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kat_lair***
Title: the reason comes on the common tongue (of your loving me)
Author:kat_lair / Mistress Kat
Fandom: Shetland
Pairing: Jimmy/Duncan
Tags: First Kiss, First Time, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Domestic, Living Together, Post-Season/Series 03
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 12,158
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing.
Summary: Post-season 3, in which Duncan stays and Jimmy finds the new domestic situation much more to his liking than he expected. - The last six months of having another adult in the house, having someone to come home to or someone to wait for have been… Nice. Better than nice, much, much better. And even if Duncan might still leave, will probably leave, Jimmy realises with a sudden and devastating clarity that he doesn’t want him to.
Author notes: Written for![[archiveofourown.org profile]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/b164c54b26e4/-/archiveofourown.org/favicon.ico)
gothyringwald's prompt 'their first kiss' for Round 27 of ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
smallfandomfest . Many thanks to margaret_r for diligent beta duty. Title is from Moment's Silence (Common Tongue) by Hozier.
the reason comes on the common tongue (of your loving me) on AO3
“You want a drink?” Jimmy asks.
On the other side of the kitchen counter, Duncan looks like he’s blinking back tears, although he’s smiling too. Jimmy knows just how he feels and that’s no empty phrase. Their little girl, all grown up, leaving to travel the world.
“Yeah, alright,” Duncan says, parking his arse on one of the barstools.
Jimmy pulls out a bottle and pours them each a finger. Maybe two.
They drink in silence.
Eventually, Duncan chuckles. “Didn’t take you for a hugger,” he says, glancing at Jimmy from under his eyebrows. There’s a smile in his voice, a crooked one on his lips. Jimmy thinks about blustering about it but there’s no meanness in Duncan’s tone.
“Eh, you needed it,” he says. Jimmy had too of course, and he’s guessing Duncan knows it.
As if in acknowledgment, he reaches out to briefly clink their glasses together. “You might be fit to join the human race, after all.”
Jimmy rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.
***
He doesn’t expect the process of ‘joining the human race’ to include so much of Duncan Hunter. But the man is still there, several weeks later, by which point they’ve had three video calls with Cassie. She looks more tanned, more grown up each time, and it’s breaking Jimmy’s heart as much as it’s making it burst with pride.
“That’s fatherhood for you,” Duncan says.
He’s cooking again; another stir-fry. Jimmy would give him shit about only knowing how to cook one thing except he knows that’s not true and also Duncan’s stir-fries are delicious.
“Ay,” he agrees. “Wouldn’t change it for the world.”
“You don’t have to.” Duncan pulls out the bowls, no longer having to check where everything is, and dishes out the food. “You can have both you know; fatherhood and the world.”
It’s not the first comment of its kind, and it probably won’t be the last. Jimmy can’t even be annoyed about it, not after Cassie had told him more or less the same thing although thankfully she doesn’t know just how accurate Duncan’s earlier assessment of Cassie being the only reason Jimmy got out of bed after Fran’s death had been.
It hasn’t been true for a while now though, no matter Duncan’s less than subtle hints.
“I’m fine,” Jimmy says, for what feels like the thousandth time. “I don’t need a babysitter. Or a life coach.”
Duncan pauses with chopsticks – because of course he’d sourced chopsticks from somewhere, though not from within the house that’s for sure – halfway to his lips, and stares at him.
“What?” Jimmy shovels food into his mouth, starving after a long day at the station. “This is good.”
“That’s not… You do know that’s not what I’m trying to be,” Duncan says. He’s looking serious, something Jimmy isn’t still used to seeing. “I’m saying this as…” There’s just a moment of hesitation, enough that it pings Jimmy’s cop instincts, “…as your friend,” Duncan finishes. His gaze drops back to his bowl and he picks up his chopsticks again.
Jimmy exhales. It’s not what Duncan said that’s the surprise – frustrating as the man is, they’d moved beyond cordial co-existence due to necessity a long time ago, first for Cassie’s sake but it had turned out to be a decent foundation for something deeper – it’s that he’d said it out loud.
Then again, Duncan has always been more open about his feelings, both the good and the bad.
Jimmy could laugh this off but…
“Yeah,” he says. His voice comes out kind of gruff. “I know.” He knocks their legs together under the table and is rewarded by Duncan’s quicksilver smile.
***
That Jimmy eventually finds Duncan sitting at the dining room table with his divorce papers spread in front of him both is and is not a surprise. Duncan and Mary haven’t had the most harmonious relationship for as long as Jimmy remembers, and the fact that Duncan hasn’t even tried to repair things this time around meant that the dissolution of the matrimonial bonds was kind of expected.
What Jimmy had not expected was for that to play out in his house, at his dining room table. Because, somehow, Duncan is still here.
“Twice divorced now,” Duncan says, staring at the papers. He’s already signed them, Jimmy can see, the pen tossed onto the table. “I’ve become a cliché.”
“Ah now, mate,” Jimmy says, clapping Duncan on the back on his way to the kitchen. “You were always a cliché. This don’t change that.”
It has the desired effect and Duncan guffaws, finally gathering the papers into a pile and shoving them back into a waiting envelope. “Thanks a lot,” he says. “Feel much better now.”
Jimmy comes back with a bottle of cognac and two glasses, dropping into a chair. “I think you do,” he says, pouring a generous measure for each of them. “You weren’t happy.”
Duncan wraps his hand around a glass. “I wasn’t unhappy,” he comments, eyes flicking briefly to Jimmy’s face, before he takes a sip.
It’s the saddest thing Jimmy’s heard him say, probably the most honest too. At least when it comes to himself.
Fran had always said that she and Duncan had gotten divorced because they couldn’t think of a reason to stay married other than Cassie and been wise enough to realise that was not fair on anyone, least of all their daughter. Seems like it hadn’t been any different with Mary.
***
The thing with Asha fizzles out. They try. By god they try. And that’s the problem. Relationships should not be this much hard work.
When they finally call it a day, less than three months after Asha is out of the hospital, there’s nothing but relief on either side. He thinks in time she might turn into a friend but it’s too soon for that still.
Somehow, it’s others that seem more upset about the news than Jimmy himself.
“Are you sure, dad?” Cassie asks. She’s wearing a sunhat and the image behind her shows the edge of the jungle. Edison’s parents’ estate is… impressive. “Relationships are all about compromise.”
Jimmy bites down on the laughter that threatens to bubble up. Who would’ve thought he’d live to see the day of his daughter giving him relationship advice, with all the wisdom of her months-long romance?
“I know, darling. But there was nothing to compromise over. It just… It wasn’t working. And,” he holds up a hand to stop Cassie’s protests, “there’s no point in forcing it.”
Cassie sighs, leans back on her chair. “I just… I liked her.”
This time Jimmy laughs. “You never even met her!”
Cassie chuckles. “Okay, true. But I liked…” Her expression goes soft. “I guess I just liked knowing you had someone there.”
“Sweetheart…” Jimmy leans forward; the need to wrap his arms around his baby girl is almost a physical ache. “You don’t have to worry about me. That’s my job.”
“Yes, but I—”
The sound of the front door opening interrupts their conversation.
“I’m back,” Duncan hollers unnecessarily. There’s a muted thump of an overnight bag hitting the floor. “Did I miss it?” He comes to the living room, still wearing his coat, a grin splitting his face when he spots the laptop. “Cassie!”
“Hey!” Cassie smiles in greeting. Duncan has been in Glasgow for business for three days and the autumn weather made flights unpredictable. He’d been worried about missing their scheduled chat with Cassie, even though it wouldn’t have been a big deal to postpone it.
“How’s my best girl?” Duncan asks, beaming. He’s leaning over Jimmy’s shoulder to see the screen, arms resting on the back of the sofa. His coat is damp, and he smells of rain. Underneath that there is a faded note of the by now familiar cologne, something citrusy and bright that makes Jimmy think of the Mediterranean and sun-warmed skin.
“I’m good,” Cassie says, launching into the repeat of the news she’s already shared with Jimmy. After a few minutes, Duncan finally rounds the sofa to actually sit on it. Jimmy tries to nudge the laptop nearer, but Duncan is having none of it, instead swinging his arm on to the sofa back behind Jimmy’s head, practically leaning against his side to make sure they are both on camera.
After a while, when they’ve moved on to new topics and Duncan is showing no signs of doing it himself, Jimmy reaches out and tugs the scarf around his neck loose. Duncan just lets him, though thankfully the action prompts some kind of muscle memory and he starts finally unbuttoning his coat.
On the laptop screen, Cassie giggles, and she and Jimmy exchange an eyeroll while Duncan goes “What, what? What’s so funny?” still struggling out of his coat, refusing to stand up to do it.
Cassie says goodnight not soon after – although it’s only late afternoon where she is – and the screen goes blank. Jimmy and Duncan sigh in unison and then chuckle at themselves.
“Okay,” Jimmy says after a few seconds of companionable silence. “I’m going to make some tea. You need warming up.”
Duncan huffs, and his eyeroll is exactly the same as Cassie’s, but he squeezes Jimmy’s shoulder in thanks as they get up.
“You can have a slosh of whiskey in it if you’re good,” Jimmy says, halfway to the kitchen.
“Hey!” Duncan’s voice is warm with laughter and mock indignation. “I’m always good!”
Jimmy turns to look, a retort already on his tongue, but something about the way Duncan looks just then stays it. He’s not doing anything special; gathering up his clothes, carelessly shed on the floor by the table, folding the coat over his arm, stuffing a stray glove into its pocket. The room is illuminated only by the soft glow of the corner lamp, and the fire Jimmy had started earlier but which is now slowly dying. Duncan himself looks tired, but happy, still wearing a smart suit jacket and a tie, meaning he’d rushed to the airport straight from his last meeting.
“What?” he asks, and Jimmy realises he’s been staring. “Not convinced? I really want that whiskey, Jimmy, and I’m not above begging.” It’s a joke, of course it is, but the late hour, and the sleepy drawl of Duncan’s voice, the way his accent thickens whenever he’s freshly back from a trip as if in some unconscious identity confirmation, conspire to make it sound like something not funny at all.
Jimmy shakes his head, hoping it looks like exasperation and not like he’s trying to clear his thoughts. “Save that for something that really matters,” he says, and then bites the inside of his mouth before anything more dangerous escapes it.
He’s in the kitchen and filling the kettle when Duncan’s voice drifts after him. It sounds like “You let me know what that is, Jimmy” but he can’t be certain over the sound of water, which is probably for the best.
***
Autumn turns to winter and the Shetland weather lives up to its reputation. Jimmy and his team get busy with the usual; mostly dealing with accidents, and property damage that’s probably the wind but could be bored local kids defying it and needs to be checked just in case.
They finally receive Tosh’s replacement, several months after she moved to Edinburgh and her post became vacant. Ailith is only a couple of months out of her initial training, but she’s also older, in her late 30s, which means she comes with a heap of experience, even if not specifically in the police.
“Thought I’d try policing as my second career,” she tells them, grinning, the first day. So far, however, she has refuses to share what her first career was in, seemingly delighted by the variety of guesses Sandy and Billy come up with, ranging from ‘chef’ to ‘sheep farmer’ to ‘vicar’. Jimmy joins in occasionally, enjoying the easy camaraderie although he misses Tosh fiercely.
It’s late November when the first proper winter storm hits, the rain turning to sleet, and then to icy snow within hours, the wind howling like a hungry beast. And when the call comes of a little boy gone missing, it’s difficult to shake the image.
There’s no suspicion of foul play at this stage, just an incredibly ill-timed fight between the kid and his dad, which had prompted ten-year-old Ranald to do what many ten-year-olds did and run away. Unfortunately, like most ten-year-olds, he had not consulted the weather forecast before that.
Luckily, his parents had not waited too long to call for help.
“It was the stupidest thing,” Mr Wallis says, face etched with worry. “He wanted to go to his friend’s birthday party on Saturday. But it’s also his Nana’s seventieth then and…” He runs a hand over his face, his wife holding onto his other hand.
“It’s not your fault,” she says. “Ranald’s done this before, just headed out to cool off, but he’s never this long and the storm…” She glances at the window. The snow won’t last, melting almost as soon as it hits the ground, but while it’s falling, it plays havoc with visibility, not exactly making a search operation easy. The Wallis’ are both still in their outdoor gear, having clearly gone out to look for their son first before alerting the authorities.
“She’s right,” Jimmy says. “That’s actually pretty mature for a boy his age, to go walk off his anger.” It’s a coping mechanism Jimmy’s used a time or twenty himself. It just happens to be best suited for the summer.
“You’re exhausted already,” Ailith is saying to the worried parents. “Why don’t you stay here in case Ranald comes back, or someone calls.”
Billy and Sandy are already driving around the local roads, slowly and with extra lights, just in case the kid has had the sense to find a road or… Well, there are other, worse options, but Jimmy’s not going to say any of them out loud yet.
He and Ailith get a map out and cross off the areas the Wallis’ have already searched. Of course, Ranald could be wandering around, but it’s a viable strategy for now. If the four of them don’t find him by the time night falls, Jimmy will alert search and rescue, and pull together a team of local volunteers for a proper grid search. Duncan – whose connections will make that happen quicker than any official channels Jimmy can use – is just waiting by the phone.
Jimmy had called him from the car on the way to the Wallis’, and Duncan had taken the key information down, and promised to be ready to mobilise half the island if necessary.
“Thanks, Duncan. I appreciate this.” There was still a part of Jimmy that expected everything to be a fight, and the fact that Duncan’s reaction had been nothing but helpful and downright competent had been a relief.
“Anytime, Jimmy.” A beat of silence, long enough for Jimmy to be aware of Ailith shifting on the front seat, the steady squeak of window wipers. “I hope you know that?”
There was just enough lilt to the words to make them into a genuine question, and something about it had hit him hard, sinking like a hot stone into the calm, still pond of Jimmy’s focus.
“Yeah. I…” He’d had to clear his throat, the warmth of Duncan’s words spreading outwards from where they seemed to have lodged in his chest. “I know that.”
“Good.” Duncan was smiling, he could tell just from his voice. “Take care, okay?”
“…Okay.”
Once he’d hung up and confirmed with Ailith that Plan B was ready to deploy, she’d only nodded in acknowledgement. But the glance she’d darted in his direction had been far too akin to one she tended to save for suspect interviews.
Outside the cosy warmth of the Wallis’ kitchen, the storm is showing no signs of easing up although the snow is back to sleet at least. Jimmy and Ailith pull on their waterproofs and test their radios, before heading off in the direction of the neighbouring fields, and the unfarmed land and cliffs beyond them. The afternoon light is waning rapidly, and it doesn’t take long until they’re switching their torches on, staying close enough to still hear each other. The ground is treacherous and slick with snowmelt. It won’t take more than one misstep here to end up with a broken angle.
That, in fact, turns out exactly what happened to Ranald. Ailith hears him first, after a good two hours of hiking, now in full darkness; a faint “Here! Help!” in response to one of their calls.
They find the boy huddled besides a crumbling stonewall. He’s cold and miserable but, apart for the ankle, unharmed. He puts on a brave face but clings to Jimmy’s coat when he and Ailith help him up. Luckily, they don’t have to carry the kid all the way back, only to the nearest road, where Sandy and Billy pick them up.
They drive straight to the hospital, the wind making the car sway on the exposed stretches despite the five people in it. Raland’s parents are not far behind – Billy having phoned them with the good news as soon as Jimmy had contacted him and Sandy – and soon Raland is enduring the Talking To of his short life, interspersed with relieved hugs.
