Chapter Text
He’s been dozing off. He feels around for his phone as it keeps buzzing, it’s by the armrest, and he stretches over and picks it up.
“It’s me…”
“Gavin…” In the brief silence Tom can hear the wind blowing on the other end. He blinks awake, glancing at his watch. “Did something happen?”
“Just a problem with the car. Mechanic’s here, shouldn’t be long now.” Troy pauses, and there is a clatter, the sound of metal. “I’m 30 minutes away, give or take.”
“You alright?” Tom pushes up his reading glasses and sits up. On his way here, he’s listened to the traffic report – there were no warnings of ice and snow.
“Yeah, it’s nothing,” Troy says. “A flock of bloody sheep, in the middle of the road, and when I tried to drive around… hold on -- ”
He is talking to the mechanic. With the wind rushing there are just a few fragments Tom catches, and it sounds like they are about to tow the car. He folds up the newspaper – he’ll finish it later. He hears Troy, louder now, something about being careful, then he’s back on the phone.
“Got stuck in the ditch, did you?” Tom says.
There is a brief shudder on the other end. “The M40’s jammed, all the way. I took an early exit… didn’t know I’d end up in sheep country.”
Tom leans back with a small smile. Even with the delay, Troy is fairly early. He must have gotten someone to cover the last leg of his shift. It’s a special day, with the trial of his triple murder having just closed – he must have been eager to get out of there. Probably dying to tell him about the verdict. Tom, too, saw to it that he'd get off early.
“So, this morning in court…?” he says.
“Guilty on all charges.”
Troy’s voice carries a grin, Tom knows it, and he knows the feeling, too, the elation that comes with getting the right kind of verdict. The verdict the case deserves – that the crime and victims deserve. He got a message from Troy earlier with the good news, and though it didn’t quite surprise Tom, the way things have been going, he still let out a breath of relief.
“What did he get?” he asks.
“Life, for all three.”
“Well, congratulations.”
“Clear as day," Troy says. "Don’t even think he’s going to appeal. And even if he does…”
“He might.” Tom pauses, thinks about it. “Regardless of that, you’ve done a good job tightening up the case. A very good job.”
“Think I have, yeah.”
The grin is still there, along with an excitement that’s almost short of breath, and Tom can see him, freezing in his best coat by the country road, content in a way that’s rare in life. And some of it echoes through Tom, reminding him of old victories, both his own, a while back, as well as the ones they’ve shared. It’s been a lot of work on Troy’s part. It’s good that he’s gotten the result he has.
“Hold on,” Troy says. He is talking aside, still to the mechanic, giving instructions. “Tom? The car’s sorted, I’m on my way.”
“Alright.”
Tom hangs up and slides his phone back to the armrest. For a moment he leans back again, closing his eyes. It’s a comfortable sofa. The place is warming up, and it’s quiet as always. The only road here ends by the cottage, and the next house is miles away. He picks up the paper, then puts it down again. The judge isn’t really the type, he thinks, for a big sentencing speech. But the closing statements would have been interesting.
The afternoon sun is falling in through the window and he walks over and looks out. The pine trees in the back of the garden – the last time they were still heavy with snow. Come spring he could bring some of his fishing gear. There is a small pond nearby, the agent has shown it to him. He walks into the kitchen and takes the cover off the capsule machine. He fills up the water, takes out a cup. He doesn’t share Troy’s enthusiasm for the thing, but it does make some decent coffee.
It's routine, almost. An afternoon, every two or three weeks. Joyce is at her parents’ and he leaves the station early, leaves the paperwork in his drawer for next week. The guilt is there. Of course it is, even now. But it never gets strong enough – it’s never as strong as what he feels, first thing in the morning when it’s one of these Fridays. The thing he feels when he gets up, knowing he’ll be coming here.
The coffee is ready, steaming, and he takes it back into the living room. He sits down on the sofa again, stretches out his legs. A steady warmth is rising up from the heater. Now and then, he arranges it so he can stay until Saturday. He likes those evenings. Likes the small embarrassment when they put on their pyjamas, right before bed. Doesn’t matter what they've been doing before that, it's still somewhat strange. Almost a surprise, as they look at each other across the bed. He is the first one to get up in the morning, and when Troy comes down at last, he hands him a cup of coffee. It’s good, in its own way. It’s enough. More than he has any right to want.
Then he remembers the last time. They got a little carried away just before heading home. He remembers sitting here, with Troy’s head on his stomach while both of them were catching their breaths. He was stroking Troy’s hair, slowly. It was sunny outside and there were blocks of snow falling from the roof, and he wanted…
He hears the car outside, rolling up to the house, then the dull screech of the brakes. Out in the hall, Troy kicks off his shoes and then he’s there, cold, flushed, grinning. Still in his coat, he sits down next to Tom. He’s got his weekend bag and his notebook – the notes from the trial. Tom reaches over. Cups the side of his face.
“What?” Troy watches him, somewhat surprised, and while he can barely sit still, he leans into Tom’s touch.
“It’s good you’re here.”