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This was not how Sullivan was expecting to be spending his evening. There were worse ways, he thought, as he sipped at his lager, but this was still not where he thought he would be. He had intended to go home, read, make himself something nice for dinner. Maybe he’d listen to the radio for a bit, sing along as he cleaned up; nothing excited but at least calming after a lengthy, stressful day at work.
Instead, he found himself in the Red Lion, invited out by Goodfellow and the other officers after they all got off. Normally, Sullivan would have politely declined and gone home. He was sure Goodfellow was expecting that too, since that had been what he’d always done in the past, but Goodfellow had been stood with three of the new constables, who also asked him to join them, and for some reason, he agreed. He did say he wouldn’t be hanging around long, just a few drinks and then be on his way. A second pint was being placed in front of him, courtesy of Constable Winter, despite the fact that he was still only halfway through his first, bought by Goodfellow.
They all sat at a table together, Sullivan tucked into the corner with his drink, and the others around. Goodfellow wasn’t like him, Goodfellow had no trouble talking with the new officers about whatever happened to come up. Sullivan was never sure exactly what to say or how to say it, and so he just quietly drank his pint, listening in and learning. The constables all seemed nice at least. Winter, as he spoke, was probably quite similar to him, listening to how he described his parents, but he at least had been able to keep a decent balance of humour and policing; Sullivan had not found that balance. Constable Scott and Nelson seemed quite friendly, which was good, and Sullivan made a note to have them work more cases together for the ease of all things.
He listened more than he spoke, and he was fine with that. Goodfellow would make an effort every now and then to include him in the conversation, and he wasn’t rude so of course he would contribute, but he wasn’t able to make jokes with as much ease as the other, or find ways to insert himself into the conversation, and so he’d fall quiet again. He didn’t really, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to keep up a long conversation, and so he just listened and drank his pint. He did drink a lot quicker, he noted, as he wasn’t speaking - it gave him something to focus on and stopped him looking so awkward.
By the time he started his second pint, more officers were joining, all ones he knew and all seemed surprised to see him there. Not that he blamed them, but still. Apparently, his presence was a cause for celebration though, which meant, since they were in a pub, another round of drinks. He didn’t get a chance to object before another pint and a doubt scotch was placed in front of him. He nodded and thanked them, and switched from larger to the hard liquor - it was much more his preference.
With the addition of the other officers, and including himself, there were now nine of them, cramp around one table. Sullivan found himself further tucked and smushed into the corner, and as more conversations started happening, everything getting louder, he just drank more. He made a note to keep an eye on how much he drank, and to not overdo it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Sid had been surprised when he’d entered the Red Lion to hear such loud and raucous energy. He was further surprised when he realised it was coming from the police officers sitting at the table in the corner. His jaw almost hit the floor when he spotted Inspector Sullivan downing a pint and turning the empty glass upside down on his head when he managed to beat one of the new constable officers. Sid hadn’t been convinced when he first glanced across and saw the man, and he still hadn’t been convinced after staring for a solid minute, his own pint untouched in his hand.
It was late, so perhaps understandably, if the Inspector had been here since his shift ended, he would have drunk some, but Sid had never seen him in the Red Lion before, and especially not competitively drinking a young officer under the table.
Sid watched from his barstool, sipping on his pink, but never quite taking his eyes off the group. He recognised a good few of the officers, all but one - one of the new ones - but he couldn’t recall Sullivan ever drinking with any of them before When he thought about it, he couldn’t recall Sullivan ever drinking, at the Red Lion or at any other bar he himself visited. It was quite a sight, if he was honest. The Inspector didn’t look quite as well done up as he usually did, with his tie pulled loose and crooked around his neck, his collar open and his jacket hanging off the back of his chair. His sleeves were also rolled up to above his elbow, and Sid couldn’t help but stare at his arms too. He looked so casual, and somewhat drunk, and Sid was mildly transfixed by it all.
His name was called by a regular drinker who knew him quite well, and he turned to see where he’d been called from when his name was called again.
