Chapter 73: Idling One Moment More

The bicycle ride to Gavin's flat was pleasant, the early dusk still warm despite the late week in October. Even with the air biting at her cheeks and ears as her hair swished about her face—likely leaving them pink and a touch swollen—Cully was warm and almost sweaty beneath her suddenly too heavy autumn jumper, the exertion dulling the ache in her stomach. Much of the pleasure at that simple journey and the happy thought of seeing him again died in a few minutes, however, when he opened the front door of the building after she locked her bicycle to the nearest rail. Even though she recognized the man she so cared for—his tie and jacket gone, the top two buttons of his pale blue shirt likely long undone—she saw the policeman angry within. His grasp on her hand was rather harsher than she liked as she followed him up the stairs from the street, not quite sure what was amiss until he began muttering about court and daft judges giving a young hooligan another chance he didn't deserve.

Through her adolescence, like most girls her age, Cully had looked after younger children on more than a few weekend evenings: between a few pounds of extra pocket money for her and her parents' peace of mind in knowing where she was, she'd found herself wary of more than a few neighborhood charges when she was a teenager. (More often than not, she'd figured out how to distract them from her.) And now Gavin's face reminded her of so many of them: grumpy and unhappy, wanting to be soothed without saying anything.

She smelled it on his breath and hanging in the air the moment she stepped into his flat—her shoes slipped off beside the door, her keys and mobile out of her back pocket and on the table in the front room: the fading scent was still acrid and stinging her nostrils as she watched him pace from her place on the settee. It might not being something they talked about, but he hadn't been able to eliminate the stench of the cigarettes from his flat completely when she had finally found herself there again less than a week ago, nor entirely from his breath when she persuaded him to meet with her a couple days before that. He may have already disposed of the fag ends, but even without the smell of the smoke, the faint grey haze still lingered beneath the ceiling in the front room, just shadows hovering in the far corners. And maybe he wasn't even trying to hide it, the packet of cigarettes still sitting on the side table. "That's not going to help anything," she muttered, leaning forward to grab the cardboard box from the table before Gavin had a chance to snatch it back again.

"Maybe. Give them back!"

"You know it won't—and you know I won't."

"Why not?" he snapped, holding out his hand, his fingers twitching.

"Because it won't do anything good."

"I won't have to think about it—that's a bloody good thing."

"Aren't you already?" she asked quietly, finally tucking his cigarettes into her back pocket, collapsing onto the settee and feeling them crushed as she tugged him down beside her. "Look, Gavin, I'm sorry, but there must be a reason the magistrate made the ruling he did."

Gavin laughed, though it was neither a happy nor pleasant sound. "He's a bloody idiot, that's the reason."

"Your thief or the magistrate?" She didn't miss the frustration on his face, though as a new cramp wrenched itself through her belly, Cully didn't know how much she cared what the answer was. There's nothing else you can do, Gavin. "You know it isn't really that—"

"Looks like it."

"You know there must have been something—"

"And why would you think that?"

"Come on, you know better."

Even as she wrapped one her arms around his shoulder, Gavin snorted again. "What?"

Disbelieving, she knew. "Maybe the magistrate saw something you didn't."

"After this long, I think we'd have seen it."

"Everyone makes mistakes—"

"More than a mistake, this," he interrupted.

Cully sighed; he hadn't quite heard everything she'd said. "Okay, sometimes a lot of them."

His back was still stiff beneath her hand, all those muscles taut and rigid—tenser than ever. "Right."

"We all do—"

"Cully," he said sharply, slipping her hand from his shoulder—though still not letting it go, instead clutching it tighter and tighter, twining his around hers almost unbearably. "You and I aren't out burgling for months so we can fence a load of tat in London around uni classes."

"And if the judge is wrong, he'll be caught again."

"Or he'll just move."

"And then CID will find him again—wherever he is—and hopefully next time the judge won't just dismiss it," Cully whispered, kissing his cheek. He shivered against her, his grasp even sharper; she hissed at the pressure. "Gavin, don't— I mean, it'll all turn out right in the end."

