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Sullivan liked to think of himself as a calm and rational man, but some things were beyond the patience of a saint.
“Mince pie, sir?”
“No, thank you”, he replied curtly, suppressing a shudder as the scent of pastry and spiced fruit reached him.
The waiter bowed politely, moving on, and Sullivan sighed with relief. It was the third time he’d been offered food since he arrived, and the effort of refusing sent anxiety fizzing beneath his skin every time. It brought back too many memories of parties when he was a child. Of his father’s voice, shouting at him in corridors or hissing in his ear, berating him for being picky.
He winced, shaking his head to clear the memory. Slipping through the crush of bodies, he retreated to the shelter of one of the broad columns supporting the ceiling above. He pressed his back to the reassuring bulk of it, a comforting shield as he scanned the room around him.
The party was swarming with people – only to be expected at Lady Felicia’s annual Christmas do, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. The guests formed an ever-shifting tide of shimmering dresses and dinner jackets, lapping against the edges of the ballroom and spilling out into the rest of the house beyond. The endless drone of a hundred conversations competed with the hired band to deafen him, and the glimmer and sparkle of the chandeliers sent his vision into a giddy whirl.
He tugged at his collar, feeling sweat beading between his shoulder blades. He needed to get out of there. At the back of his mind, his father’s voice scolded him for being a disappointment, but he gritted his teeth, trying to block it out as he slipped along the wall seeking an exit. Squinting his eyes against the bright electric glare, he spotted a doorway through to another room and made a beeline for it, cringing in on himself as he pushed his way through the crowd.
He found himself in a parlour, busier than he’d hoped, but still smaller and quieter than the ballroom. There was a promising-looking bookcase against one wall, and he moved over to browse, hoping there would be something to his taste.
“...And then I said to Lord Montague – Monty, I said, I can’t imagine why you’d let yourself be talked into governing Rhodesia, of all places. Ghastly country, from what I’ve heard...”
The voice jabbed through Sullivan like a rusty knife, setting every nerve on edge. His shoulders tensed, cringing towards him, and his breath stuck in his throat as the newcomer’s friends guffawed. He turned his head just in time to see about six of them settle themselves none too daintily on the room’s plush sofas and chairs.
His heart sank like lead in his chest. With a quiet sigh, he returned the leather-bound first edition he’d been holding to its place on the shelf, and retreated silently from the room.
His head was beginning to pound as he worked his way through the maze of the ground floor. Spotting a side room, he headed towards it, then swiftly changed course when he saw Goodfellow through the doorway, chatting animatedly with Father Brown. They were both smiling brightly, clearly having a wonderful time, and the sight of it grated against the raw edges of Sullivan’s nerves. There was no way he could face either of them right then.
Pausing, he scanned his eyes over the crowd and spotted a distant doorway that looked like it led out to the grounds. He clung to the vision like a beacon of hope, keeping it in his sights as he wound a path through the crowd. A waiter spotted him and moved his way with a tray of champagne, and he veered aside, only to almost collide with another.
“I’m very sorry, sir. Mince pie?”
Sullivan swallowed down a scream of frustration. He shook his head, a wave of nausea flooding through him as the servant mercifully wafted away again.
He had to get out of there. The lights seemed even brighter now, and the muscles around his eyes hurt from squinting. The pounding in his skull was getting stronger, and he wanted to cover his ears against the relentless hubbub around him. But he had a reputation to uphold, and besides, he remembered all too clearly the sharp sting of his father’s hand the last time he did that in public.
Hunching deeper into his collar, he forced his way through the crowd, only for someone to turn unexpectedly. Her glass of champagne sloshed over, spilling onto his evening jacket, and he shuddered with disgust, feeling defiled.
“Hey, watch what you’re— Oh! Hello, Chief Inspector...”
Ignoring the woman’s greeting, he pushed onwards, her voice fading away behind him. The doorway was close now, just up ahead, swimming in and out of view as the tide of guests continued to shift.
When he reached it at last, he glanced back, scanning the crowd, but no one seemed to be looking his way. He could see Lady Felicia in the distance, laughing with a cluster of aristocrats, and one small knot of his tension eased. For all he wished she’d never talked him into coming to the party, she was still a good friend. It was good to know she wouldn’t be offended if he escaped for a few minutes to get some air.