Everyone is exhausted but happy as they troop back to the station. Despite the protective clothing, Jimmy can feel a trickle of rainwater down the back of his neck and the collar of his jumper is damp, the cooling sweat making him shiver even more. As if on cue, his stomach makes a rumbling sound, reminding him that breakfast is a distant memory and lunch had been one of those things he’d meant to get to just before the Wallis call.
He thinks of the waiting paperwork and has pretty much decided to leave it to the morning by the time they pull up to the station.
“Just grab your things and go home,” Jimmy tells Sandy and Ailith as they climb the steps. “I’ll just check with Billy that there’s nothing else that’s come in.” Billy had gotten a lift back to station earlier with a friend of his who was a nurse and just finishing his shift. “But barring a murder, we better call it a night.”
Ailith and Sandy nod, the lack of argument telling.
Turns out, Billy is not alone at the station though.
“Duncan?” Jimmy’s voice startles the other man and he turns around from where he’s been perched on Billy’s desk, chatting. “What are you doing here? Is something—?”
“What’s this?” Duncan interrupts him by stepping right into Jimmy’s personal space and running a hand over his wet hair. “Incapable of wearing a hat, are you? You realise I’m telling Cassie?”
“Uh?” Jimmy fights the sudden urge to duck his head, acutely aware of the amused attention of his colleagues. It only ratchets higher when Duncan uses his grip on the back of Jimmy’s neck to matter-of-factly pull him into a quick, tight hug.
“Glad you’re okay,” he murmurs under his breath, before pulling away. “The kid too, eh? Billy rang me,” he offers by way of explanation. “Thought everyone would be cold and hungry. So I brought soup.”
“It’s really good too,” Billy says, raising his half-full cup in illustration.
While Duncan busies himself with pouring out potato and leek soup from his thermos, Jimmy takes a moment to duck to the locker room – a glorified name for the tiny anteroom by the toilets – to rid himself of his outdoor gear. Maybe he takes longer than strictly necessary to wash his face and hands, to scrub his hair with a towel and to hang everything just so for optimal drying, but there’s a flutter of sudden nerves in his stomach, his heartbeat just a tad too fast, and he can’t seem to shake either. Jimmy leans on the sink for half a minute, until his breathing comes steady again. He avoids his own reflection, instead keeping his eyes on the cracked porcelain.
When he finally gets back to the main room, there’s a steaming cup on the corner of his desk.
“I’ve got to…” He waves at his computer and Duncan only nods, seemingly content scrolling through his phone.
“There’s nothing urgent, boss,” Billy says over his shoulder, in the middle of a handover with Niamh who has already arrived for her night shift.
Jimmy checks his personal email just in case, sipping his soup. It is delicious, but that’s not exactly a surprise. For all of Duncan’s faults, cooking has never been one.
“You ready?” Duncan asks some twenty minutes later. And okay, Jimmy is mostly deleting spam from his junk folder by that point, dawdling for no reason he can really name.
The station is empty; only Niamh sitting at the desk she shares with Billy, the call monitoring programme up on the screen while she sorts through some filing. Sandy and Ailith have clearly already left.
“Yeah,” Jimmy says, locking his computer. He has to steady himself on the desk a bit as he gets up, the day catching up with him, but manages to pull on his coat and fish his car keys out of the pocket without further incidents. “Thanks for waiting. Let’s go.”
Duncan looks at him, then at the rain still hammering the windows, and plucks the keys from Jimmy’s fingers and drops them by the keyboard. “Leave the car,” he says. “You’re practically asleep on your feet. I’ll drop you off in the morning.”
Jimmy gives up without a fight and follows Duncan to his car. The heating is cranked high enough that he dozes off on the drive home, and by the time they pull up to the house he’s weaving badly enough to almost hit the doorway. Seems like Duncan had made the right call there.
“Don’t fall asleep in your wet clothes!” Duncan calls after him and Jimmy waves a tired hand in acknowledgement before closing his bedroom door.
He is, in fact, tempted to just collapse face first into the mattress but manages to struggle out of his outer layer before climbing between the covers. He expects to pass out immediately, but the walk from the car must have revived him somewhat because it doesn’t happen.
Jimmy turns to his side, curling a little around one of the extra pillows he keeps in the bed out of habit, and lets the warm feeling from earlier trickle back from where he’d pushed it to the back of his mind.
It has been so long since he’s had someone outside of work to rely on like this. So long since there was someone to care if he’d eaten or too tired to drive. Not that Cassie hadn’t cared, of course she had, but she was his daughter, it was his job to worry about her, and to shield her from the rest. It wasn’t up to her to take care of her old dad, she had her own life to lead.
But the last six months of having another adult in the house, having someone to come home to or someone to wait for have been… Nice. Better than nice, much, much better. And even if Duncan might still leave, will probably leave, Jimmy realises with a sudden and devastating clarity that he doesn’t want him to.
He falls asleep trying to decide if this is a realisation that he needs to do something about or whether it’s better to just let it be.
***
The next morning brings little answer, though it does bring Duncan with a cup of coffee and a long monologue about the stock market that goes entirely above Jimmy’s head, especially since he doesn’t even pretend to follow it. Duncan doesn’t seem to mind, seemingly only taking an opportunity to talk through his decision on whether to invest in a new company or not. By the time he drops Jimmy at the station as promised, he’s apparently settled on a ‘not yet’ and seems satisfied with it.
“That’s cautious of you,” Jimmy comments. He’s leaning back into the car, one hand on the roof, one holding the door open. “Thought you were more of a risk taker.”
He means it as a harmless quip really, more of an excuse to prolong the conversation than anything else, but Duncan doesn’t immediately respond. When the silence stretches, Jimmy ducks his head properly back into the car, frowning. “Duncan?”
Duncan’s slightly turned toward him, but his hands are still resting on the steering wheel, left thumb tapping a restless rhythm against it. In the radio, David Bowie is singing about modern love.
“You reckon I should just go for it?” Duncan asks.
Jimmy frowns, confused. “Don’t you usually?”
“I do,” Duncan agrees. “Just hasn’t always turned out so well.”
Jimmy’s not sure what to say. As far as he knows, Duncan’s done very well for himself with his investments, as evidenced by the car he’s driving, and the money Jimmy knows he’s channelling into a savings account in Cassie’s name each month.
“Alright,” Duncan says finally. He’s smiling but seemingly at himself rather than at Jimmy and there’s a twist to his lips like his amusement is tempered with something that stings. “I’ll keep that in mind. Have a good day.” He lifts a hand in a wave and Jimmy does the same automatically, straightening up and shutting the car door.
It’s not until halfway through the day that the thought occurs to him that Duncan may have been talking about something other than his investment portfolio.
***
The next Saturday they go out for a meal and a drink, or three, at the pub. It’s Jimmy’s idea, and his treat, a sort of a thank you for all the meals Duncan’s been cooking, and for the thing with the soup and lift home. It’s… Maybe something more too, but he doesn’t know what to do with that yet, doesn’t even know how to begin to name it, the whole concept so utterly ridiculous it should appear impossible in the cold light of day.
Except, it doesn’t.
Jimmy knows this, because the thought keeps nagging at him when he’s doing paperwork, interviewing a witness, having lunch. It’s there during the long walk he takes along the beach, the wind whipping the sea white and stealing the breath from his lungs.
It’s possible he’s having some kind of midlife crisis. It’s also possible that he’s imagining things. And even if he’s not, it’s entirely possible not to do anything about it.
Except doing nothing has never been Jimmy’s strong suit. It’s partly why he became a police officer.
Duncan doesn’t bat an eyelid at the invitation, which means Jimmy has managed to be casual about it. They don’t exactly have a history of going out for meals and drinks, but he reckons six months of doing that inside the house they share overrides that now.
The pies at Captain Digby are good as always, and they dig into their dinner with gusto, discussing Christmas present options for Cassie. Duncan is – practicably – suggesting a lump sum to support her Brazilian adventure, while Jimmy is advocating a care package of sorts with some of her favourite British foods.
“She’s got to be missing scones!” he says, scraping last of his steak and ale pie off the plate.
“I’m sure she is,” Duncan agrees. “But not sure she’s going to appreciate them rock hard and mouldy. The post isn’t exactly going to be instantaneous.”
“Alright,” Jimmy concedes. “But a big bar of Cadbury’s?”
Eventually, over the after-dinner pint, they reach a compromise of both money (less than Duncan originally suggested) and a box of goodies (only the kind that will survive a trip across the ocean)
“Look at us,” Duncan says, clinking their glassed together. He’s sprawling sideways on his chair, leaning against the wall, one elbow on the table. “Saturday night, sharing a drink, agreeing on parenting decisions. Do you think somewhere up there Fran is laughing herself sick?” As if on cue, a sound of loud female laughter drifts from the other side of the pub. Seems like another hen party by the looks of it, happily occupied with flustering a group of young lads.
Jimmy and Duncan share an amused look. “Probably,” Jimmy says, taking a sip. The pang of loss is still there, always there, but softer with time. “You remember the hiccups she would get after…”
“…laughing. Yeah,” Duncan finishes his sentence, grinning. “Made her sound like she had a frog stuck in her throat.”
They both laugh, fond and quiet. It’s nice. Weird, but nice. Unlike Cassie or Fran’s parents, Duncan is someone who really remembers Fran, who really knew her, as an adult woman, faults and hiccups and all, not just as a mother or a daughter.
“Another one?” Duncan asks, already on his feet. Jimmy tips his head back to look at him and nods in agreement.
“Yeah, alright,” he says, and then watches Duncan manoeuvre himself to the bar with a few well-placed greetings and pats on the backs. As always, he sticks out just a bit despite being as native to Shetland as anyone else in the crowded pub tonight, somehow still unbearably posh despite a clear attempt to dress casually in a sweater and black jeans. Mind you, Jimmy is pretty sure the sweater is cashmere, and somewhere at the back of his mind there’s an itch to find out exactly how soft it would feel under his palms. He lets it spread, take hold, turning it in his conscious thoughts like a shiny pebble, something both familiar and new, and breathes through the low simmer of want that comes on the heels of it.
He expects apprehension, fear even, over contemplating something that had only ever been a hypothetical, but it doesn’t come. Over at the bar, Duncan is chatting up the hen party, dropping a chaste kiss on the bride-to-be’s cheek and pushing a tenner into their collection bucket. Jimmy thinks of Fran, of sharing fantasies and acting out some of them during their honeymoon, and later still, of her love and acceptance and the feel of her body above his. God, she really must be laughing now, one of those big belly laughs that left her gasping for air through her hiccups, tears down her face. She’d probably have some choice words of caution too, but mostly Jimmy thinks she’d find the whole thing hilarious.
Hell, he does too, somewhere between the nerves and incredulity and undeniable affection that washes over him every time Duncan smiles in his direction. Like he’s doing now, walking back toward the table and weaving a careful path between the patrons, a glass in each hand.
“Here you go.” Duncan deposits a full pint in front of Jimmy and sits back down. “It’s the McCabe’s oldest,” he adds, nodding at the hen party, all sporting tiaras and bright smiles. “Good luck to her. Think I’m done with all of that.”
That startles Jimmy out of his contemplation. “What? Relationships?” he asks, frowning.
“No.” Duncan laughs. “Just the marriage part. I like people too much to give up the whole thing.”
People. Not ‘women’. Jimmy doesn’t know if that’s a deliberate choice of words, but he notices it anyway.
“You know, I didn’t actually cheat on Mary,” Duncan says in what feels like an abrupt change of topics.
Jimmy’s eyebrows hike up. “That’s not what you told me at the time.”
Duncan waves a hand. “Yeah, I did back then. Stupid mistake. Or…” He shrugs, picking at the coaster. “Maybe not, considering. But I meant now, this time.”
Jimmy’s not sure what he’s meant to say. “Okay. I believe you.”
Now it’s Duncan’s turn to look surprised. He opens his mouth as if to argue and then closes it again after few seconds of silent staring. “Huh,” he says. “You do.” He takes a deep drink, looking pleased.
Jimmy rolls his eyes.
They go for pint number three, and then four, declaring it their last by mutual decision and spending several minutes exchanging tales of drunken transgressions from their youth. There’s some shared moaning about getting too old to drink until last orders, but it’s mostly for form’s sake and it’s clear neither of them actually minds.
Jimmy insists on getting the last round, even though it’s technically Duncan’s turn, reminding him that the evening had been his idea and therefore Duncan should put his wallet away and say thank you.
Duncan is laughing by the end of what Jimmy suspects was a speech a bit more passionate than he intended. He’s not drunk – nor properly, neither of them are – but the beer has certainly loosened his tongue.
“Alright, alright. You drive a hard bargain, Perez,” Duncan says, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “Go get me my drink.”
Jimmy heads to the bar and places their order, and then takes a detour to bathroom. When he comes back, there’s a guy standing by their table.
That in itself is not unexpected. Duncan knows almost as many people as Jimmy and is friends with definitely more of them. However, there’s something about the man’s body language that suggests that this isn’t a friendly conversation between mates. Even above the din of noise, Jimmy can hear the man’s raised voice, the words indistinguishable but angry. He leaves the drinks at the bar and heads straight over.
Duncan’s still sitting down, arms spread wide and a smile that can only be called placating on his face as he talks. All of it is calculated to defuse, and part of Jimmy is impressed, wondering if the business community and Police Scotland used the same conflict resolution trainers.
“…lost me three grand!” The man is drunk, visibly swaying on his feet. Which unfortunately means he’s not willing to listen to reason.
“Yes,” Duncan says. “I’m sorry. But I explained the risks. And Keele Solar is doing well. You’re going to get good returns on that.”
“Not fast enough!” Jimmy’s close enough to see the spittle flying of the man’s mouth, the snarling twist of it.
“There a problem here?” Jimmy asks, and if it comes out all ‘DI Perez’, then what of it?
Duncan’s eyes cut to Jimmy, standing behind the other guy’s shoulder, and widen a bit. “Uh, no. No problem,” he says at the same time as the drunk whirls around with “Yeah! This little weasel lost me three thousand quid!”
Jimmy raises a questioning eyebrow at Duncan, who sighs. “Mr Leyton here decided to invest in a high-risk company, that unfortunately didn’t pan out profitably. However,” he flashes another painfully professional smile, “as I was explaining; the other, lower-risk investment is looking good.”
“Well, Mr Leyton,” Jimmy starts, “It sounds to me like—” It’s as far as he gets though before being unceremoniously shoved backwards. He’s honestly too surprised to even react at first. Jimmy may not know everyone in Lerwick, but everyone sure as hell knows him, and for someone to be stupid enough to push a senior police officer even when blind drunk is… Well, it’s rare enough to make Jimmy almost bark a laugh.
“Wipe that fucking grin off your face and just sod off!” Leyton yells. “This is between me and Hunter!”
Unfortunately, while Jimmy is still busy finding his footing, Duncan takes objection to the turn of events. “Hey!” He gets to his feet, fast enough to send the chair rattling backwards. “Leave Jimmy out of it!”
And alright, it’s almost… Sweet, in a way, but Jimmy doesn’t exactly need Duncan defending his honour, and Leyton is doing enough posturing on his own for the three of them. “It’s fine,” he says. “Why don’t we just—?”
Leyton, however, is beyond reason. Faster than seems possible for someone that pissed, he turns back around and swings one meaty fist straight into Duncan’s face.
The conflict resolution portion of the evening is clearly over. Jimmy kicks the back of Leyton’s knees and then follows him to the floor, grabs hold of his wrists and pulls them crossed across the man’s chest to restrain him safely. “Alright,” he says. “Cooling off in custody is also an option.” He looks up, finds Duncan staring down at him, a hand held over his nose and bright red blood flowing between his fingers. “You okay?”
“The wanker hit me!” Duncan’s voice is muffled and somewhat nasal. “I told him it was a risky investment! I swear I did!”