“Carter!” He’d heard his name from that voice before, but never with such volume with or with such enthusiasm. Sid turned slowly, with some level of caution, to watch Sullivan clumsily clamber his way over his officers to get to him. Reaching him at the bar, Sullivan smiled and slung an arm over his shoulder. “I haven’t seen you much,” he said, leaning into him. “Been keeping out of trouble I hope.”
“You know me Inspector, definitely not.”
Sid wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to react. One one hand, having Sullivan smile at him, leaning into him, so clearly comfortable in his presence, was nice, and if Sid was honest, something he’s always wanted to see. The Inspector was, however, clearly drunk. He wasn’t sure how much the man had had, but it was clearly enough to make him physically affectionate, and so for Sullivan, he must’ve drank a fair bit.
“I do know you,” Sullivan continued, as he waved over the bartender. “I do, you’re right. A drink for him please,” he said to the tender, and they nodded and started pouring Sid another pint. “You should join us.”
Sid couldn’t help but laugh at the prospect. “Me? Join you and your policeman buddies? I think I’m okay.” The disappointment that washed over Sullivan’s face seemed genuine, and it softened Sid enough to amend his answer. “Maybe later, alright?” Sullivan’s smile returned to his face as quickly as it had disappeared.
“Later, yes.” Sullivan gave his shoulders a squeeze and gave him a farewell smile, before trotting back over to his table. Sid’s eyes followed, watching the man lean against one of the constables as he talked across the table to another, waving his hand and pointing between Constable Scott and the one Sid didn’t know, before giving a cheer. Sid was curious as to what was going on, but he didn’t make any effort to move to the table.
Instead, he took his half drunken pint and the fresh one courtesy of Sullivan across to the table he was originally called to, with a group of his regular drinking friends. One of them - a man known to Sid only as Scrunch - commented on it, asking since when was he friends with the “pretty boy copper,” to which Sid could only shrug. That phrase stuck in his head though, because he could tell by the way Scrunch said it, and just by how Scrunch was in, that it was supposed to be demeaning. And perhaps to the other drinks at the table, it stuck that way, but to Sid, who looked back over to the policemen’s table, watching Sullivan laugh larger than he had ever seen, it was quite literal.
That’s how things went for a while. Sid would sit and engage and drink, but continue to keep his eyes on the table across the pub, watching as Sullivan got more and more drunk and more and more dishevelled. Sullivan kept running a hand through his hair, and he kept doing it, wearing the gel away until it was flopping forward into his face. And at some point, Sullivan had removed his tie though his waistcoat remained in place, which Sid thought was rather odd, but what he found stranger was that the tie had ended up around the neck of Constable Winter, who was also thoroughly sloshed. Sid had feelings about that, feelings that he had no reason to feel, but he did regardless.
Sid’s attention, however, for the last few minutes had been directly on his group of drinker friends. Scrunch had commented, and mildly scolded him, that he wasn’t paying attention, and so he rectified that, no matter how difficult, by dedicating himself to a story Sid had heard at least three times in the past month. His attention was taken away, and fairly so, when Sullivan appeared at their table.
“Good evening,” he said despite it having not been the evening for quite a few hours, leaning over, and when his eyes set on Sid, he smiled. “Carter, how you doing?” For a man seemingly as drunk as he was, his speech was still relatively coherent.
Sid couldn’t help but smile at the drunk man, who seemingly beamed at him. “I’m doing well Sullivan, looks like you are too.”
“I’m doing wonderfully.” He rounded himself across the table to stand beside Sid, to look at the two men - two had since left - who were also sitting at the table. “Are these your friends?”
Sid wouldn’t exactly call them friends, since he never spent any time with them outside of the Red Lion, but that seemed like unnecessary detail for the Inspector. “Yeah, suppose you could call them that.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Sullivan said to them, holding his hand out to shake. Neither of them shook his hand. That didn’t surprise Sid, since neither were exactly fond of cops, but Sid felt kinda bad for Sullivan at being snubbed. It clearly affected him too, as Sid watched Sullivan’s hand slowly drop to his side and face fall ever slightly. Sullivan was helpless and just watched at the two men opposite Sid stood up and went to the bar.
“Don’t worry about them, ain’t worth your time.”
Sullivan turned back to him with soft eyes. “That’s so kind of you to say.”