Taking a deep breath, he slipped outside into the garden, closing the door softly behind him.
At once, the clamour from within was muted to a soft hum. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and stood up straighter, inhaling a deep breath of the frosty air. Already, the tense pressure in his skull was easing, the threatening headache beginning to fade away.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, the muscles of his neck and shoulders gradually relaxing as he gazed out across the garden. The heavy snow of the past few days lay undisturbed here, a blanket of pristine white spreading over lawns and flowerbeds as far as the eye could see. It was serenely beautiful, and better still, there wasn’t a single other person in sight.
The sun was just beginning to dip below the treetops, and the softer lighting was a relief after the electric glare within. As his senses adjusted away from overwhelm, the faint noise from beyond the door began to bother him. The last thing he wanted right then was to have to deal with any aristocrats who might come out and find him. Glancing around, he spotted a nearby corner and stepped around it, hoping no one would disturb him there.
A low wooden bench was nestled against the wall, protected enough to have only a thin covering of snow. He brushed it off with a sleeve, and while it was chilly to sit down on, the wool of his trousers was enough to keep him comfortable.
At the back of his mind, he could feel the old anxiety bubbling – the one that still half expected his father to appear and chastise him. Sullivan didn’t believe in sixth senses, but if he did, he’d have thought his father had one for whenever he slipped away from gatherings as a child. But his father would never have dreamed of visiting a godforsaken backwater like Kembleford, even for a countess’ party. And if he did, he wouldn’t have looked for his son there, tucked away in a hidden corner of the garden.
Taking slow, deep breaths, he filled his lungs with the crisp air, blessedly fresh after the stuffiness indoors. Gradually, the peace began to sink into him, easing the knots of tension until he could almost believe he was safe there.
Then he heard the soft click of the door just around the corner, and a brief surge of chatter from within before it closed again.
At once, his senses were on high alert, seized by a jolt of irrational panic that his father had found him. His hands clenched in his lap as he willed them not to clamp over his ears. He could almost hear the shouting already, rebuking him for running away again. Reminding him what a failure he was for—
“Oh ’ello. Didn’t expect to find you skulkin’ out here.”
Sullivan’s head whipped up, his heart pounding as his father’s image loomed large in his mind’s eye. Then his vision refocused, fear-driven fantasy replaced by the sight of Sid Carter leaning casually against the wall, looking down at him quizzically.
He suppressed a sigh of relief, trying to ignore the way his heart clenched in his chest at the sight of the man. Aloud, he said, “I needed some quiet time alone.”
“Fair enough.” Sid wrinkled his nose with a sniff, pushing himself off the wall. Nodding to the empty space on the bench, he added, “Mind if I join you?”
“You seem to have misunderstood the words quiet and alone.”
“Don’t be like that. You won’t even know I’m ’ere.”
Highly unlikely, in Sullivan’s opinion, but before he could protest, Sid had settled on the seat beside him, mercifully sitting as far away as the space allowed. Sullivan turned away, focusing his eyes on the view of the gardens draped in white like a Christmas cake. But the awareness of Sid pushed against the edge of his mind, prickling over his skin like electricity. He risked a glance from the corner of his eye and saw Sid lean back against the wall, breathing deeply of the frosty air and then exhaling with a soft sigh.
Quiet fell, and Sullivan counted the seconds in his mind. It was just shy of three minutes by his reckoning when Sid broke the silence again.
“Been out here long?”
“About ten minutes”, Sullivan replied tersely.
Sid gave a sage nod. “Not a fan of parties, I take it?”
Sullivan sighed. Apparently this conversation was happening, whether he liked it or not. “Speak for yourself”, he said. “You’re out here, too.”
Sid shrugged. “Been workin’ for Her Ladyship all day gettin’ things ready. Finally got all my jobs done, and I fancied a smoke. Thought I’d get some fresh air while I was at it. Speakin’ of which…”
He sat up, rummaging in his pockets and bringing out a pouch of tobacco and a packet of papers. Wrinkling his nose in concentration, he set about rolling a cigarette, then held it out to Sullivan. “Want one?”
Sullivan looked down at it with distaste. “No, I’m not interested in one of your cheap roll-ups, thank you.” Fishing in the inner pocket of his jacket, he bought out a packet of his own.
