Sid didn't show up one night. He obviously had some prior engagement he'd forgotten about.
Typical Sid, thought Sullivan, as he tucked into the meal that was starting to go cold, smarting with annoyance at the empty chair.
Still, it's not like Sid had any obligation to be there. He was his own man after all, and it's not like he knew that he, Sullivan, had cooked this meal specially or anything. No, no it didn't matter at all. Yes, it was annoying that there was going to be food left over and obviously he was rather peeved at the realisation that he wasn't going to be shagged that night, but no, no, it was fine. Really fine.
He'd just finish this bottle of wine (it was only really a small one, and it was only a coincidence that Sid mentioned that he'd liked it) and go to bed. Get a good night's sleep. He needed a proper rest- this case was driving him mad. So many loose ends, and of course this aggravating seal of the confession being used as an excuse to keep everyone's lips sealed.
He chucked the empty bottle in the bin and trudged up the stairs, slightly lightheaded and arguing lightheartedly with himself. He was tired, and he would sleep. Carter being there had absolutely nothing to do with how he slept.
He was awake most of the night, pondering over the events of the day to distract himself from the quiet of the room and the emptiness of the bed.
Priest school. Who'd ever heard of such a thing?
Sid paced the cell in fury, his borrowed cassock flying out behind him like a cloak.
The nerve of him. As if he hadn't had a bad enough day. He'd almost been murdered for a start! By a maniacal homicidal trainee priest! Sullivan had no right to treat him like this, like some kind of common criminal. It was a disgrace.
Despite his anger, he felt slightly uneasy. He worried that Sullivan may have discovered what he'd got up to last night. But then again, they had no real connection, did they? Like the man himself had said, no strings, no attachments.Yet he resented the fact that Sullivan might find out he'd slept with that girl. She'd been lovely, of course, but he felt almost like a cheater.
At this moment, the real Sullivan strolled into his cell and closed the door most of the way behind him. He surveyed Sid for a minute, then burst out laughing.
Sid sat there pouting as the Inspector began laughing so hard he was genuinely crying with joy.
"Have you any idea," he gasped madly between laughs, "How funny you look?"
Sid crossed his arms in indignation.
"How dare you! I'm a pillar of the community, a respectful priest like me."
Sullivan had to lean on the wall for support.
Sid was still very annoyed.
"This isn't fair, you know."
"Oh relax," Sullivan finally regained his powers of speech, "I had to be seen to be doing something."
He strolled across the room to where Sid was standing, very much an invasion of personal space.
Sid could smell his cologne, and the careless smile was rather irresistible...
But no, he was still most definitely affronted.
"There was still no need to bundle me into a police car beside a lunatic."
"He couldn't have done too much damage, not with a pair of handcuffs on. Besides," Sid became aware of hands beginning to smooth across his hips. "I wouldn't have let him."
Sullivan was so close their chests were touching. Sid's anger was beginning to fizzle out, and was being replaced by something else. He gasped as the other man's hand slid down his trousers, after undoing his belt and flies so deftly he'd never even noticed it.
"You sure you won't forgive me?" Sullivan whispered mockingly, his breath hot and husky on the skin of Sid's neck, his strong fingers already getting busy as Sid became more and more flustered.
"Cause if you don't, I could always make it up to you tonight."
Sid could feel all the blood in his body surging southwards. He let out a low moan as Sullivan stroked and caressed him, pressing hot kisses against the blushing skin on Sid's neck.
The inspector had very nearly been forgiven when he suddenly withdrew his hand. Sid
"Free tonight?"
Sid (still speechless) nodded enthusiastically.
"I'd better go sort out that paperwork then."
With that, he abandoned the dishevelled Sid and slammed the cell door behind him.
Sid gasped dramatically at this betrayal. Sullivan's sparkling eyes appeared at the slot.
"Shouldn't get involved in crime scenes." He warned smugly, before snapping the hatch shut and disappearing.
What a git!
Perhaps Sullivan's consience got the better of him, or perhaps the case was rather more stressful than it first seemed. Another reason could be that the case was in fact incredibly dreary and there was a very intelligent young man leading proceedings so monotonous there was indeed a very serious chance of him being bored to death.
The reason is obsolete. The outcome was that Sid left the station in a rather good mood, and when sergeant Goodfellow asked if Sid had said anything interesting (not an unreasonable question-Sullivan had been gone a while) he watched Sullivan blush.
Under the covers that night, Sullivan lay on his side traced circles on the pillowcase in the moonlight, his finger working through the childlike pattern so very well known to the hidden legion of insomniacs. He was desperately drowsy, but sleep was still withheld from him. He felt Sid stir beside.
"Are you still awake?"
Sullivan felt the concerned question being whispered into the cavern behind his right ear.
"Mm."
"Was it that case?," Sid whispered, "Did it annoy you."
"Not really," Sullivan mumbled back.
He felt Sid moving again behind him. They were both clothed--Sid in his vest and a borrowed pair of pyjama trousers, Sullivan in a faded striped ensemble that seemed to make him as pale as the cotton pillowcase which the moonbeams fell upon.
Sid began to manoeuvre - cautiously, almost reverently - his arm so that he grasped Sullivan by the shoulder and then, as delicately as if Sullivan was genuinely the porcelain he resembled, tugged and rolled the other man over, till he lay facing him.
Sullivan surveyed him with the odd open expression he always had late at night, blue eyes wide open, lips parted slightly.
Sid raised his arm slowly, and carefully wrapped it around the inspector. Though he still kept his arms to himself, Sid felt him relax a fraction; he laid his head on Sid's shoulder.
"Eddie..." Sid trailed off at the absurdity of Sullivan's name.
Sullivan noticed the strangeness too.
"No one's called me that for years." He mumbled quietly into Sid's shoulder. Somehow, his arms seemed to be around Sid. They were embracing.
Boldened by the serenity of the moment, Sid blundered on.
"Who all used to call you Eddie?"
He doubted Sullivan would answer, so he felt he'd won a great gamble when he did.
"My gran, apparently. She made a crosstitch with my name on it when I was born and hung it in my room. I don't remember her though. Died when I was two."
Sid was amazed by this confession.
"Anyone else?"
"My mum." Sullivan said softly.
Sid decided it might be time to even up the conversation.
"I don't know what my mum called me. I was in foster care until I was eleven, then they sent me to Hampleston. Some kiddies in the countryside initiative or something. I found my way here soon after, the Father took me in, and here I've stayed." Sid announced, immediately feeling like he'd used a sledgehammer to crack open a hardboiled egg.
But Sullivan was intrigued.
"What was it like, growing up in foster care?"
"Well you know, wasn't the most exciting childhood. Never knew my parents, so never missed them much. Still, I know many kids who had it worst. It was a bleeding miracle to end up here - luckiest beggar in the orphanage, that's for sure."
Sullivan seemed to contemplate this quietly. Sid decided to be very, very brave.
"Your parents must be really proud of you, doing so well in the police force."
Sullivan breathed out.
"My mum died when I was eight. Heart problems. She thought I'd be a doctor."
Sid felt his heart get heavy, the same way he heard Sullivan's pain.
"I'm sorry."
"Mm."
Sullivan--Eddie's breathing was getting heavier as Sid rubbed soothing circles on the worn fabric of his pyjama jacket. Sensing that the other man was about to fall asleep, he didn't ask about his father.
