Chapter 78: The Final Toll

Every now and then, the faint click of the clock's hand atop the mantle place still startled Cully. It couldn't be too long now, she knew, one of her own hands twisted into her jumper, the other clasped around the base of her neck as she folded her knees up to her chest in one of the armchairs in the front room. Everything was suddenly hot, and she shoved her sleeves up to her elbows, desperate for relief from the heat.

Though she had frequently passed evenings with her mother if her father found himself chained to his desk at the office over the years—watching one program or another on the telly when she was too young to be out and about on her own, her mother listening as she talked about plays and auditions as grew older—this evening she had gone to her room early, vaguely murmuring a good night as she tried to remember agencies and coaches in London. Her mum didn't mind; after all, she had vanished into the night most evenings this week. She had craved his voice, wanting and hoping to hear it tonight, and thank god in the solitude of her bedroom, she had.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

"I figured that, Gavin—I normally don't get phone calls this late."

"Just from me?"

"Who else? Are you done?"

"No, wish I was."

"So it was murder, this morning?"

"Still can't say. There's a suicide note, apparently, but emailed when she was already in the wood."

"She?"

"Some Midsomer Worthy farmer's wife. Did I tell you, your dad and I had to break up a scuffle with her husband yesterday, after we finished in court, him and some other bloke just outside."

"No, and I didn't really have a chance to ask him either."

"I suppose we were a little distracted."

"Well, not as much as the last few days."

"Not because we wouldn't have enjoyed it."

"There are more important things to worry about, at least right now."

"I know that, Cully, but—aren't I allowed to enjoy you?"

Despite everything over these past few days, Cully still flushed, clutching a palm to her cheek. She wasn't embarrassed, but perhaps...she wasn't used to hearing Gavin speak so plainly, not after so long. "I suppose that's the polite way to say it."

"But I should probably remember where I am—"

"But I had no doubt you do after this weekend."

A moment of quiet. "And aren't I allowed to say it?"

"Yes." She found a deep breath, falling back onto her bed, still unmussed from the day before, when the solitude of her own room might have overwhelmed her. "What were you going to say this morning?"

"Not on the phone. And I don't think I'll be able to see you tonight."

Of course, she thought. Remember, it can't always be helped. "I do understand, Gavin, really."

"Maybe tomorrow, if things are sorted—"

There was a rough cough echoing from Gavin's end of the phone call. And suddenly, her father's voice, one simple word: "Troy."

"Uh, sir—"

Her body stiffened and she sat up again, pressing her mobile so hard to her face, she wondered if the keypad would leave an imprint on her cheek. His last words were quiet, almost nervous and frightened. "Is something wrong?"

"Perhaps you would care to—explain some things to me." If Gavin for once sounded timid, her father's voice was a snarl, a beast ready to strike at unwary prey that had no idea it was newly being stalked for a kill.

"Uh, yes, sir?" She watched him raise his face in her mind's eye, his skin newly pale and glassy as the wariness she knew he always felt around her father when he was with or even thought of her surged to the surface.

"Could you let my daughter go, at least until I go?" Were those words for her, too? She remembered his irritation from this morning, but Gavin had always borne the brunt of it.

"One second, that's all—"

"Don't you have more important things to do with your time, Troy? I thought you were finishing some paperwork."

Her stomach already churned "Gavin? Is everything all right?"

"Something's just come up." She didn't believe him. "I'll call you again in a bit."

"And not spending the rest of the evening on the phone with my daughter."

"Bye," he whispered, hardly a tickle in her ear.

And with the snap of his mobile, Gavin was gone, abandoning her to the dark night and silence of her bedroom, alone. The new loneliness crushed her, pressing the air from her lungs until struggling for a breath needed the strength of Atlas to shift the weight of the world from her chest. While she waited, clasping her mobile in her right palm, Cully found herself on her feet, tracing a very familiar path from her window to the door, her shadow short in the harsh electric lights.

She couldn't quite hold still, holding her arms close with a shiver despite the unseasonably warm weather of the final The man had always driven her mad: with passion, with anger, and now with worry. "Please don't take too long," she whispered to the air, shuddering again. "I don't think..." But that was it, in the end; her mind was always drifting to him, wondering about him, and now her heart and perhaps her very soul were destined—Perhaps doomed, she thought with a small smile—to be with him as well.

Cully wondered how many minutes passed, not quite ready to peer down at her phone to check. If it remained silent, then she couldn't capture his voice again, and perhaps if she didn't stare at, he might remember sooner rather than later and break through quiet and blackness of the night. God, how did she feel so alone, just wanting his hands in hers, no more words needed. And something better, something more.

