Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I've seen his films, of course, and always thought he was – well, amazing.

A million miles away from where I live, though. Here, in Lerwick.

It's not such a bad place to be. There's the wholesale market on weekdays, where people queue from early in the morning to get their fresh fish and veg. The record shop, where Billy captures the unsuspecting youth of Shetland to evangelise about vinyl and real music until they give in just to stop him talking.

And just down the road, there's the harbour, setting the rhythm of life on the island by the arrival and depature of the boats – the cargo ships to Aberdeen and Orkney and Norway, the big passenger ferries setting off once a day for mainland Scotland and the wee ones that scuttle back and forth all day long to Bressay.

In the summer, the place fills up with tourists, all looking for a bit of Scotland to take home with them, some of it genuine, and some of it not quite so genuine.

But mostly this is a small place, where everyone knows everyone's business and where everyone's become sort of a friend, even if you'd honestly rather they hadn't.

So, this is where I spend my days, in this island town in the middle of the North Sea, in a house that my wife and I bought together before she left me, as she was right to do, because I'm not capable of not fucking up the good things in my life, and where I now lead a strange half-life with my daughter, Cassie, who moved back to Shetland to live with me after her mum died, and who hates me, which I probably deserve.

And so it was just another hopeless Wednesday, as I set off down the road to work, little suspecting that this was the day that would change my life forever.

Oh, this is work.

My little bookshop, squashed in between the bank and the yarn shop. I spend my days here selling books, although to be frank, not usually many of them, and pretending that my assistant, Tosh, isn't running the place while my back's turned, and doing a much better job of it than I do.

Chapter Text

"Good morning, Boss."

Duncan looked up blearily from the ledger and pile of receipts that were spread out in front of him. "Morning, Tosh," he said. "You're disgustingly cheerful."

"And you look like you never went to bed last night." She peered at him. "Is everything all right?"

He held out the ledger. "Well, that depends on how attached you are to eating, or, you know, paying rent."

"Ah."

"Aye," he said. "Our profit from last month's major sales push – minus thirty seven pounds and nineteen pence."

"I'll go down and get you a coffee," she said, swinging her jacket back on with a sigh. She smiled at him. "To ease the pain? My treat?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Tosh."

She dashed outside, stopping briefly to hold the door open for a couple of customers. He caught a soft Glasgow accent insisting that Tosh went through first, a disconcertingly familiar profile, and a glimpse of white shirt disappearing into the non-fiction stacks. It was a ridiculous thought, Duncan knew, there were surely millions of people who had that sandy hair and that nose and that tilt to their chin. There was no reason at all that the biggest Hollywood star of the last decade, the most famous thing to come out of Scotland since penicillin, should be in his wee shop in Shetland.

He got up from the desk, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

"Hi," he said. "Uh, can I help you?"

Jimmy Perez emerged from behind a shelf, holding a copy of Touring the Universe Through Binoculars and smiled at Duncan. "No, thank you," he said. "I'll just look around."

"Okay." He'd apparently lost his brain-to-mouth filter somewhere in the accounts, because he heard himself saying: "That book really isn't great – I mean, not that you were goin' to – but just in case, well, if browsing turned into buying – there are better astronomy books – and all sorts of books, obviously, but if astronomy was what you were after – "

"Thanks," said Jimmy Perez. Duncan got the distinct sense he was being laughed at. "I will take this one, though, if that's all right."

"Aye, o' course," said Duncan. "It's not bad, actually, on second thoughts – sort of an amateur masterpiece, really."

Jimmy Perez smiled at him again, and handed over the book and a twenty pound note. "Do you take cash?"

For a minute, Duncan tried to ring up the sale without breaking eye contact. He promptly dropped the book, and knelt down and got it. "Sorry," he said, finally managing to put the sale through. "I'm not usually such a butterfingers." He handed back the book, and the change, and one of the business cards that Tosh had bullied him into getting made up. "Enjoy."

Their fingers brushed.

"Thanks," said Jimmy Perez.

*

An half an hour later, Duncan was waiting his turn at the new hipster coffee kiosk that was running out of the window at the old Lodberry Traders. It was a longer walk and a sight more expensive than the little automatic Costa machine that had been installed in the newsagents, but the coffee was better and the sun was shining and he was still a little dazed and he might as well blow all his profit from their single sale of the day in one go.

He grinned automatically at Morag, running the till, and turned away.

And slammed straight into a solid wall of muscle.

He swore.