Yeah, Duncan’s okay. “Call the station, will you?”
“Already done it,” the bartender says somewhere on Jimmy’s other side. He turns awkwardly to grin up at her but only gets a disappointed head shake in return. “Probably time for you to go home too. Once your colleagues come.”
“He started it!” Duncan tries to protest but Jimmy sends him a quelling look.
“Yes, ma’am. We’ll be on our way.”
Sandy arrives with a PC in tow, only five minutes later. The pub isn’t exactly far from the police station. He takes in the scene and barely hides his grin. “Eventful evening out, sir?” he asks, painfully bland.
Jimmy sighs and relinquishes the still cursing Leyton to the tender care of PC Grayson. “Don’t start,” he says, climbing to his feet. “Let’s just get this over with so I can get Duncan home and patched up.”
Sandy’s eyebrow twitches in amusement, but it isn’t until they’ve both given their statements and are walking through the dark streets – Duncan with a borrowed kitchen towel held against his nose – that Jimmy realises what he said.
Oh well. It’s true enough.
“Are you sure…?”
“For the hundredth time, Perez!” Duncan glares at him above his towel. “It’s not broken. I don’t need a bloody A&E.”
“Alright, alright.” Jimmy holds up a hand and manages to hold his tongue too for the rest of walk home.
Once there though, he ushers Duncan straight into the bathroom and carefully pulls the towel off his face, hissing in sympathy at the sight. He expects Duncan to argue, but he only sighs and sits his ass down on a closed toiled lid.
“I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself,” Duncan says, but actually makes no move to wrestle the first aid kit off Jimmy’s hands. “It’s not like this is the first black-eye I’ve gotten.”
“Oh aye?” Jimmy soaks some cotton wool in disinfectant and steps into the open vee of Duncan’s legs. “You get beaten up a lot by unhappy investors?” he asks, cupping Duncan’s jaw in his hand, gently tilting his head back to get a better look.
“No, just…” Duncan inhales sharply when Jimmy starts wiping the dried blood from around his nose. “Ow!” He flinches just a little, head jerking against Jimmy’s hand.
“Stop complaining,” Jimmy says, but he gentles his touch even more. Duncan’s knees clench against the sides of his legs for a moment and then he subsides.
It strikes Jimmy suddenly just how intimate their position is, how close they are; the heat of Duncan’s body, how he’d only have to lift his hands a little bit to be holding Jimmy’s hips, the white-knuckled way he’s gripping at his own thighs instead.
His next breath leaves him in a punch, his fingertips trembling just slightly as he prods at the bridge of Duncan’s nose. It’s swollen but otherwise intact.
“Not broken,” Jimmy confirms, and fuck, his voice is too low, too… something, and there’s no way Duncan won’t notice.
“Told you,” he says and it’s… quiet, no hint of belligerency despite the words. “You got to listen to me, Jimmy.” Duncan’s head is still tilted back, eyes dark despite the bright bathroom lights and looking up at him. This close it’s possible to count the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes.
This close it’s impossible not to see the way Duncan swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, more prominent now because of the way Duncan’s throat is stretched long.
Jimmy can feel his own throat closing up. “I always listen to you.” He’s dropped the dirty cotton wool somewhere on the floor and his hand seems to have migrated onto Duncan’s shoulder instead, thumb pressed against the warm skin of his neck, that cashmere sweater just as soft under his palm as he’d imagined.
He can’t stop staring at Duncan’s mouth, the way it drops open just a bit when Jimmy scrapes the back of his thumbnail along the line of his collar, catching more skin than wool.
“Jimmy…” Duncan swallows again and his hands twitch; an aborted move upward like he’s reaching for Jimmy’s hips or waist or thighs but then… doesn’t. “I… How drunk are you right now?”
It takes a few seconds for the question to penetrate, which probably is an answer in its own right. Except Jimmy knows what Duncan’s really asking. This is an out. And maybe it’s one Duncan wants him to take.
So he does.
“A bit,” he concedes, letting his hands drop and stepping back. “It’s late.”
“Yeah,” Duncan agrees. He’s not quite catching Jimmy’s gaze now. “I should get some ice.” He cautiously prods at the swollen skin over his cheekbone, below his eye.
“I’ll get it,” Jimmy says, grateful for the reason to leave the bathroom that abruptly feels small, almost claustrophobic even though they are no longer touching.
Maybe because they are no longer touching.
In the kitchen he takes a few extra seconds to lean his forehead against the freezer drawer, before getting out some ice trays and knocking the contents into a tea towel and taking it back upstairs.
Duncan takes it from him with a quiet “Thanks” and then turns toward Cassie’s – well, his now – bedroom. And then he stops, halfway down the short corridor, and turns back around to look at Jimmy.
“I had a good night,” he says, smiling a bit guardedly and then grimacing when the movement pulls at the skin. “Even with the unexpected injury.”
Jimmy huffs, some of the tension seeping out of him. “We should avoid that the next time though,” he says, leaning against the bathroom doorway.
Something in Duncan’s expression softens. “Yeah. Good plan.” He waves a quick ‘goodnight’ and disappears into his room.
Jimmy sighs and rubs a hand over his hair. Somewhere at the back of his mind Fran is rolling her eyes at him but she did that regularly when she was alive so Jimmy just rolls his own back and sets about tidying up the bathroom.
***
There’s a part of him that expects it to be awkward the following morning, but as usual Duncan breezes right over any possibility of that by the sheer force of his personality. He makes pancakes, all the while moaning cheerfully about his nicely developed black-eye and having to use some of Cassie’s old concealer in order to even leave the house.
Jimmy lets it all wash over him in a – by now comfortingly familiar – wave of noise and company, all interlaced with affection that hasn’t soured at all despite last night. He hadn’t been too drunk not to know what he was doing, what he wanted. He knows with certainty that if he’d kissed Duncan then, under the harsh lights of his – their? – messy bathroom, if he’d taken him into his bed, found out whether either of them knew what they were doing beyond the hypothetical, beyond the wanting… He would not have regretted it.
Duncan though… Jimmy watches his hands – quick and confident, cracking eggs, whisking the batter – and follows the strong line of his forearms, the sleeves of another cashmere sweater pushed up to his elbows. Duncan would have maybe spent that night expecting Jimmy’s regrets.
Jimmy wants Duncan as sure about him as he is. So he smiles at him, warm and easy, compliments the breakfast, the perfect cup of tea, even going as far as commenting how Duncan’s sweater really brings out the shine in his shiner. That gets him a swat from a tea towel, but there’s a pink tint to Duncan’s cheeks that Jimmy immediately wants to see as often as possible, and he’s laughing.
“What’s gotten into you?” he asks as they’re pulling on their coats, having decided that the best way to get rid of the lingering hangover was to go for a long walk in the brazing weather.
Jimmy shrugs. “Just… Happy, I guess,” he says. “Joining the human race?”
Duncan barks a laugh, the wind whipping at his coat and scarf as he steps outside, turning to check Jimmy is following.
***
They settle into a new rhythm after that; one that involves a lot more deliberate touching. They don’t put words to what’s happening – somewhere up there Fran is surely sighing in exasperation – not yet, but something definitely is.
In the mornings, Jimmy rests his hand on Duncan’s back, between his shoulder blades or maybe lower, nestled just above his belt, as he leans over him to reach for the mugs or the milk. Duncan drops him at the station when their schedules coincide, or vice versa when Duncan has business in Lerwick that doesn’t require him to have a car. They sit shoulder to shoulder on the sofa to videocall with Cass. In the evenings, Duncan stays downstairs with his laptop or a book, while Jimmy puzzles over case notes. Luckily there is nothing more serious than a series of burglaries happening so getting distracted by the way Duncan’s eyes linger on his profile when he thinks Jimmy is engrossed on his screen is more enjoyable than annoying.
They mean to repeat their Saturday night drinks but there’s a call for a domestic that means Jimmy is out until midnight. He comes home feeling exhausted to his bones, and bitter in a way only such cases make him and finds a bowlful of stew waiting on the counter with a ‘Eat Me’ note leaning against it.
He does. It helps.
The next weekend Duncan leaves for another business trip; this one almost two weeks long, first London, then Amsterdam, Belfast, and finally back to London. Jimmy drops him off at the airport at some ungodly hour of the morning.
“I could’ve just driven myself. Or gotten a taxi,” Duncan says when Jimmy yawns for the third time in the row, clutching his coffee while they wait for the flight to be called.
“And paid through the nose for either parking or Eddie’s ‘special airport fare’? I don’t think so.” The coffee isn’t as good as Duncan makes it – with his specialty Columbian beans, freshly ground – but Jimmy gulps it down anyway. “‘Sides, wanted to see you off,” he mutters, but then forces himself to catch Duncan’s eyes properly for the last bit. “Going to miss you.”
It’s worth it; to see the way Duncan’s expression goes slack with surprise, and then on the heels of it, unadulterated pleasure. “Well, shit,” he says, shaking his head. “You gone and said it now, Jimmy.”
Jimmy shifts his weight from one foot to another, trying not to crumble the cardboard cup in his hand. “I did,” he agrees, trying hard not to sound too defensive, but feeling the way his shoulders hunch up. “What of it?”
Duncan’s smile goes soft. “Just… I’ll miss you too, you daft bugger.” Then he’s hugging Jimmy, one-handed and awkward, both of them holding their coffees out of the way, Duncan’s carryon doing its best to trip them up.
“KM590 to Glasgow International,” the tannoy interrupts. “Boarding now at Gate 3.”
“Off you go then,” Jimmy says, pushing Duncan away gently. “Don’t miss your flight.”
“Just you,” Duncan says and throws in a cheesy wink for good measure as he picks up his bag.
Jimmy groans but he can tell he’s also blushing, just a bit, watching Duncan walk toward security.
***
“You haven’t kicked Duncan out yet, have you?” Cassie asks a week or so later as they’re video calling. It’s clearly rhetorical since she’d said she’d spoken with Duncan just yesterday, but Jimmy answers anyway.
“Nah,” he says, leaning back on the kitchen chair. “Turns out you weren’t just winding me up when you said his cooking was better than mine.”
Cass laughs. She’s incredibly tanned and looking happy, clutching a slightly melted looking block of Cadbury’s Nut and Raisin in her hand. She’d called to say thank you for the Christmas present that had arrived in good time before the festivities. “Maybe you can get him to give you some lessons?”
Jimmy blinks, thinking about Duncan standing behind him and showing him exactly how to knead a bread dough or julienne carrots thin enough, and has to blink again a few times to clear his head. “Yeah, maybe,” he says.
Cass hums, breaking off a piece of her chocolate to nibble slowly. “You planning to?” she asks, finally. “Ask him to leave, I mean? Only, I think you should tell him if you are.” She frowns, the lines between her eyebrows exactly like Duncan’s. “Or aren’t. Because I think he’s maybe… Waiting for the other shoe to drop?”
Jimmy sighs. “You know, your mum would be so proud of you,” he says. “Telling your old dad – dads – off.”
Cassie huffs in amusement and pops another piece of chocolate into her mouth. “Mum would also tell you to stop avoiding the question.”
Jimmy quirks a smile. “I’m not going to kick him out,” he says. “Turns out I… kind of enjoy having him around.” He grins self-deprecatingly. “And yeah, yeah, I know. Past me is appalled.”
“Changing your opinion after learning new information is called growth,” Cassie says, sounding like she’s quoting from something. Then she smiles. “I’m glad. Not me who needs to hear it, though.” There’s the same kind of shrewd yet fond look on her face that Fran used to get whenever she thought she knew something he didn’t.
Jimmy promises to talk to Duncan and he and Cass move on to other topics, including a long and convoluted tale about Edison’s uncle and his boyfriend’s engagement party. Jimmy nods his way through the story, exclaiming and laughing at all the right places. No matter how wise and adult his little girl has become, subtlety has never been her strong point. Takes after her mother in that, she does.
The conversation lingers in his mind long after they hang up though. He’s both flustered and pleased about Cass’ tacit approval, although he wonders if she actually knows something, if Duncan has said something, or whether she’s just being uncannily intuitive about the whole thing, the same way she’d just known about Arthur without anyone seemingly having to tell her.
Probably doesn’t matter in the end.
What matters is her suggestion that Duncan is still expecting an eviction notice. What matters is that she’s right, as Jimmy discovers when Duncan phones the next night. And yes, apparently this is another thing they do now; call just to talk, to touch base, without any specific news or questions.
“How’s Belfast?”
“Better than it was ten years ago when I was last here,” Duncan says. “Not that it’s saying much.”
Jimmy chuckles, letting his head sink into the pillow and propping his feet up on the sofa arm. It’s past ten in the evening and he’s knackered, only recently back from the station. Their little burglary series had turned out to be a part of something much bigger with connections to organised crime in both Oslo and Glasgow.
“That great, eh?”
On the line, Duncan sighs. “I’m probably being unfair about it. Despite the Christmas lights, this isn’t a season that does any favours to most cities. It’s cold and wet and I’ve had two meetings cancelled in as many days and I’m just…” He hesitates long enough that Jimmy lifts the phone where it’s been resting on his stomach, speaker on, to check the connection.
“Tired?” he suggests after a few seconds, moving the phone up to his chest.
“Yeah, that too.” If Jimmy shuts his eyes, he can almost imagine Duncan is here, maybe just sitting in the armchair next to the sofa. Maybe on the floor leaning on the sofa as he sometimes does, close enough that Jimmy could just reach and run his fingers over his short hair, leave his hand splayed over his heart, just… resting there.
“I was going to say… ready to come home,” Duncan finishes. There’s just enough of a question there, just a bit of emphasis on ‘home’ for it to be noticeable.
“Oh!” Jimmy says, and the surprise is less about Duncan’s choice of words and more about just how much he liked hearing them.
There’s a rustle of clothes, like Duncan is shifting position. Jimmy follows suit, swinging his legs off the sofa, sitting up; elbows on knees, phone cradled in both hands.
“I mean… Home to Shetland. To Lerwick,” Duncan says, clearing his throat. His voice is much more reserved now and he’s… Backpedalling, is the only word that comes to mind.
“No!” It comes out too snappy, too urgent, and Jimmy takes a deep breath, deliberately softening his tone. “I’m ready for you to come home, too,” he says. “To the house, to…” Another breath, because suddenly, despite being as sure as he can be, this is terrifying. “To me,” he finishes on a somewhat shaky exhale.
A beat of silence and then Duncan’s voice, impossibly close and warm. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy confirms, firmer now. “Yes. You eejit.” The last bit comes out so plainly affectionate that Jimmy can feel his face heating up a bit. “Thought it was obvious.”
“How could it be obvious when you’re everything but?” Duncan asks, and the eyeroll is clearly audible.
Jimmy rubs a hand over his face, the skin definitely warmer than usual. “I’m trying,” he huffs, frustrated at himself. “This isn’t… I didn’t expect this.”
“You think I did?” Duncan laughs down the line, low and warm. “Never in a million years.”
“Right?”
They breathe in synch for a while, Jimmy smiling into his cupped palm, held over his mouth like he’s hiding a secret.
“Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll see you in a few days.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Yeah,” Duncan agrees, sounding almost normal. “The flight should get in around half four.”
“I’ll pick you up,” Jimmy says. “Unless there’s something at work,” he amends with a sigh. “But text me the flight details, okay?”
“I will.”
They say goodnight after that. Not because there isn’t more to talk about but because it’s not the kind of conversation to have over the phone.
***
Duncan gets back on Christmas Eve. It’s the last flight before the holidays and packed with people returning to home and their families for the festive period. Jimmy stays back, behind the moderate crowd – by Shetland standards – of those waiting in the arrivals hall. He’s feeling oddly self-conscious, like people might just look at him and know, even though nobody’s given him more than half a glance.
