Chapter Text
When DI Jones gets back into Midsomer, it’s not under any false pretences. Barnaby meets him in the foyer with a handshake and a pat on the back and a smile that he’s never once shown Jamie.
Which is fine, he gets it.
Jamie’s only been Barnaby’s Sergeant for a little over a year. Jones was his first in Midsomer, and his only Sergeant for a few good years after that. They’ve got history.
“What the bloody hell is this?” Barnaby mutters to Jones, touching at his bearded chin. Jones ducks his head shyly.
“They’re not too worried about it in Narco, Sir.”
“Oh, one of those lot now are you,” Barnaby teases. “Law unto yourselves.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
Barnaby turns back towards Jamie and he moves forward on instinct, bursting the Inspectors’ little bubble. “Winter, you remember DI Jones.”
“Yes, Sir,” Jamie says, offering his hand for Jones to shake. “Jack, wasn’t it?”
Jones smirks, Jamie glad to see the joke wasn’t out of line. “Ben.”
“Uh, no,” Barnaby interrupts, putting a hand on Jones’ back and a meaningful look on Jamie. “Detective Inspector Jones. I don’t care how old I get, first names while on duty won’t fly with me.”
Jamie shares an amused look with Jones, the two of them well acquainted with the way John Barnaby works.
“Yes, Sir,” they say, almost in sync.
*
Jamie can’t seem to escape Jones’ presence. At the police station, or the Barnabys, or even pub crawls and social outings. It’s not that he doesn’t like Jones; after their last awkward meeting they’d broken the ice and discovered they had a fair bit in common. Other than the badge.
It was just that he’d finally found his place in Midsomer. The dust had settled. Now Jones was back things weren’t quite as clear.
“What’s the problem, then?” Fleur asks him when she joins Jamie at their table in The Horse and Cart. He’d been watching The Barnabys and Jones laughing by the bar, and he’d thought he’d kept his expression neutral.
Apparently not.
“Nothing,” Jamie lies. “No, I’m just tired.”
Fleur scoffs. She’s got a drink in front of her almost as big as her head, a cocktail by the looks of it. “For a copper you’re a lousy liar.”
“Detective,” Jamie reminds her, which just makes her rolls her eyes. “And I’m not lying. I’m tired. I should probably get home.”
“You haven’t had your dinner.”
“I’ll have something frozen.”
“Is this about that new Inspector?” Fleur tips her head towards the rest of their party, still laughing together as they’re served their drinks. “He’s not trying to replace you,” she says, and Jamie feels like a little toddler being coddled by his mother.
“Of course not, he’s an Inspector. In Narcotics.”
“I didn’t mean at work,” she says wisely, as the Barnabys and Jones join them back at their table.
“Why haven’t you opened the menu, Winter?” Barnaby protests as he pushes in next to Jamie. “Some of us have babysitters to get home and pay, you know.”
Sarah tuts at him. “Don’t be so cheap, John. Don’t listen to him, Jamie, we’re not in a rush.”
“Oh but Winter here is,” Fleur pipes up, throwing a look at the whole table and making Jamie want to crawl up into a ball. Not for the first time. “Just said he was heading home.”
“Already?” Barnaby asks as Sarah gives him a worried look. “You haven’t even had dinner yet.”
“I was just saying I’m tired, that’s all,” Jamie mutters, and can’t help glancing across the table to where Jones has been completely quiet. He’s looking at Jamie, but doesn’t say anything.
“Well a hot, home cooked meal will do you the world of good,” Fleur decides, and Jamie figures there’s no point arguing with her.
“Sure. Just let me get another drink and I’ll look at that menu,” he says, and escapes the table to go back over to the bar. The bartender gives him a knowing nod, gesturing to his glass.
“Same again?”
“Thanks.”
Jamie plays with a coaster for a moment, watching her at the beer taps. Her dark hair curls past her shoulders, her top is lacy and low cut, and when she looks up to catch him watching he quickly tears his gaze away.
“5.50,” she says, smiling when Jamie hands her a note. When she gives him the change Jamie thanks her and she smiles again, says,
“My pleasure. Maybe you could write your number on that coaster to thank me properly.”
Someone next to Jamie coughs, and they both look over to see Jones stifling a small laugh. The bartender blushes and moves on with a wave, leaving Jamie gabbing like a beached fish.
“Good thing you didn’t leave early, eh?” Jones teases, moving closer to lean on his elbows on the bar. His glass is still mostly full, Jamie notices, so he is obviously just there to chat.
“I wasn’t trying to ...” Jamie starts, but isn’t sure how to finish that sentence.
“Oh so it just comes natural, then?”
“Leave off,” Jamie mutters, unfortunately feeling his cheeks start to flush. Jones just chuckles as Jamie gulps at his beer. “What about you? I thought you were ... involved. Back in Brighton.”
Jones looks confused for a moment, twisting his eyebrows at Jamie. “You mean Kate Wilding? We were just roommates. John never believed us though.”
“Right.”
“Winter,” he says, out of nowhere, making Jamie jump a little. “I hope there’s no more bad feeling between us. After the whole Jack Morris thing.”
“What? No. Not at all, Sir.”
“I mean, I understand. If I’d been kept out of the loop back when I was Tom’s Sergeant ...”
“The cousin,” Jamie says with a slow nod, Jones doing the same.
“The original.” Jones smiles at him and Jamie can’t help but return it. “So like I say, I get it, if there’s bad blood.”
“There’s really not, Sir.”
“Okay, well. I just wanted to make sure.”
“Right,” Jamie says, starting to feel kind of stupid. It’s not Jones’ fault he’s old friends of the Barnabys. It’s not his fault that Jamie is so insecure about his position, or his life in Causton. As it is. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Of course. C’mon. Barnaby’s getting restless and he’ll be like a bear with a sore head if he doesn’t get his steak soon.”
Jamie huffs. “Don’t I know it. I’ll be right there.”
Jones’ eyes go down to where Jamie is still playing with the coaster, then back to his eyes. He smirks. “I see. I’ll meet you over there.”
When he goes, Jamie pulls his pen out of his coat pocket.
Kam’s been gone for long enough now, and it’s time Jamie starts broadening his horizons. If getting wound up about Barnabys old Sergeant wasn’t a clue that Jamie needed to get out more, nothing was.
Jamie scribbled down his number.
*
Jamie left everything behind in London. His mum and sister, his good friends from Uni; a small flat just outside the city that he’d leased with his ex.
The breakdown of their relationship was the last straw for Jamie. When the offer came through for the position in Midsomer, there didn’t seem to be anything really stopping him.
Despite his mum’s tears and his sister’s guilt trips, despite how he’d finally finished his latest course and was thinking about moving on from the police. Something smaller, slower, had been too attractive a prospect to pass up.
“Work’s still good with you, eh?” Jamie’s friend George says as he sits down by Jamie. They’re together with some of their other friends at the bowling alley – always trying different things now and then.
“I suppose.”
“Well it’d have to be, with how many times you’ve cancelled on us.”
Jamie throws his head back and groans, making George laugh. “Here’s me thinking you were being a nice friend, wondering how I am.”
“You know me better than that.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re up James,” another friend Hailey calls, coming over to their table. “Have I told you how naff you look wearing a suit and bowling shoes?”
“Wow,” Jamie says, mock hurt, gulping the rest of his beer before getting to his feet. “I’m really overwhelmed with how nice my so called friends are being tonight.”
Hailey just blows a raspberry, taking his place next to George as Jamie goes to take his shot.
George and Hailey, along with Tamil - who was off buying them some food – were all convention friends. Jamie had gone to a festival in Midsomer Worthy where he’d discovered Tamil’s art; then he’d been introduced to the other two pretty soon after that.