The voice next to his ear swore, too, louder, and Duncan realised with a sinking heart who exactly he had just thrown coffee all over. He tossed the empty cup to the side and grabbed the handful of napkins that he'd stuffed in his pocket, and started blotting up liquid. He retained enough awareness to be dimly glad it was Tosh's iced latte and not his own extra-hot black coffee that he'd thrown, but apparently not enough awareness to stop frantically dabbing at the crotch of a movie star in broad daylight in the middle of Commercial Street.

Oh, God, maybe if he threw himself in the North Sea…

A warm hand closed around his wrist and moved it away.

"Oh, Jesus," said Duncan, out loud. "I'm so sorry."

"It's all right." The man shook himself slightly, and looked down.

It was almost impressive, how much liquid there was in an iced latte.

"Look." Duncan was absolutely positive that he was going to regret this. "I live just over the street. I can let you get cleaned up."

"No, that's really okay," said Jimmy Perez. "I just need to get back to my hotel. It's at the other end of town and I have an appointment to get to."

"I have a phone," said Duncan. "I'm absolutely confident that in five minutes we can have you clean and dry and back on the street."

He hesitated. "Right," he said. "So, when you say 'just over the street' – "

"There." Duncan pointed. "It's that house, the last one before the beach. Just down the stairs."

"Okay."

He threw his own coffee into the nearest bin and led the way over Commercial Street and down the stairs. He felt as if he were in a dream, or possibly in the most humiliating nightmare of his life. He pinched himself, hard.

"Ouch," he said.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing." Duncan blushed. Fine, not a dream. Christ, he really needed to sleep more.

As he held open the door, he suddenly remembered the state they had left the place in that morning. Jimmy Perez went ahead of him into the small hall, and Duncan tried not to die of shame.

He was normally a not bad housekeeper, but he'd up all night with the accounts and Cassie had been racing out of the house for an exam. Their breakfast dishes were scattered across the kitchen, there was laundry everywhere, and he was pretty sure the bathroom looked as if a teenage girl had torn through it like a tornado.

An anorak was tossed carelessly across the bannister. He snatched it up and hung it on the coat rack, smoothing the creases out uselessly.

"My daughter's," he said. "Cassie, she lives here. I mean – she's not here now, she'll be at school, but she lives here with me." His voice was too loud and he was talking too fast and too much, and he didn't know how to stop. "I'm sorry, the place isn't usually such a mess."

"Right." Jimmy Perez looked around. "You mentioned that there was somewhere I could get cleaned up?"

"Yes!" Duncan nearly tripped over his own feet. "At the top of the stairs, on the left. Help yourself to anything you need." He plucked a pair of jeans and a green jumper from the pile of clean laundry that was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, and only stopped to check that the jeans were definitely his and not Cassie's. "And if you need clean clothes to get you back to wherever you need to be – " He thrust them into the other man's hands.

He watched, stunned, as he disappeared up the stairs.

The sound of the bathroom door triggered Duncan's brain into action, and he started rapidly clearing the kitchen up while he waited.

Trying not to think of Jimmy Perez in his bathroom – cleaning himself up – getting undressed –

Duncan smacked himself.

He ran water into the sink, and determinedly thought of his bank account, and the ulcer on his Great Aunt Mary's foot that she'd FaceTimed him to show him, and the lifeform that he'd found growing in his favourite mug under his daughter's bed over the weekend.

By the time he heard the bathroom door open and popped his head back into the hall, he had a handle on himself.

It vanished again as soon as he saw Jimmy Perez walking down his stairs, wearing his jumper – a jumper that was loose and oversized on Duncan, but that fitted Jimmy Perez.

He swallowed.

"I salvaged my jeans, bu do you have a bag or something for – "

Duncan glanced down at the bundle of sodden, coffee-stained white shirt that was being held out, and made a dive for the plastic bag drawer under the sink.

"Aye," he said. "You can take this."

The shirt was tumbled into the plastic bag that he held out. "Thanks," said Jimmy Perez. "I'd better be going, but thanks for all your – er, help."

"You're welcome," said Duncan. "And can I just say, you've been wonderful about all of this, and it was nice to meet you – " He paused, and added, honestly: "Surreal, but nice."

His hand was shaken, and he tried to persuade himself that it was his imagination that Jimmy Perez's fingers lingered. And then they were being withdrawn and the door was opening and Duncan was left alone in his hall.

He dropped his face to his palm.

The doorbell rang.

He nearly jumped a foot in the air, and then shook his head. He needed to get a grip.

A familiar sandy head and an embarrassed grin were at the door.