Gavin laughed again, though now it was less hollow as he let go of that hand and tucked it into the crook of her knee, like he'd forgotten himself. "You haven't been in to give evidence in a courtroom, have you?"

"No," she said softly as she shook her head.

"Well, there you go."

"But you work in this every day. You have to believe in it." He snorted again, smiling like it was all somehow ridiculous. "At least some."

"What I do everyday, sure. What those toffs in their robes do..."

She shook her head, even as she bit back a grin. It would always be the same, wouldn't it? "You never really change, do you?"

"What?" he asked, his hand rising along her arm.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter."

"Yes—"

She kissed his cheek again and heard his voice catch. "No it doesn't."

"Why not?"

"Well—" Another cramp, softer and easier than the last, roiled beneath her stomach. "I wouldn't really know you then, would I?"

His hand danced across her chest—and Cully struggled not to pull away; she loved and missed his touch, but against the reviving pain in her uterus, all she wanted to whisper was, Not now, Gavin. "Maybe next time I won't worry about trying to uncover the truth," he said.

"Of what?"

"You know, Cully. I won't show up at A&E for the risk of putting in the work, if I know the judge won't give a damn about it. What's the point?"

"If it wasn't your job, it might be a wise—" Even before she finished that sentence, she felt her face go. Deeper in her abdomen, a new and suddenly sharper pain cut through every muscle, and even as she hoped for those pain tablets to start their work, Cully hissed, kneading her fingers against her stomach even as her jumper muted their touch.

"Are you all right?" Gavin asked, pushing himself closer to her.

She groaned softly against the new scratching pain, even as she shuddered away from his embrace. As much as she wanted him and had missed him—she couldn't stand the feeling of him, at least for a moment. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"You keep pressing your hands against your stomach," he said quietly.

"Oh." You can't be that foolish, she thought. Surely you just don't want to think on it.

"What?"

"I told you my period was due to start soon, after—"

"I remember, Cully," Gavin said quickly, falling away from her.

You really are a man. "There's nothing wrong—"

"I know—"

"You should understand—"

"Well, maybe."

"Does it bother you to hear about?" she asked quietly. He wouldn't be the first man she'd dated who shied away from any mention of it, ready to stumble over words and look away. Maybe I keep hoping some day you'll be different.

He shook his head, though Cully thought his face was tinged a little red. "No—well, I—"

"Do you wish it hadn't?"

His eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," she said loudly, rubbing her fingers in his, though she was almost unable to move them much, his grip had turned so strong. "But you're so easy to tease."

"And you like that?"

At least now, he sounded less upset, his mind finally drifting from Causton Crown Court to her in his flat. "Only until it really begins to upset you."

And now, he finally smiled, even if it was small and still a little faint. "Thank goodness for small favors."

"I'm sorry, Gavin, I really am. Just—you're a man, I'm not surprised if you find it odd to—" Her stomach twisted again, the cramps still waiting to be softened by the tablets she'd taken before dragging her bicycle from the garage into the night.

"Really—are you all right?" Gavin asked quietly. If he'd pulled himself away from her before, that distance was already gone again.

"Yes."

"Can I—"

"It's fine," Cully whispered. Not bothering to hear his answer, she pulled up her feet in just their socks and curled herself into the crook of his elbow, happy to hear and feel him against her. How did that feel so much closer, like everything she'd missed the night before? She wanted it and more—even if she didn't quite understand what might lie ahead, in the end. "I took some pain tablets before I left."

"But—"

"You don't need to do anything, it's the same every month." After so many years, she was well prepared for the cramps and discomfort, but some days the sharp change and new yet familiar pain still surprised her.

"Then what can I do?"

"Just stay with me? At least for a while?" she asked softly. The words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them, the exact thing he'd asked her only a few days earlier when she feared if she said "No", it might destroy him. And now, it was all she craved.

"Of course, why would you think—"

"I didn't."