They had other acquaintances, but it was mostly just the four of them. Jamie had gotten lucky.
“Oh, look at that,” Jamie says slyly, pointing to the screen. “JW is in front. Who’s JW again?”
“Thought you’d be able to figure that out yourself,” Tamil says, joining them back at the table with chicken and chips. “Being a copper and all.”
“Detective!”
*
When they close a gruelling case over a week later, Barnaby invites Jamie and Fleur for dinner. Jamie always looks forward to going to their place; he doesn’t really do a lot of cooking for himself and the Barnabys are absolutely amazing cooks.
“Oh, hi,” Jamie says when Ben Jones answers the door. He really should have seen it coming. Jones is out of his usual suit, wearing jeans and a leather jacket over his shirt instead. Along with the wavy hair and full beard, Jamie struggles to remember that this man is an Inspector.
“Sergeant,” Jones greets with a smirk and nod, moving to the side and putting is arm out to motion him inside. Paddy is already at his feet, so Jamie crouches down to give him a scratch and pat before following Jones through to the kitchen.
“Ah, Winter,” Barnaby greets, wearing his apron as usual and eyeing off the bottle Jamie has in his hand. Jones continues into the backyard, where Jamie can see Sarah and Fleur. “Is this to share then?”
“No, Sir,” Jamie jokes, handing the bottle to Barnaby. “I’d planned to pass out drunk on your sofa tonight, that’s okay isn’t it?”
“Ha, ha,” he drones, leading Jamie further into the kitchen. There’s something sizzling on the stove, and Jamie is already salivating just at the smell of it.
“You’re cooking in here? I thought you were setting up the barbecue.”
Barnaby huffs. “No. I discovered at the last moment that I’d run out of gas. So, here we are.”
“Well it looks great, Sir.”
“No points for brown nosing, Winter.”
Jamie gasps jokingly, with a hand to his chest, making Barnaby scoff. He pushes at Jamie’s shoulder to shoo him out of there, so Jamie goes to join the others outside.
“Uncle Jamie!” Betty screeches, the moment Jamie’s stepped out there. Jamie picks her up and swings her around, making her squeal with laughter; before she’s demanding a piggy back around the garden.
When they finally get over to the table with the rest of the group, Sarah is looking up at them fondly.
“You’re very popular with the Barnaby household, aren’t you Sergeant?” Jones teases. At least Jamie thinks he’s teasing, and he’s smiling with his eyes so it’s probably a safe bet.
“Sometimes, Sir,” Jamie says as Betty slides down off his back and scatters away with Paddy.
“No, no,” Sarah says with a wave of her finger, Jamie taking the seat next to her. “I’m not having any of that here. John insists on titles but you two are our friends, not just colleagues.”
“What are you screeching about?” Barnaby says as he comes out with the bottle under his arm, and a few extra glasses.
“I’m outlawing Sirs and Sergeants when you’re off duty. It’s Jamie and Ben and Jo- ”
“Oh no,” Barnaby argues back at her. “Christian names are a gateway drug. If Winter and Jones start calling me John then I’ll be getting invited to music festivals and comic conventions next.”
Jones let out a little guffaw of a laugh, surprising Jamie. “I’m sure your Sergeant isn’t about to invite you along on his day off, Sir.”
Jamie snickers into the wine glass that Barnaby has just passed him, keeping it out of his reach when Barnaby tries to take it back from him. “No offence, Sir.”
“Come now, Inspector,” Fleur pipes up, either ignoring or not seeing the put-upon looks that Sarah throws at her. “I think Jamie has been embarrassed by us enough on his down time.”
“That sounds like an interesting story,” Jones says, eyes sparkling as he smiles at Jamie.
“It’s really not.”
“But it is good ammunition in case I ever hear you call me John,” Barnaby teases, and then cries, “The chicken!” as he rushes back into the house.
“Unbelievable,” Sarah mutters, throwing her hands up as if defeated, and Jones laughs again. That open and honest sound, like Jamie’s never heard it.
“Look, Sarah,” he says comfortingly. “If the Sergeant is happy for me to call him Jamie whenever his boss is out of earshot, I promise I will. Just for you.”
Jamie throws him an amused look, seeing Jones grinning from ear to ear. “Alright for you, you outrank me.”
“Oh, no, no I never said that offer went both ways,” Jones teases, laughing and ducking his head as Sarah throws a bunched up napkin across the table at him.
*
Valerie was studying anthropology when Jamie met her, already two years into her course and righteous; fire in her eyes like Jamie could only hope to have one day. He’d fallen head over heels over the course of one lunch date – a mutual friend of theirs had set them up and Jamie had later told her he was indebted to her for life.
Valerie was his first real love, his only probably [discounting Ginny Tunstall from first form who kissed him behind the science building and Jamie subsequently asked her to marry him]. He’d been 23 years old, so the thought that she’d been the one was pathetic really.
Naive, his mum had said. 23 is probably a little old to be so naive.
“You took your time,” Sally, the beautiful bartender, tells Jamie with a sly smile once the waiter has left with their dinner orders. Jamie knows what she means – that she’d messaged him almost straight away when he left her number but he’d taken over a week to make plans with her.
The story of Jamie’s life.
“Yeah, sorry,” he fumbles, eyes on his beer glass. It’s amazing how even now, late twenties and once heartbroken, a beautiful woman makes him feel like a little kid again; with no idea what he’s doing. “My job is ... pretty demanding.”
“I’m only teasing.”
“Yeah but you’re not wrong,” Jamie admits with a small smile. “I’ve thought about you, about this.”
It’s nice to see he’s not the only one blushing. “That’s good.”
Jamie thinks it goes well. Which is saying something, considering he can’t remember the last time he went on a date. If you don't count the terrible attempts he made at wooing Kam before she took off to another country to get away from him (he knows that’s not true, it just feels true).
Maybe it's why he likes the fact Sally isn’t career oriented, that she’s not ashamed to tend bars and walk dogs and do other odd jobs to get by. Jamie had always thought he’d be the same. Study his way through life, travel and not be tied down to the work, the income, the routine.
“You mind if I ask you a question,” Sally says, leaning forward with her hand loose around her wine glass. Their dessert plates sit between them, wiped clean. “It’s personal.”
“I suppose?” he says, framing it like a question.
“I have a friend who’s a regular at HnC, he said he knows you.”
“Oh, right.”
“Well, he said that you and he ...” Sally gives Jamie a small smile, her voice trailing off. Jamie just blinks at her, not a clue where she’s going with this. “He said that you spent the night together once.”
“Oh, right,” Jamie says again, this time feeling himself go hot under his collar. He’s never understood why people have to share their sex lives with any one that’s not involved.
“I mean, I don’t care,” Sally says quickly, and Jamie throws her a look because okay, that thought hadn’t crossed his mind. It’s not like he doesn’t know that this is Midsomer, far from London, and there’s still an abundance of prejudice about. It’s partly why he doesn’t bother trying anything with men, other than a bit of fun now and again. “I was just curious.”
“Curious about what?”
“I donno, your ... interests I guess.”
Jamie huffs, trying not to sound as annoyed as he feels. They were having a good time, he thought he’d made his interests in her pretty clear. “I’m bisexual.”
“Right.”
“Is that an issue?”
“Of course not,” Sally says, and she seems genuine so Jamie hopes they can put the conversation to bed and move on. He doesn’t make a habit of unravelling his entire personal history to people he’s only just met.
“Great, well ... another drink?” he asks, but he’s already getting out of his seat to get himself one. He’s suddenly feeling more wound up than he’d like.
“Uh, sure,” Sally says quietly, but Jamie’s already gone.