But her little bedroom was suddenly suffocating, pulsing with too many memories of late words and laughter and nights desperate to hear him. Missing him whilst she knew quiet longing would do nothing but stoke her dreams. Even in this soft chair, socks sinking into the cushion as she pressed her cheek into her knees, Cully's heart still throbbed against her ribs. If she closed her eyes—no, she couldn't; it would only offer her imagination a canvas for the beginning of that argument, what lay after their phone call had ended.

She'd never thought, never dreamed that whatever it was forcing them to crash together—always somehow leaving her desperate to find his arms year after year—might do the opposite in another time and another place. It seemed forever her father and Gavin had worked side by side, chasing murderers and lunatics around the deadliest county in England. Couldn't he just see, couldn't her father just understand that Gavin wasn't the same man with her. "Let us be," she was desperate to say, to yell at her father like he had flung her last name at him: an attack, an accusation. What are you even thinking?

I need him, Dad, stop trying to make me not— Cutting through her thoughts, her mobile at last buzzed in her palm, and it nearly slipped from her hand onto the carpet as she struggled to open it with shaky fingers that refused to catch the edge. But after a moment, she said, "Gavin?"

"Are you at home?" he asked quickly.

"Yes." Footsteps, like flats on tile. Turning her head to the kitchen, Cully drew a deep breath: her mother, just standing there, a half-folded tea towel in her hands. Watching, and most likely not wondering much of anything. "Is something wrong? That sounded horrible at the end."

"I need to talk to you."

"Of course."

"What is it, Cully?" her mother asked, taking another few steps closer.

Pulling her mobile from her mouth, she covered the receiver with her palm. "It's Gavin."

"Did something happen?"

Cully shook her head, leaning back into the armchair. "I don't know." Pressing her phone flush to her cheek again, she asked, "What is it?"

"No, Cully—I need to talk to you." His voice was suddenly deeper, sharper and clipped. "I need to see you."

"Of course. I'll be right over." After all, the ride on her bicycle wasn't all that long, and she'd made much longer journeys in the dark before—

"I'm about to leave the office. Just—stay there with your mum, I'll be there as soon as I can." A deep breath. "Please?"

"Really, is something wrong?" She couldn't bear that again, not after the last few days, everything finally open and raw between them. "Don't shut me—"

"I'm not, Cully, but..." A car's motor roared dully in her ear, as though he was in the car park behind CID, or perhaps making a phone call from the road that he should know not to do. "Not over the phone. I need you."

"Of course," she whispered. "I'll be here." And with a snap close of Gavin's phone, he was gone again.

Her mobile clattered to her side, and she slid one foot down from the cushions to the thick carpet, then the other, something soft at last giving her respite in the free-fall of the last twenty minutes or so. Since she first heard her father's voice break through the line, her stomach had turned to a mass of knots, tugging their strings this way and that, tightening around the whole of her chest, threatening to wrest the last of her control from her hands. It was all just words, Cully knew that well, but words could have such power when given free reign...She didn't hear her mother coming closer, startled at a hand on her shoulder. "Is something wrong, dear?" her mother asked quietly.

Cully shook her head, or at least tried to; she'd almost forgotten her mum. "Gavin just rang me...twice, in half an hour."

"Is he all right?"

"I don't know." She peered up: this late in the evening, her mother—usually an early riser like her father—wore a few lines of exhaustion, ready to seek the solace of sleep. "He said he was still at the office—and it sounded as though he and Dad were starting to have an argument."

"About you?"

Cully bit down on her lip hard, hoping to stop the sharp exhalation as her cheeks went pink. "I don't know—"

"I think you do."

"I don't—" She shuddered as her mother settled down on the arm of the chair, tea towel in one hand, her other sliding around Cully's back to clutch her closer. "Well, at least I didn't hear Dad say my name," she muttered. She was lying to herself if she claimed she didn't know where Gavin and her father's shouting match was headed.

"He's a smart man—you know that."

"I just wish he would let things be for once."

"You know how he worries—"

"But I wish he would let me decide what I want," Cully blurted out, launching herself from the comfortable chair and her mother's embrace. "And what we..." She had to stop, breathe again. "I don't want him to be like Gavin's mum, but—" She stopped again, swallowing back everything else. Did Gavin want them to know? She couldn't be sure, and surely that was his to decide—

"What do you mean?"

