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Inspector Sullivan strides through the door of Kembleford Police Station one chilly Thursday morning and is immediately met by a problem.
“Morning, sir. Mr Carter’s here about the robbery suspect. He’s waiting for you in your office.” Goodfellow informs him with cheer.
“Thank you, Sergeant.” Sullivan nods to him, hanging his coat and hat on the stand. He subconsciously reaches up to smooth his hair.
Goodfellow doesn’t say anything else, and instead continues on with some paperwork with a warm smile.
Sullivan takes a deep breath before striding into his office. He tries to look purposeful, but inevitably fails when he sets eyes on Sid. He stops up short, his hand gripping the door handle.
Sid is sitting perched on the edge of Sullivan’s desk, flipping a paperweight over in his hand. Sullivan would ordinarily snap at him for disturbing his pristinely kept work space, but the lopsided grin on Sid’s face makes that somewhat impossible.
“Why are you on my desk, Carter?” It’s a little gruff and blunt, but that’s the best he can manage as he closes the door behind him with a sharp click.
Sid’s grin doesn’t falter in the slightest. “I know who did it.” He gestures with the paperweight as he talks, “James Robinson, he’s just been released from prison in Bristol. It’s got him written all over it. Last I heard he was heading off to London, so I’d call your mates at the Met if you want to catch him before he makes it to the docks.”
“Right. Thank you.” Sullivan says stiffly. He has a horrible feeling that this means his culprit is long gone. He files the information away in the ‘deal with it later’ part of his brain, and changes tack. “That doesn’t answer my other question.”
Sid is smirking at him, and he leans back on his hands. “Well where else am I supposed to sit?”
Sullivan’s face goes blank for a few seconds, and Sid can see the cogs turn as they try to make sense of the response. “You could sit in a chair, like most pleasant people do.”
“Yeah, but you’d get mad at me if I sat in your chair.”
Sullivan frowns. “Then sit in the chair on the other side of my desk. The chair you currently have your feet on.” He glares until Sid rolls his eyes and drops his feet.
“I could, but if I did that we wouldn’t be able to cuddle while I tell you all about the goings on in the criminal underworld.” Sid opens his arms and widens his eyes innocently. “Well, in the nicest way possible I’m not a snitch so I’m not telling you everything, but I’ll tell you some things.” He cocks his head in consideration before pouting and beckoning Sullivan towards him.
Sullivan swallows thickly. He takes a few hesitant strides away from the door, but then seems to find a confidence within himself and moves until he’s standing between Sid’s knees. Their faces are close and level, and Sullivan takes a deep breath.
Sid’s smile softens. “What I’m really here for, Inspector, is to make sure you’re alright. I haven’t seen you in a while.” Sid brushes his finger tips under Sullivan’s eye carefully. “You look tired.”
“I am,” Sullivan sighs, “I’m sorry I just — There’s been a lot going on recently, a lot of new cases. It’s all been rather... stressful. Don’t really get a break.” Sullivan’s voice sounds thin and stretched as he waves his hand vaguely in the air.
“Nothing to apologise for.” Sid shrugs, his voice low and sweet. “Can I help?”
Sullivan huddles forwards even closer, so that Sid can wind his arms around his waist. He could really use a cuddle right now.
It’s taken him a while to get used to this whole initiating-romantic-affection thing, but he’s learning. Slowly but surely, he’s getting better at it and he’s starting to understand that there isn’t anything wrong with needing a hug or a kiss sometimes. It helps that Sid is an enthusiastic teacher.
Sullivan gives in to the whims of his thudding heart and leans into Sid a little, letting him hold some of his weight. “You’ve already helped by giving me that name.” He hums.
Sid chuckles before drawing him in to press a warm smooch to his cheek.
Sullivan catches Sid’s jaw in his hand and pulls him in for a kiss. He’s slow and hesitant as usual, but he knows to just go with what feels right.
Sid lets him take the lead, and lets him angle his face and deepen the kiss just how Sullivan likes. It’s usually Sid that takes charge in situations like these, gently giving him little prompts and cues on what to do and where to put his hands. But they’ve been practicing this a lot, and it’s more than helped Sullivan to build up his confidence.
It’s very nice, blissful even, and Sullivan will never quite understand how he can feel so safe and loved while he’s in this little bubble with Sid. Kissing him is an escape from the realities and pressures of the real world. As long as they’re together, it really feels like nothing else matters.
The kiss deepens, but neither intend to take it too far. It’s kissing for the sake of kissing - kissing just to enjoy the feeling of being in each other’s arms. They would be lying if they said their hands didn’t start to wander a little, but the temperature in the room hovers around sweet, intimate and romantic. Sullivan tries to stop his knees going weak, but something about Sid’s warmth, his hands under his shirt and the scent of his cologne make that rather difficult.
It’s perfect, and they’re wrapped up on each other, until a brisk knock echoes from the office door and it swings open. “Sorry to interrupt sir but the Chief is on the— oh.”
Goodfellow, poor sweet Goodfellow, has walked in at possibly the least opportune moment.
Sid and Sullivan freeze on the spot.
Sid’s hand is still resting dangerously low on Sullivan’s hip, and his hair is mussed at the back. Sullivan’s tie is skewed at his throat and his shirt is unbuttoned slightly. They’re both blushing furiously and breathing far more heavily than one would expect for a casual interview. There’s no brushing this one off — they’ve been well and truly caught in the act.