*
Jamie’s dad left when he was a little kid; after he decided that he wasn’t cut out for the life of a married man with two kids. Jamie’s mum’s always been upfront about it all, told Jamie who he was and that she would support him if he decided he ever wanted to track his dad down.
Jamie didn’t.
“How’s Mr. Barnaby?” his mum asks next time Jamie speaks to her. He tries to make sure it’s at least once a week, but he’s lucky if it’s once every two.
An hour of hearing her gossip about the hundred people she knows is hard to work himself up to.
“Yeah, good,” he tells her, standing in the kitchen grazing on some veggie sticks while his dinner cooks on the stove. “He actually took some time off last week, went to Brighton with Sarah and Betty.”
“Oh, lovely,” she coos. “Betty must be getting so big.”
“Huge. She’s starting Pre-school in September.”
His mum sighs. Jamie knows what it means. Jamie’s over thirty now, whereas his sister Mary’s younger – Jamie’s her first hope for grandkids before she gets too old to enjoy them. As much as he loves them, though, Jamie’s not sure if he’ll be having kids.
He doesn’t want to let them down, the way his dad let him and Mary down.
“You’ll have to send me some pictures when she does start.”
“Sure.”
She’s about to go into some long winded story about one of Mary’s friend’s kids starting at school when Jamie’s phone beeps at him to say he has another call coming through. It’s Barnaby.
“Sorry mum, I’ve got a work call.”
“Oh, of course lovey. I’ll talk to you soon then. Love you!”
“Love you too,” Jamie tells her, before pressing the call waiting button and clicking onto Barnaby. “Hello, Sir.”
“Winter,” his Inspector drawls in that way of his, the way that says Jamie is in for the long haul. “I don’t suppose you have any fun plans for the evening.”
“That doesn’t sound like a question.”
“Oh it’s not,” Barnaby teases. “I know you better than that.”
Jamie can’t help but smirk. As much as Barnaby can be stern, and unflinching, he’s also got a dry wit that puts Jamie at ease. It has since the first day they worked together. “Have we got a case, Sir?”
“Naturally. A body’s been found in the weir at Newton Magna.”
“Right. Do you need me to pick you up on the way through?” he asks, as he always does. That had been another big change from London; he’d never worked so closely with his superiors. He’d never had another man, or police officer, to look up to.
Maybe that was why Jamie was so pathetic about the Barnabys. Without his family, he’d latched on to another. One of the finest families Jamie had ever met.
“No, thank you. I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay sir. See you in ... twenty?”
“See you.”
Jamie inspected his stew with the same resigned sigh his mum had given him. It was how he often sighed at his meals, with that feeling of longing.
Forever interrupted.
Jamie took it off the stove. Frozen leftovers it was.
*
The Newton Magna investigation was wrapped up just in time for the departments Cricket for Cancer Charity Match - much to Jamie’s dismay. They’d been planning it for months, and Jamie had been keeping his fingers crossed that he’d be able to work through it.
Barnaby wasn’t about to let him get away with it though.
“I’m not really a team sports kind of person, sir,” he tries to protest, but he’s already in his gear with his kit bag ready to go.
“I thought you played football?”
“A really long time ago, sure.”
“Well it’s sort of like riding a bike, isn’t it?” Barnaby says with a smirk, taking a seat at his desk and opening one of the many folders stacked up there. “You don’t really forget.”
Jamie raises an eyebrow at him, but decides it isn’t worth arguing over the many reasons why cricket and football are not remotely alike. Instead he just says, “I thought you were my lift, Sir?”
“Oh, no, I have to catch up here. Inspector Jones said he’d take you in and I’ll try to head over before the match starts.
“Right,” Jamie says, hating the way Ben Jones’ name makes him feel anxious. They’d gotten along okay at the Barnabys dinner those few weeks ago, chatted easily about the simpler things in life. Even if Jones had tried not to laugh at Jamie’s interest in comic books.
“Is that going to be a problem?” Barnaby asks Jamie, giving him a look that suggests he knows something Jamie doesn’t.
Jamie quickly says, “Of course not,” at the same time Jones is calling, “Sergeant!” from the other end of the office, waving from the doorway.
“I’ll see you there, then.”
“See you,” Barnaby calls, a little too singsong for Jamie’s liking, as he follows Jones out to his car. Jones is still wearing jeans and a sweater, which makes Jamie feel a little dumb for already being in his cricket whites.
“Eager?” Jones says when they get in the car, giving him a once over as if he can read Jamie’s mind.
“Not really,” Jamie admits, putting on his seatbelt. “I haven’t played since I was at University.”
“Oh so, eons ago then,” Jones teases as he drives them out onto the main road, a little smile playing at his lips.
“It feels like it,” Jamie protests. “Some of us weren’t lucky enough to score an undercover job as a batsman last year.”
That gets a little, huffing laugh out of Jones, who throws Jamie a sideways glance. “Lucky,” he repeats. “I remember you having to untie me after a deranged old woman tried to kill me with a cricket bat.”
Jamie cringes inwardly. “Yeah. I don’t suppose you’re harbouring any unresolved issues from that, sir?”
This time when Jones laughs it’s short and barking, surprising Jamie. He’s heard Jones laugh like that but it’s never been directed at him. Jamie realises that he actually likes it. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
They chatter about their respective and increasingly worse cases in Midsomer, which takes them all the way into Midsomer Wellow where the match is being held. Jamie knows that the only problem between him and Jones is Jamie, so he’s not sure why he lets it get to him.
It’s only once they’re in the change room, and getting ready for the match, that Jamie begins to understand the issue better.
Jones is chatting to someone Jamie doesn’t know, laughing from his belly again. He’s got his white polo on now, stark against the Brighton tan of his skin, pulling against his biceps. Sure, he’s ten years older than Jamie, more maybe; but he’s tall and lean and comfortable in his body and.
Oh, Jamie thinks, with a bitter recognition.
The issue’s no longer that Jones is Barnabys favourite, or that Jones may have once filled his shoes. The issue is that Ben Jones is popular with everyone for a reason.
He’s lovely.
“Heads up, Sergeant,” Jones calls with a teasing grin, waving at Jamie to follow him. “We’re moving out.”
Jamie tries to shake his head clear.
This might be a problem.
*
Jamie manages to avoid seeing or speaking to Jones for a little while after that. Not just because of the revelation that he’s attracted to the man, but also because he played as terribly as he knew he was going to. One, because he has only played cricket a handful of times in his life, and two because he was distracted with his thoughts.
It wasn’t Jamie’s finest hour.
“I thought you were being humble,” Jones had said to Jamie after he’d been caught out with just ten runs under his belt. Jamie had scoffed at him.
“I don’t know what that means.”
It’s a couple of weekends later that Jamie ends up on the Barnabys doorstep. Sarah had organised dinner and an old horror film for Barnaby – something else Jamie could never get behind - and had asked Jamie to come look after Betty.
It was probably sad to admit that he had nothing better to do than hang out with a four year old on a Saturday night, but Jamie didn’t mind. Betty was a great kid; she’d be asleep by 7 and he’d have a drink on the couch catching up on something on Netflix.
“Jamie,” Sarah says with a smile when she answers the door, but it quickly falls. “Oh, shit.”
Jamie can’t help his laughter. It was the first time he’d ever heard her swear. “It’s good to see you too.”
“No, no,” she says, looking really flustered, stepping back into the house so he can follow her. “Come in, I’m sorry, I just ...”
Jamie trails her into the kitchen, frowning himself now, wondering what the problem is. When he sees Jones standing there with Betty on his hip he thinks he might have a clue.
“Uncle Jamie!” she cries, all but leaping out of Jones’ arms to get to him.
“Hey Boop!” he cries, swinging her around and making Paddy jump at his feet and bark. He swings her down to Paddy, the dog licking her face and Betty squealing with delight.