His arm drifted around her shoulder, almost a vice happily holding her closer to him than any moment during the evening. "Then why ask?" His voice was gentle and soft in her ear, his breath tickling her cheek and temple as it ruffled her hair. It was almost a whistle across her skin.

"Because..."

"What?"

Cully needed another deep breath, everything hurting before she finally let it out in a low sigh. Between the dulling ache in her stomach and its growing twin in her chest, it was all tightening anew. "I don't take you for granted, either." Gavin's arm taut around her back, his fingers clenched her shoulder. "You know I don't."

"Of course, Cully. But..." He unfolded himself from around her, drawing her to her feet in his stead, against his warmer body. "Come on."

"What do you—"

"Not here."

She shook her head. "I told you, my period—"

"I know." Catching her face, his palm sliding beneath her chin, Gavin kissed her: carefully, almost delicately. "I don't care," he whispered against her lips.

"What?"

"I don't mean...that." Cully couldn't resist pulling back from him, glancing at his cheeks: pink, just as she expected. "But, I've missed you."

"I understand—"

His hand slid along the curve of her back. "And can't I just want to be near you, for the evening?"

Even with the rest of the week still to come, a pang of longing twisted through the ebbing pain. "Yes," Cully whispered.

Just like the past few days, she didn't resist as Gavin led her back to his bedroom, hungry for the calm and comfort of him. On simpler evenings like this, when tensions and desires weren't running at a fevered pitch and driving them both mad, that quiet solitude was delicious. But neither did he resist when hardly through the door, she yanked him to her—nearly throwing him off his balance until he stumbled back against the wall with a thud. "Cully..."

His breath on her cheek did nothing to quell the sudden hunger that had overtaken her, or the blood rushing to her own skin. "Sorry."

"No"—he shook his head—"don't apologize."

"Are you all right?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"That was quite loud—"

"So?" Gavin asked, kissing her again, everything about him newly soft as his arm rounded her shoulder. "Why should that matter?"

"It didn't sound all that nice."

"It's fine," he said, taking a first step away from that wall—she took one with him in tandem, her feet rolling backwards onto their heels, then another—his hand dropping along her back and past her hips. "Really."

"Are you—" Cully gasped as the back of a knee knocked into the edge of his bed. "Gavin? I told you—"

"I know." Another kiss, his hand now rising to the back of her neck as she shivered with his touch. "And all..." Again, he pinched at her skin and again, a shiver coursed over her skin. "All I want is you."

"All, Gavin?"

He nearly smiled. "Well, all I want tonight," he said quietly, pushing her back as they fell together onto the bed with a tangled yelp, his torso half landing on hers.

Gavin was so close, Cully felt, her breaths newly ragged as he pulled them away from the precipice and their feet up and off the floor, clothes all bunching and twisting against the quilt already rumpled beneath them. He drew her against his side, clasping her to his warmer body with his hand around her waist. For a few minutes, she closed her eyes: listening, inhaling, exhaling, feeling him. Even through the dissipating pain in her abdomen, the desire for him still twisted beneath her skin, desperate for...something.

"Feeling better?" Gavin finally asked.

She nodded, hardly able to move with her face buried in his chest. "The tablets are just starting, but...yes."

"Just the tablets?"

"Of course not, Gavin. You know that," she said, slapping one of her hands against his shoulder.

"I do now—"

Before he could say anything more, Cully pressed herself harder against him, finally lifting her face and finding his mouth, just tasting him again as the minutes and night bled away. If some of the starved embraces they shared here in his bed had turned frenzied, every moment now was gentle and delicate while she just relaxed into him, surrendering to him until her breath was nowhere to be found, her lips bruised, and her muscles ached with pressure of his fingers and palms. Her eyes closed—opened—closed again as she lost track of the time, only wanting what lay beneath her fingers now. She arched her back against the tightness in her joints, Gavin still holding her close as she finally shivered against the new chilliness. Even without peering at the clock, she knew it had to be near midnight, the last hours somehow already vanished. "I should go—"

"Please don't," he murmured against her cheek.