Sid shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Pulling out a box of matches, he struck one and lit his roll-up, then took a contented drag, looking out across the fading light of the garden.
Sullivan fished through his own pockets, then cursed under his breath.
“What’s up?” Sid glanced at him, eyebrows raised.
“I must have forgotten my lighter”, Sullivan mumbled around his cigarette, frowning with annoyance at himself. He rarely bothered to carry it since he only smoked in company, and he obviously hadn't thought to pick it up when he left the house.
“Here.” Sid struck another match, shuffling closer on the bench, and Sullivan could hardly turn it down at this point. He raised his hand, meaning to take the cigarette from his mouth, then froze. Sid was already leaning in unfathomably close, cupping the match flame carefully as he set it to the tip.
As it caught and began to smoke, Sid glanced up and met Sullivan’s eyes. For a second, neither moved. Sullivan held his breath, every thought evaporating from his head. He had the giddy, unnerving sense that Sid was reading him like a book, detecting something he’d rather not reveal. It was like being on the wrong side of one-way glass, knowing the person on the other side could see far more than he did.
Then Sid started back with a yelp, flicking the match away and frantically shaking his fingers.
Sullivan laughed, from relief at the broken tension as much as amusement. Turning away, he took a drag of his cigarette, then rested his hands on his knees to hide their trembling. He took slow breaths, but his heart kept racing on, his memory replaying the image of Sid’s face so close and those intense blue eyes searching his own.
Sid was only a couple of inches away from him on the seat now, and showed no sign of moving back to where he’d been before. When Sullivan risked a glance, he found him leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed, enjoying the peace and his cigarette.
Sullivan watched, unable to take his eyes from the curve of Sid’s throat and the angle of his jaw as his head rested against the wall. He’d clearly had a proper shave for once in his life, and Sullivan’s fingers itched with an irrational yearning to reach out and run his hand over the smooth skin.
Sid took another drag and hummed with pleasure, sending a dangerous warmth through the chief inspector. Sullivan’s gaze dropped to his lips, watching transfixed as they parted and breathed smoke into the frosty air.
Then Sid cracked one eye open and gave him a crooked grin. “Like what you see?”
“Hardly.” Sullivan bit back, flushing red at being caught staring. He turned away quickly, eyes fixed on the garden as though trying to memorise every detail.
He heard a huff of laughter and glared back over his shoulder, but Sid wasn’t looking at him. Instead, he was leaning back against the wall watching the sunset, his legs stretched out in front of him. Sullivan marvelled at the length of him, at how relaxed he was, spreading himself out like a cat in the sun, with no sign of guilt or shame at taking up space.
Perhaps he could emulate a little of that. It was just the two of them here, after all, and Sid would hardly complain if he unwound a little. He stretched his legs and crossed them at the ankle, and cautiously moved to lean back. Then he hesitated, twisting to give the wall an appraising look over his shoulder. Probably best not to risk it. He didn’t want limestone dust on the pristine back of his jacket.
For a few more minutes, they smoked side by side in companionable silence. But it seemed Sid Carter could never keep his mouth shut for long.
“So why were you out ’ere, anyway, if it wasn’t for a smoke?”
Sullivan glared at him. “I told you, I wanted quiet. Unfortunately, it seems to be in short supply.”
Sid ignored the jibe and took a slow drag of his cigarette, the smoke lingering in the still air when he exhaled. “I’m not gonna judge you, you know”, he said at last. “Doesn’t matter to me if you don’t wanna hang about with a bunch of toffs. Might think better of you for it, actually.”
“It’s not just that.” Sullivan bit his tongue; he’d meant to keep the words inside.
Sid turned his head against the wall and looked at him. “Too crowded for you, was it? I’ve noticed before you get all fidgety when there’s a bunch of people around.”
Sullivan glanced at him, startled. But perhaps it shouldn’t surprise him to find that one of Father Brown’s friends was more perceptive than he looked. He hesitated, but there was no judgement on Sid’s face. He seemed genuinely interested, and it had been so long since Sullivan felt able to open up to someone...
“It’s too loud in there”, he admitted haltingly, unused to speaking his feelings aloud. “Too many people behaving unpredictably. Lots of sudden noises and movements, and the lights are far too bright.” He shuddered, adding vehemently, “And people kept offering me mince pies. I hate mince pies.”