“Winter,” Barnaby says when the din has died down, pulling a face at Jamie like he usually does when Jamie pays them a visit. “Please tell me you’re not here on CID business.”
Jamie opens him mouth to respond but Sarah jumps in. “No, it’s my fault, I asked Jamie last week if he’d have Betty. I completely forgot.”
“Clearly.”
Jamie looks between them all, the men mildly amused and Sarah as if she’s literally about to pull her hair out. “What am I missing?”
“I asked Jones to babysit too,” Barnaby tells him, and doesn’t seem worried in the slightest. He’s grabbing his keys and his coat, so he obviously doesn’t think the mix up is anything to lose time over. “Oh well, two for the price of one.”
“Price?” Jones parrots. “Are you paying us?”
“With dinner and cheap wine.”
“John, stop teasing,” Sarah admonishes, slapping at him with her handbag. “Jamie, Ben, I’m so sorry, I hope I haven’t wrecked any one’s plans.”
“Oh yes, I had a big night on my sofa planned,” Jones says with a smile. Jamie has to look away from it, looking to Betty instead who is busy folding and unfolding his shirt collar.
“Do as you please, gentlemen,” Barnaby says as he motions for Sarah to get moving. “I’m having a night off with my wife so don’t expect us any earlier than midnight.”
“Having a rager, sir?” Jamie teases as the parents kiss Betty goodbye. Jones scoffs.
“Perhaps not to your standard, Winter, but these days a late night is definitely what I’d consider a ‘rager’.”
Jamie follows them out to the front door with Betty still on his hip, calling out goodbye and waving as they close the door. Betty is either extremely polite or extremely well trained because the moment her parents are gone she starts chewing Jamie’s ear off about anything and everything.
It’s like being on the phone to his mum.
“Have you eaten, Sergeant?” Jones asks when they go back through to the kitchen, interrupting Betty’s story about how she’d had a tea party in the garden with daddy and teddy and they’d had real tea and everything.
“Uh, no, but,” Jamie starts to say, and Jones looks at him expectantly.
“But what?”
“Well ... you got here first, and you’re her godfather, I don’t want to step on your toes or anything.”
Jones shrugs easily. “It’s fine. Besides, the kid clearly loves you. You don’t want your Uncle Jamie to go do you, pet?”
“No!” Betty cries, and apparently that settles that.
Jones serves up the food and the three of them sit at the table having this amazing chicken, vegie and rice stir-fry that Barnaby had made up. Dinner is mostly Betty rambling again, with Jamie and Jones throwing each other amused glances while she talks.
They have small servings of ice cream after, and play with puzzles on the floor for a while; before Jones takes Betty up for a story and bedtime while Jamie does the cleaning up.
“You didn’t have to do all that,” Jones says when he gets back downstairs, Jamie pouring some wine into two glasses.
“There wasn’t much to do, really,” Jamie says honestly. “Barnaby had done most of it.”
“He’s a very domestic man, isn’t he,” Jones says, thanking Jamie when he takes his glass. “Way more than Tom ever was.”
“The original.”
Jones smiles. “Yeah. Him and John got along really well but they were so different. It took me a while to get used to the change.”
“In what way?”
“I donno. I guess John is more ... internalised. Keeps things close to the chest, work wise. Whereas Tom had to talk everything out. He talked a lot more than his cousin that’s for sure.”
“I like that about Barnaby,” Jamie admits, and Jones lets out a little huffing laugh.
“Well of course you do, you’re exactly the same.”
“I am?” Jamie can feels his cheeks warm a little. He wouldn’t have thought Jones paid all that much attention to him.
“Yeah. You’re hard to get a read on. Much better poker face than Tom Barnaby.”
Jamie listens to Jones tell him more about both Barnabys, their similarities and differences. They end up back at the table, chatting easily once again.
“What about a game?” Jones says a little while later, apropos of nothing. “They have a whole cupboard full.”
Jamie groans. He should have picked that about the Barnabys. They love to be the hosts. “Anything but Cluedo. Or Guess Who.”
Jones laughs as he takes off down the hall, and Jamie goes to get the bottle of wine. He feels a little warm, and a little giddy, and he knows it’s not from the booze. He’s falling down this Ben Jones rabbit hole, and he doesn’t hate it. He’s actively letting it happen.
“Trivial Pursuit,” Jones declares as he comes back, setting the box down and lifting his eyebrows when he sees that Jamie has filled his glass again. “This will not be a drinking game, Sergeant.”
“I’m offended you would even think that, Sir,” Jamie says with a smirk, sipping at his drink while Jones unboxes the game. “You’re my superior after all.”
Jones expression falters. “Well, yeah,” he agrees. “But ... you know I’m not as strict as Barnaby with all that Sir and Boss stuff, right?”
“Of course.”
“You can call me Ben, if it doesn’t strike the fear of God into you,” he says, making Jamie laugh. “Or the fear of Barnaby.”
“Definitely the latter,” Jamie agrees. “And, yeah, I mean... I’m Jamie to my friends so...”
Jones - Ben smiles at him. “Noted.”
*
After that night, Jamie and Ben exchange numbers. Jamie offered, after they had gotten chatting about music and their favourite bands and Ben had insisted Jamie share some links with him.
The Barnabys hadn’t been exaggerating when they said they would be late. They got in just before one to find Ben and Jamie on the sofa with coffee and arguing over the validity of some crime show they had clicked onto.
It had been a good night. The best Jamie had had in a long time.
“Alright, I’ve got a question,” Jamie tells the group the next time they get together, picnicking at the Botanical Gardens on one of Jamie’s rare weekends off. “No jokes allowed.”
“Oooh, serious James,” Hailey says, sounding way too pleased for her own good. She’s cross legged and barefoot with an oversized hat protecting her head from the sun.
“He’s always serious,” George drones, and Jamie throws a grape at him.
“It’s about a man,” he tells them, and that gets them all sitting up a lot straighter. Even Tamil.
“No way,” Hailey gasps at the same time Tamil barks, “Bull shit.”
Jamie’s already regretting the decision.
“Define man,” George adds. “Platonic, romantic, enemy, what are we working with here.”
“At the moment it’s platonic. I mean, it will probably remain platonic. But I ...”
“You fancy him,” Hailey says, so that Jamie doesn’t need to. “Holy cow, you’ve never fancied a bloke before. I mean, not enough to actually tell us about it. Wow.”
“Alright, don’t get all excited, I haven’t told you who he is yet.”
“He’s not married is he?” Tamil asks with a grimace.
“No!”
George says, “You didn’t arrest him did you,” but is smirking like the idea thrills him. Jamie just rolls his eyes.
“No.”
“So what’s the issue?”
“Well ... we work together,” Jamie says, which is an understatement of epic proportions but it’s not easy to know where to start. “He’s ... he’s my superior and he’s also really good friends with my boss.”
“But he’s not actually your boss.”
Jamie can’t help the face he pulls at Tamil, glad that Barnaby can’t see it. Although Barnaby would probably make a similar face if he’d heard that too. “No.”
“How old is he?”
“I’m not sure, early forties I think.”
“James!” Hailey all but squeals, making him wince again. “You are such a dark horse. I really thought I knew you and then you pull this one on us.”
Jamie sighs. It’s not really the work thing, and it’s definitely not the age thing. It’s more that Ben is so closely intertwined in all the good parts of Jamie’s life that if he did do something about his feelings...there was a lot of risk.
“It doesn’t matter, it’s never going to happen,” Jamie says, feeling suddenly stupid for saying something in the first place.
“It sounds like it matters,” George says.
“Absolutely,” Hailey agrees, moving on to her knees. “Why don't you invite him out with us? We can suss it out for you.”