The flight is late – unsurprising – and by the time he spots Duncan’s blond hair behind a young couple, he’s on his second cup of coffee. There’s a moment – no more than ten seconds – where Duncan hasn’t yet noticed him and Jimmy can see the way he’s scanning the groups of people, searching, a slight frown creasing his face when he can’t spot Jimmy immediately.
Something about it – the tangible proof of shared uncertainty and anticipation – makes Jimmy feel immediately better. He pushes off the wall by the newsagents and lifts a hand, watching Duncan’s features rearrange themselves into a relieved smile. He veers off in Jimmy’s direction and instead of just waiting for Duncan to get to him, Jimmy finds himself walking to meet him halfway.
The hug is good, familiar territory by now, even with the new, half-acknowledged dimension to it. They are tucked close, from chest to hip, and he can feel the warmth of Duncan’s body even through their winter coats.
“C’mon,” Jimmy says, letting go with a quick squeeze of Duncan’s elbow. “Let’s go home.” He grabs the handle of Duncan’s carryon, leaving him with just the airport shopping bag, and ignores his protests, fully aware that he’s being a little over the top but unwilling to pull back.
To his credit, Duncan doesn’t give him too much shit about it, only huffing with amusement when Jimmy lifts the case into the trunk of the car. He keeps up a steady chatter during the drive, recounting some of the highlights of his trip – not that there apparently were many – and all but interrogating Jimmy about the town gossip.
It takes almost twenty minutes for Jimmy to realise that Duncan is nervous, that his sudden interest in teenage vandalism and whether Dorothy from the co-op had her baby yet, is nerves talking, that they’re both still adjusting to the shift in their relationship. It’s a relief really, to know he’s not the only one feeling like that.
It certainly makes Jimmy feel better, less ridiculous, about the effort he’d gone to at the house.
The results are gratifying, if a bit ambiguous to start with.
“Oh,” Duncan says when he steps into the living room. “Oh, wow!” He even drops the bag he’s carrying, at least partly for deliberate dramatic effect, Jimmy is sure. It falls onto the carpet with a solid thunk and a dulled clink, hinting at the contents. “You’ve decorated.”
“Only a bit.” Jimmy’s aiming for nonchalance and probably missing by a country mile.
“There’s a Christmas tree,” Duncan says, pointing at it as if it’s difficult spot. “And… Cards.” He waves a hand at the mantelpiece where there indeed are a few Christmas cards sitting. Most of them – to Jimmy’s mortification and delight – have been addressed to both of them.
“It’s Christmas.” He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s going to be… different, with Cassie away and all but…” He chances a glance at Duncan’s profile and finds him turned fully towards him. His eyes are still kind of wide from surprise, but he’s smiling, small and pleased and for Jimmy, because of him, and it makes the next words easy to say. “You’re home. And I missed you. And… It’s Christmas,” he repeats, helplessly.
Luckily, it seems enough for Duncan to get the message. “Yeah,” he says. “This is… It looks great, Jimmy.” And then he’s there, reaching for Jimmy’s hand, squeezing it for emphasis. “Seriously.”
They stand like that for a long moment, the Christmas lights on the tree and draped around the window casting a warm glow over the room and the two of them, and Jimmy thinks maybe he should have added a mistletoe on the doorway after all, like he’d half thought. Except, he doesn’t need an excuse, does he? Duncan’s gaze is heavy and dark, his expression open. Expectant. It would be so easy for Jimmy to tug him closer, to reach up to cup the side of his head, to guide him where…
The oven pings and they startle apart.
“Oh,” Jimmy says, dropping Duncan’s hand as he turns toward the kitchen. “The food.”
There’s a beat of silence and then a slightly incredulous “…You cooked?”
Jimmy rolls his eyes, pulling out the lasagne from the oven. There are fixings for a proper Christmas dinner in the fridge as well, but he’s going to wait until tomorrow to spring that on Duncan. Plus, he’s definitely going to rope him into doing half of the work. “There’s no need to sound like that about it. Did you think I fed Cass and myself entirely on takeaway and ready meals?”
“Well no, but… That smells good.” Duncan has followed him and is reaching for the plate cupboard already. Jimmy likes that a lot but still shoos him away.
“I’ll sort that,” he says. “You go get out of your suit.”
Duncan’s eyebrows hike right up, a smirk stretching his mouth in a way that Jimmy really wants to feel against his skin. He can feel himself flushing when he realises what he said.
Duncan looks delighted. “I can’t decide whether you just asked me to ‘slip into something more comfortable’,” He affects a lilting, slightly breathy voice for the phrase, “or whether you just implied you’d like me to get entirely naked.”
“The former,” Jimmy says, and then, because it’s been decades since he’s flirted like this, with intention, he adds, “for now.”
Duncan swallows, all humour suddenly sliding off his expression. His next exhale comes out shaky, like it’s been punched out of him, and Jimmy seriously considers just abandoning the lasagne on the countertop and moving straight to the dessert. Something about that must show on his face as Duncan takes a step back, toward the stairs.
“Fuck,” he mutters, and the rare obscenity works like a douse of cold water.
“Sorry,” Jimmy says. “Too much?” He grips the edge of the kitchen island, gaze dropping down. “I don’t want to—”
“No.” Duncan’s fingers are suddenly around his wrists. He’s reaching over the island, coaxing Jimmy’s hands loose, pulling them toward him, fitting them palm to palm with his own. “It’s… A lot,” he admits, smiling ruefully. “Not too much, but just… More than I…” He huffs a frustrated breath.
“Never in a million years?” Jimmy guesses, hazarding a grin.
“Yeah,” Duncan agrees, laughing a little now. “That. I wasn’t expecting to be so… affected?” He shakes his head. “No, that’s not right. Of course, I expected to… I mean… I feel a bit like a teenager with his first crush and like a man in his fifties making a massive life change, all at once. Does that make sense.”
Oh. Oh, right. Jimmy feels lighter again. This is nerves, like in the car, and that’s fine. That’s good, actually.
He says as much. “Welcome to the club.” He shrugs because, yeah, they’re in the same boat and trying to keep it from capsizing, to mix his metaphors. “You always seemed two steps ahead of me. Like you were just waiting for me to catch up. Is it weird that I’m kind of glad I’m not the only one who’s…” He doesn’t say ‘unsure’, because he’s definitely not that. “Worried about messing it up? I mean, I decorated the house!”
“And made what – contrary to all expectations – looks like an edible lasagne,” Duncan adds.
“Yeah, that too,” Jimmy agrees. He hesitates for a moment, but this feels like a good time. Later is not going to be any less awkward to ask this. “Have you ever…?” He trails off but strokes his thumbs over the inside of Duncan’s wrists for emphasis. “You know. With a guy.”
Duncan’s breath catches again but Jimmy is pretty sure it’s because of the touch, and not the question.
“Yeah,” he says. “Sort of. Not a… a relationship. Just a couple of meaningless one night stands.” He shrugs, looking a bit sheepish about it but it’s not like Jimmy is surprised, not really. “You?”
“Ah, same except in the opposite direction?” Jimmy pulls his hands back, but slowly, and then busies himself with getting the plates like he’d said. “There was a guy when I was at Tulliallan, for police training, you know? We were in the same cohort. Got close.” He finds utensils, and then glasses, putting everything down on the counter. “Could’ve gotten closer still but…” He looks up, meeting Duncan’s inquisitive gaze for this. “We were young and scared. And it was a different time then. In the end, it didn’t seem like worth the risk.”
Duncan nods. “And now?” he asks, picking the words slowly, carefully. “Does it seem like worth the risk now?”
Jimmy blinks, thrown by the question although he probably shouldn’t be. It’s just that it hadn’t even occurred to him. “I’m… I guess I’m more selfish now,” he says eventually, leaning on the island. “It feels like the only risk is to us. And Cass. But we managed to build a civil relationship for her sake before. Pretty sure we’d do it again if we’d have to.”
“You’ve thought this through,” Duncan says. He looks… Pleased.
“Ay.” Jimmy clears his throat. “Go on then,” he says. “Unless you want to eat with a tie on.” He nods at the slightly rumpled business suit Duncan is still wearing. “Not that you don’t look good in it…”
Duncan waggles his eyebrows playfully and adjusts his tie a bit, preening. “Alright, alright, back in two minutes.”
He’s as good as his word, coming back downstairs just as Jimmy is setting the trays with fully loaded plates onto the coffee table.
“Thought we’d eat here,” he says, gesturing at the Christmas tree, the fire he’d relit while Duncan was changing.
“Sounds good.” Duncan picks up his tray and sits next to Jimmy on the sofa, accepting a glass of red wine.
They eat mostly in silence, interspersed by occasional comments about the food – “This is actually good!” “You wanna call the papers about it?” – Cassie – “She say anything about Easter to you?” “No, but we’ll talk her into it.” – or just random things – “You know at least half of those Christmas cards are addressed to both of us?” “…” “Ay.”
They linger over the wine, listening to the crackling of the fire although neither moves to put more wood in, letting the flames slowly die out. Duncan is sprawling, glass held loosely in one hand, long legs stretched out, arm thrown over the sofa back. He’s wearing jeans now, and the same cashmere sweater he’d worn for their pub date and Jimmy is almost hundred percent certain the choice is no coincidence. It’s as soft as Jimmy remembers, warm from Duncan’s body heat when he smooths a hand down his arm, fingers tucking under the sleeve just a bit.
“I like this sweater,” Jimmy says, watching himself rub the wool between his fingertips, the pale strip of Duncan’s wrist.
“I know,” Duncan says, sounding a tad smug, and Jimmy smiles, theory confirmed.
From there, lacing his fingers with Duncan’s is easy. It still makes his heartbeat kick up a notch though. Objectively, they are simply holding hands. Subjectively… Jimmy lifts his gaze, finds Duncan studying him, expression open; vulnerable and fond and… wanting.
“Jimmy,” he says, and there’s a touch of exasperation in his voice.
“Yeah?” Jimmy asks, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, just to be obnoxious, because he knows. Of course, he knows. “Something you want?” He puts his own glass on the table and then reaches out to pluck Duncan’s right from his hand and does the same with that.
Duncan rolls his eyes. “You,” he says, blunt and devastating, voice cracking just slightly. It makes the low simmer of anticipation in Jimmy’s gut suddenly coil tight and hot and urgent. “I want you. And if you don’t ki—”
Jimmy tugs on their joined hands and leans close to press his mouth over Duncan’s; a slow, lingering drag that nevertheless effectively cuts off whatever Duncan was about to say.
Not for long though. When Jimmy pulls back, he has the pleasure of watching the way Duncan’s gaze widens in surprise, then grows heated. “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost absentminded. “That.” Then he extricates his hand from Jimmy’s but only to curl both of them around the front of his shirt and drag him in for another kiss.
This one starts slow and tentative too, both of them clearly still nervous and getting used to the newness of the situation, to each other. Then Jimmy swipes his tongue over Duncan’s bottom lip, Duncan makes a frankly indecent noise at the back of his throat as his mouth falls open under Jimmy’s and slow and tentative flies right out of the window and into the cold winter night outside it.
Duncan hooks an arm around Jimmy’s back and pulls until they fall against the sofa arm, legs tangling. Duncan huffs at the impact but wastes no time licking into Jimmy’s mouth in a way that is downright dirty and hints at his reputation being entirely founded in reality. When Jimmy slides his palms up Duncan’s sides, bunching the cashmere sweater in favour of getting at bare skin, Duncan arches up like he’s greedy for it, beautiful and unashamed, and it’s… It’s indeed a lot.
Jimmy wants all of it. He sucks a kiss to the side Duncan’s neck, the base of his throat over thick stubble, the corner of his jaw, before letting himself be distracted by Duncan’s mouth again, by the restless wandering of his hands across Jimmy’s back, and then lower.
He hisses at the contact, hips snapping forward uncontrollably, and then he starts laughing, suddenly completely overcome by the sheer incongruity of it all.
“Alright…” Duncan says, pulling back to look at Jimmy in the eye. “A man could get insulted here.” He’s grinning himself though, and definitely hasn’t moved his hand from Jimmy’s arse.
Good. Jimmy doesn’t want him to.
“Just…” He shakes his head and drops a kiss to Duncan’s lips to indicate that he’s not laughing at him, so much as… them. “Thought I’d passed the age of making out on the sofa like a teenager a few decades ago.”
Duncan snorts. “Evidence suggests otherwise, Inspector Perez,” he points out, eyebrow raised in challenge as he gives Jimmy’s arse a squeeze, presumably for emphasis. “Although I wouldn’t exactly call this teenaged activity.” He shifts enough that Jimmy can feel the growing hardness against his hip, while Duncan holds his eyes, openly daring.
Jimmy swallows, arousal curling in the pit of his stomach. “Agreed,” he says, pressing his thigh between Duncan’s with purpose now, watching the way his eyelids drop at the sensation. “Good thing then that we have other options besides the sofa.” He flicks his gaze toward the stairs, sees the moment Duncan catches his meaning, the way a brief flicker of nerves gives way to determination.
“Jimmy,” Duncan says. His hands come up to frame Jimmy’s face, and the kiss he brushes against his lips if full of promise. “Take me to bed.”
Jimmy does.
***
A few months later, just before Easter…
Edinburgh airport is much busier than Sumburgh. Duncan navigates it with ease, striding confidently toward the arrivals, looking over his shoulder every now and then to check that Jimmy is still keeping up.
“I’m not a toddler who’s going to get lost,” Jimmy says, rolling his eyes.
“I just don’t want to be late,” Duncan says. They’ve finally reached one of the information boards and he’s looking at the flights listed. “There! See, it’s landed already!”
Jimmy jolts a bit at that and immediately starts scanning the crowd, even though rationally he knows it’s going to take a while still for the passengers to get from the plane to the luggage collection and then finally out.
His prediction turns out to be right and they end up standing by the barrier for another thirty minutes, neither of them willing to go grab a coffee and risk missing Cassie’s return. Duncan’s fingers are cold, laced with Jimmy’s and squeezing just a bit too tightly to be entirely comfortable. Jimmy says nothing about it, sharing in the nervous excitement of seeing Cassie, and of her seeing them as… them. She knows, of course she does, in fact claiming she’d known before they did. Privately, Jimmy thinks there’s some exaggeration there, but he’s entirely content – relieved, grateful – to let the revisionist history stand.
Despite their double surveillance, they almost miss her. She’s tanned and beautiful, pushing a luggage trolley through the double doors, somehow looking so grown-up Jimmy can’t believe it’s been less than a year since she left. He nudges Duncan with his elbow, and they see the moment Cass spots them, her eyes dropping to their joined hands and widening in surprise and delight. Then, unexpectedly, her expression crumbles in a way they recognise as a sign of immediate tears.
He and Duncan are running before any fall.
“Cass, honey?” Jimmy reaches for her, and she flies at them, wrapping an arm around each of them.
Duncan shares a concerned look with Jimmy. “What is it, darling? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she says, muffled. “Everything is fine. I just…” Cassie pulls back and beams at them, eyes wet, a smile like the Brazilian sun on her face. “I just didn’t expect this,” she waves a hand between Jimmy and Duncan, “to make me so…”
“So what?” Jimmy asks.
“So happy,” she says, pulling them into another hug. “Just… Really happy.”
Duncan laughs, pressing a kiss against Cassie’s hair. “Me neither,” he says, catching Jimmy’s eyes over her head.
Jimmy says nothing, just holds the two of them as tightly as he can, trusting they’ll get his message anyway.