Sid’s eyes widened incredulously. “What kind of person doesn’t like mince pies?!”
“A person with working taste buds”, Sullivan bit back, glaring.
“If you say so.” Sid suppressed a snort.
Sullivan bristled, his shoulders tensing as he retreated back into himself. “I suppose you think I’m ridiculous”, he said defensively.
“Hey now, that’s not what I said.” Sid sat up, frowning. “Maybe you’re a bit unusual, but that’s not a bad thing. You’re intriguin’, that’s all I meant. I’ve never met anyone else like you.” He flicked ash from his cigarette, watching the flakes fall to the ground, before adding, “S’probably why I’ve never been able to forget you.”
Sullivan felt his heart perform a medically-impossible somersault in his chest as heat crept up the back of his neck. He cleared his throat, turning and stubbing out his cigarette against a flowerpot. “I should go back inside. People will be wondering where I am.”
But he couldn’t seem to bring himself to move. His legs stayed stubbornly in place, and when he glanced up at the light spilling from a window above, he shuddered at the thought of facing the party again.
“You don’t ’ave to if you don’t want to, you know. No one’s gonna care that much if you don’t hang around.” Sid scratched one arm distractedly. “Probably won’t even notice you’ve gone. S’not like they can tell who’s there and who’s not, in that crowd.”
Sullivan frowned. He should feel annoyed at the suggestion he was so expendable. He was a respected member of the community; surely someone would realise if he disappeared. But... he couldn’t get over the idea that he didn’t have to go back. That it wasn’t his duty in life to go to parties and pretend to enjoy them. No one had ever given him a choice like that before.
“It’s cold out here”, he pointed out uncertainly. “I can’t stay outside indefinitely.”
Sid stubbed out his cigarette, turning to give him a mischievous grin. “I can think of a way to warm you up.”
A new wave of heat flooded Sullivan’s skin, and he stared, feeling suddenly light-headed. “What do you—?” he began, but Sid was already on his feet. Before he registered what was happening, a handful of snow hit the wall by his head, exploding into a shower of snowflakes.
“Come and get me then!” Sid challenged, but Sullivan was already leaping up, diving to scoop up a snowball of his own as his competitive streak ignited.
Sid darted away, but he wasn’t small, and Sullivan was a damn good shot. The snowball caught him on the arm, spraying white over a patch of his dark sleeve. He laughed, dodging Sullivan’s next shot, then ducking to grab some more snow of his own.
Sullivan leapt aside with a grace utterly ruined when Sid’s snowball caught the side of his head. Freezing wetness exploded across his cheek, and the fire in his chest roared to full blaze.
Sid’s “Oh ’eck” barely registered as he refilled his hand in one swift movement. Then he charged forward as if he had a wanted killer in his sights.
Sid took off across the lawn at full pelt, but Sullivan was fitter and faster. In less than a minute, he got close enough to grab Sid’s collar and haul him closer, stuffing snow down the back of his neck. Sid yelled at the sudden chill, wriggling in the chief inspector’s grip and sending them both crashing to the ground.
Sullivan gasped as show chilled his face and seeped wetness into his hair and clothes. But Sid was already scrambling to get up, and that wouldn’t do at all. Adrenalin surged through him, and he forgot about the cold as he grabbed for Sid with one hand and more snow with the other.
Sid realised at once what he was up to and changed tactics, turning to push him back down. For a few minutes, they rolled around in the snow together, stuffing as much as they could down each other’s clothes and laughing with the sheer mad exhilaration of it all.
At last, breathless with laughter, they slowed to a halt. Sullivan’s swirling thoughts calmed and settled like papers scattered by the wind. Then the realisation of how he and Sid had landed swept every thought away.
Sid lay sprawled on his back in the snow, skin flushed red with cold and exertion. Sullivan straddled his thighs, palms planted in the snow to either side of his head as they both drew ragged breaths into tired lungs.
For a long moment, they stared at each other as their breathing gradually slowed. Sullivan’s heart pounded in his ears from more than just their wrestling, and when he dragged his eyes from Sid’s, he found himself staring at the man’s lips instead.
An ice-cold hand came up to cup his cheek, and he leaned instinctively into the touch as Sid murmured, “God, you’re gorgeous.”