“No.”
“Yeah, good idea Hails,” Tamil concurs. Jamie doesn’t.
“Terrible idea.”
“It’s agreed,” George says and okay, they’re definitely making fun of him now.
Which doesn’t mean they’re not serious.
*
It’s not that things with Jones are awkward, so much as Jamie feels awkward. Ben is still as friendly as ever, smiles and waves if they see each other in the office. It’s just that Jamie’s not sure what you say to an Inspector from a different department that’s not Morning Sir, or How’s your family, Sir. After they’d spent that night at the Barnaby’s getting to know each other so well it felt too detached, or impersonal.
The problem, he supposes, is how personal he’d like to get.
“Winter, take this up to Narco will you,” Burns - one of the more senior Sergeants - asks distractedly, slapping a folder against Jamie’s chest. Normally he’d argue that he’s not a paper pusher any more but it’s Narco, and he’s an idiot, so he goes.
When he steps out of the lift, Jones is by the coffee machine looking distant. He’s wearing a blue suit and his hair is slicked and Jamie digs his fingernails into his palms.
“You must be desperate,” he teases when he goes to stand by him. “If you’re actually going to drink that stuff.”
“Ugh, I know,” Ben says with a sigh, scrubbing at his face. “I just can’t be bothered going down to the caff.”
“That bad?”
“Worse,” Ben grumbles, leading Jamie towards his office. “What brings you up here to the nosebleed section, eh?”
“Uh, I’m not sure. Just bringing up some paperwork.”
Ben turns back to him with a raised eyebrows, taking the folder Jamie offers. “You’re bringing me reports? Maybe I should send you to do the coffee run as well.”
“Very funny, sir,” Jamie drawls.
“Really. A long black for me, please, and whatever soy, double caramel, macchiato hipster drink you’re having for yourself.”
Jamie really hates that he can’t keep the amused smirk off his face and that Ben sees it, laughing. “I might’ve considered getting you coffee but the offer’s well off the table now.”
“Oh well,” Ben says with a mock sigh, rounding his desk to sit down in front of a pile of papers that Jamie doesn’t envy. “Some other time, eh.”
“If you’re nice,” Jamie says, and then feels a sudden shot of heat crawl up his neck. Jesus, he couldn’t be more obvious if he tried.
“I make no promises on that score, Sergeant.”
“Shame.” Jamie takes a step back as Ben takes the top folder from the pile. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to your tower of work there, sir.”
Ben groans, making Jamie huff a laugh. “Thanks for coming all this way just to add to it.”
“My pleasure.”
Jamie is about to step out of the door when he remembers what Hailey had said the other week. They had plans this weekend to go to the Barefoot Bowls in Aspern Tellow, it was a big thing for the county and promised to be a good day out.
If Jamie’s friends could meet Ben, listen to the easy way they spoke to each other, saw how they were together ... it was juvenile but it was worth a shot.
“Actually, sir,” Jamie says, wincing at his choice of words when he thinks about how he’s all but asking Ben out on a date. “Do you have any plans for Saturday?”
*
Jamie had told Ben to bring along some friends to join them, and Ben had seemed excited about the prospect. Jamie would like to pretend he didn’t spend an unhealthy amount of time in front of the mirror deciding what to wear – or that he ended up choosing the same jeans and polo he always does.
No one else has to know except him and the mirror.
“You look ridiculous,” George tells him when Jamie arrives, looking pointedly at his straw hat and sunglasses.
“I always wear these!” he protests, making George scoff.
“Exactly. I thought you were trying to impress him.”
Jamie pulls a face at George and pushes the beer he brought into George’s chest, making him go oof. “Can you make yourself useful and put these in the cooler?”
Jamie’s glad it’s just them so far, so that Hailey can get her excited cooing out of the way and Tamil can give Jamie one of their pep talks that they think are helpful but just make Jamie more nervous. He’s glad Ben’s not there for any of it.
“Jamie!” a voice calls, making him look over to see Ben waving a hand over the head of the crowd. Jamie waves back, motioning for him to come over. They’d managed to nab a nice little corner lane that has plenty of space for all of them.
Ben is trailed by two other people - who are both older and more beautiful than Jamie was prepared for.
“Sorry, we’re late,” Ben says, offering his hand for Jamie to shake. He’s wearing a thin shirt open at the collar and rolled to the elbows, looking as casual and relaxed as Jamie’s ever seen him. “Had to pick up the ladies on the way.”
“It’s fine, I’ve not long gotten here anyway.”
“What he’s not telling you is that that it’s his fault it took us so long,” one of the women tells Jamie, also shaking his hand. She has long blonde hair, wavy and big, that’s braided to her waist. “Leah.”
“Jamie. Good to meet you.”
They go through all the formal introductions – the other woman with Ben is Chloe – and Jamie manages to avoid eye contact with his friends in case they feel the need to look at him and communicate something with their eyes.
They tend to do that.
“This is great,” Ben says to him a little while later, as they stand elbow to elbow watching their friends bowl. “Have you done this before?”
“Not here, but we’ve done some bowls in Causton. A twilight game once which was fun.”
“I’ve actually never played bowls before.”
Jamie throws a disbelieving look at him. “Seriously? I thought you’d have one of those bucket lists where you try and tick off every single sport played in the world before you die.”
Ben lets out a barking laugh. “That’s a good idea, actually, I might have to start one.”
“Well you fooled me, you looked like you knew what you were doing.”
“Eh,” Ben says with a shrug. “I play cricket, maybe the principals are the same.”
“Sure.” Jamie drawls, getting another smirk from Ben as he takes a sip of his beer.
They stand there chatting for a while longer, until the others are calling at them to go and take their turns. All their friends are mingling, and Jamie can’t stop smiling; it feels so right to be here with Ben, to be close and have their lives entangled.
“He’s a great bloke,” George says when they’re wrapped up for the day and Ben’s left with his friends. Jamie senses there’s a but coming.
“Absolutely,” Hailey agrees with an overzealous nod.
“Right,” Jamie says slowly, putting his bag into the boot of his car. “And yet ...”
“It just doesn’t really fit,” Tamil cuts in. “He seems a bit too laid back for you.”
“What?”
“It’s not that,” Hailey quickly goes on, giving Tamil a shut up look. “It’s just he ... didn’t seem invested.”
“Invested in me?”
“Well not like that, exactly.”
“Hailey heard him talking to one of his friends,” George interrupts with an impatient sigh. “He was going out after this. On a date.”
“Christ, George, a little tact,” Tamil chastises, but Jamie puts a hand up to quiet them.
“It’s fine,” he says, although there’s a golf ball size lump in his throat that he’s struggling to breathe around. “I told you nothing would happen.”
“He clearly likes you, though,” Hailey says, making Jamie scoff.
“Right.”
“It’s true,” Tamil agrees. “He was looking at you a lot, smiling every time you talked. At first we thought it was a definite thing.”
“Okay.”
George cuts in, and by the tone of his voice Jamie can tell how pained he is to get involved in the drama. “No, they’re right,” he tells Jamie, clasping a hand on in shoulder. “He seemed to really like you, mate. But don’t get too involved, alright? I’m not sure he’s on the same page as you.”
*
As much as Jamie liked Kam, and misses what they had - or could have had - Fleur’s arrival in Causton and addition to the team were a welcome change for Jamie.
They’d had a weird start, but these days it was like having another mother figure in his life. Even if she was so far apart from his own mum with her dirty jokes and loose regard for the rules.
“I think I hear crickets chirping,” Fleur says as a greeting when she joins Jamie and Barnaby in their office. She’s got coffee and a pastry, one in each hand, perching herself on a desk across from them. “Nothing in?”