***
Title: the reason comes on the common tongue (of your loving me)
Author:
kat_lair / Mistress KatFandom: Shetland
Pairing: Jimmy/Duncan
Tags: First Kiss, First Time, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Domestic, Living Together, Post-Season/Series 03
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 12,158
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing.
Summary: Post-season 3, in which Duncan stays and Jimmy finds the new domestic situation much more to his liking than he expected. - The last six months of having another adult in the house, having someone to come home to or someone to wait for have been… Nice. Better than nice, much, much better. And even if Duncan might still leave, will probably leave, Jimmy realises with a sudden and devastating clarity that he doesn’t want him to.
Author notes: Written for
smallfandomfest . Many thanks to margaret_r for diligent beta duty. Title is from Moment's Silence (Common Tongue) by Hozier. the reason comes on the common tongue (of your loving me) on AO3
“You want a drink?” Jimmy asks.
On the other side of the kitchen counter, Duncan looks like he’s blinking back tears, although he’s smiling too. Jimmy knows just how he feels and that’s no empty phrase. Their little girl, all grown up, leaving to travel the world.
“Yeah, alright,” Duncan says, parking his arse on one of the barstools.
Jimmy pulls out a bottle and pours them each a finger. Maybe two.
They drink in silence.
Eventually, Duncan chuckles. “Didn’t take you for a hugger,” he says, glancing at Jimmy from under his eyebrows. There’s a smile in his voice, a crooked one on his lips. Jimmy thinks about blustering about it but there’s no meanness in Duncan’s tone.
“Eh, you needed it,” he says. Jimmy had too of course, and he’s guessing Duncan knows it.
As if in acknowledgment, he reaches out to briefly clink their glasses together. “You might be fit to join the human race, after all.”
Jimmy rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.
***
He doesn’t expect the process of ‘joining the human race’ to include so much of Duncan Hunter. But the man is still there, several weeks later, by which point they’ve had three video calls with Cassie. She looks more tanned, more grown up each time, and it’s breaking Jimmy’s heart as much as it’s making it burst with pride.
“That’s fatherhood for you,” Duncan says.
He’s cooking again; another stir-fry. Jimmy would give him shit about only knowing how to cook one thing except he knows that’s not true and also Duncan’s stir-fries are delicious.
“Ay,” he agrees. “Wouldn’t change it for the world.”
“You don’t have to.” Duncan pulls out the bowls, no longer having to check where everything is, and dishes out the food. “You can have both you know; fatherhood and the world.”
It’s not the first comment of its kind, and it probably won’t be the last. Jimmy can’t even be annoyed about it, not after Cassie had told him more or less the same thing although thankfully she doesn’t know just how accurate Duncan’s earlier assessment of Cassie being the only reason Jimmy got out of bed after Fran’s death had been.
It hasn’t been true for a while now though, no matter Duncan’s less than subtle hints.
“I’m fine,” Jimmy says, for what feels like the thousandth time. “I don’t need a babysitter. Or a life coach.”
Duncan pauses with chopsticks – because of course he’d sourced chopsticks from somewhere, though not from within the house that’s for sure – halfway to his lips, and stares at him.
“What?” Jimmy shovels food into his mouth, starving after a long day at the station. “This is good.”
“That’s not… You do know that’s not what I’m trying to be,” Duncan says. He’s looking serious, something Jimmy isn’t still used to seeing. “I’m saying this as…” There’s just a moment of hesitation, enough that it pings Jimmy’s cop instincts, “…as your friend,” Duncan finishes. His gaze drops back to his bowl and he picks up his chopsticks again.
Jimmy exhales. It’s not what Duncan said that’s the surprise – frustrating as the man is, they’d moved beyond cordial co-existence due to necessity a long time ago, first for Cassie’s sake but it had turned out to be a decent foundation for something deeper – it’s that he’d said it out loud.
Then again, Duncan has always been more open about his feelings, both the good and the bad.
Jimmy could laugh this off but…
“Yeah,” he says. His voice comes out kind of gruff. “I know.” He knocks their legs together under the table and is rewarded by Duncan’s quicksilver smile.
***
That Jimmy eventually finds Duncan sitting at the dining room table with his divorce papers spread in front of him both is and is not a surprise. Duncan and Mary haven’t had the most harmonious relationship for as long as Jimmy remembers, and the fact that Duncan hasn’t even tried to repair things this time around meant that the dissolution of the matrimonial bonds was kind of expected.
What Jimmy had not expected was for that to play out in his house, at his dining room table. Because, somehow, Duncan is still here.
“Twice divorced now,” Duncan says, staring at the papers. He’s already signed them, Jimmy can see, the pen tossed onto the table. “I’ve become a cliché.”
“Ah now, mate,” Jimmy says, clapping Duncan on the back on his way to the kitchen. “You were always a cliché. This don’t change that.”
It has the desired effect and Duncan guffaws, finally gathering the papers into a pile and shoving them back into a waiting envelope. “Thanks a lot,” he says. “Feel much better now.”
Jimmy comes back with a bottle of cognac and two glasses, dropping into a chair. “I think you do,” he says, pouring a generous measure for each of them. “You weren’t happy.”
Duncan wraps his hand around a glass. “I wasn’t unhappy,” he comments, eyes flicking briefly to Jimmy’s face, before he takes a sip.
It’s the saddest thing Jimmy’s heard him say, probably the most honest too. At least when it comes to himself.
Fran had always said that she and Duncan had gotten divorced because they couldn’t think of a reason to stay married other than Cassie and been wise enough to realise that was not fair on anyone, least of all their daughter. Seems like it hadn’t been any different with Mary.
***
The thing with Asha fizzles out. They try. By god they try. And that’s the problem. Relationships should not be this much hard work.
When they finally call it a day, less than three months after Asha is out of the hospital, there’s nothing but relief on either side. He thinks in time she might turn into a friend but it’s too soon for that still.
Somehow, it’s others that seem more upset about the news than Jimmy himself.
“Are you sure, dad?” Cassie asks. She’s wearing a sunhat and the image behind her shows the edge of the jungle. Edison’s parents’ estate is… impressive. “Relationships are all about compromise.”
Jimmy bites down on the laughter that threatens to bubble up. Who would’ve thought he’d live to see the day of his daughter giving him relationship advice, with all the wisdom of her months-long romance?
“I know, darling. But there was nothing to compromise over. It just… It wasn’t working. And,” he holds up a hand to stop Cassie’s protests, “there’s no point in forcing it.”
Cassie sighs, leans back on her chair. “I just… I liked her.”
This time Jimmy laughs. “You never even met her!”
Cassie chuckles. “Okay, true. But I liked…” Her expression goes soft. “I guess I just liked knowing you had someone there.”
“Sweetheart…” Jimmy leans forward; the need to wrap his arms around his baby girl is almost a physical ache. “You don’t have to worry about me. That’s my job.”
“Yes, but I—”
The sound of the front door opening interrupts their conversation.
“I’m back,” Duncan hollers unnecessarily. There’s a muted thump of an overnight bag hitting the floor. “Did I miss it?” He comes to the living room, still wearing his coat, a grin splitting his face when he spots the laptop. “Cassie!”
“Hey!” Cassie smiles in greeting. Duncan has been in Glasgow for business for three days and the autumn weather made flights unpredictable. He’d been worried about missing their scheduled chat with Cassie, even though it wouldn’t have been a big deal to postpone it.
“How’s my best girl?” Duncan asks, beaming. He’s leaning over Jimmy’s shoulder to see the screen, arms resting on the back of the sofa. His coat is damp, and he smells of rain. Underneath that there is a faded note of the by now familiar cologne, something citrusy and bright that makes Jimmy think of the Mediterranean and sun-warmed skin.
“I’m good,” Cassie says, launching into the repeat of the news she’s already shared with Jimmy. After a few minutes, Duncan finally rounds the sofa to actually sit on it. Jimmy tries to nudge the laptop nearer, but Duncan is having none of it, instead swinging his arm on to the sofa back behind Jimmy’s head, practically leaning against his side to make sure they are both on camera.
After a while, when they’ve moved on to new topics and Duncan is showing no signs of doing it himself, Jimmy reaches out and tugs the scarf around his neck loose. Duncan just lets him, though thankfully the action prompts some kind of muscle memory and he starts finally unbuttoning his coat.
On the laptop screen, Cassie giggles, and she and Jimmy exchange an eyeroll while Duncan goes “What, what? What’s so funny?” still struggling out of his coat, refusing to stand up to do it.
Cassie says goodnight not soon after – although it’s only late afternoon where she is – and the screen goes blank. Jimmy and Duncan sigh in unison and then chuckle at themselves.
“Okay,” Jimmy says after a few seconds of companionable silence. “I’m going to make some tea. You need warming up.”
Duncan huffs, and his eyeroll is exactly the same as Cassie’s, but he squeezes Jimmy’s shoulder in thanks as they get up.
“You can have a slosh of whiskey in it if you’re good,” Jimmy says, halfway to the kitchen.
“Hey!” Duncan’s voice is warm with laughter and mock indignation. “I’m always good!”
Jimmy turns to look, a retort already on his tongue, but something about the way Duncan looks just then stays it. He’s not doing anything special; gathering up his clothes, carelessly shed on the floor by the table, folding the coat over his arm, stuffing a stray glove into its pocket. The room is illuminated only by the soft glow of the corner lamp, and the fire Jimmy had started earlier but which is now slowly dying. Duncan himself looks tired, but happy, still wearing a smart suit jacket and a tie, meaning he’d rushed to the airport straight from his last meeting.
“What?” he asks, and Jimmy realises he’s been staring. “Not convinced? I really want that whiskey, Jimmy, and I’m not above begging.” It’s a joke, of course it is, but the late hour, and the sleepy drawl of Duncan’s voice, the way his accent thickens whenever he’s freshly back from a trip as if in some unconscious identity confirmation, conspire to make it sound like something not funny at all.
Jimmy shakes his head, hoping it looks like exasperation and not like he’s trying to clear his thoughts. “Save that for something that really matters,” he says, and then bites the inside of his mouth before anything more dangerous escapes it.
He’s in the kitchen and filling the kettle when Duncan’s voice drifts after him. It sounds like “You let me know what that is, Jimmy” but he can’t be certain over the sound of water, which is probably for the best.
***
Autumn turns to winter and the Shetland weather lives up to its reputation. Jimmy and his team get busy with the usual; mostly dealing with accidents, and property damage that’s probably the wind but could be bored local kids defying it and needs to be checked just in case.
They finally receive Tosh’s replacement, several months after she moved to Edinburgh and her post became vacant. Ailith is only a couple of months out of her initial training, but she’s also older, in her late 30s, which means she comes with a heap of experience, even if not specifically in the police.
“Thought I’d try policing as my second career,” she tells them, grinning, the first day. So far, however, she has refuses to share what her first career was in, seemingly delighted by the variety of guesses Sandy and Billy come up with, ranging from ‘chef’ to ‘sheep farmer’ to ‘vicar’. Jimmy joins in occasionally, enjoying the easy camaraderie although he misses Tosh fiercely.
It’s late November when the first proper winter storm hits, the rain turning to sleet, and then to icy snow within hours, the wind howling like a hungry beast. And when the call comes of a little boy gone missing, it’s difficult to shake the image.
There’s no suspicion of foul play at this stage, just an incredibly ill-timed fight between the kid and his dad, which had prompted ten-year-old Ranald to do what many ten-year-olds did and run away. Unfortunately, like most ten-year-olds, he had not consulted the weather forecast before that.
Luckily, his parents had not waited too long to call for help.
“It was the stupidest thing,” Mr Wallis says, face etched with worry. “He wanted to go to his friend’s birthday party on Saturday. But it’s also his Nana’s seventieth then and…” He runs a hand over his face, his wife holding onto his other hand.
“It’s not your fault,” she says. “Ranald’s done this before, just headed out to cool off, but he’s never this long and the storm…” She glances at the window. The snow won’t last, melting almost as soon as it hits the ground, but while it’s falling, it plays havoc with visibility, not exactly making a search operation easy. The Wallis’ are both still in their outdoor gear, having clearly gone out to look for their son first before alerting the authorities.
“She’s right,” Jimmy says. “That’s actually pretty mature for a boy his age, to go walk off his anger.” It’s a coping mechanism Jimmy’s used a time or twenty himself. It just happens to be best suited for the summer.
“You’re exhausted already,” Ailith is saying to the worried parents. “Why don’t you stay here in case Ranald comes back, or someone calls.”
Billy and Sandy are already driving around the local roads, slowly and with extra lights, just in case the kid has had the sense to find a road or… Well, there are other, worse options, but Jimmy’s not going to say any of them out loud yet.
He and Ailith get a map out and cross off the areas the Wallis’ have already searched. Of course, Ranald could be wandering around, but it’s a viable strategy for now. If the four of them don’t find him by the time night falls, Jimmy will alert search and rescue, and pull together a team of local volunteers for a proper grid search. Duncan – whose connections will make that happen quicker than any official channels Jimmy can use – is just waiting by the phone.
Jimmy had called him from the car on the way to the Wallis’, and Duncan had taken the key information down, and promised to be ready to mobilise half the island if necessary.
“Thanks, Duncan. I appreciate this.” There was still a part of Jimmy that expected everything to be a fight, and the fact that Duncan’s reaction had been nothing but helpful and downright competent had been a relief.
“Anytime, Jimmy.” A beat of silence, long enough for Jimmy to be aware of Ailith shifting on the front seat, the steady squeak of window wipers. “I hope you know that?”
There was just enough lilt to the words to make them into a genuine question, and something about it had hit him hard, sinking like a hot stone into the calm, still pond of Jimmy’s focus.
“Yeah. I…” He’d had to clear his throat, the warmth of Duncan’s words spreading outwards from where they seemed to have lodged in his chest. “I know that.”
“Good.” Duncan was smiling, he could tell just from his voice. “Take care, okay?”
“…Okay.”
Once he’d hung up and confirmed with Ailith that Plan B was ready to deploy, she’d only nodded in acknowledgement. But the glance she’d darted in his direction had been far too akin to one she tended to save for suspect interviews.
Outside the cosy warmth of the Wallis’ kitchen, the storm is showing no signs of easing up although the snow is back to sleet at least. Jimmy and Ailith pull on their waterproofs and test their radios, before heading off in the direction of the neighbouring fields, and the unfarmed land and cliffs beyond them. The afternoon light is waning rapidly, and it doesn’t take long until they’re switching their torches on, staying close enough to still hear each other. The ground is treacherous and slick with snowmelt. It won’t take more than one misstep here to end up with a broken angle.
That, in fact, turns out exactly what happened to Ranald. Ailith hears him first, after a good two hours of hiking, now in full darkness; a faint “Here! Help!” in response to one of their calls.
They find the boy huddled besides a crumbling stonewall. He’s cold and miserable but, apart for the ankle, unharmed. He puts on a brave face but clings to Jimmy’s coat when he and Ailith help him up. Luckily, they don’t have to carry the kid all the way back, only to the nearest road, where Sandy and Billy pick them up.
They drive straight to the hospital, the wind making the car sway on the exposed stretches despite the five people in it. Raland’s parents are not far behind – Billy having phoned them with the good news as soon as Jimmy had contacted him and Sandy – and soon Raland is enduring the Talking To of his short life, interspersed with relieved hugs.
Everyone is exhausted but happy as they troop back to the station. Despite the protective clothing, Jimmy can feel a trickle of rainwater down the back of his neck and the collar of his jumper is damp, the cooling sweat making him shiver even more. As if on cue, his stomach makes a rumbling sound, reminding him that breakfast is a distant memory and lunch had been one of those things he’d meant to get to just before the Wallis call.
He thinks of the waiting paperwork and has pretty much decided to leave it to the morning by the time they pull up to the station.
