He did not remember when the pain had become too much to bear, but he knew that something had to be done. Reporting his boss to the Chief Superintendent would be the most sensible thing, though he could not be sure about the CS actually believing him. Surely, they would check his body for evidence - analyse cuts and bruises, probe into most intimate regions to verify his accusations. Gavin squeezed his eyes shut. Sensible, yes - but also humiliating. And what then? Would he go on working with Barnaby? Would they send him away? And where to? Would his new colleagues know?
Taking a deep breath, he let his mauled body sink deeper into the hot water. Having a bath seemed to be the only relief from it all. In fact, it turned out to be the only thing he ever pulled himself together to doing after another day at work.
Work. He had once loved his job, and he had been proud of being a policeman. Now he only felt ashamed. Although he knew that none of this was his fault, he felt guilty. Maybe if he hadn't been so cute, Barnaby would have ignored him. Maybe ...
Gavin looked down at his chest, faintly scarred and in some places discoloured with bruising, and gulped. Why he? What had he ever done to the other one to deserve this?
His boxers floated in the running water, and Gavin bent forward to turn the water off. It had been a while since he started leaving his boxers on in the bath. He could not bear the sight of himself, could not bear being a man and did not want to be reminded of the fact that he was.
Slowly, he sank deeper and smiled. He remembered Cully. What was it that she had said the other day? To die, to sleep. Hamlet. Maybe this was the best way out of it. Maybe the easiest for all of them. And in that sleep of death to think we end the heartaches and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.
He bent his knees and let his head glide under water. What now? Count the seconds? Minutes perhaps? One, two. He thought of Cully and of their visit to the playhouse. Three, four, though more likely six, seven. Counting was too hard. How long would it take? He thought of the green fields of Midsomer in spring, of flocks of sheep, of the lovely smell of the fresh air. He was not sure if it would be his brain exploding or his heart stopping or both - at the same time or one following the other, he did not know, and it did not matter. Strange that he did not see pictures of Barnaby or images of 'those nights'. He tried to remember but his memory was blank. He could think of names. And then he passed out.

Strong arms pulled at his limp body, grabbed him by the shoulders and wrapped around his chest. His head fell back and hit the edge of the tub when he was dropped to the floor. Someone went to great lengths calling him back to life. Once they had found a weak pulse, they started CPR, forcing him to cough up water and to breathe, and his body responded.
Slowly coming to, coughing and panting for air, Gavin tried to see. Through fluttering lashes there was the blurred image of another person. He closed his eyes and his breath evened. A strong hand slapped his face and he tried once more to focus.
"Gavin," he knew that voice and wished he did not, "For heaven's sake. Why did you do that?!" Of all people, why did he have to find him? Why did he think he did it? For fun?
He wanted to tell him, tell him to bugger off, to leave him alone, to go away, but he felt too weak for any of the options. Gulping he opened his eyes again and looked at Barnaby who knelt beside him eying him suspiciously. Why had he saved him?
"I hate you," he whispered, and the older man's eyes narrowed.
"Do you?"
Gavin nodded faintly. He had not expected the other one to yank him up and grab his hair to push him over the edge of the tub and force his head under water. Gavin tried to struggle, wanted to push himself away but his hands slid off the moist walls and he lost balance. Tumbling forward he screamed and swallowed water. So this was the end now, he thought when Barnaby pulled him up again, let go of his hair and pushed him to the floor.
Gavin coughed and gasped.
"You're not telling me you hate me again, are you?"
Gavin shook his head.
"What are you telling me then?"
What did he expect? Gavin felt defeated. He could not even take his own life. He really sucked.
"Thank you, sir," he quietly said, and Barnaby nodded. He got up and left the young man leaning against the bathtub, staring but unseeing.