Chapter Text
Greg raised one hand to farewell his colleagues, a half-smile sliding from his face as the lift doors closed. His day had been fine. Progress on his cases was fine. One new scene, which was fine for him, though probably not to the poor woman. Coffee was fine, lunch was fine, the meeting at the end of the day was fine.
Fine.
As he walked towards the tube station, skirting around pairs and groups walking more slowly than he, Greg realised a car was following him. He hadn’t seen Mycroft in over a month, but apparently tonight was the night. Something in his belly twisted at the thought he was awaiting Mycroft’s favour.
Fine.
Normally Greg was happy to climb into the car and be taken to Mycroft’s club. A decent meal he didn’t have to cook himself and quiet air shared with another person was enough on most of those nights, even though he was dropped back at his empty flat afterwards. Greg might need to warm his own bed sheets but it wasn’t lonely. Not really. Not on those evenings. It was a break from his life, a break from fine...
The car followed him, sliding to a stop a little ahead of Greg, as though he might not have noticed it. Greg glanced, and his mind flashed to the how the rest of the night would go. Fleeting company, a false connection, the sense he belonged somewhere… and then back to his life.
Something in him broke, and he drew in a sudden breath, shaky with the realisation.
It wasn’t fine.
It was a glimpse into a life he couldn’t have, a cruel tease of something out of his reach before he was deposited back in his own life, where fine was the best he could do.
I can’t do this anymore.
Swallowing down the fear at his own decision, Greg continued past the car. Not today. Fine was fine, but he couldn’t do more. Not today, not with fine sitting so precariously. He shook as he passed, holding his eyes to the front. Please don’t let Mycroft be in the car, he thought to himself. How would he explain this? It was hardly even clear in his head, and even a moment of questioning might shatter his fragile resolve in this impulsive moment.
I can’t tease myself with this anymore.
‘Detective Inspector,’ a voice called.
Greg ignored it.
There wasn’t another call; the driver would be reluctant to leave the car unattended. Greg continued, and with a sudden burst of panicked impulse, he crossed a road and made his way into a tube station. The next train came in seconds, and he stayed on until it felt right to get off. He was somewhere. Somewhere else, nowhere hear his flat, but somewhere.
He was fine.
A park, a bench, a slowly darkening sky; Greg sat until the first fat raindrop hit his temple. As though the prompt he needed, he stood and started back toward the tube station. He’d have to pay more attention this time if he wanted to get home.
‘Gregory.’
Surely not.
‘Gregory.’
He couldn’t stop, the rain now landing regularly on his shoulders and head. Suddenly, the rain stopped and the sky went dark. Step faltering, Greg glanced up to see an umbrella over his head. He blinked. Evidently, Mycroft moved a lot faster than Greg gave him credit for.
And now his umbrella is covering you.
He turned. The umbrella, larger in diameter than he anticipated, covered both himself and Mycroft. It was black overhead, making it difficult to see Mycroft’s expression, but Greg would bet it was impassive. Greg waited. He wasn’t up for banter, and asking a direct question didn’t always result in a direct answer. So he waited.
‘You did not take the car,’ Mycroft said finally.
‘No,’ Greg replied.
‘Might I ask why not?’
Greg shrugged. The shadow of the reason, huge and evasive, loomed. Too hard to explain. If he could just go home, everything would be fine again. Bland, boring, aching… but fine. Having this conversation might change things, and then they wouldn’t be fine anymore. Greg didn’t know if he could deal with that.
‘I just didn’t,’ Greg said.
‘I apologise,’ Mycroft said carefully. ‘If my recent absence was inconvenient.’
‘No,’ Greg replied. He sighed. ‘It wasn’t. Things were fine.’
‘Fine,’ Mycroft repeated. ‘I have not heard you describe your life as such.’
Greg shrugged. ‘My life’s fine,’ he said. Except when I’m with you. But it’s not real, and I can’t keep pretending. It’s too hard to go back and forward, so we have to stop. But I can’t tell you. ‘It’s all fine.’
‘Fine,’ Mycroft repeated again.
Greg thought Mycroft would speak again, but he didn’t. Only the regular tap-tap of raindrops on the umbrella broke the silence. Greg breathed, wondering if his shoes were getting wet. It didn’t matter, he had other shoes. His mind drifted, and when Mycroft did finally break the silence, it took Greg a couple of seconds to process the words.
‘Will you allow me to drive you home?’
Greg considered the question.