“You’re welcome to sorting all this,” Jamie tells her, gesturing at his files. When you’re becoming a police officer no one tells you that 80 percent of it is just filling out paperwork, not to mention going over it with a fine toothed comb so that it doesn’t come back and bite you in the arse later.
“Oh no, I’ve done my fair share, thank you.”
“Don’t suppose you thought to grab your favourite colleagues a spot of morning tea either,” Barnaby says, throwing down his pen and looking at Fleur over the top of his glasses. “We’re in for the long haul today.”
“Such a shame,” Fleur deadpans, and Barnaby just grins. “Clearly you need to organise yourselves better.”
Jamie can’t really fault that. “It does smell good though, sir,” he says, giving Barnaby his best, remember that you like me, look. “You could spare me for ten minutes while I do a quick run down the street, couldn’t you?”
“I know your idea of quick, Winter, I won’t expect you back until after lunch.”
“You could just go up to the Narcotics Department,” Fleur interrupts with a shrug. “It’s where I got this.”
Barnaby does a little gasp that makes Jamie duck his head to smile. “You’re haranguing us for being disorganised and all you did was go upstairs.”
“Perhaps Inspector Jones just likes me better than you,” Fleur teases, the mere mention of the name making Jamie scratch at his neck awkwardly.
“I’ve been getting that feeling lately,” Barnaby says lowly. “First he’s off gallivanting with my Sergeant and now he’s sweetening up my pathologist. Where’s the loyalty?”
“Yours?!” Fleur protests, but Barnaby just waves her off as he pushes himself out of his chair with a groan.
“I’m going to see my former Sergeant,” he says, sending a jolt of relief through Jamie. He didn’t want to volunteer for that job. “Give him a piece of my mind.”
“Gallivanting, eh” Fleur says to Jamie once Barnaby has gone. She’s looking at him like she has a microscopic view of all his feelings, like she knows that he’s thinking, why yes I do have a crush on a senior officer how did you know.
“It was bowls, with friends,” is all Jamie is willing to tell her. “You’re the one who told me to let go of my insecurity issues.”
“Ah yes, your insecurities. Those were the definitely the issues we were talking about.”
If Fleur and Jamie’s mum do have anything in common, it might be how damn well they can see right through him.
*
Jamie’s doing a pretty good job of keeping a wide berth from Ben - if he does say so himself - when he sends a text message asking Jamie out for drinks. It’s a friends birthday, it says, casually, feel free to bring along your friends.
Jamie knows exactly how his friends would feel about him throwing himself at the mercy of Ben Jones, so he decides to go solo instead.
“Just you?” Ben asks when Jamie gets there, handing him a pint as soon as Jamie’s close enough. He’s wearing dark colours and Jamie can smell the musk of his cologne and he wastes no time gulping down the drink to help take the edge off.
“Everyone else is busy,” he says with a shrug.
“That makes a change. It’s usually our lot that have to miss out on the fun.”
“Tell me about it.”
Ben leads him to a corner of tables that are full of people yelling over each other, laughing and sending complimentary peanuts through the air. Leah and Chloe are here, and Jamie ends up chatting to a couple of people he knows vaguely from the station.
It’s not the awkward, painful experience he’s expecting until a quiet voice from behind him says,
“Hi, Jamie,” and he spins to see Sally the bartender with a cocktail in hand and a twist to her mouth. She looks as lovely as the day he first met her, and pangs of guilt stab in his gut.
“Oh, hi,” he says with a cough, a hand up to cover it. It’s his own fault for thinking he could ghost someone in Midsomer; he was only getting what he deserved. “How are you?”
“I’m alright. I was upset I never heard from you again.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. It’s just with work, and,” Jamie’s voice trails off, both because he’s a lousy liar and because the look on her face tells him that it’s definitely not working.
“I’m a grown woman, you know, I can handle being told you’re not interested.”
“I - ” Jamie starts to say, but then Ben is suddenly there with an arm around Jamie’s shoulders and a big smile shining at Sally.
“Hello there. I’m Ben.”
“Sally.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Sally, but I need to borrow my friend here. Is it okay if I - ”
“Yes,” Jamie says, giving Sally a nod and a tight smile and pushing Ben towards the back of the bar and through a small creaky door. They spill out into a little abandoned courtyard, concrete paving and rickety picnic tables that are topped with worn out umbrellas.
“Christ, thanks for the save,” Jamie groans with a shake of his head, making Ben laugh.
“Sometimes you’re not so hard to read,” he teases, and Jamie scoffs, polishing off the rest of his latest beer. He puts the glass down on top of a table and collapses onto the seat.
“Sorry, you can go back in.”
“It’s fine,” Ben tells him, sitting next to Jamie so their knees knock. “Isn’t that the bartender who asked for your number?”
“Yeah. It didn’t work out.”
“I could tell.”
Jamie looks over at Ben who’s pulling an amused face. He shoves him. “Yes, okay. It wasn’t my finest performance I’ll admit. I’m surprised she didn’t throw that cocktail in my face.”
“Well I can’t speak for Sally but I know I wouldn’t waste my 8 pound cocktail on someone who broke my heart.”
“I didn’t break her heart. I just decided we weren’t really a good match, and decided not to reply to her messages.” Jamie groans, putting his head in his hands. “I realise how much that makes me sound like a total prick.”
“Honestly?” Ben says, putting his own empty glass down. “It does surprise me. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be the type to ignore someone like that.”
“I don’t normally, it was just awkward.”
“How so?”
“Well ... she told me that someone she knew had let slip about how we’d once spent the night together.”
“Oh,” Ben says with a wince.
“Yeah.” Jamie takes a breath. His mum has always loved to use that phrase, in for a penny in for a pound. He’s gotten this far, he might as well just go for it. Even if he is bolstered by the booze, and may regret it later. “And it was a man,” he says, looking at Ben for a reaction.
Ben’s eyebrows go up, and he says, “I see,” but that’s all. He’s not looking away but he’s not doing much of anything else either.
“And ... “ Jamie rushes on, not wanting to let any silence settle, not able to handle anything other than Ben’s acceptance. “And just the way she asked, and some of the comments she made ... it just seemed like she wasn’t completely okay with it. And, you know, living in London most of my life I’m not used to people really caring that I’m bisexual. My family never cared, my ex girlfriend definitely didn’t so ... I just decided we weren’t the right fit. That’s all.”
This time Jamie has to let the silence settle. Ben has his arms folded now, and Jamie’s not sure if it’s a bad sign or not. Usually it’s a defensive move, he sees it a lot as a detective when people are closing up and don’t want to talk to him any more.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spill out all my feelings on you like that.”
“Hey, don’t apologise,” Ben says, and now one of his hands reaches out to dig firm into Jamie’s shoulder. “I’m glad you can talk to me about it.”
“Okay, thanks,” Jamie says with a small smile, glad to see that Ben’s returning it.
“And you’re right, you deserve someone who wants you exactly as you are.”
Jamie knows he can’t blame the beer on the next stupid thing he does; he knows it’s one thing to get chatty after a few beers and another thing entirely to press your mouth to someone else’s without even asking first. It’s just that Ben looks so lovely out here under the low lights and he’s being so lovely and Jamie hasn’t wanted someone like this since ... since a long time ago.
Ben makes a noise into it but he doesn’t pull away, so Jamie moves a hand up to his cheek, tips his head and revels in the way Ben opens his mouth.
It’s slick and warm and perfect for a wonderful second or two, until Ben finally does pull away, giving Jamie a sad smile and a shake of his head.
“No, we can’t.”
“Sorry,” Jamie says quickly, feeling his cheeks go hot as he looks away ashamedly. “That wasn’t, I shouldn’t have just ...”