"Hi," said Duncan.

"Hi," said Jimmy Perez. "I forgot my book."

"Oh." Duncan turned and picked up the paper bag from his own shop that had been left on the hall table, and handed it over. "Aye, so you did."

"Well."

The space between them had shrunk.

Jimmy Perez put his hand out, and Duncan started to raise his own, expecting another handshake, but, instead, long fingers were tangled in his shirt and reeling him in. Duncan was aware of being kissed, of the rasp of stubble against his cheek and a hand against his chest and a soft, soft mouth. It was over in seconds.

"I, um – " Duncan ran a tongue across his top lip. "I'm sorry about the 'surreal but nice' thing. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Don't worry about it," murmured Jimmy Perez. "I thought upending your coffee all over me was the real low point."

A brief chuckle.

"Thanks," said Duncan, unnecessarily.

Jimmy Perez's voice was almost apologetic when he said, "It's probably best not to tell anyone about this."

"No, o' course not." Duncan's mouth was dry. "I mean, I'll tell myself sometimes, but that's all right. I won't believe it."

They smiled at each other.

"Bye," said Jimmy Perez.

Chapter Text

“Is that Duncan Hunter?”

“Aye, speaking,” said Duncan. He tucked the shop’s cordless phone into his shoulder and continued rifling through the packing boxes, unloading books onto his desk.

“This is Jimmy."

Duncan frowned. “Who?”

“Jimmy." And, when no reaction was forthcoming: “Uh, Perez.”

The phone went tumbling down to the floor, and the stack of paperbacks that had been in Duncan’s hands went after it. He dropped to his knees, fumbling around under the desk.

“Hello?” The voice that had been in Duncan’s ear a minute earlier was now distant and tinny and coming from underneath a copy of Pride and Prejudice.

He snatched his phone back up and sat down on the floor, and hoped he didn’t sound as flustered as he felt. “Hi. Sorry. What can I do for you, Mr Perez?”

“Well,” said Jimmy Perez. “You can call me Jimmy, for starters.”

“I — really?” asked Duncan, stupidly.

“Well. Aye.” His wry chuckle was just as devastating over the phone as it had been in person. “I didnae think you’d be one to stand on so much formality.”

“But you’re — “ Duncan nearly swallowed his own tongue with the effort of not completing the sentence with, but you’re Jimmy Perez. If there had been a few evenings over the last week when he'd stayed up entirely too late, spellbound by the man's eyes and voice and work, then that could remain strictly between himself and his Amazon Prime account.

So. Jimmy.

He asked, giving it his best effort: “What can I do for you, Jimmy? If you’re needing another book — “

“No,” said Jimmy. “Thanks. I’m still working my way through this one. It’s — um, it’s dry stuff, isn’t it?”

At that, Duncan grinned. “I did warn you.”

“Actually, I wanted to speak to you,” said Jimmy. “We — uh, well, before I leave, I wanted to apologise for the whole — uh, the kissing thing — “

Duncan didn't manage to swallow back his disbelieving, "Why?"

But that didn't seem to matter, as Jimmy ploughed on as if he hadn't spoken at all. “And I thought maybe I could buy you dinner tonight?”

Duncan choked on air.

“I mean, only if you want."

“No,” Duncan blurted, and then corrected himself, “I mean, yes, I’d — " And then banged his head on the underneath of his own desk as he said, louder, "Oh, fuck. I can’t.”

“It’s all right,” said Jimmy, hurriedly. “It was probably a stupid idea.”

"It's not!" said Duncan. "I'd like to. I'd really like to. It's my sister's birthday and I'm meant to go to this party tonight."

“Well, that's okay.”

“I’m sure I can – " He was about to say that he was sure he could get out of it, but that would be a lie if ever he'd told one. Rhona would kill him, and Phyllis and Cassie would help her hide his body. "I can just stop in for a bit," he amended.

“No,” said Jimmy. “I mean, that's okay, I can be your date.”

“You’ll be my date?” asked Duncan. “You’ll be my date to my big sister’s birthday party?”

“If that’s all right.”

It took Duncan a solid minute to pick up his jaw from the carpet.

*

Cassie's voice was flat with disbelief. "You're bringing a date."

"Is that – not okay?" He hadn't needed to navigate the whole dating thing with Cassie yet; had chosen not to, had decided instead to avoid the topic entirely by the simple method of not dating.

A flirt and a drink and a night of mutual orgasms did him, when there was an itch that needed scratched. The rest of it – well, it just seemed easier to not. It seemed like two chances at being a husband should be enough to prove that he wasn’t much good at it.