“Just grab your things and go home,” Jimmy tells Sandy and Ailith as they climb the steps. “I’ll just check with Billy that there’s nothing else that’s come in.” Billy had gotten a lift back to station earlier with a friend of his who was a nurse and just finishing his shift. “But barring a murder, we better call it a night.”
Ailith and Sandy nod, the lack of argument telling.
Turns out, Billy is not alone at the station though.
“Duncan?” Jimmy’s voice startles the other man and he turns around from where he’s been perched on Billy’s desk, chatting. “What are you doing here? Is something—?”
“What’s this?” Duncan interrupts him by stepping right into Jimmy’s personal space and running a hand over his wet hair. “Incapable of wearing a hat, are you? You realise I’m telling Cassie?”
“Uh?” Jimmy fights the sudden urge to duck his head, acutely aware of the amused attention of his colleagues. It only ratchets higher when Duncan uses his grip on the back of Jimmy’s neck to matter-of-factly pull him into a quick, tight hug.
“Glad you’re okay,” he murmurs under his breath, before pulling away. “The kid too, eh? Billy rang me,” he offers by way of explanation. “Thought everyone would be cold and hungry. So I brought soup.”
“It’s really good too,” Billy says, raising his half-full cup in illustration.
While Duncan busies himself with pouring out potato and leek soup from his thermos, Jimmy takes a moment to duck to the locker room – a glorified name for the tiny anteroom by the toilets – to rid himself of his outdoor gear. Maybe he takes longer than strictly necessary to wash his face and hands, to scrub his hair with a towel and to hang everything just so for optimal drying, but there’s a flutter of sudden nerves in his stomach, his heartbeat just a tad too fast, and he can’t seem to shake either. Jimmy leans on the sink for half a minute, until his breathing comes steady again. He avoids his own reflection, instead keeping his eyes on the cracked porcelain.
When he finally gets back to the main room, there’s a steaming cup on the corner of his desk.
“I’ve got to…” He waves at his computer and Duncan only nods, seemingly content scrolling through his phone.
“There’s nothing urgent, boss,” Billy says over his shoulder, in the middle of a handover with Niamh who has already arrived for her night shift.
Jimmy checks his personal email just in case, sipping his soup. It is delicious, but that’s not exactly a surprise. For all of Duncan’s faults, cooking has never been one.
“You ready?” Duncan asks some twenty minutes later. And okay, Jimmy is mostly deleting spam from his junk folder by that point, dawdling for no reason he can really name.
The station is empty; only Niamh sitting at the desk she shares with Billy, the call monitoring programme up on the screen while she sorts through some filing. Sandy and Ailith have clearly already left.
“Yeah,” Jimmy says, locking his computer. He has to steady himself on the desk a bit as he gets up, the day catching up with him, but manages to pull on his coat and fish his car keys out of the pocket without further incidents. “Thanks for waiting. Let’s go.”
Duncan looks at him, then at the rain still hammering the windows, and plucks the keys from Jimmy’s fingers and drops them by the keyboard. “Leave the car,” he says. “You’re practically asleep on your feet. I’ll drop you off in the morning.”
Jimmy gives up without a fight and follows Duncan to his car. The heating is cranked high enough that he dozes off on the drive home, and by the time they pull up to the house he’s weaving badly enough to almost hit the doorway. Seems like Duncan had made the right call there.
“Don’t fall asleep in your wet clothes!” Duncan calls after him and Jimmy waves a tired hand in acknowledgement before closing his bedroom door.
He is, in fact, tempted to just collapse face first into the mattress but manages to struggle out of his outer layer before climbing between the covers. He expects to pass out immediately, but the walk from the car must have revived him somewhat because it doesn’t happen.
Jimmy turns to his side, curling a little around one of the extra pillows he keeps in the bed out of habit, and lets the warm feeling from earlier trickle back from where he’d pushed it to the back of his mind.
It has been so long since he’s had someone outside of work to rely on like this. So long since there was someone to care if he’d eaten or too tired to drive. Not that Cassie hadn’t cared, of course she had, but she was his daughter, it was his job to worry about her, and to shield her from the rest. It wasn’t up to her to take care of her old dad, she had her own life to lead.
But the last six months of having another adult in the house, having someone to come home to or someone to wait for have been… Nice. Better than nice, much, much better. And even if Duncan might still leave, will probably leave, Jimmy realises with a sudden and devastating clarity that he doesn’t want him to.
He falls asleep trying to decide if this is a realisation that he needs to do something about or whether it’s better to just let it be.
***
The next morning brings little answer, though it does bring Duncan with a cup of coffee and a long monologue about the stock market that goes entirely above Jimmy’s head, especially since he doesn’t even pretend to follow it. Duncan doesn’t seem to mind, seemingly only taking an opportunity to talk through his decision on whether to invest in a new company or not. By the time he drops Jimmy at the station as promised, he’s apparently settled on a ‘not yet’ and seems satisfied with it.
“That’s cautious of you,” Jimmy comments. He’s leaning back into the car, one hand on the roof, one holding the door open. “Thought you were more of a risk taker.”
He means it as a harmless quip really, more of an excuse to prolong the conversation than anything else, but Duncan doesn’t immediately respond. When the silence stretches, Jimmy ducks his head properly back into the car, frowning. “Duncan?”
Duncan’s slightly turned toward him, but his hands are still resting on the steering wheel, left thumb tapping a restless rhythm against it. In the radio, David Bowie is singing about modern love.
“You reckon I should just go for it?” Duncan asks.
Jimmy frowns, confused. “Don’t you usually?”
“I do,” Duncan agrees. “Just hasn’t always turned out so well.”
Jimmy’s not sure what to say. As far as he knows, Duncan’s done very well for himself with his investments, as evidenced by the car he’s driving, and the money Jimmy knows he’s channelling into a savings account in Cassie’s name each month.
“Alright,” Duncan says finally. He’s smiling but seemingly at himself rather than at Jimmy and there’s a twist to his lips like his amusement is tempered with something that stings. “I’ll keep that in mind. Have a good day.” He lifts a hand in a wave and Jimmy does the same automatically, straightening up and shutting the car door.
It’s not until halfway through the day that the thought occurs to him that Duncan may have been talking about something other than his investment portfolio.
***
The next Saturday they go out for a meal and a drink, or three, at the pub. It’s Jimmy’s idea, and his treat, a sort of a thank you for all the meals Duncan’s been cooking, and for the thing with the soup and lift home. It’s… Maybe something more too, but he doesn’t know what to do with that yet, doesn’t even know how to begin to name it, the whole concept so utterly ridiculous it should appear impossible in the cold light of day.
Except, it doesn’t.
Jimmy knows this, because the thought keeps nagging at him when he’s doing paperwork, interviewing a witness, having lunch. It’s there during the long walk he takes along the beach, the wind whipping the sea white and stealing the breath from his lungs.
It’s possible he’s having some kind of midlife crisis. It’s also possible that he’s imagining things. And even if he’s not, it’s entirely possible not to do anything about it.
Except doing nothing has never been Jimmy’s strong suit. It’s partly why he became a police officer.
Duncan doesn’t bat an eyelid at the invitation, which means Jimmy has managed to be casual about it. They don’t exactly have a history of going out for meals and drinks, but he reckons six months of doing that inside the house they share overrides that now.
The pies at Captain Digby are good as always, and they dig into their dinner with gusto, discussing Christmas present options for Cassie. Duncan is – practicably – suggesting a lump sum to support her Brazilian adventure, while Jimmy is advocating a care package of sorts with some of her favourite British foods.
“She’s got to be missing scones!” he says, scraping last of his steak and ale pie off the plate.
“I’m sure she is,” Duncan agrees. “But not sure she’s going to appreciate them rock hard and mouldy. The post isn’t exactly going to be instantaneous.”
“Alright,” Jimmy concedes. “But a big bar of Cadbury’s?”
Eventually, over the after-dinner pint, they reach a compromise of both money (less than Duncan originally suggested) and a box of goodies (only the kind that will survive a trip across the ocean)
“Look at us,” Duncan says, clinking their glassed together. He’s sprawling sideways on his chair, leaning against the wall, one elbow on the table. “Saturday night, sharing a drink, agreeing on parenting decisions. Do you think somewhere up there Fran is laughing herself sick?” As if on cue, a sound of loud female laughter drifts from the other side of the pub. Seems like another hen party by the looks of it, happily occupied with flustering a group of young lads.
Jimmy and Duncan share an amused look. “Probably,” Jimmy says, taking a sip. The pang of loss is still there, always there, but softer with time. “You remember the hiccups she would get after…”
“…laughing. Yeah,” Duncan finishes his sentence, grinning. “Made her sound like she had a frog stuck in her throat.”
They both laugh, fond and quiet. It’s nice. Weird, but nice. Unlike Cassie or Fran’s parents, Duncan is someone who really remembers Fran, who really knew her, as an adult woman, faults and hiccups and all, not just as a mother or a daughter.
“Another one?” Duncan asks, already on his feet. Jimmy tips his head back to look at him and nods in agreement.
“Yeah, alright,” he says, and then watches Duncan manoeuvre himself to the bar with a few well-placed greetings and pats on the backs. As always, he sticks out just a bit despite being as native to Shetland as anyone else in the crowded pub tonight, somehow still unbearably posh despite a clear attempt to dress casually in a sweater and black jeans. Mind you, Jimmy is pretty sure the sweater is cashmere, and somewhere at the back of his mind there’s an itch to find out exactly how soft it would feel under his palms. He lets it spread, take hold, turning it in his conscious thoughts like a shiny pebble, something both familiar and new, and breathes through the low simmer of want that comes on the heels of it.
He expects apprehension, fear even, over contemplating something that had only ever been a hypothetical, but it doesn’t come. Over at the bar, Duncan is chatting up the hen party, dropping a chaste kiss on the bride-to-be’s cheek and pushing a tenner into their collection bucket. Jimmy thinks of Fran, of sharing fantasies and acting out some of them during their honeymoon, and later still, of her love and acceptance and the feel of her body above his. God, she really must be laughing now, one of those big belly laughs that left her gasping for air through her hiccups, tears down her face. She’d probably have some choice words of caution too, but mostly Jimmy thinks she’d find the whole thing hilarious.
Hell, he does too, somewhere between the nerves and incredulity and undeniable affection that washes over him every time Duncan smiles in his direction. Like he’s doing now, walking back toward the table and weaving a careful path between the patrons, a glass in each hand.
“Here you go.” Duncan deposits a full pint in front of Jimmy and sits back down. “It’s the McCabe’s oldest,” he adds, nodding at the hen party, all sporting tiaras and bright smiles. “Good luck to her. Think I’m done with all of that.”
That startles Jimmy out of his contemplation. “What? Relationships?” he asks, frowning.
“No.” Duncan laughs. “Just the marriage part. I like people too much to give up the whole thing.”
People. Not ‘women’. Jimmy doesn’t know if that’s a deliberate choice of words, but he notices it anyway.
“You know, I didn’t actually cheat on Mary,” Duncan says in what feels like an abrupt change of topics.
Jimmy’s eyebrows hike up. “That’s not what you told me at the time.”
Duncan waves a hand. “Yeah, I did back then. Stupid mistake. Or…” He shrugs, picking at the coaster. “Maybe not, considering. But I meant now, this time.”
Jimmy’s not sure what he’s meant to say. “Okay. I believe you.”
Now it’s Duncan’s turn to look surprised. He opens his mouth as if to argue and then closes it again after few seconds of silent staring. “Huh,” he says. “You do.” He takes a deep drink, looking pleased.
Jimmy rolls his eyes.
They go for pint number three, and then four, declaring it their last by mutual decision and spending several minutes exchanging tales of drunken transgressions from their youth. There’s some shared moaning about getting too old to drink until last orders, but it’s mostly for form’s sake and it’s clear neither of them actually minds.
Jimmy insists on getting the last round, even though it’s technically Duncan’s turn, reminding him that the evening had been his idea and therefore Duncan should put his wallet away and say thank you.
Duncan is laughing by the end of what Jimmy suspects was a speech a bit more passionate than he intended. He’s not drunk – nor properly, neither of them are – but the beer has certainly loosened his tongue.
“Alright, alright. You drive a hard bargain, Perez,” Duncan says, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “Go get me my drink.”
Jimmy heads to the bar and places their order, and then takes a detour to bathroom. When he comes back, there’s a guy standing by their table.
That in itself is not unexpected. Duncan knows almost as many people as Jimmy and is friends with definitely more of them. However, there’s something about the man’s body language that suggests that this isn’t a friendly conversation between mates. Even above the din of noise, Jimmy can hear the man’s raised voice, the words indistinguishable but angry. He leaves the drinks at the bar and heads straight over.
Duncan’s still sitting down, arms spread wide and a smile that can only be called placating on his face as he talks. All of it is calculated to defuse, and part of Jimmy is impressed, wondering if the business community and Police Scotland used the same conflict resolution trainers.
“…lost me three grand!” The man is drunk, visibly swaying on his feet. Which unfortunately means he’s not willing to listen to reason.
“Yes,” Duncan says. “I’m sorry. But I explained the risks. And Keele Solar is doing well. You’re going to get good returns on that.”
“Not fast enough!” Jimmy’s close enough to see the spittle flying of the man’s mouth, the snarling twist of it.
“There a problem here?” Jimmy asks, and if it comes out all ‘DI Perez’, then what of it?
Duncan’s eyes cut to Jimmy, standing behind the other guy’s shoulder, and widen a bit. “Uh, no. No problem,” he says at the same time as the drunk whirls around with “Yeah! This little weasel lost me three thousand quid!”
Jimmy raises a questioning eyebrow at Duncan, who sighs. “Mr Leyton here decided to invest in a high-risk company, that unfortunately didn’t pan out profitably. However,” he flashes another painfully professional smile, “as I was explaining; the other, lower-risk investment is looking good.”
“Well, Mr Leyton,” Jimmy starts, “It sounds to me like—” It’s as far as he gets though before being unceremoniously shoved backwards. He’s honestly too surprised to even react at first. Jimmy may not know everyone in Lerwick, but everyone sure as hell knows him, and for someone to be stupid enough to push a senior police officer even when blind drunk is… Well, it’s rare enough to make Jimmy almost bark a laugh.
“Wipe that fucking grin off your face and just sod off!” Leyton yells. “This is between me and Hunter!”
Unfortunately, while Jimmy is still busy finding his footing, Duncan takes objection to the turn of events. “Hey!” He gets to his feet, fast enough to send the chair rattling backwards. “Leave Jimmy out of it!”
And alright, it’s almost… Sweet, in a way, but Jimmy doesn’t exactly need Duncan defending his honour, and Leyton is doing enough posturing on his own for the three of them. “It’s fine,” he says. “Why don’t we just—?”
Leyton, however, is beyond reason. Faster than seems possible for someone that pissed, he turns back around and swings one meaty fist straight into Duncan’s face.
The conflict resolution portion of the evening is clearly over. Jimmy kicks the back of Leyton’s knees and then follows him to the floor, grabs hold of his wrists and pulls them crossed across the man’s chest to restrain him safely. “Alright,” he says. “Cooling off in custody is also an option.” He looks up, finds Duncan staring down at him, a hand held over his nose and bright red blood flowing between his fingers. “You okay?”
“The wanker hit me!” Duncan’s voice is muffled and somewhat nasal. “I told him it was a risky investment! I swear I did!”
Yeah, Duncan’s okay. “Call the station, will you?”
“Already done it,” the bartender says somewhere on Jimmy’s other side. He turns awkwardly to grin up at her but only gets a disappointed head shake in return. “Probably time for you to go home too. Once your colleagues come.”
“He started it!” Duncan tries to protest but Jimmy sends him a quelling look.