“I should go back in,” Ben says suddenly, standing up from his place by Jamie and making some distance between them. “Are you alright out here?”
“Yeah, I’ll ... you go ahead.”
Ben seems to hover in the same spot for a moment, which is just like him isn’t it? The big difference between the two of them is clear. Jamie has trouble telling a woman, sorry this just isn’t for me. Ben can tell Jamie the same and still wants to stay around and help.
God, Jamie’s fallen hard.
“See you in there,” Ben says when he does start to move back inside.
Jamie goes home instead.
*
It’s stupid of Jamie to think Ben’s going to go around telling people about it, but Jamie’s still on tenterhooks for a few days after, waiting for some comment or another. From Barnaby, or Fleur, or even one of the Narco team that had been at the bar that night.
Ben’s not the sort to gossip like that, Jamie doesn’t think, and yet he feels like he has a big neon sign around his neck saying, Yes I Kissed Inspector Jones.
Unsurprisingly, no one says anything.
“Everything okay, Winter?” Barnaby asks Jamie when they’re inspecting a crime scene in Badger’s Drift later that week. Jamie never hopes to have a murder to distract him from his problems, but he’s kind of glad that they’re suddenly a lot busier.
“Yes, sir,” Jamie tells him, brought back to the job at hand. “Just looking through these bank statements that had been locked away in this cabinet. Large sums of money forwarded to one Timothy Latimer on the same day every month.”
“Latimer, Latimer,” Barnaby says, thinking.
“We met Wendy Latimer at the church hall, yesterday.”
“Right,” he says with that slow drawl of his, staring at the papers as if they’re saying something to him they refuse to say to Jamie. He’s good with facts, Jamie, but not as good as Barnaby in tying them all together. “Process those papers with Fleur then find out where Timothy Latimer lives and if they’re any relation. I’ll go over to the Post Office and see if our victim had a Post Box, I haven’t found any sign of mail being delivered to this address even though you’re holding hard copies right there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Barnaby gives him another look that Jamie’s not really used to. They’re close, sure, Jamie considers the Barnabys like family. It’s just that John Barnaby has made it clear how he feels about sharing any deep and meaningful conversations.
“Why don’t you come around for dinner tonight. Sarah said she bought a roast big enough to feed an army.”
“That sounds good. Thank you.”
They end up chasing leads until late, Jamie back and forth across Badgers Drift until he’s forced to have a late coffee just so he can make it back to Causton.
When he gets to the Barnabys the table is set and ready and the whole place smells amazing, and Jamie has Betty glued to his hip the moment he walks through the door.
“I hope we’ll be seeing you at the Causton Department Ball,” Sarah says to Jamie when she comes to get Betty ready for dinner. Jamie does his best not to groan.
“Unfortunately it’s a requirement of my employment,” Jamie tells her with a look and Sarah scoffs, rolling her eyes.
“How terrible.”
“I’ll be glad to see you there at least.”
“Oh, such a charmer.”
While Sarah takes Betty to wash her hands, Jamie joins Barnaby in the kitchen where he’s preparing their drinks. He’s still wearing his apron and he’s smiling comfortably, confidently, and it strikes Jamie how little he saw of that growing up. A good man, a happy man, right where he belonged.
“Sarah was just asking about the charity ball,” Jamie says when Barnaby passes him a beer. “Apparently I’m not as excited about it as she’d like.”
Barnaby scoffs. “That makes two of us.”
“I don’t suppose you need a babysitter for that evening, sir?”
“Nice try, Winter,” he deadpans. “If I have to go, so do you.”
“Worth a try,” he says with a shrug, turning to look out the big kitchen windows and see the darkening purples and blues of the sky. As much as he loves the Barnabys he also loves this place.
“You know, I do like to keep the lines of work and home very clear,” Barnaby says, surprising Jamie with how close he suddenly was.
“Of course.”
“But that doesn’t mean I’m not here for you, Winter,” he goes on, looking Jamie straight in the eye. “If you need anything.”
Jamie has to swallow around all the emotion bubbling in his throat before he can speak. “Thank you, sir,” he eventually says, tipping his glass at Barnaby. “I appreciate that.”
*
It’s not that Jamie’s living in a garden shed compared to the Barnabys – his flat is a good size, despite having only the one bedroom. It’s also in a nicer part of Causton too, central to everything he needs and close to the nicer pubs and restaurants.
Jamie doesn’t mind the solitude either. He grew up in a home full of women, which was as enriching as it was incredibly painful. Peace and quiet was a welcome change when he moved from London - to a degree, anyway.
Some nights it gets a little too lonely.
“You might think about coming home one of these days,” his sister Mary says over the phone, and he can hear that she’s munching on something as she talks; preparing dinner probably.
“I’m not,” Jamie starts to say, but Mary interrupts him.
“For a visit,” she drones, rumbling her lips at him. “I know you don’t want to leave your precious Midsomer.”
“I like it here.”
“Yes, yes, so we’ve heard sixty billion times.”
“I’m sorry I’m happy with my life,” Jamie teases, and she makes a scoffing noise at him so loud he’s sure she’s spit food out everywhere.
“As if I was begrudging you happiness. What I don’t understand is why you’re so happy if you’re not getting a good shag now and then.”
“Mare!”
“What, you’re not are you? Unless there’s someone you’re not telling me about.”
Jamie takes too long to respond to that, and Mary makes a noise not unlike Hailey did when he first mentioned Ben Jones.
“Jamie!”
“There’s no one!”
“Bollocks. Don’t try to fool me, I know you’re silences. Who is it, what’s their name, do I know them? Is it that artist, uh, T ... Ta”
“Tamil, and no, we’re just friends. It’s not any of my friends it’s just ... it’s someone from work.”
“And,” she says, long and leading, and it’s always surprised people that Jamie is the older one since Mary insists on being so protective. Jamie’s never given her the third degree about who she’s interested in, or dating, or serious about.
“And he turned me down so ... so there’s honestly no one.”
Mary lets out a disappointed sigh. “Aw, shit. I’m sorry Jay.”
“It’s fine. It is what it is.”
“Ever the diplomat,” she teases, but it’s gentler now. Jamie knows it would be nice to go back for a visit. See Mary and their mum, catch up with old friends. He knows he’d enjoy it.
It’s just been feeling less and less like home lately – leaving Midsomer gets harder every day.
“Mum’s doing okay though, right?”
“Of course. “
“That’s good. And you?”
“I’m great,” Mary tells him honestly, and huffs. “Unlike you I am getting shagged regularly.”
Jamie hangs up the phone.
*
Jamie’s never minded wearing shirts, and suits and other dressier clothes for work. It had been the same back in school, uniforms and ties; so he’d gotten used to it from a young age really. It also took the stress out of knowing what to wear every day.
The three piece designer suit he’s had to hire for the department ball though – it feels a little much. It’s light grey with a purple pocket square and matching tie; the shop attendant had said something about pops of colour.
Jamie just did as he was told.
“Don’t be silly,” Sarah says when he tells her how he feels, brushing at Jamie’s shoulders as they gather at the entrance of the function room. “You look very handsome.”
“I look like I’m joining a wedding party,” Jamie argues, and Sarah just rolls her eyes at him.
Sarah on the other hand looks gorgeous, in a modest black, beaded dress with a shawl thrown over her shoulders. She’s always seemed effortlessly beautiful, and Barnaby has always seemed to be in awe of that very fact.
“Look smart, Winter,” the man in question says, re-joining them as they start to head inside. “Be prepared to shake a lot of hands.”
Barnaby isn’t joking. Once they’ve done one round of the room, Jamie’s cheeks feel brittle with how much he’s been faking a smile.