Not that this was –

Well, not that this was even a date. That was just how Americans talked.

Never mind that Jimmy Perez was as Scottish as he was.

"It's fine," she said. "It's just a bit – not you."

"And you don't mind that it's with a guy?"

She looked surprised. "I know you're bi," she said.

"I know," he said. "But it's one thing knowing it."

"Dad!" She had that look on her face that she got when she thought he was old and past it. "It's the twenty-first century!"

"Okay," he said, defensively. "Okay."

"Where did you even meet this guy?" she asked.

"He's just someone who came into the shop," said Duncan, and reassured himself that it wasn't even really a lie. "He's in Shetland for work."

"Okay," said Cassie. "Have you told Rhona and Phyllis?"

"Yes."

She eyed him dubiously. "Really?"

"Yes."

*

He had left Cassie to go on ahead of him and had met Jimmy at the front door of The Lerwick Hotel. He had dithered over the appropriate way to greet him – a handshake? a hug? a kiss on the cheek? a kiss on the mouth, no, God, Duncan, don't think about his mouth – for so long that they had ended up awkwardly nodding to one another and setting off down the road.

He didn't think he'd been this socially inept since he was thirteen and taking Molly Gibson out for fish and chips on a Saturday afternoon.

Jimmy had had a small wrapped box with him for Rhona and had asked a few polite questions about the party and the bookshop and the island, but had lapsed into silence soon enough.

It wasn't a long walk. Halfway, Duncan sneaked a look at Jimmy, ambling along with his hands in his pockets, wearing a leather jacket that had no right to look as good as it did.

Christ, he was in trouble.

"You never told me what you've been doing in Shetland," said Duncan, summoning up his small talk. "It's no' exactly bright lights, big city."

Jimmy's eyes lit up as he told Duncan about the project that he'd been doing some scouting for – directing, as well as acting, with an indie production company, something that would be something like Scandi Noir for the islands. He added: "And my inner teenager can't believe I'd ever think this, but it's been nice to be back home for a bit."

Duncan looked at him, completely nonplussed. "Home?"

"Well, closer to home," allowed Jimmy. "Fair Isle."

"You're fae Fair Isle?"

"It's not common knowledge," he said, with a smile. "Not that there's really any reason for it not to be, anymore. You said your sister's house was on this street, right?"

"Oh, for – " They'd reached the corner of St Olaf Street, and the harbour was in view. He'd walked straight past Rhona and Phyllis's door. Too interested in what Jimmy had been saying about his project. (Too busy staring at Jimmy.)

Jimmy didn't even have the manners not to laugh at him as they backtracked twenty yards down the road to the right gate.

*

Duncan surveyed the wreckage of his sister and sister-in-law's kitchen table, buried under a pile of mostly scraped clean takeaway boxes. Phyllis could burn water but she had never in her life undercatered a party, and had ordered what had looked like enough Chinese food to feed half of Shetland.

The evening had gone well, he thought.

Phyllis had told Jimmy that he was the spitting image of Jimmy Perez, which had only been horrifically awkward for the four seconds it had taken Jimmy to break down into snorting, helpless giggles, and as soon as the food had arrived Duncan had been herded into the kitchen by Rhona for a frantic, whispered interrogation, and who knew what had happened to Jimmy while he'd been out of the room, but –

It had been good.

Duncan wrapped his hands around the coffee that Donnie had handed him.

Over the table, Jimmy's eyes twinkled.

Phyllis began to sort containers. Donnie had vanished into the kitchen with cutlery and plates, declaring that clean-up was his contribution to his mother's birthday.

Cassie had slipped out a few minutes earlier. She and Jimmy had got on remarkably well, while Duncan had been treated to a heavy dose of "we'll be talking about this later" in the form of pointed looks that had reminded him, suddenly and painfully, of Fran. She came back into the room with her jacket on, and with hugs for Rhona and Phyllis.

"Thank you for giving up your Friday night for your old aunts, darling," said Phyllis.

"Thanks for dinner," she said. She planted a kiss on Rhona's cheek. "Happy birthday, Aunt Rhona."

Duncan searched his recollection for any conversation they might have had about her plans, and, hesitantly, checked: "You're staying at Tara's?"

"You said I could," she said.

"Aye, o' course," said Duncan. "I lose track of your hectic social calendar, that's all. And where's my hug?"

She rolled her eyes, but threw her arms around his neck. "Be safe," she whispered into his ear. As she straightened back up, her eyes were alight with mischief.

