The cheap wine was ice cold in his mouth, reminding Meadows vaguely of something he'd once tasted. It reminded him of Mickey, who hated the stuff and refused to kiss him when he'd been drinking it. The only time Mickey had ever refused to kiss him before Delaney had ruined everything they had ever had between them. Reminded him of a lot, all hazy memories that were dimmed further by the pain that had built over the past few days.

His chest hurt, or rather something deep inside his chest did, and his breathing was harsh although still regular; he remembered that feeling as something precious from after playing rugby or cricket in his younger days, but today, he hadn't done anything. Angry at that, at the fact he was getting old, Meadows shook his head and tried to concentrate on what Debbie was saying to him. Her voice, shrill though it was, was nearly lost in the noise of the bar.

'You're a really lovely, special person, Jack.'

Yeah right. So lovely and special that the only woman I can get is you. Either you've struck gold or I'm doing something really fucking stupidly wrong. He felt uncomfortable hearing that; Mickey and him had never really needed to say what they felt for each other. They'd just known it, on some level that went far beyond instinct; vocalising it had just been something extra and he knew that he still loved Mickey more than Debbie. Let's be honest, I don't love her. She's a friend, nothing more. Guess I do fancy her - wasn't too bothered about that when I was shagging her, was I? - but I don't love her. Not like I'd like to spend the rest of my life with her or anything.

More meaningless words from her. He felt really ill now, nearly too much to bear so that he thought he'd pass out where he was, like a drunk after a hard night's drinking. Then the sensation eased and he gulped a deep breath, trying not to think of the day he'd come back to Sun Hill after taking sick leave and Mickey had run up to touch him, check he wasn't a mirage. That had been the instant when he'd realised that Mickey cared for him in a way that went far beyond gratitude for the way he'd looked after him when Kate had died; their true relationship had started from that second.

'I love you, I think, Jack.' He heard Mickey saying 'love you' after their first night together, knew that Mickey had meant it, and remembered Debbie saying the same thing to Chandler. He'd walked in on them once, mostly unintentionally, and he'd heard that...Me and Mickey had hysterics over it when I told him. Do I end up with everyone else's cast-offs? And did she mean that?

'Oh.' He muttered the reply, wondering if he would have managed anything much better even if he hadn't been feeling ill. Probably not - there wasn't anything else he could say about it.

Their evening, a meal and then on for a few drinks, degenerated into bickering after that; Debbie angry because of his reaction and Meadows because the chest pains were scaring him, although he couldn't say it. He'd accused Mickey of it sometimes, but in fact it was normally him who got defensive when he was worried. I don't want to die; not with Debbie thinking she owns me like that. I want Mickey back here…It's not that the pain's so bad, but I'm scared; is this it? This what everyone feels before they die, this fear, sort of like everything's fading or rushing away, and you can't keep up with it anymore? Wish he was here. God, when was the last time I saw him? I don't want to die, not remembering that...

He suspected that the DC was unaware of it, hoped he was, in fact, but his complete and utter belief that Meadows could look after him had often helped the older man. Knowing that someone believed in him, he ended up believing in himself. And now, when he was facing the sudden idea of his own mortality, he desperately needed the courage that Mickey gave him.

It was the next morning that he got news of Ted Roach's death, and two days after that that he went down to the funeral. Forty-eight hours in which he came as near to calling a doctor as to phoning Mickey. Twice, he started to dial the so-familiar number before reminding himself that Mickey wanted to be alone and that he had to respect that, put Mickey above his own feelings.

Grief, fear, pain - Meadows found that he couldn't cope with it on his own anymore. Alec Peters he got on with okay, but no more than that, while even in retirement, Bob Cryer was a uniform man at heart and kept his distance. He couldn't tell either of them about the chest pains; nor had they ever known Mickey, and on a personal level, he had nothing in common with the pair. Of them all, Ted Roach was the man he'd been closest to, and the fact that his funeral got Meadows away from Debbie for a few days wasn't enough to justify the pain that it caused.

Meadows went back to his hotel room rather than down to dinner with the other men, mainly so that they wouldn't see him grieving. His chest hurt, like something was clawing at his heart, but the pain was down his left arm, then everywhere. His whole body, the whole of his useless, aging body, was pain. Suddenly, he couldn't think beyond it, even to remember his own name or where he was, but he could remember Mickey. Nothing else, just the pain and the blue eyes of his lover. 'Mickey' he called out, because as far as he was aware, he was at home, the flat that would always be home to him now, with Mickey playing rock music with a loud drumbeat in the next room. 'Mickey!' but the blonde haired man he'd loved so much didn't come before Meadows had fallen into unconsciousness.

A /N – Yes, Becca, I reckon Mickey would let you hold him. Yes, Megan, being in the car with him would be an excellent idea. Sadly, I think Meadows would be first in line for both. Other than that, please form an orderly queue… And lots of love to all my reviewers. I'm sure Mickey would agree that you're wonderful.