“Yes, ma’am. We’ll be on our way.”
Sandy arrives with a PC in tow, only five minutes later. The pub isn’t exactly far from the police station. He takes in the scene and barely hides his grin. “Eventful evening out, sir?” he asks, painfully bland.
Jimmy sighs and relinquishes the still cursing Leyton to the tender care of PC Grayson. “Don’t start,” he says, climbing to his feet. “Let’s just get this over with so I can get Duncan home and patched up.”
Sandy’s eyebrow twitches in amusement, but it isn’t until they’ve both given their statements and are walking through the dark streets – Duncan with a borrowed kitchen towel held against his nose – that Jimmy realises what he said.
Oh well. It’s true enough.
“Are you sure…?”
“For the hundredth time, Perez!” Duncan glares at him above his towel. “It’s not broken. I don’t need a bloody A&E.”
“Alright, alright.” Jimmy holds up a hand and manages to hold his tongue too for the rest of walk home.
Once there though, he ushers Duncan straight into the bathroom and carefully pulls the towel off his face, hissing in sympathy at the sight. He expects Duncan to argue, but he only sighs and sits his ass down on a closed toiled lid.
“I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself,” Duncan says, but actually makes no move to wrestle the first aid kit off Jimmy’s hands. “It’s not like this is the first black-eye I’ve gotten.”
“Oh aye?” Jimmy soaks some cotton wool in disinfectant and steps into the open vee of Duncan’s legs. “You get beaten up a lot by unhappy investors?” he asks, cupping Duncan’s jaw in his hand, gently tilting his head back to get a better look.
“No, just…” Duncan inhales sharply when Jimmy starts wiping the dried blood from around his nose. “Ow!” He flinches just a little, head jerking against Jimmy’s hand.
“Stop complaining,” Jimmy says, but he gentles his touch even more. Duncan’s knees clench against the sides of his legs for a moment and then he subsides.
It strikes Jimmy suddenly just how intimate their position is, how close they are; the heat of Duncan’s body, how he’d only have to lift his hands a little bit to be holding Jimmy’s hips, the white-knuckled way he’s gripping at his own thighs instead.
His next breath leaves him in a punch, his fingertips trembling just slightly as he prods at the bridge of Duncan’s nose. It’s swollen but otherwise intact.
“Not broken,” Jimmy confirms, and fuck, his voice is too low, too… something, and there’s no way Duncan won’t notice.
“Told you,” he says and it’s… quiet, no hint of belligerency despite the words. “You got to listen to me, Jimmy.” Duncan’s head is still tilted back, eyes dark despite the bright bathroom lights and looking up at him. This close it’s possible to count the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes.
This close it’s impossible not to see the way Duncan swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, more prominent now because of the way Duncan’s throat is stretched long.
Jimmy can feel his own throat closing up. “I always listen to you.” He’s dropped the dirty cotton wool somewhere on the floor and his hand seems to have migrated onto Duncan’s shoulder instead, thumb pressed against the warm skin of his neck, that cashmere sweater just as soft under his palm as he’d imagined.
He can’t stop staring at Duncan’s mouth, the way it drops open just a bit when Jimmy scrapes the back of his thumbnail along the line of his collar, catching more skin than wool.
“Jimmy…” Duncan swallows again and his hands twitch; an aborted move upward like he’s reaching for Jimmy’s hips or waist or thighs but then… doesn’t. “I… How drunk are you right now?”
It takes a few seconds for the question to penetrate, which probably is an answer in its own right. Except Jimmy knows what Duncan’s really asking. This is an out. And maybe it’s one Duncan wants him to take.
So he does.
“A bit,” he concedes, letting his hands drop and stepping back. “It’s late.”
“Yeah,” Duncan agrees. He’s not quite catching Jimmy’s gaze now. “I should get some ice.” He cautiously prods at the swollen skin over his cheekbone, below his eye.
“I’ll get it,” Jimmy says, grateful for the reason to leave the bathroom that abruptly feels small, almost claustrophobic even though they are no longer touching.
Maybe because they are no longer touching.
In the kitchen he takes a few extra seconds to lean his forehead against the freezer drawer, before getting out some ice trays and knocking the contents into a tea towel and taking it back upstairs.
Duncan takes it from him with a quiet “Thanks” and then turns toward Cassie’s – well, his now – bedroom. And then he stops, halfway down the short corridor, and turns back around to look at Jimmy.
“I had a good night,” he says, smiling a bit guardedly and then grimacing when the movement pulls at the skin. “Even with the unexpected injury.”
Jimmy huffs, some of the tension seeping out of him. “We should avoid that the next time though,” he says, leaning against the bathroom doorway.
Something in Duncan’s expression softens. “Yeah. Good plan.” He waves a quick ‘goodnight’ and disappears into his room.
Jimmy sighs and rubs a hand over his hair. Somewhere at the back of his mind Fran is rolling her eyes at him but she did that regularly when she was alive so Jimmy just rolls his own back and sets about tidying up the bathroom.
***
There’s a part of him that expects it to be awkward the following morning, but as usual Duncan breezes right over any possibility of that by the sheer force of his personality. He makes pancakes, all the while moaning cheerfully about his nicely developed black-eye and having to use some of Cassie’s old concealer in order to even leave the house.
Jimmy lets it all wash over him in a – by now comfortingly familiar – wave of noise and company, all interlaced with affection that hasn’t soured at all despite last night. He hadn’t been too drunk not to know what he was doing, what he wanted. He knows with certainty that if he’d kissed Duncan then, under the harsh lights of his – their? – messy bathroom, if he’d taken him into his bed, found out whether either of them knew what they were doing beyond the hypothetical, beyond the wanting… He would not have regretted it.
Duncan though… Jimmy watches his hands – quick and confident, cracking eggs, whisking the batter – and follows the strong line of his forearms, the sleeves of another cashmere sweater pushed up to his elbows. Duncan would have maybe spent that night expecting Jimmy’s regrets.
Jimmy wants Duncan as sure about him as he is. So he smiles at him, warm and easy, compliments the breakfast, the perfect cup of tea, even going as far as commenting how Duncan’s sweater really brings out the shine in his shiner. That gets him a swat from a tea towel, but there’s a pink tint to Duncan’s cheeks that Jimmy immediately wants to see as often as possible, and he’s laughing.
“What’s gotten into you?” he asks as they’re pulling on their coats, having decided that the best way to get rid of the lingering hangover was to go for a long walk in the brazing weather.
Jimmy shrugs. “Just… Happy, I guess,” he says. “Joining the human race?”
Duncan barks a laugh, the wind whipping at his coat and scarf as he steps outside, turning to check Jimmy is following.
***
They settle into a new rhythm after that; one that involves a lot more deliberate touching. They don’t put words to what’s happening – somewhere up there Fran is surely sighing in exasperation – not yet, but something definitely is.
In the mornings, Jimmy rests his hand on Duncan’s back, between his shoulder blades or maybe lower, nestled just above his belt, as he leans over him to reach for the mugs or the milk. Duncan drops him at the station when their schedules coincide, or vice versa when Duncan has business in Lerwick that doesn’t require him to have a car. They sit shoulder to shoulder on the sofa to videocall with Cass. In the evenings, Duncan stays downstairs with his laptop or a book, while Jimmy puzzles over case notes. Luckily there is nothing more serious than a series of burglaries happening so getting distracted by the way Duncan’s eyes linger on his profile when he thinks Jimmy is engrossed on his screen is more enjoyable than annoying.
They mean to repeat their Saturday night drinks but there’s a call for a domestic that means Jimmy is out until midnight. He comes home feeling exhausted to his bones, and bitter in a way only such cases make him and finds a bowlful of stew waiting on the counter with a ‘Eat Me’ note leaning against it.
He does. It helps.
The next weekend Duncan leaves for another business trip; this one almost two weeks long, first London, then Amsterdam, Belfast, and finally back to London. Jimmy drops him off at the airport at some ungodly hour of the morning.
“I could’ve just driven myself. Or gotten a taxi,” Duncan says when Jimmy yawns for the third time in the row, clutching his coffee while they wait for the flight to be called.
“And paid through the nose for either parking or Eddie’s ‘special airport fare’? I don’t think so.” The coffee isn’t as good as Duncan makes it – with his specialty Columbian beans, freshly ground – but Jimmy gulps it down anyway. “‘Sides, wanted to see you off,” he mutters, but then forces himself to catch Duncan’s eyes properly for the last bit. “Going to miss you.”
It’s worth it; to see the way Duncan’s expression goes slack with surprise, and then on the heels of it, unadulterated pleasure. “Well, shit,” he says, shaking his head. “You gone and said it now, Jimmy.”
Jimmy shifts his weight from one foot to another, trying not to crumble the cardboard cup in his hand. “I did,” he agrees, trying hard not to sound too defensive, but feeling the way his shoulders hunch up. “What of it?”
Duncan’s smile goes soft. “Just… I’ll miss you too, you daft bugger.” Then he’s hugging Jimmy, one-handed and awkward, both of them holding their coffees out of the way, Duncan’s carryon doing its best to trip them up.
“KM590 to Glasgow International,” the tannoy interrupts. “Boarding now at Gate 3.”
“Off you go then,” Jimmy says, pushing Duncan away gently. “Don’t miss your flight.”
“Just you,” Duncan says and throws in a cheesy wink for good measure as he picks up his bag.
Jimmy groans but he can tell he’s also blushing, just a bit, watching Duncan walk toward security.
***
“You haven’t kicked Duncan out yet, have you?” Cassie asks a week or so later as they’re video calling. It’s clearly rhetorical since she’d said she’d spoken with Duncan just yesterday, but Jimmy answers anyway.
“Nah,” he says, leaning back on the kitchen chair. “Turns out you weren’t just winding me up when you said his cooking was better than mine.”
Cass laughs. She’s incredibly tanned and looking happy, clutching a slightly melted looking block of Cadbury’s Nut and Raisin in her hand. She’d called to say thank you for the Christmas present that had arrived in good time before the festivities. “Maybe you can get him to give you some lessons?”
Jimmy blinks, thinking about Duncan standing behind him and showing him exactly how to knead a bread dough or julienne carrots thin enough, and has to blink again a few times to clear his head. “Yeah, maybe,” he says.
Cass hums, breaking off a piece of her chocolate to nibble slowly. “You planning to?” she asks, finally. “Ask him to leave, I mean? Only, I think you should tell him if you are.” She frowns, the lines between her eyebrows exactly like Duncan’s. “Or aren’t. Because I think he’s maybe… Waiting for the other shoe to drop?”
Jimmy sighs. “You know, your mum would be so proud of you,” he says. “Telling your old dad – dads – off.”
Cassie huffs in amusement and pops another piece of chocolate into her mouth. “Mum would also tell you to stop avoiding the question.”
Jimmy quirks a smile. “I’m not going to kick him out,” he says. “Turns out I… kind of enjoy having him around.” He grins self-deprecatingly. “And yeah, yeah, I know. Past me is appalled.”
“Changing your opinion after learning new information is called growth,” Cassie says, sounding like she’s quoting from something. Then she smiles. “I’m glad. Not me who needs to hear it, though.” There’s the same kind of shrewd yet fond look on her face that Fran used to get whenever she thought she knew something he didn’t.
Jimmy promises to talk to Duncan and he and Cass move on to other topics, including a long and convoluted tale about Edison’s uncle and his boyfriend’s engagement party. Jimmy nods his way through the story, exclaiming and laughing at all the right places. No matter how wise and adult his little girl has become, subtlety has never been her strong point. Takes after her mother in that, she does.
The conversation lingers in his mind long after they hang up though. He’s both flustered and pleased about Cass’ tacit approval, although he wonders if she actually knows something, if Duncan has said something, or whether she’s just being uncannily intuitive about the whole thing, the same way she’d just known about Arthur without anyone seemingly having to tell her.
Probably doesn’t matter in the end.
What matters is her suggestion that Duncan is still expecting an eviction notice. What matters is that she’s right, as Jimmy discovers when Duncan phones the next night. And yes, apparently this is another thing they do now; call just to talk, to touch base, without any specific news or questions.
“How’s Belfast?”
“Better than it was ten years ago when I was last here,” Duncan says. “Not that it’s saying much.”
Jimmy chuckles, letting his head sink into the pillow and propping his feet up on the sofa arm. It’s past ten in the evening and he’s knackered, only recently back from the station. Their little burglary series had turned out to be a part of something much bigger with connections to organised crime in both Oslo and Glasgow.
“That great, eh?”
On the line, Duncan sighs. “I’m probably being unfair about it. Despite the Christmas lights, this isn’t a season that does any favours to most cities. It’s cold and wet and I’ve had two meetings cancelled in as many days and I’m just…” He hesitates long enough that Jimmy lifts the phone where it’s been resting on his stomach, speaker on, to check the connection.
“Tired?” he suggests after a few seconds, moving the phone up to his chest.
“Yeah, that too.” If Jimmy shuts his eyes, he can almost imagine Duncan is here, maybe just sitting in the armchair next to the sofa. Maybe on the floor leaning on the sofa as he sometimes does, close enough that Jimmy could just reach and run his fingers over his short hair, leave his hand splayed over his heart, just… resting there.
“I was going to say… ready to come home,” Duncan finishes. There’s just enough of a question there, just a bit of emphasis on ‘home’ for it to be noticeable.
“Oh!” Jimmy says, and the surprise is less about Duncan’s choice of words and more about just how much he liked hearing them.
There’s a rustle of clothes, like Duncan is shifting position. Jimmy follows suit, swinging his legs off the sofa, sitting up; elbows on knees, phone cradled in both hands.
“I mean… Home to Shetland. To Lerwick,” Duncan says, clearing his throat. His voice is much more reserved now and he’s… Backpedalling, is the only word that comes to mind.
“No!” It comes out too snappy, too urgent, and Jimmy takes a deep breath, deliberately softening his tone. “I’m ready for you to come home, too,” he says. “To the house, to…” Another breath, because suddenly, despite being as sure as he can be, this is terrifying. “To me,” he finishes on a somewhat shaky exhale.
A beat of silence and then Duncan’s voice, impossibly close and warm. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy confirms, firmer now. “Yes. You eejit.” The last bit comes out so plainly affectionate that Jimmy can feel his face heating up a bit. “Thought it was obvious.”
“How could it be obvious when you’re everything but?” Duncan asks, and the eyeroll is clearly audible.
Jimmy rubs a hand over his face, the skin definitely warmer than usual. “I’m trying,” he huffs, frustrated at himself. “This isn’t… I didn’t expect this.”
“You think I did?” Duncan laughs down the line, low and warm. “Never in a million years.”
“Right?”
They breathe in synch for a while, Jimmy smiling into his cupped palm, held over his mouth like he’s hiding a secret.
“Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll see you in a few days.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Yeah,” Duncan agrees, sounding almost normal. “The flight should get in around half four.”
“I’ll pick you up,” Jimmy says. “Unless there’s something at work,” he amends with a sigh. “But text me the flight details, okay?”
“I will.”
They say goodnight after that. Not because there isn’t more to talk about but because it’s not the kind of conversation to have over the phone.
***
Duncan gets back on Christmas Eve. It’s the last flight before the holidays and packed with people returning to home and their families for the festive period. Jimmy stays back, behind the moderate crowd – by Shetland standards – of those waiting in the arrivals hall. He’s feeling oddly self-conscious, like people might just look at him and know, even though nobody’s given him more than half a glance.
The flight is late – unsurprising – and by the time he spots Duncan’s blond hair behind a young couple, he’s on his second cup of coffee. There’s a moment – no more than ten seconds – where Duncan hasn’t yet noticed him and Jimmy can see the way he’s scanning the groups of people, searching, a slight frown creasing his face when he can’t spot Jimmy immediately.