"I don't want to…" She had to start again. "But—"

"I don't care anymore. Do you?"

"No."

"So stay," he said, his voice still softened against her skin, "and we can decide it tomorrow."

You don't have to, Gavin, Cully thought, threading one of her arms beneath his as she refused to fidget away from him. I know what you'll walk into tomorrow, if I do. "If you want—" she began, but he didn't let her finish.

"I don't want it, Cully, I...more than that."

Her mouth was suddenly dry. "What?"

"I..."

"Don't, not if you don't want to—now." She couldn't bear hearing him say that, only to regret it a few minutes or an hour. (Would he? Could he?) Instead, she kissed him again—this time briefly, feeling and hearing him shudder under her hand against his back. No, he won't, she thought, drawing back from him just enough to peer up to his face.. After all these months—years—I know he won't. "Gavin?"

"Hmm?" Already, he sounded tired.

"Don't make it all too complicated."

"I'm not—"

"And neither am I." Cully pressed her face to his shirt and chest, one of the buttons crushed into her cheek. "So don't."

"As you wish," he murmured through a yawn.

"Haven't you said that before?"

"Maybe. Does that bother you?"

Closing her eyes, Cully inhaled against him, the lingering cigarette smell finally fading as his own replaced it. "No."

Just lying beside Gavin, listening to him breathe even as her jumper itched at her neck and shoulders and that button scratched at her skin, the loneliness of the last evening was banished—no longer even real enough in her memory to touch. His hand wandered to the swell of her back, that gentle touch holding her closer to his heat. The weight of his day, her own tiredness rising as the ache finally subsided in her belly...the tightness in her own chest was loosening as well.

Once or twice, sleep hovering just beyond the horizon, Cully glanced up at his face. His cheeks relaxed, his mouth was slightly open with a first few faint snores. "Already asleep," she murmured as she folded one of her hands over the collar of his shirt, knuckles against his bared upper chest. He was always so warm. I wish it could always be like this, Gavin, she thought, unfurling her fingers and turning her palm over, slipping it through those first opened buttons at the collar onto his skin. Beneath her hand, his chest rose—fell—rose again with each breath, every one of those pulses threatening to seize her own breath. And even atop the quilt and sheets, tangled together with him in the clothes from the last day, Cully didn't shiver or feel the chill of the growing night. And even if she did, it hardly mattered, tucked into the side of the man she'd fallen in—

She drew a deep shuddering gulp of air, sharp against the back of her throat. She'd stopped him earlier, not ready for him to say that—for her to hear that. Pressing herself closer to him, the same familiar scents filled her nose: the smell of him (not always pleasant), the faint odor of his cigarettes, the washing powder still clinging to his shirt. It didn't make sense, everything swallowing them both so quickly, so harshly, so wonderfully. But, it couldn't be that simple, it just couldn't.

It couldn't be love: something well beyond passion and friendship and some deepening affection. Could it?

Someone called her name, more than once, a tired and heavier voice. "Cully. Cully." She stretched one arm up—and her fist slammed against something soft. "Ow—that's my shoulder!"

Gavin. She squinted with the broken morning sunlight when she first opened her eyes, his face blurry. "What is it?" she whispered, curling herself against him. Beneath her hand, his shirt was crumpled and wrinkled—strange enough, him wearing a shirt as he was wakening beside her; she struggled not to grin, and felt herself fail.

"What's so funny?"

Uncurling her palm, Cully ran her fingers down from his neck along the first inches of his chest still bare beneath her hand. It could be, you know, she thought as he shuddered under her touch. It might really be so simple. "I'm not used to seeing you here—like this."

Even as he took a deep breath, Gavin grabbed her hand, yanking it away from his skin. "I have to get up, Cully: I have to go soon."

She had to let him go eventually: peel herself away from him and whisper goodbye, already knowing she would miss him the moment they had to turn away from one another, still never quite certain the next time and place she might see him again. "Can't you wait a while more?" she whispered, still crushing herself closer to him. Maybe she could forget it for a few more minutes.

