me. I don't know how much good I'll be,' and the friendly touch on his shoulder turned into a rough, shaking grip.

'Ending up like what? A good man with a decent job and a good life? Mickey, if every single one of those lads end up like you, the world would be a much better place. If Ben had –' and he paused there, before he could say anything too private for even them to share.

'You'll be great. I just hope they have better luck at getting you to write reports than I did. We need to get going.'

Mickey sighed, got back into the car.

'You're just nervous. You've never done anything outside the force, have you?'

'No. That was why I did the backpacking, see a bit more of the world. When I was seven, I wanted to be an astronaut. Or a singer.'

'Thank God that one didn't come off.' Jack turned for home, glancing over at his passenger when he was sure that Mickey wasn't looking. The younger man looked – well, younger. Different. It took him most of the rest of the journey to find the right words. Peaceful. At ease.

'Hey, where you going?'

'My place. It's going to be late when we get back and your place is...cold and...'

'I don't want to make things awkward for you, Jack.'

'Why would it? You've always stayed there before,' but he slowed just a little coming towards the last roundabout, wondering if Mickey really did want to go home.

'Yes, but...'

'What's the matter? You got a girl waiting for you?'

Mickey laughed aloud, throwing his head back. 'I thought you knew me better than that.'

'A boy then?' and Mickey carried on laughing. He'd never minded the rumours and therefore Jack hadn't either. 'The complete boxset of Sherlock?'

'I did you my card details for buying that, didn't I?'

'Of course you did. How else do think I brought the car? What's the problem with mine?'

'I just – I just...we're not working together anymore. I was worried. I don't want things to change...' Yes, I do, but not like that.

Jack pulled up outside his house. 'Would you have wanted anything to change?' He reached into the back for some bags.

'No. Of course not. This...you...us...this was always the best thing in my life,' and he thought that might have been the truest thing he'd ever said in his life, as though revealing a great secret of the world.

'Well, then, it won't,' and he followed Jack indoors, the way coming to him back through some deep well of memory.

'Where do you want all this stuff for the night?'

'Spare room? That ought to be fine.'

The spare room wasn't exactly familiar; he'd been in here a few times, but he'd normally slept in the front room. For a few years, he'd kept a sleeping bag and other gear here; tiredly, he wondered if they were still around and he looked up, meet Jack's eyes.

'You can stay in here, if you want.'

'Nah, it's fine.' He dropped the last bag, then knelt down and thought hard.

'What's wrong?'

'Trying to think where I put your present.' Not in the with the camping gear, he was sure, nor with the two travel books.

'Mickey...'

'Yeah, I know, I didn't have to. And I shouldn't have.'

'Since when have you ever do what I tell you to? And do you want a drink?'

One hand on the third bag, he paused. Now what do I tell him? Guess he's going to have to find out one day, isn't he? 'I don't drink now, Jack. Stopped when I went.'

Instead of censure, there was a short pause and then Jack saying 'what made you think I was going to waste something decent on you? Coffee or tea?'

'You working tomorrow?'

'Course not. I'm off til after Christmas now.'

'What?' That had to be it; his fingers closed around the old box and tugged it out, along with the creased remains of a couple of takeaway menus.

'Christmas Eve tomorrow.'

'I got back on the 23rd,' he protested.

'Past midnight. Is it ok to give you something to eat now, or are you going to turn into some sort of hideous creature on me?'

He threw a mock punch at the older man, who stopped his blow and laughed. 'You are the most disorganised man I've ever met. Can I trust you spend the night here without causing chaos? Further chaos, I mean.'

'Only if I get my tea. Some bloody host, you are.'

He followed Jack down into the kitchen and watched the kettle boil, all the while allowing the familiarity of the place to wash over him. It felt like coming home. Like being home and he propped himself against the worksurface and relaxed. Cars hummed by outside like a lullaby; he'd thought he might miss the noise of silence and birdsong and insects but this was what he'd been born to.

In the front room, he sprawled down into his normal seat and Jack sat next to him. Door shut, curtains shut, all the horrors of the world shut away, except that, for the first time that he remembered, he didn't feel like there were dark things around that needed to be shut away and it just felt like privacy and belonging.

'What about my present, then?'

He handed the box over and went back to staring into his tea. Jack hadn't forgotten how he liked it; and he wondered if he had any right to feel so grateful. 'Got it in Brisbane, second week I was there.'

'And you carried it around all the time?'

'Course. Didn't want to send it over here and you didn't like it,' and that was something he'd never really considered when buying presents before.

'And why shouldn't I?'

He looked away from Jack, too uneasy, too ashamed and wasn't aware of anything else until Jack's hand landed on his shoulder and then pulled him into a hug.

'Thank you,' and it sounded heartfelt, true, in a way he hadn't expected. 'Thank you.'

It was a cricket ball, whittled from eucalyptus wood and it was old, old, darkened with the sweat and touch of people who must have died before he was born. He'd seen it and remembered in a heartbeat how often he'd sat in Jack's office and seen the older man absent mindedly fussing with the one on his desk.

'Get over.'

'It just – reminded me...'

Jack smiled over at him and all the world was OK.

They talked for a while, talked and talked, making the world smaller and closer around them; telling of all the unimportant things he'd seen, like the stark beauty of a bare tree against the raging fire of sunset, about three days hiking when he hadn't seen another person or heard one, about hitch-hiking and couch-surfing and making friends with strangers.

For a moment, he thought that Jack was going to say something but the older man just nodded.

Eventually, he found himself drifting; he jerked awake once to find that he was laying against Jack's shoulder, but he was too tired to move and when he did wake up properly, it was 4 in the morning and they were both asleep. He crept out to the bathroom and back; found that the older man hadn't moved. For a moment, he stood and looked down, wondering if it was right or not, and then he laid down again. Deeply asleep, Jack slipped an arm over his shoulders and when Christmas Eve broke, they were still asleep there, safe together.

He wondered if was an ending or a beginning; knew what he wanted but not how it was going to happen from here. All he did know was that he loved the Superintendent; that the charity worker – and the traveller – was another man to what he had been; he'd left a lot of ghosts out there, withering in the desert sun. He stayed where he was; Jack woke up when daylight edged through the window, looked down at him and smiled.

Kissed him.