September was swept away very quickly and before Sid realised, October had bloomed in all its amber glory.

Bunty and Lady Felicia began digging through trunks in search of furs and cashmere, Mrs McCarthy produced her collection of thicker cardigans, and Sullivan pulled an old scarf and gloves down from the top of his wardrobe.

After a night in the caravan in the cooler weather, Sid decided it was time to make the move to the 'winter quarters'. He alternated between the presbytery and police cottage; luckily, his love life was very much an undiscussed subject so he could still spend a few nights a week with Sullivan, and the rest at the presbytery to avoid suspicion.

However, with an extra person (Bunty) to keep a secret from, Sid was beginning to feel a tad stressed.


Sid had hurtled into the cottage to escape from the bitter cold outside (this autumn was horrendously cold, far colder than last year) and found himself feeling even colder.

Obviously Sullivan wasn't home yet, and he had not left the fire lit that morning. Sid lit it as quickly as he could, and huddled on the hearth beside the feeble little flame.

After he had regained feeling in his fingers, he went into the kitchen to poke at the cooker and perhaps attempt to cook something.

Sullivan arrived home ten minutes later. Sid was nursing his burnt fingers on the sofa.

Sullivan took off his scarf, but then shuddered and put it back on again.

"I put the fire on." Sid offered.

Sullivan jumped.

"S'only me!" Sid reassured him.

"I know its you, I just didn't see you there."

Sullivan sounded annoyed. He crouched down beside the fire and stared into space, knees pulled up to his chin.

Sid realised immediately that he was upset. He flopped down on the floor beside the Inspector and began rubbing his leg softly.

"Sorry I scared you." He said softly.

"It's fine - I just overeacted." Sullivan replied.

Sid picked a bit of dirt out from behind the other man's usually pristine ear. Sullivan grimaced.

"I've been scavenging through an old shed all day trying to find a hair pin," Sullivan explained. "The ceiling was really low and I kept banging my head, those bloody cobwebs were everywhere, and it was so cold."

"Aww, poor Sullivan." Sid pouted sympatheticly.

Sullivan fixed him with a withering look.

"I'm going for a bath. Try not to burn the house down."


In the end Sullivan's bath had to wait until after tea, as Sid, despite his best intentions, did start a small fire.

Sid had followed him upstairs and he was lying sprawled across the bed leafing lazily through a car magazine he'd found on the bookcase, listening to the gentle splashes of Sullivan in the bathtub. He'd offered to bring him a drink or something, but Sullivan had said no.

Sullivan was funny about those kind of things - despite the fact that Sid had seen every bit of him several times, he wouldn't let him near him when he was washing, or getting dressed.

He was roused from the bright green sports car on page twenty-three by a small thump from the bathroom, followed by some quiet swearing.

"You alright in there?"

"Fine," came the blunt reply, "Just-dropped the soap-"

Sid could hear splashing, indicating that Sullivan was trying to get out of the bath.

"I'll get it!" He offered (or insisted) entering the bathroom.

Sullivan (who had been leaning out of the bath towards the soap, which was very far away) squeaked and fell in a flurry of water, obviously trying to cover his modesty.

Sid sniggered, holding the soap out for him.

"Seen it all before mate."

Sullivan snatched the bar with a snarl.

"I can manage, you know." He snapped.

Sid chuckled. "Just trying to be of assistance."

Sullivan refused to answer, looking as contemptuous as a man halfway through his bath can look.

Sid shook his head and wandered over to the sink, surveying himself in the mirror.

"Mind if I stay for a shave?" He asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Anything to get rid of that awful stubble of yours." Sullivan answered, rubbing the bar of soap along his outstretched forearm.

Sid huffed, and began digging about for a razor and shaving foam.

"You know something," He announced, rinsing the razor under the tap, "These tiles are a death trap. Have you ever fallen on them?"

"So what if I have?" Sullivan asked, that familiar hint of irritation creeping back into his voice. "I don't see what it's got to do with you."

Sid raised his eyebrows and began applying his shaving foam.

"Just curious, is all."

Even though he wasn't looking at Sullivan he could picture his face; annoyed.

Time to switch the subject.

He started warbling on about some daft story the Father had told him, and was very gratified when he heard Sullivan laughing. He grinned in satisfaction, and then hissed as he nicked the skin above his cheekbone.

"How do you do it?" He asked Sullivan, dabbing at his bleeding cheek with a bit of toilet roll.

"Do what?" Sullivan asked.

"Shave without cutting yourself."

"Experience." Sullivan was attempting to wash his back, and his voice sounded twisted and constrained as his body was.

"Here, let me do that." Sid threw the razor into the sink and seized the soap of Sullivan, and began rubbing it across the other man's exposed back as he protested in annoyance.

"I'm not a child, or an invalid-"

"Well, I can't watch you twisting about like a condiment-"

"A what?"

"Them twisty people you see at the circus."

"You mean a contortionist-"

"Anyway, pretend it's a spa treatment or something." Sid set down the soap and began massaging the smooth, damp skin of Sullivan's back.

Sullivan seemed to tense up the moment Sid had came near him. Sid caressed his skin, hands moving in long, firm strikes from the small of his back up to his shoulder blades, and then back down again.

Sullivan started to relax, closing his eyes and stretching slightly. Sid kept massaging his back, smiling smugly every time Sullivan hummed in appreciation. Sid smirked with pride, especially when Sullivan let out a rather desirable moan as Sid hit a particularly nice spot at the base of his neck.

Sullivan was leaning back now, eyes closed blissfully. A chilled copper.

Sid felt very clever.


Sid was nearly asleep, drowsily trailing his hand along Sullivan's sleepy form. He rubbed circles around the three tiny moles on his left shoulder blade, then ran his hand along the gorgeously smooth skin of his side, eventually stopping to rest on his hip.

"Sullivan?" He whispered.

"Mmm." He had his eyes closed, hands curled around the pillow, so very nearly asleep.

"Are you going to that memorial thingy tomorrow? The one at the barracks?"

"Yes." He whispered back, stretching his legs slightly. Sid felt the feeble movement of the soft skin under his palm.

"Me too. I'm driving Lady F and the crew."

"I'll see you there then." Sullivan mumbled.

Sid could tell by the other man's breathing that Sullivan was very, very nearly asleep.

Then, for some unknown reason, he rolled over, and was suddenly fast asleep in Sid's warm embrace.