Sid wasn’t sure exactly what happened next in the sense that in one moment, Sullivan was standing beside him, and the next, he was sitting in his lap. He was also pretty sure his brain short circuited when Sullivan wriggled himself into a more comfortable position, slinging an arm over Sid’s shoulder to keep himself in place. Sid wasn’t quite sure where to place his hands and arms, and so safely hooked one around Sullivan’s back, to keep him from sliding off.
“I was waiting for you to come over,” Sullivan said in a voice that reminded Sid of a pouting child. “You said you’d come join us but you didn’t.”
“Sorry, got caught up with this lot.”
“Well that’s not true. I saw you watching me, so you should have just come over to sit with me.”
Sid had many thoughts, and wasn’t sure how to express any of them. So apparently he wasn’t as slick as he thought, and that Sullivan, even completely hammered, still picked up on his watching. He wasn’t quite sure how Sullivan knew, since he hadn’t thought he’d been caught, but apparently he had. And apparently, Sullivan actually did want his company, enough to insert himself into Sid’s own social drinking.
“I urm, I didn’t want to interrupt you and your friends,” which was true, just not all of the truth.
“But I was waiting for you Sid.”
Without input from his conscious brain, the hand around Sullivan tightened, which was mistranslated by Sullivan as a cue to scoot himself closer. He couldn’t get any closer, but he tried. Sid was processing that while still trying to process that Sullivan had called him Sid, which, to his knowledge, was the first time that had even happened. He wanted to hope it wasn’t the last.
The fact that he was in his head must have shown on his face, as a hand found its way to his jaw and brought his gaze match Sullivan’s. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Honestly, he replied, “You’re sat on my lap.”
Sullivan looked down, as if he hadn’t been aware, and then simply replied, “Yes, I am,” but made no attempt to move. Okay, so he wanted to be here, Sid reasoned. Didn’t explain why. “Is that okay?”
“Urm, sure, yeah, why not.” The hand around his shoulders started carding through his hair in a lazy, affectionate manner, and Sid couldn’t help but enjoy the touch. “You’re drunk Sullivan,” he felt the need to point out, though he was sure the man was at least somewhat aware of the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. The other man hummed in response, but did not stop his fingers moving through Sid’s hair.
“Inspector,” called a voice, and they both turned to look at Goodfellow and the other officers. “We’ll be heading off now. Should I be giving you a lift home?”
“No, no,” Sullivan replied, voice louder than it needed to be. “I’ll be fine.”
Sid, leaning over to get a clean view of the Sergeant. “I’ll sort him,” knowing full well Sullivan was far too drunk to actually manage on his own, and Goodfellow already looked to have his hands full.
“Thank you Mr Carter, helps me get this bunch home,” motioning to the drunk constables. Goodfellow himself seemed sober - smart man - and began escorting them all from the pub.
Sullivan turned back to him, giving him a lazy smile. “Well, that’s mighty kind of you Sid, thank you.” It was said in a very drunk manner, but did indeed seem sincere, and Sid just couldn’t help but smile up at the man.
“You’re welcome, but we should probably get a move on you know.”
“What?” Sullivan said far too loud. “But we haven’t had a drink together yet.”
And Sid couldn’t help but chuckle. “I think you’ve had enough to drink.” With the disappointment growing on Sullivan’s face, he added, “but I’ll make it up to you sometime, how about that?” And then that bright smile returned and Sullivan leaned into him for a moment before pulling himself to his feet. He wobbled and steadied himself on Sid’s shoulder. “You alright?”
“With you here, definitely.”
Oh how Sid wished to hear that sentiment from the man sober, but that would never happen, he knew that; it was one of those dumb, hopeless things he held onto. Hearing it drunk, maybe it wasn’t quite the same thing, but it was enough for Sid.
He clambered about the pub while Sullivan stood there and watched him, collecting the Inspector’s belongings from the table - the tie had gone with Constable Winter - before then collecting the drunk man, and starting the trek to the police cottage. It was rather nice out still, despite the time, enough that Sullivan seemed impervious to the slight chill in the air but that may have been the alcohol since the man was usually always so cold. Sid kept an eye on him as Sullivan walked on his own, Sid always keeping close enough that, if the man should start to lose his balance, he’d be able to catch him. It was an odd sight, watching Sullivan walk all wonky down the street, but he couldn’t help but smile; so few much get to see a sight like this, and Sid felt privileged to bear witness.
