Lady Felicia's busy schedule kept Sid occupied for the days following his mortification on Sullivan's doorstep as Mrs McCarthy's sidekick.

Sullivan had been off for three days, causing a great stir of speculation within the community. However by Thursday he was back at work- some would say slightly subdued, but otherwise back to normal.

Sid arrived on Saturday night, and came bearing... Gifts.

"Hello stranger... What is that?"

"Three pork chops, a sack of potatoes and a tin of pineapple."

Sullivan started laughing from his perch on the sofa as Sid lugged the spuds into the kitchen.

"What's the meaning of all this?" He asked, tapping the tin.

"Just wanted to give you something nice, after all you've been through." Sid huffed, dumping the sack on the floor.

On Sullivan's toe.

"Look, I just- I just wanted to do something for you, to look after you like! I don't know how to explain but, you know-"

Sullivan was still hopping around the kitchen holding his toe as Sid stumbled over his explanations.

"But... But why?" He asked, still wincing in pain.

"Just... Oh god, Mrs McCarthy was talking about how skinny you are and how there's no one here to cook for you, and I thought I'd bring you something."

Sullivan leaned against the kitchen counter.

"You know none of this stuff is cooked, right?"

"Well yeah, but last time I tried to make myself dinner I set the presbytery curtains on fire."

Sullivan laughed. Sid paused for a minute and enjoyed the sound- he didn't hear it very often.

There was a pause.

"Sid... Thank you, this is lovely, but I can manage, you know-"

"Yeah..."

Sullivan pushed the potatoes towards Sid. "Start peeling, if you can. I'll start the meat."

Sid gladly started rifling through the sack as Sullivan began fiddling with the cooker.

"Perhaps the reason why you worry about me not eating," Sullivan said cheerily, as he placed a pan on the hob, "Is the fact that you have now confirmed my theory that although you always seem to be poaching, you cannot cook for shite."

Sid dropped a potato in shock and spun around to see Sullivan smirking at him.

"What made you think that?"

"The fact that you go to the Red Lion, chip can or Presbytery for every single meal... Speaking of which, why did Mrs McCarthy arrive randomly out of the blue to give me food?" Sullivan enquired.

"She felt it was a, her Christian duty, and b, she thinks you need someone to cook for her."

"I don't! I really don't!" Sullivan protested.

"Well you aren't the most muscular of fellas-"

Sullivan's mouth dropped open in offence.

"Excuse me, I've always been like this. And it's never interfered with any of my activities-"

"What do you mean, activities?"

"Sports, work, etcetera..."

"Well, you don't look like a rugby player-"

"Oi!" Sullivan's voice had a stung tone to it. "I was a winger in the rugby team."

"No way!" Exclaimed Sid. "What rugby team?"

"The school one."

Sid's eyes opened in surprise. Funnily enough, he'd never imagined Sullivan's childhood or adolescence.

"Where did you go to school?" He asked.

"Lord, what is this, the Spanish inquisition?"

"Oh just tell me."

"St Andrews Boys Boarding School."

Sid whistled. "Very posh."

"It really wasn't."

"Did you like it there?"

"It was alright. Wasn't very exciting, to be honest. Rugby was fun and I liked the cricket, but the coach was a right pillock."

Sid snorted with laughter.

"Never thought you'd be the type to ridicule a teacher!"

"That's what he was!" Sullivan protested. "Christ, I can hear him now- Sullivan, you couldn't bat your eyelids! God, he was annoying."

Sid could barely hear him over his own laughter.

"Here, have you many of those peeled yet?"

"A few." Sid pointed at the measly pile in the saucepan.

"Oh lord, at this rate we'll be eating at midnight."

"Well you'd be used to that, wouldn't you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You went to boarding school!"


Despite Sullivan's misgivings, the meal was ready soon enough and they continued their lighthearted chatter at the table. Sid was pleased to see that Sullivan did indeed have a decent appetite and was evidently a good cook- Sullivan was disgusted by the fact that Sid chewed with his mouth open, and readily told him so.

Afterwards Sid hovered in the kitchen beside Sullivan as he did the dishes.

"Glad to see I don't starve every evening?" Sullivan asked him.

Sid nodded. "What did you have for dinner last night?"

"Well last night I still wasn't feeling great, so I only had a sandwich."

Sid frowned in concern.

"What'd you have the night before you got sick?"

Sullivan paused to think, dish dripping in his hands.

"Lasagne." He replied after a minute.

"You made lasagne?" Sid exclaimed, "I wouldn't even know how to spell that."

Sullivan snickered, and returned his attention to the dishes.

"Maybe I'll make you something really fancy tomorrow night. Broaden your horizons a bit."

"Sounds good."

Sid moved across the kitchen and put his arms round Sullivan, head resting on his shoulder.

"I missed you." He mumbled into the other man's shirt collar.

"I missed you too." Sullivan replied, sighing. "This has been lovely though."

"Mmm." Sid agreed. "Still can't get over that bombshell though."

"What?"

"You playing rugby for years."

Sullivan puffed in very fake annoyance.

"Thought there'd be a bit more to you, if I'd have known that."

"Really?" Asked Sullivan sarcastically.

"Yeah," Replied Sid. "You're still perfect though."

"I wouldn't say that." Sullivan blushed.

"I would." Said Sid, smoothing his hands over Sullivan's waist as if to say especially this bit. Sullivan dropped the plate into the sink with a muffled splash as Sid began to thrust softly against him, hands planted firmly on hips.

"This, for example, is a rather perfect arse." Sid muttered, pressing soft kisses over the Inspector's neck.

Sullivan was starting to moan softly as he pushed back against the other man, resenting the clothing between them.

The dishes were soon forgotten, and the two of them disappeared between the freshly washed sheets on Sullivan's bed.