"I wish I could."

Cully nodded. "I know, just..."

One of his arms lay over her waist—his hand tucked around her hips—the other thrown up over her head as he combed his fingers through her tangled hair; his breathing went heavy and thick again. "You can still come round this evening," he said quietly, "or I could come collect you after the day's done, if..."

"If what?"

"If you want, I mean. At least if things work out that way."

She sighed, almost laughing. "Of course I do—" The new taste of his breath and lips on hers stopped her voice, a groan rising deep in his throat against her. His hand around her hips slid around to the front of her waist, suddenly drifting upwards—around her breast, then down along her spine before she shivered and he pulled her hard against him. Cully almost coughed with the force before Gavin swept in again: his mouth pressed to her cheek and then her neck, his face tucked into her shoulder, just breathing for a few seconds. A minute. A few minutes. A few more minutes.

"Gavin?" she whispered

"What is it?" he asked, the words muffled against her skin.

His hair tickled her nose and lips, and her breasts almost ached squashed so hard on his chest. "You haven't moved."

He inhaled against her neck once more. "I know, I..."

"Later, Gavin. Just...later."

Even more minutes whiled away, Cully loving the feel and heat of Gavin's breath on her collarbone and shoulder. The pain in her belly was long gone through the night, one of his arms still folded around her back and holding her against him. But it couldn't stay the same, and eventually he tore himself away, muttering something about needing to shower before going to the office.

Listening to the hiss and patter of the shower, the steam wafting from the washroom for those few minutes, Cully smoothed the wrinkles from her jumper. The knit fabric didn't give way beneath her hand, the dark creases stubbornly refusing to vanish. Don't be surprised, she thought, stretching the bottom hem out from her waist. It still did nothing as she peered around his front room, the shape of his shirt button still etched into her cheek as she half covered a yawn.

Cully had never been here like this, alone and just seeing the trinkets and memories surrounding him. A framed poster in a far off corner she'd never noticed, some space adventure movie she didn't quite remember and probably had never seen. A few comics on the bookcase filed alongside a handful of books with titles she'd never had the chance to notice in those all too brief moments here. A small black plastic lighter was tucked into the corner of one shelf—if she didn't know he was a man needing to choose his own future, she might have tucked it into her back pocket alongside the now mashed package of fags. Well, maybe you already tried to choose it for him.

And on the edge of one shelf in the far corner, a framed photograph. She recognized Gavin—the lines of his face, the familiar soft curve of his chin—but apart from him, Cully found herself amongst unfamiliar people. An older man and woman whom she presumed were his parents, and a young boy. If Gavin appeared toward the end of secondary school—happy to leave the local comprehensive with a somber gaze staring out at her from the unhappy past—the little boy couldn't be more than three or four, in a football jersey and short navy blue trousers with a grin, hands in the air searching for someone. Some of the same lines of Gavin's face were etched across across the little boy's chin and cheeks: the divot in his chin, the shape of his nose...she recognized all of it.

"Cully?"

She looked up with a start, glancing back over her shoulder. Gavin was already crisp and clean behind her, his hair combed through, a violet shirt already buttoned as he knotted a striped tie around the base of his throat, a grey suit coat already thrown atop his shoulders. "I, sorry—"

"No, don't." He was already so close, hands newly folded around her waist and pulling her against him, his face pressed into the swell of her neck. "But what are you looking at?"

Peering around again, she touched the photograph, almost feeling the little boy's face beneath her fingers, perhaps even hearing a child's wild giggle amongst the three other somber faces. "Who is that?"

His breath caught against her neck. "Mum and Dad, right before the divorce."

"I assumed that. But who is that with all of you?"

"Miles..."

"And who is he?"

Gavin's hands were tighter about her hips, holding her closer and tighter, his cheek against hers and his voice echoing in her ear: "Cully, this isn't the time."

"Then when will it be?" she asked quietly.

It was almost a laugh against her skin, hot and damp breath on it. "I suppose never."

"Just he looks like your nephew."