She'd lost herself in thoughts of him again. "I don't want him not to care, but I'd rather he didn't worry over every—"

A phone was ringing again—but this time, not her mobile buzzing just beside her. Both in the front room and the kitchen, the house phone was shrilly complaining, demanding an answer. "That's probably your father."

"Yes," Cully whispered, one her hands tightening as her fingernails curled into her palm, cutting against her skin. Somehow, he was the last person she wanted to think about now, the last voice she wanted to hear. Please, let it be our choice and our world.

"I'll be back in a little while," her mother whispered, slipping away to follow the ringing of the phone into the kitchen. Passing the phone on the side table in the front room and leaving her alone to wait for a knock on the door.

Cully couldn't help herself, glancing at her mobile again and again—watching the minutes ebb away, hoping for something. His voice in her ear, or his hand on the door, anything. She launched herself to her feet, finally stuffing her mobile into one of her front pockets. A few weeks ago, she might have wondered if she would see him on a night like tonight, but not after his words, not after the noise from kitchen as she found herself pacing anew—

A loud knock rang on the front door and Cully flung herself toward the door, wrenching it open to see—Gavin. His hair lay splayed across his forehead, his dark purple shirt just opened at the collar, his tie loosened from the base of his neck. She pulled him in—not even bothering to close the door—wrapping her arms around his back. Beneath her breasts, she felt his breath as his chest rose and fell, ragged and harsh. Pressing her face to his shoulder, she gulped down a shuddering mouthful of air. "What on earth happened, Gavin?"

Tugging her face up, his palm beneath her chin, he kissed her cheek—she nearly felt his pulse throbbing from his neck. "I'm not sure," he whispered, kissing her again. "And I don't know how to explain."

"I'm sure you do," she murmured, "and I'm happy to listen."

"I know."

His hands were already hot beneath her jumper, one palm rising up along her spine like there was no one else in the world until she shivered. The side of his face grazed hers—soft, supple, and gentle, her skin staid against his until his fingers cupped her jaw. "Whatever's the matter, Gavin?"

Even if she hadn't hear his answer, she knew: they were cold words he couldn't quite speak breaking through everything else. It wasn't even half a second, them clasping their hands together, lost to the world outside. But there was wariness in his eyes, like he had spied her mother just coming from the kitchen—she had surely heard the knock and the squeal of the hinges—uncertain how to respond. "Can we talk—outside?" he finally said. Alone, he didn't have to say.

"Of course," she whispered. All these last months through, she had wondered if he would ever ask.

Escaping through the patio door with its noisy hinges into the back garden, just past the eaves into the gentlest shadows of the night—and out of hearing distance of the front room if they were cautious, to say nothing of the kitchen—Cully pulled her jumper's sleeves down from her elbows, the chilly night air of a late October breeze already threatening to cut through the knit, the damp of the grass already seeping through her socks. She hadn't even bothered to grab her shoes, his hands had pulled her along so easily! And even here, in a darkness just cut by the lights trickling through the windows behind them, Gavin still glanced down at his own shoes, then back at her before doing it all over again. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly, reaching for his hand once more.

He wrapped his fingers around hers, cold and clammy, but she almost felt his blood racing anew. "I—I don't know," he said at last, peering down again, like he was afraid to look away. Afraid she might disappear as he pulled her farther into the garden.

"Don't say that. You do know."

"Not now, Cully," he said quickly, "I just—"

"Well, something's wrong. What happened?"

He was quiet for another few seconds. "Your father and I—" He paused, tightening his hand; did he worry she would disappear? Maybe it was her own pulse throbbing before.

"Yes?"

"I really don't know, just...everything turned. And...I don't know what to say."

"It's all right, whatever it is."

For the first moment since he stepped through the front door, Gavin really looked away from her. "I—don't even know how important most of this is."

"Then start wherever you think you should. It'll be fine, I promise."

"We just had more than a bit of a row."

Of course. "I heard him—when you called the first time. You know I did."

He even laughed for a second. "That was just the beginning of it."

Mum already said you know, Cully reminded herself. But..."What about?"

"About you." As he so often did, Gavin allowed his hand to drift to her skin, forgetting that her jumper should be one last barrier between them, now more than ever. "Right after we talked."

"Gavin—" He cut off her words as she tasted his breath through his kiss—almost harsh and stark, it was so severe—and shivered beneath his hand on her back, threatening to find her bare skin, a touch that would drive her as mad as the taste of his mouth now. And now as it traced her waist and hips, his other palm now burning hot in hers…If they found themselves alone, in another place, another time, she knew he would have devoured her and she would have offered no resistance, eager to disappear into him.