Something about it – the tangible proof of shared uncertainty and anticipation – makes Jimmy feel immediately better. He pushes off the wall by the newsagents and lifts a hand, watching Duncan’s features rearrange themselves into a relieved smile. He veers off in Jimmy’s direction and instead of just waiting for Duncan to get to him, Jimmy finds himself walking to meet him halfway.
The hug is good, familiar territory by now, even with the new, half-acknowledged dimension to it. They are tucked close, from chest to hip, and he can feel the warmth of Duncan’s body even through their winter coats.
“C’mon,” Jimmy says, letting go with a quick squeeze of Duncan’s elbow. “Let’s go home.” He grabs the handle of Duncan’s carryon, leaving him with just the airport shopping bag, and ignores his protests, fully aware that he’s being a little over the top but unwilling to pull back.
To his credit, Duncan doesn’t give him too much shit about it, only huffing with amusement when Jimmy lifts the case into the trunk of the car. He keeps up a steady chatter during the drive, recounting some of the highlights of his trip – not that there apparently were many – and all but interrogating Jimmy about the town gossip.
It takes almost twenty minutes for Jimmy to realise that Duncan is nervous, that his sudden interest in teenage vandalism and whether Dorothy from the co-op had her baby yet, is nerves talking, that they’re both still adjusting to the shift in their relationship. It’s a relief really, to know he’s not the only one feeling like that.
It certainly makes Jimmy feel better, less ridiculous, about the effort he’d gone to at the house.
The results are gratifying, if a bit ambiguous to start with.
“Oh,” Duncan says when he steps into the living room. “Oh, wow!” He even drops the bag he’s carrying, at least partly for deliberate dramatic effect, Jimmy is sure. It falls onto the carpet with a solid thunk and a dulled clink, hinting at the contents. “You’ve decorated.”
“Only a bit.” Jimmy’s aiming for nonchalance and probably missing by a country mile.
“There’s a Christmas tree,” Duncan says, pointing at it as if it’s difficult spot. “And… Cards.” He waves a hand at the mantelpiece where there indeed are a few Christmas cards sitting. Most of them – to Jimmy’s mortification and delight – have been addressed to both of them.
“It’s Christmas.” He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s going to be… different, with Cassie away and all but…” He chances a glance at Duncan’s profile and finds him turned fully towards him. His eyes are still kind of wide from surprise, but he’s smiling, small and pleased and for Jimmy, because of him, and it makes the next words easy to say. “You’re home. And I missed you. And… It’s Christmas,” he repeats, helplessly.
Luckily, it seems enough for Duncan to get the message. “Yeah,” he says. “This is… It looks great, Jimmy.” And then he’s there, reaching for Jimmy’s hand, squeezing it for emphasis. “Seriously.”
They stand like that for a long moment, the Christmas lights on the tree and draped around the window casting a warm glow over the room and the two of them, and Jimmy thinks maybe he should have added a mistletoe on the doorway after all, like he’d half thought. Except, he doesn’t need an excuse, does he? Duncan’s gaze is heavy and dark, his expression open. Expectant. It would be so easy for Jimmy to tug him closer, to reach up to cup the side of his head, to guide him where…
The oven pings and they startle apart.
“Oh,” Jimmy says, dropping Duncan’s hand as he turns toward the kitchen. “The food.”
There’s a beat of silence and then a slightly incredulous “…You cooked?”
Jimmy rolls his eyes, pulling out the lasagne from the oven. There are fixings for a proper Christmas dinner in the fridge as well, but he’s going to wait until tomorrow to spring that on Duncan. Plus, he’s definitely going to rope him into doing half of the work. “There’s no need to sound like that about it. Did you think I fed Cass and myself entirely on takeaway and ready meals?”
“Well no, but… That smells good.” Duncan has followed him and is reaching for the plate cupboard already. Jimmy likes that a lot but still shoos him away.
“I’ll sort that,” he says. “You go get out of your suit.”
Duncan’s eyebrows hike right up, a smirk stretching his mouth in a way that Jimmy really wants to feel against his skin. He can feel himself flushing when he realises what he said.
Duncan looks delighted. “I can’t decide whether you just asked me to ‘slip into something more comfortable’,” He affects a lilting, slightly breathy voice for the phrase, “or whether you just implied you’d like me to get entirely naked.”
“The former,” Jimmy says, and then, because it’s been decades since he’s flirted like this, with intention, he adds, “for now.”
Duncan swallows, all humour suddenly sliding off his expression. His next exhale comes out shaky, like it’s been punched out of him, and Jimmy seriously considers just abandoning the lasagne on the countertop and moving straight to the dessert. Something about that must show on his face as Duncan takes a step back, toward the stairs.
“Fuck,” he mutters, and the rare obscenity works like a douse of cold water.
“Sorry,” Jimmy says. “Too much?” He grips the edge of the kitchen island, gaze dropping down. “I don’t want to—”
“No.” Duncan’s fingers are suddenly around his wrists. He’s reaching over the island, coaxing Jimmy’s hands loose, pulling them toward him, fitting them palm to palm with his own. “It’s… A lot,” he admits, smiling ruefully. “Not too much, but just… More than I…” He huffs a frustrated breath.
“Never in a million years?” Jimmy guesses, hazarding a grin.
“Yeah,” Duncan agrees, laughing a little now. “That. I wasn’t expecting to be so… affected?” He shakes his head. “No, that’s not right. Of course, I expected to… I mean… I feel a bit like a teenager with his first crush and like a man in his fifties making a massive life change, all at once. Does that make sense.”
Oh. Oh, right. Jimmy feels lighter again. This is nerves, like in the car, and that’s fine. That’s good, actually.
He says as much. “Welcome to the club.” He shrugs because, yeah, they’re in the same boat and trying to keep it from capsizing, to mix his metaphors. “You always seemed two steps ahead of me. Like you were just waiting for me to catch up. Is it weird that I’m kind of glad I’m not the only one who’s…” He doesn’t say ‘unsure’, because he’s definitely not that. “Worried about messing it up? I mean, I decorated the house!”
“And made what – contrary to all expectations – looks like an edible lasagne,” Duncan adds.
“Yeah, that too,” Jimmy agrees. He hesitates for a moment, but this feels like a good time. Later is not going to be any less awkward to ask this. “Have you ever…?” He trails off but strokes his thumbs over the inside of Duncan’s wrists for emphasis. “You know. With a guy.”
Duncan’s breath catches again but Jimmy is pretty sure it’s because of the touch, and not the question.
“Yeah,” he says. “Sort of. Not a… a relationship. Just a couple of meaningless one night stands.” He shrugs, looking a bit sheepish about it but it’s not like Jimmy is surprised, not really. “You?”
“Ah, same except in the opposite direction?” Jimmy pulls his hands back, but slowly, and then busies himself with getting the plates like he’d said. “There was a guy when I was at Tulliallan, for police training, you know? We were in the same cohort. Got close.” He finds utensils, and then glasses, putting everything down on the counter. “Could’ve gotten closer still but…” He looks up, meeting Duncan’s inquisitive gaze for this. “We were young and scared. And it was a different time then. In the end, it didn’t seem like worth the risk.”
Duncan nods. “And now?” he asks, picking the words slowly, carefully. “Does it seem like worth the risk now?”
Jimmy blinks, thrown by the question although he probably shouldn’t be. It’s just that it hadn’t even occurred to him. “I’m… I guess I’m more selfish now,” he says eventually, leaning on the island. “It feels like the only risk is to us. And Cass. But we managed to build a civil relationship for her sake before. Pretty sure we’d do it again if we’d have to.”
“You’ve thought this through,” Duncan says. He looks… Pleased.
“Ay.” Jimmy clears his throat. “Go on then,” he says. “Unless you want to eat with a tie on.” He nods at the slightly rumpled business suit Duncan is still wearing. “Not that you don’t look good in it…”
Duncan waggles his eyebrows playfully and adjusts his tie a bit, preening. “Alright, alright, back in two minutes.”
He’s as good as his word, coming back downstairs just as Jimmy is setting the trays with fully loaded plates onto the coffee table.
“Thought we’d eat here,” he says, gesturing at the Christmas tree, the fire he’d relit while Duncan was changing.
“Sounds good.” Duncan picks up his tray and sits next to Jimmy on the sofa, accepting a glass of red wine.
They eat mostly in silence, interspersed by occasional comments about the food – “This is actually good!” “You wanna call the papers about it?” – Cassie – “She say anything about Easter to you?” “No, but we’ll talk her into it.” – or just random things – “You know at least half of those Christmas cards are addressed to both of us?” “…” “Ay.”
They linger over the wine, listening to the crackling of the fire although neither moves to put more wood in, letting the flames slowly die out. Duncan is sprawling, glass held loosely in one hand, long legs stretched out, arm thrown over the sofa back. He’s wearing jeans now, and the same cashmere sweater he’d worn for their pub date and Jimmy is almost hundred percent certain the choice is no coincidence. It’s as soft as Jimmy remembers, warm from Duncan’s body heat when he smooths a hand down his arm, fingers tucking under the sleeve just a bit.
“I like this sweater,” Jimmy says, watching himself rub the wool between his fingertips, the pale strip of Duncan’s wrist.
“I know,” Duncan says, sounding a tad smug, and Jimmy smiles, theory confirmed.
From there, lacing his fingers with Duncan’s is easy. It still makes his heartbeat kick up a notch though. Objectively, they are simply holding hands. Subjectively… Jimmy lifts his gaze, finds Duncan studying him, expression open; vulnerable and fond and… wanting.
“Jimmy,” he says, and there’s a touch of exasperation in his voice.
“Yeah?” Jimmy asks, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, just to be obnoxious, because he knows. Of course, he knows. “Something you want?” He puts his own glass on the table and then reaches out to pluck Duncan’s right from his hand and does the same with that.
Duncan rolls his eyes. “You,” he says, blunt and devastating, voice cracking just slightly. It makes the low simmer of anticipation in Jimmy’s gut suddenly coil tight and hot and urgent. “I want you. And if you don’t ki—”
Jimmy tugs on their joined hands and leans close to press his mouth over Duncan’s; a slow, lingering drag that nevertheless effectively cuts off whatever Duncan was about to say.
Not for long though. When Jimmy pulls back, he has the pleasure of watching the way Duncan’s gaze widens in surprise, then grows heated. “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost absentminded. “That.” Then he extricates his hand from Jimmy’s but only to curl both of them around the front of his shirt and drag him in for another kiss.
This one starts slow and tentative too, both of them clearly still nervous and getting used to the newness of the situation, to each other. Then Jimmy swipes his tongue over Duncan’s bottom lip, Duncan makes a frankly indecent noise at the back of his throat as his mouth falls open under Jimmy’s and slow and tentative flies right out of the window and into the cold winter night outside it.
Duncan hooks an arm around Jimmy’s back and pulls until they fall against the sofa arm, legs tangling. Duncan huffs at the impact but wastes no time licking into Jimmy’s mouth in a way that is downright dirty and hints at his reputation being entirely founded in reality. When Jimmy slides his palms up Duncan’s sides, bunching the cashmere sweater in favour of getting at bare skin, Duncan arches up like he’s greedy for it, beautiful and unashamed, and it’s… It’s indeed a lot.
Jimmy wants all of it. He sucks a kiss to the side Duncan’s neck, the base of his throat over thick stubble, the corner of his jaw, before letting himself be distracted by Duncan’s mouth again, by the restless wandering of his hands across Jimmy’s back, and then lower.
He hisses at the contact, hips snapping forward uncontrollably, and then he starts laughing, suddenly completely overcome by the sheer incongruity of it all.
“Alright…” Duncan says, pulling back to look at Jimmy in the eye. “A man could get insulted here.” He’s grinning himself though, and definitely hasn’t moved his hand from Jimmy’s arse.
Good. Jimmy doesn’t want him to.
“Just…” He shakes his head and drops a kiss to Duncan’s lips to indicate that he’s not laughing at him, so much as… them. “Thought I’d passed the age of making out on the sofa like a teenager a few decades ago.”
Duncan snorts. “Evidence suggests otherwise, Inspector Perez,” he points out, eyebrow raised in challenge as he gives Jimmy’s arse a squeeze, presumably for emphasis. “Although I wouldn’t exactly call this teenaged activity.” He shifts enough that Jimmy can feel the growing hardness against his hip, while Duncan holds his eyes, openly daring.
Jimmy swallows, arousal curling in the pit of his stomach. “Agreed,” he says, pressing his thigh between Duncan’s with purpose now, watching the way his eyelids drop at the sensation. “Good thing then that we have other options besides the sofa.” He flicks his gaze toward the stairs, sees the moment Duncan catches his meaning, the way a brief flicker of nerves gives way to determination.
“Jimmy,” Duncan says. His hands come up to frame Jimmy’s face, and the kiss he brushes against his lips if full of promise. “Take me to bed.”
Jimmy does.
***
A few months later, just before Easter…
Edinburgh airport is much busier than Sumburgh. Duncan navigates it with ease, striding confidently toward the arrivals, looking over his shoulder every now and then to check that Jimmy is still keeping up.
“I’m not a toddler who’s going to get lost,” Jimmy says, rolling his eyes.
“I just don’t want to be late,” Duncan says. They’ve finally reached one of the information boards and he’s looking at the flights listed. “There! See, it’s landed already!”
Jimmy jolts a bit at that and immediately starts scanning the crowd, even though rationally he knows it’s going to take a while still for the passengers to get from the plane to the luggage collection and then finally out.
His prediction turns out to be right and they end up standing by the barrier for another thirty minutes, neither of them willing to go grab a coffee and risk missing Cassie’s return. Duncan’s fingers are cold, laced with Jimmy’s and squeezing just a bit too tightly to be entirely comfortable. Jimmy says nothing about it, sharing in the nervous excitement of seeing Cassie, and of her seeing them as… them. She knows, of course she does, in fact claiming she’d known before they did. Privately, Jimmy thinks there’s some exaggeration there, but he’s entirely content – relieved, grateful – to let the revisionist history stand.
Despite their double surveillance, they almost miss her. She’s tanned and beautiful, pushing a luggage trolley through the double doors, somehow looking so grown-up Jimmy can’t believe it’s been less than a year since she left. He nudges Duncan with his elbow, and they see the moment Cass spots them, her eyes dropping to their joined hands and widening in surprise and delight. Then, unexpectedly, her expression crumbles in a way they recognise as a sign of immediate tears.
He and Duncan are running before any fall.
“Cass, honey?” Jimmy reaches for her, and she flies at them, wrapping an arm around each of them.
Duncan shares a concerned look with Jimmy. “What is it, darling? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she says, muffled. “Everything is fine. I just…” Cassie pulls back and beams at them, eyes wet, a smile like the Brazilian sun on her face. “I just didn’t expect this,” she waves a hand between Jimmy and Duncan, “to make me so…”
“So what?” Jimmy asks.
“So happy,” she says, pulling them into another hug. “Just… Really happy.”
Duncan laughs, pressing a kiss against Cassie’s hair. “Me neither,” he says, catching Jimmy’s eyes over her head.
Jimmy says nothing, just holds the two of them as tightly as he can, trusting they’ll get his message anyway.
***
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on 2020-07-31 07:34 am (UTC)no subject
on 2020-07-31 08:16 am (UTC)no subject
on 2020-07-31 08:47 pm (UTC)There really is a lack of fics with these two!
I had a good day out and about today :)
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on 2020-08-01 08:18 am (UTC)Thanks for reading and commenting <3
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on 2020-08-02 01:07 am (UTC)no subject
on 2020-08-02 09:46 am (UTC)