"That would be easier."

"What do you mean?"

Gavin's breathing caught again for a moment. "He's...my brother, I suppose."

"You suppose? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Half-brother, as family rumor has it."

Half-brother? Cully thought, spinning around in his embrace, the bottom hem of her jumper twisting around Gavin's fingers. His mind was somewhere else, she saw, his gaze vacant like he was staring back into those memories: a broken family she couldn't quite understand and a younger person tossed asunder by it. "I'm sorry, Gavin," she whispered, folding her hand into one of his. As she tightened her grasp, his eyes came back to her. "How old is he, there?"

"Four, when I left home, right before the divorce. He's always been with Dad ever since."

"Why?"

"I think Mum was just tired of...all of it," he said slowly, his free hand still kneading at her waist.

"Of what?"

Gavin shrugged. "All of us, I guess."

Though Cully well understood that so much of Gavin remained for her to uncover and learn, the new darkness and sadness he had laid out in the open were like an ache in her chest, suddenly her own sorrow as well. "How old is he now?"

"Twelve, maybe a little older. Can't be sure."

"No?"

"Well, not anymore."

"Don't talk in riddles, Gavin—"

"I'm not," he said, pulling her closer as he tightened his hand on her waist. "But I've never heard anything much of him since Dad moved him out of the county."

Her heart pounded a little harder, a little faster against the pain he had at last shared. "Haven't you asked?"

He nodded. "I have done. Several times."

"And?"

Cully heard him swallow, like he needed a moment to decide or remember that answer. "Got told to mind my own business."

"That's horrible. Don't you worry about him?"

"There's not much I can do."

Releasing a sigh, she said, "Of course there—"

"I know the law, Cully," he said sharply, not letting her finish. "And I know what they agreed to, after everything was said and done."

"But—"

"Whatever—Dad decides for him now is what has to stand. Maybe I just wonder if he's lucky that he doesn't have to listen to all of it anymore, all Mum and Dad's noise." He dropped his forehead to hers, and Cully felt him take a deep breath, the air whistling across her face as he did. "Or maybe I just wish I didn't have to, either."

"You don't mean that—not really."

"I think so every time I have to talk to her."

"So why do you ever listen to her—your mum anymore?"

"Because if she wants to make herself a part of your life, she will. There's no point in trying to avoid her."

"Even when she knows you don't want her to?"

His hand rose along her side, drifting to the curve of her jaw. "She never really has time to hear anyone else. Not like..."

The final scales tumbled from her eyes, even if she couldn't bear to look at him for a second. He hadn't finished his sentence, but she needn't hear it: "Not like you." The last darkness finally was fading: the shadows of his childhood and uncertainty of their future, all of it somehow crashing together here and now. "I didn't mean—that is, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Cully whispered, stumbling over her words.

"No, you didn't." Now, his hand grazed the back of her neck, goosebumps erupting beneath his fingers. "And I'd rather to talk to you about it all—anything—than anyone else."

"Anyone?"

"Yes." Gavin's hands were gentle as his weight pressed her to the wall, his other palm wrapped around her chin and his eyes dilated as he peered into her, seeing right through her and the last lingering questions. "Cully?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I tell you something?"

Everything slowed: her fingers knotted around his shirt collar, the taste of his mouth melting into hers another wonderful time, his body rigid against hers—and Cully nearly forgot he needed an answer as her throat dried in the new heat. She nodded, almost knocking her forehead against his again. "Of course."

It was stronger this time, taking her breath away as her stomach twisted and tightened when—whether he realized it or not—one of his hands fell along her chest, struggling to clench at one of her breasts through her bulky jumper but just tangling in the fabric instead. "I think...I can't think of things without you."

"Gavin—"

"I think—I mean—"

Yet again, that tinny ringing broke through all words and conversation. Cully had to swallow her groan of annoyance: after all, he couldn't help it what with the nature of his work—and they'd probably have never met without his work—but nearly every time lost herself in him, it shattered the glass of her hunger. "Someone at your office always seems to know."