"You cheeky wee shite," he said, fondly. "Ah, get away with you. You call me if you need anything, and I'll see you in the morning."

"It was nice to meet you, Jimmy," she said, formally.

"Aye," said Jimmy. "It was nice to meet you, too."

And she was out of the door in a whirl of hair and other plans.

"I'm surprised she stayed as long as she did," said Phyllis, who had returned to sorting leftovers.

"Ach, away," said Duncan. "She adores the two of you."

Rhona shrugged. "Still, you remember being eighteen." She eyed her brother. "Not that I think Cassie's getting up to anything like what you probably were on a Friday night back then.

"Slander!"

"I'm the best lawyer on Shetland – "

Phyllis coughed.

" – except for my lovely wife," she corrected, smoothly. "And I'm telling you it's not slander if it's true."

Jimmy laughed properly at that, and looked delighted.

"Do you have little brothers, Jimmy," asked Rhona.

"Er, no." He spread his hands, apologetically. "I'm an only child."

"Oh, you lucky thing," she said, but she was grinning when she ruffled Duncan's hair.

"Listen, can we help clean up or something?" asked Jimmy.

"Oh, no," said Phyllis. "Donnie's on it. Here, though. You can eat this last fortune cookie so that I don't have to throw it away."

Jimmy caught it one-handed, and put his coffee down so that he could crack into it. He passed half to Duncan. Their fingers brushed. "Happiness isn't something you remember," he read. "It's something you experience."

*

"Nightcap?" asked Duncan, at the top of his steps. Jimmy had insisted on walking him home, even though it made for an unnecessarily long walk back to his hotel.

Their hands touched, again. He felt the same crackle of electricity he had done in Rhona and Phyllis's dining room. Their bodies swayed an inch closer to one another. He watched Jimmy's pupils dilate, and his eyes flick down to his mouth. His skills these days might be rusty, but he hadn't entirely lost them.

Jimmy smiled, wistfully, and shook his head, but he didn't move away. "Don't think I don't want to," he said. "But it's too complicated."

"S'all right." Duncan could handle rejection. He hadn't really expected anything else.

"I think I'd like to go down to the beach."

"Aye, of course," said Duncan, like Jimmy needed permission to go down to the public beach.

Jimmy tangled their fingers together. "Come with me for a bit?"

Duncan let himself be led down the stairs and tugged down to the sand with Jimmy, their backs leaning against the wall.

He nudged Jimmy's shoulder. "I know that probably wasnae what you had in mind."

Jimmy shook his head. "It was great," he said. "Your family are great."

"I know," said Duncan.

"I've missed all this." Jimmy tilted his face up to the sky. "The islands. Walking everywhere. The sun never properly going down."

"The sun never properly coming up?" asked Duncan, turning a wry eyebrow on him.

Jimmy laughed. "Aye, well, I never said California was without its charms."

"Anyway," said Duncan. "If you're from Fair Isle, how come we don't know each other from school?"

Jimmy tilted his head to one side, looking at Duncan. "I didn’t go to Anderson," he said. "I got a scholarship to Dollar Academy and I had an aunt living in the Central Belt, so I moved down there. I came home for holidays and things, and then there was drama school, and then…" Jimmy trailed off.

"And then the world," said Duncan.

"Aye," said Jimmy. He smiled, wistfully. "Yeah, something like that."

"When were you last home?" Duncan asked.

Jimmy hummed, thinking about it. "Hogmanay," he said. "I came over to move my Dad across to Santa Monica. His memory is really – it's no' good. Alzheimer's," he added. "It's been getting worse and it's no' that easy to get full-time nursing on Fair Isle, and he finally agreed to move in wi' me." He shrugged, awkwardly. "Anyway, I was here nearly two weeks but I didnae really see much of Shetland except the inside o' packing boxes."

 "It sounds tough," said Duncan. "I'm sorry," he added. "I wasnae meaning to make you tell me about – private things."

"It's okay," Jimmy shrugged. "There aren't that many people I can talk to about it."

"Then," said Duncan, simply, and covered Jimmy's hand with his. "I'm glad."

They sat, quietly, for a while, watching the waves, shoulders touching, still holding hands. They had the beach to themselves.

The light had faded – as dark as it would ever get, this time of year – by the time Jimmy's voice broke the silence, barely more than a whisper. "Would it be all right if I saw you again tomorrow night?"

Duncan turned his head and met Jimmy's eyes. "I thought you were leaving tomorrow."

"I was," said Jimmy.