Civilisation started thinning out as they walked down the dark streets. Lamps were out and on, but few and far between. Sullivan stopped rather suddenly, Sid passing by a pace before stopping and turning back. “Let’s sit,” Sullivan said, but he did not wait for Sid as he walked to a bench at the side of the road, something Sid had missed. Seemingly without a choice, Sid walked to sit beside him. “Do you have my cigarettes?”
Sid did, as they were in the suit jacket he was carried, and fished within the pockets to pull out Sullivan’s case. He handed it over, Sullivan took one and then offered one out to Sid, and Sid took it. Sid however didn’t trust drunk Sullivan with the matches and so lit his own before holding out the shielded match to the Inspector, who leant over with the smoke in his mouth. When it was lit, he exhaled and leant back on the bench. It was easy enough to sit in silence, and Sid took the time, when he wasn’t eyeing Sullivan to make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep, to look at the stars. Light pollution was limited, and so he could just look unhindered at the constellations.
“They’re pretty aren’t they?” Sullivan said, rather quiet. Sid nodded as he took a drag. “I don’t think I ever got a proper look at the stars in London. So much,” and he waved his hand in the air, “everything. Couldn’t really see them then, so at least Kembleford is good for one thing.”
“Yeah, suppose it is.” Sid took a breath, contemplated being a little more honest, and then decided he would - there was a fair chance Sullivan would forget anyway. “I was named after stars you know.”
Sullivan turned to look at him. “Sidney?”
“No, no, my actual name. Cygnus.”
“....Cygnus?”
“Yeah, like the swan.” He took another drag. “It’s too early in the year to really see it.” Sullivan was still watching him, and Sid could practically hear the gears going in the man’s head. “What? It’s not that weird of a name, weird enough though that I changed it I’ll give you that.” Sullivan kept staring, his cigarette half forgotten. “Okay, you’re staring a bit too much now, what is it?”
“It’s just,” Sullivan began, “It explains so much.”
“About what?”
“About you.”
Sid frowned, “what about me?”
“Why you’re so pretty - you’re named after the stars so it was going to happen.”
Sullivan turned back to the sky, working on his cigarette again as if he hadn’t said anything of importance. Sid was still grappling with the words, the kindness and sincerity of them, grappling with how much he wasn’t them to be true. Thinking though, why would Sullivan, even drunk, say something like that? Sid wanted to ask, at least something for clarity, and there was no one around to stop him, and so he did.
“You think I’m pretty?” He wished he hadn’t sounded so startled, so disbelieving, so quiet, but he did; at least his tone was honest in his emotions.
Sullivan nodded but didn’t turn back. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it Sid, I promise that. You’re a very pretty young man.”
Not focusing on the reassurance, Sid continued with, “Well, it’s not like you’ve ever said anything like that to me before.”
Sullivan’s movements stopped, the man freezing for a few seconds, Sid worrying he’d broken him, before he turned back to face him. “Should I?”
“What?”
“Say it more often?”
“I urm, I’m pretty sure that’s up to you - you and sobriety that is.”
With a nod, Sullivan took another drag. “Okay, okay, I’ll say it more.” Sid didn’t hold much stake in that, but it was nice to think about, that maybe Sullivan might call him pretty sober and mean it. Sid let himself smile at the thought.
They finished their cigarettes in silence and carried on their way to the cottage. Sullivan was a rather happy drunk, it seemed, or at least more emotional in general since the man had clearly gotten upset when Sid hadn’t joined the officers at the table. Sid did enjoy it though, seeing the Inspector actually emote, seeing him smile and actually enjoy himself; if only he let him enjoy himself sober too.
This was not how Sid had expected his night in the pub to go, nor did he expect to be walking a drunk police officer back to his home. He hadn’t not expected to reveal his name to anybody and especially not Sullivan, but it was Kembleford, and stranger things had definitely happened. That being said, this had been a very odd night indeed.