"Perhaps," he muttered against her lips, one hand shoved into his suit coat pocket before he tore himself away, opening his mobile and slapping it to his cheek. "Troy."

Whatever attempts she'd made to straighten and smooth her jumper were long ruined—though they hadn't been all that useful even before Gavin's hands with their delightful grasps and touches mussed it anew. ("Midsomer Worthy again?...Where?") All bad things seem to come from Midsomer Worthy, Cully thought, trying to remember what all she needed to take with her when she left. ("All right, I'll talk with SOCO once I'm there.")

"Another one?" she asked, gathering her keys and mobile from the table in front of his settee. All those hours ago when she slipped them from her pockets—the only things she'd brought with her on the ride—the world had been different: more confused and less defined. And now...still unformed and waiting to be seen, but somehow newly certain.

"Another what?"

"Another burglary. That seems all you've been investigating lately."

"No, for once," Gavin said, almost dropping his mobile as he snapped it closed. "Apparently one of the local hunts came across a body in the wood out that way."

"More murder?"

"Can't be sure."

He already had his keys in his hand, about to open the front door of his flat to the outside world and its chilly embrace before she tugged him back. "How?"

The hinges squeaked, but just a little. "Well, it's just a body out in the woods, so far as the report goes. There's not much else to be certain of, not until—we're able to start the investigation."

"So everything's back to normal."

"So far as Midsomer goes—at least just for the day."

"Just for the day." The day: not the evening, not the night, not their lives somehow already twined together and tighter with every moment ticking by. "Gavin—"

The clatter of the door closing, the scratching of the key against the tumblers in the lock as he took both hands to secure it, the new darkness of the hallway, the echoing of their shoes in the barren hallway...None of it touched the warmth of the previous evening or the last minutes of this morning, still burning hot as Gavin folded her hand into his one last time and they traipsed down both flights of stairs. Even if they had shut away the outside world for the day—still talking about anything and especially everything, indulging in one another's touch—it wouldn't be any different from the hot spark still burning in her chest now. And bursting into dusty morning sunlight, the early day unseasonably warm but overcast and grey, that warmth still swelled. "Will I see you tonight?" Cully asked quietly, twisting the smallest key on her own chain in the lock still fastening her bicycle to the nearest rail.

"I hope so, but I suppose we'll have to see what happens."

She almost laughed. "You mean if it turns out to be murder or not?"

"Something like that."

"Well, give me a ring tonight," Cully muttered, shivering when Gavin kissed her cheek and his hand flitted across her waist again. "I think you had something you wanted to tell me." If it wasn't tonight—or tomorrow—it wouldn't be forever, she was certain. Not now.

A/N: Sorry for the delay, this was a difficult chapter. Emotional transition chapters are always a challenge, plus the...ahem...familial plot twist popped into my head and made sense just a few days ago. Oi...

I know the thought of Troy having an estranged sibling seems to come out of left field here. (I agree.) But I couldn't resist the thought as I have never forgotten that sad look on Troy's face in Market For Murder when Tamsin Proctor describes giving her child up, so I decided there needed to be a reason for it—and I finally figured out what it is. (I couldn't unsee it.) In addition, I think it's not UNreasonable: only children are becoming more common—I am one myself—however I think it would be extremely unlikely for two singletons to suddenly find themselves together given that they would have both been born in the late seventies or early eighties, as per earlier thought experiments. Plus, I've lately been enjoying the process of teasing Troy's family out of the ether and my imagination. Cue "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way"? (The woes of writing this over 8.5 years at this point and posting the chapters serially, rather than easily being able to go back and edit in new thoughts and themes.) I still think him not mentioning it is still in line with the unhappy family trope that has been bubbling around for a long time. As always, I did some research on family law in the UK, but as always, I make no guarantees about complete accuracy. We're just having fun torturing fictional characters here.

I'll be editing sub-text back in where I find it appropriate in a handful of chapters (already identified because my brain cannot purge anything), but it shouldn't change the plot overall. No need to reread.