With weak feet, she took a step away from him. Even as desperate as she was for him..."Gavin—this...not here, not this."

"I know."

His hand didn't leave her hips—the swell of her back—it was so easily concealed by her bulky jumper. The heat of his palm burned along her spine, for half a second his fingers dipping below the waistband of her jeans, drawing another gasp from the base of her throat. "But what happened?"

Gavin shook his head again. "Nothing."

"That's not true—"

"It is."

"Then what's brought all this on?"

"I finally realized, that's all."

"What?"

"I understand, Cully."

After all these questions…? "Understand what?"

"And I'm sorry if—" He stopped, and for a brief moment, she worried he was about to look back to the house. "I lost my head, earlier."

Or nearly did, she thought, stepping ever so close to him again. "Just because of me?"

"Just?"

"You know what I mean."

He snorted, running a warm finger along her jaw. "Well, why else?"

How strange, really, for such a simple touch to turn her mind to a muddled mess, like he had seen her confused and lonely in her bedroom, then watched her anxious and worried in the front room as she waited for a knock on the door, every noise from the road outside threatening her nerves. "There are lots of reasons," Cully managed at last. "Maybe you didn't cut someone off in traffic—"

"Please, Cully."

"Say what you want, but you look like you need a laugh.

"Truth will out," Gavin whispered.

"But please, what happened?" she asked, a new breeze whistling through the garden, pulling a shiver from her body.

"Are you cold?"

"A little."

"Here." He finally dropped her hand, sliding his coat from his shoulders, throwing it around hers atop her jumper, smoothing it over her bones before his hands followed another traitorous line down between her breasts.

"But what about you? You'll be worse off than I am."

Gavin shook his head, refusing to listen to her, his right hand sliding around her waist pulling her closer—now hidden beneath his jacket—his breath ghosting over her face. "It doesn't matter. Because I know what I want now, Cully. What I've wanted is time with you, more than anything, even in the middle of the night in your parents' back garden."

"I know—"

"What I've wanted, maybe even more than that..."

"What?"

"I—can't think of my life without you in it, not anymore."

"No?" she whispered, swallowing the question she couldn't quite bring herself to ask.

"No. But—I have to tell you something, Cully."

"Do—you?" Two simple words and almost tripped over both.

"Yes, and I should have told you a while ago. Not just this morning—or last night."

"With no phone calls to interrupt you?"

"No"—her chest finally pressed to his again, she could hear his breathing—"nor you to stop me."

If their last embrace had quickly fallen into the raw touches of lust and need, now she held his cheek as though he might break in her hand, glass rather than the stone he had been in the nightmare that still haunted her every now and then. And her kiss for him was gentle and patient: nearly hopeful. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and whatever chill still swirled in the night air was banished by a new warmth, like she had swallowed a drop of actual sunlight, hot and burning deliciously in her chest. All she'd yearned for was something more, something more than mere words and passions. "Oh?" she whispered, certain of his answer like never before. What else could he say? Even in the gloom and the ashy light shimmering in her parents' home, she could just see him begin to smile. "And what is that, Gavin Troy?"

His mouth brushed her ear, the same warmth she adored tickling her skin, his hands pulling her even closer, ready to swallow her into his very soul. "I love you."

Around them, the night turned later and later, time—whether minutes or hours—melting away into the past as the future scurried from the darkness to greet them, those same words tumbling from her own mouth before she could stop them, though whether she could was meaningless; she wouldn't. They simply stood, her arms around his back, his still clutching her waist beneath both her jumper and his coat, one drifting round and sliding into the back pocket of her jeans. Like he was holding her as close he could, determined to keep her as close as he could.

"I'm not going anywhere," she murmured against his shirt.

"I know. But aren't I allowed to enjoy you, especially if it earns the worst talking to your father's ever given me?" His free hand pinched at her waist, sending a shiver up her spine that had nothing to do with the chill of the evening.

Nipping at the nape of his neck with her own fingers, Cully whispered. "You really are hopeless."

They were silent for a time, her arms growing tired and her hands falling to his waist. But she wouldn't—she couldn't let him go, not with those words —until Cully couldn't even be certain it wasn't already early Saturday morning. Surely not, but how often had time faded into nothingness when she was alone with him? "Gavin?"

He could very nearly rest his chin in the top of her head, his hum of "Hmm?" muffled by her hair.

"Could you say it again?"

"Forever, if you'd like."

"I do."

A/N: We all knew—or at least hoped—this moment was coming. (Or at least some of y'all may have hoped; I knew around late February, 2013.) I hope I did it justice.