Sullivan opened his mouth to reply, but no words came. His mind was blank, and his voice was stuck so deep in his chest, he wasn’t sure he could speak if he wanted to. Sid cocked his head in the snow, waiting, eyes searching his all over again. It was unsettling, being looked at so intently, and the discomfort of it broke the moment for him at last, restarting his brain.
Abruptly, he tried to stand, only to get tangled in Sid’s legs and have to climb off him awkwardly instead. When he made it to his feet, he turned away, his face burning as he brushed snow from his suit. The wretched stuff had soaked through his trousers, damp patches darkening the knees and cuffs, and he shuddered at the horrible texture of it clinging to his skin.
A heavy sigh behind him made him turn his head. Sid was sitting in the snow grimacing, and as Sullivan watched, he clambered gracelessly to his feet with a groan. Belatedly, the chief inspector realised he should probably have offered him a hand, but it was too late now. Instead, he stared dumbly as Sid twisted and turned, trying to brush the snow from his clothes. Having been lying in the stuff, he was covered in it, and the whole back of his suit was soaked through.
After a few seconds, he shook his head and gave up, turning to give Sullivan a wry smile. “So much for warmin’ us up. You alright?”
Sullivan cleared his throat and looked away. “I’m fine.”
“Glad to ’ear it.” Sid nodded towards the house. “S’pose we should get back inside and warm up properly.”
He started to walk away, and Sullivan moved without thinking, bounding forward to grab his arm. “Wait!”
“What?” Sid turned with a confused frown.
Sullivan dropped his hand hurriedly, eyes darting away before he forced himself to look back defiantly at Sid. “We can’t go in there looking like this”, he said, gesturing at the state of them both.
Sid shrugged. “Beats stayin’ out here. I dunno about you, but I’m freezin’.” He breathed on his cold-reddened hands to warm them, then stuffed them under his armpits. “Either I go back in there” – He nodded over his shoulder towards the house – “Or back ’ome to my caravan, and that’s not exactly cosy at this time of year.”
“You could come back to my place.” The words were out before Sullivan had time to think them, and he was as shocked as Sid to hear them aloud.
“You what?” Sid stared at him, then gave a huff of astonished laughter. “Are you serious? I’d’ve thought you’d be worried I’d clash with the wallpaper or somethin’.”
“I’m sure my sensibilities will survive”, Sullivan said dryly. “And unlike your caravan, my house has central heating and hot water.”
“Temptin’, but so does Montague.” Sid stepped closer, his expression morphing into a smirk. “Unless there’s somethin’ else you wanna offer to persuade me?”
Sullivan took a deep breath. His heart was pounding, and he could scarcely believe what he was about to do. But he was afraid he might never get another chance, and he wasn’t about to let this one slip away. Reaching out, he gently, hesitantly rested his hand against Sid’s cheek. He saw Sid’s eyes widen and felt him lean into the touch, and that was all the evidence he needed.
“Perhaps this will convince you”, he murmured, and leaned in to kiss him.
Sid’s lips were surprisingly soft and pliant. Sullivan was expecting them to be chapped and rough, and for Sid – if he responded at all – to quickly take control. But instead, he kissed back with surprising tenderness. His arms wound around Sullivan’s waist, and the chief inspector responded in kind, thrilling at the feeling of another man pressed against him. It was intoxicating, so easy to get lost in. Perhaps for once, he could let himself indulge…
Except he couldn’t, could he? They were still far too close to a house full of guests, any one of whom could look out at any moment and catch them. Reluctantly, he lowered his arms and stepped back, leaving the warmth of Sid’s embrace for cold, empty air.
“Mmh?” Sid blinked at him, coming out of a daze. “What’ve we stopped for?”
“I think we should continue this somewhere more private. That is, if I’ve managed to convince you?”
“Yeah, that’s done it.” Sid grinned, running a hand through his rumpled hair. “Come on then, Chief Inspector. Take me home.”
The sun had set, taking with it the last of the day’s warmth, and Sullivan shivered as the two of them made their way along the pathway home. But the clouds had finally cleared, and a bright moon shone down, making the snow-draped landscape glow with an almost mystical radiance.
Somewhere behind them, he knew, the party was still in full swing, dazzling and loud and overcrowded. But out here, it was just the two of them, with a cosy home waiting up ahead, and the promise that this Christmas might just be a happy one after all.