Goodfellow, for some inexplicable reason, carries on as normal. He smiles in his usual, cheery way, and acts like he hasn’t just seen something that is by all means illegal happening inside a police station. “All it is, sir, is that the Chief’s on the phone and he wants a word about that arson case near Salisbury. I can tell him to ring back later if you’re busy—”
“— No! It’s fine I’ll - um, right, yes, I— I’ll be there right away. Thank you, Sergeant.”
Goodfellow nods and smiles again, leaving the room just as quickly as he’d entered.
“I’d better — take that call I—”
Sid runs his knuckles under Sullivan’s chin. “Tommy. Tommy. Look at me.” Sullivan sheepishly raises his eyes to meet Sid’s, and tries to pretend they’re not still glassy. “Don’t worry about it, alright? The sergeant won’t say anything, I’m sure. I’ll see you later, hm? Mrs M’s been missing you at the Presbytery, you know.”
“Will you—“ Sullivan tugs anxiously at one of the buttons on the front of Sid’s shirt. “Will you stay at the police cottage tonight? I…” He’s certain he’s bright red, “I miss you,” He mumbles.
Sid’s grin is blinding. “‘Course I will. I’ll bring one of Mrs M’s hotpots too, keep you well fed.” He presses a kiss to his temple. “Now come on, you, the Bigwig wants a word.” Sid helps to tidy him up a little bit, chuckling at his slightly dazed and well-kissed expression.
It’s not like Sid’s holding up much better either, and Sullivan swallows his blushes when sees the looks Sid keeps giving him.
Once they’re some semblance of respectable human beings, they emerge, rather sheepishly, from the office.
Goodfellow is almost certainly deliberately ignoring them, and he fills in the logbook in front of him with more than due diligence.
Sullivan clears his throat. “Thank you, Mr Carter, for your help. We’ll get back to you if we need further information.”
Sullivan could almost slap Sid for the way he’s grinning from ear to ear. “Not a problem, Inspector.”
Sid gives his hip one final parting squeeze before he’s ducking out of the station.
Sullivan takes a shaky breath and represses the urge to run to the doorway and watch him go.
For the rest of the day, Sullivan is on edge.
Goodfellow hasn’t said anything about the situation he walked in on earlier, and neither has Sullivan. He can’t help feeling they’re both skirting round the topic.
He’s hoping that maybe Goodfellow has forgotten, or maybe he thought they were just having a pleasant, respectable conversation. He knows he’s kidding himself, but he’s still holding out hope.
In the end, Goodfellow is the braver man and broaches the subject late in the evening, right towards the end of their shift.
It’s just the two of them in Sullivan’s office, working over some last minute details on a case. Sullivan is long-since used to treating Goodfellow as his deputy, and often thinks he should write to the Chief Commissioner to recommend a pay upgrade. It’s only fair given the amount of work Goodfellow does.
It’s during quiet lull, where both of them are reading wordlessly in the lamplight, that Goodfellow speaks. “Sir I— You and Sidney Carter, sir.”
Sullivan tenses. He doesn’t take his eyes off the papers in front of him, turning one over nonchalantly and hoping he can play this off. “Yes?”
Goodfellow drops his voice slightly, and rests his own papers down in front of him. He folds his hands on top of them and frowns like he’s thinking intensely — like he’s almost unsure whether to say anything or not. “I just— I just wanted you to know that I’m very happy for you both.”
Sullivan does look up then, surprised. He isn’t sure why he’s surprised, as Goodfellow has always been a good man, but he’s learnt from experience to always keep doubt in the back of his mind. “Oh— Sergeant I— I’m not sure what you—“
Goodfellow chuckles softly and holds up his hand. “Sir, please, don’t worry. I know what I saw and I’m not going to say anything to anyone. I just —“ Goodfellow nods with a grin. “You seem happier, sir. You know, things have been ever so stressful lately and I know it’s been ever so hard for you but you seem like you’ve been taking better care of yourself. Or at least someone else has been taking better care of you. It’s nice to see.”
Sullivan feels himself blushing. “We’ve not— it’s not been that long but we—“
“I should hope young Carter has been courting you properly, sir!?” Goodfellow exclaims, sounding almost indignant.
Sullivan allows himself to grin shyly. “Rest assured he has been, Carter can be… surprisingly charming, when he wants to be.” He allays the sergeant’s fears. He isn’t one for openly expressing his emotions, but he feels like he can trust Goodfellow. “It is… rather nice, I suppose. I’m… It’s nice, to have someone there.”
Goodfellow looks almost proud. “I hope things go well for you, sir.”
Sullivan can see that he’s happy, plainly so. But he just can’t help himself, and just has to check something. “Sergeant I— I hope this won’t affect any— I don’t want this affecting the station.” What he really means is I hope this won’t affect our friendship, but he isn’t quite sure how to phrase that.
Goodfellow’s brow crinkles softly. “It won’t, sir, you have my word. It’s never been a problem to me I— I’m sure I can trust you with this sir, but — it’s Annie’s brother, you see. We’ve always sort of known that his ‘lodger’ wasn’t just… well, they’re family, the two of ‘em. They love each other with all their hearts. And no matter what anyone tries to tell me there isn’t nothing wrong with that.” He looks proudly defiant.
Sullivan tries not to well up. “Thank you, Sergeant.” He chokes out, sincerely.
“Don’t you worry about it, sir.” Goodfellow says, and Sullivan is immensely grateful that he doesn’t bring up the fact that he looks like he might cry.
And with that, they return to their paperwork, quiet but diligent.
Sullivan’s heart settles a little more easily in his chest. Goodfellow is a true friend. Plus, there’s only half an hour of his shift left, and he’s going home to hot meal, a warm cup of tea, and Sidney Carter’s arms.