It’s a nice event, really. There’s a live band, and a big, bold dancefloor in the middle of the room. The tables are set in white, silver and blue and the place is lit with golden light that reflects against the walls.
“This is us,” Barnaby says when they finally make it to their table, probably a good half an hour later. Fleur is already sitting down, next to a woman Jamie doesn’t recognise.
“Ah, joined the commoners at last,” Fleur jokes as they take a seat. Jamie is next to her, Sarah on his other side. He feels a sense of relief to be nestled between them.
“From the kindness of our hearts,” Barnaby jokes, playfully flinching away from Sarah’s slap.
“This is Amelia Browning,” Fleur says, introducing the woman beside her. “Amelia, this is Jamie, Sarah and John, they all work with Ben at the CPD.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says with a big, open smile, as the rest of them return the greeting. “This is such a lovely set up. I didn’t realise everything would be so elegant.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Sarah says with a smirk. “We don’t get many of these fancy shindigs.”
“Not at all,” Fleur concedes. “You’d think they’d want to balance out the misery a little more often.”
“Hello, all,” a voice rings out, diverting their attention. It doesn’t say much for Jamie’s detective skills that he doesn’t realise who Amelia is until Ben Jones is standing over them at the table with a hand on Amelia’s shoulder. A hand that seems more than platonic. “Finally made it, eh?”
“Too busy rubbing elbows with the elite,” Fleur says mockingly, making Ben smile.
“Ah, I see.” When he looks over at Jamie, Jamie quickly looks away. He knows it’s juvenile, but he can’t seem to help himself these days.
“It’s hardly our fault CID is in such high demand in Midsomer,” Barnaby says.
“Not sure that’s something to gloat about, sir,” Jamie pipes up, then quickly adds, “How about I get first drinks in?”
With a drink order from both Barnabys and Fleur, Jamie hightails it away from the table and pushes through the crowds to get to the bar. He pulls at his collar a little, trying to cool down, trying to get some air, feeling like an absolute wanker.
Ben Jones is sitting at his table wearing a deep burgundy suit, with tousled hair and bright blue eyes and a date, a beautiful date that Jamie obviously can’t compete with.
Jamie has one drink before ordering a second, along with the others he’d promised. He eventually returns to their table, and does his best not to make eye contact with Ben as they all chatter away.
When the women have taken off to dance – Sarah pulling Barnaby along with her – Ben gets up from his seat and comes to plop down next to Jamie. Jamie feels his chest tighten, his fingers seize hard around his glass.
“You know I’m not worried about the other night, right,” Ben finally says, swirling his drink. Jamie just makes a grunting noise, too nervous to speak. “I said no, you apologised, its fine. I’m happy to move on.”
“Sure.”
“You’re a great guy, Jamie. I’d hate to lose you as a friend.”
“You look good,” Jamie hears himself say, out of nowhere, looking at Ben pointedly. From the sprawl of his legs in front of him, to the long line of his torso, to the pink of his cheeks. Everything.
Ben seems surprised at the compliment, eyebrows up so high they’re almost hidden under his hair.
“Thanks,” he finally says. “So do you.”
“Did you turn me down because you were seeing someone?” Jamie hurries on, and he’s had these questions swirling around in his head for days, maybe all the booze he’s been drinking has eroded all the walls he’s built. Lowered every last inhibition.
“I don’t think that’s - ”
“Or because I’m a man?”
Ben’s gaze flickers from his beer, to the table, to Jamie. “No, not because of that.”
“So, because you were seeing someone already.”
“Because I’m a senior officer,” Ben tells him, sitting forward in his chair now, elbows on the table. He still looks over at Jamie, wets his bottom lip with his tongue. “Because I’m a lot older than you, and because it just wouldn’t be right. Working together, being close with the Barnabys.”
“I don’t care about any of that.”
Ben huffs. “Well, sorry, but I do.”
“Why? We’re consenting adults. It’s not like we’d have to announce it to everyone. We could just see where it goes.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It could be,” Jamie says, and he’s leaning forward too, his hand goes out to grab at Ben’s thigh. Ben hisses. “I like you a lot, Ben. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want ... I want,”
“Jones,” Barnaby’s voice calls from across the table, Jamie snatching his hand away and hoping that his boss doesn’t notice. “You’re being summoned to the dancefloor.”
“Really, sir,” Ben says easily, like him and Jamie hadn’t just been in the middle of something private. He gets out of his chair and finishes what’s left of his drink. “Or are you just trying to find someone else to go through the torture with.”
Barnaby rolls his eyes. “Please. I know dancing is no torture to you.”
Ben throws up his hands with a smile. “You got me. Count me in.”
*
Jamie wakes up the next day with a hangover and a deep sense of regret. It’s not often he gets drunk enough to make a complete fool of himself, but it’s not often that he feels this way about another person. Plus, it’s been a really long time.
I’m sorry about ... Jamie starts to type in a message to Ben, with no clear idea of how to finish it. He’s sorry that he tried to make a move on Ben, again, when Ben had made his feelings clear.
He’s sorry he then spent the rest of the night at Sergeant Bhati’s table – one of the Narco team he’d spoken to a few times now - before they later got a taxi together back to her place.
Jamie’s just sorry that he went to the stupid ball in the first place.
Sorry for last night, he finally decides to send, before pocketing his phone and turning his attention back to his friends.
“We told you that you wouldn’t be up for this,” Tamil teases with their eyes on Jamie, obviously very aware of the bags under his eyes and the dishevelled look of his clothes.
“I’m fine,” he grumbles, sipping at some lemonade.
They’re at the Haddington fair, apparently an event that happens once a year. So far Jamie has seen dog shows, talent shows and apple bobbing – and it says a lot about how much he’s settled into Midsomer when none of that really surprises him.
“Tell that to your face,” Tamil teases, as George and Hailey return, slumping down onto their blanket with greasy food and milky drinks. Jamie’s stomach turns.
“George lost all his money on the coconuts,” Hailey says a little gleefully, George throwing a chip at her.
“It’s fixed, seriously. They’ve nailed those things down.”
“Right, and you’re definitely not a lousy throw.”
The argument dissolves into a ridiculous row about George’s physical prowess and Hailey’s apparent jealousy, and Jamie covers his eyes with his glasses before lying down on the grass. They’re having a long, surprising run of warm, sunny weather [even if it is summer] and Jamie’s glad he’s able to enjoy even a slither of it.
He jumps when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
Feeling a little peaky today? Ben has asked.
More than a little, Jamie admits, then snaps a quick picture of the fairground before them. He sends it along with, Managed to get out to Haddington for the day though.
“Who are you texting?” Hailey asks, slapping Jamie’s thigh. “All your friends are here.”
“Ha, ha.”
“Did you pick up last night?”
“No,” Jamie says too quickly, not wanting to think about the latest one night stand he’s had to try and get over Ben Jones. “Just my sister. She’s hassling me about going back to London.”
“Oooh, we should do a weekend getaway,” Tamil says. “You can see your family and we can get out into the city.”
“Yes,” Hailey agrees emphatically, while Jamie and George both groan.
“You two teaming up with my sister, no thanks.”
“Plus, once you’ve done London a few times what more is there to see,” George complains, and Tamil scoffs at him.
“Oh, because every village in Midsomer is so amazing."
“At least it’s not hours in the car.”
“You’re such a grump,” Hailey cries, but she’s laughing, this time throwing food at him instead.
Jamie’s phone buzzes again and he reaches for it so quick he almost breaks a finger.
Have fun, is all it says, which Jamie can respect.
It’s only fair that Ben doesn’t want to talk to him right now.
Jamie doesn’t bother messaging again.
*
There’s a murder in Calham Cross a few days later, on the edge of town that’s all hills and marsh and mud. Jamie’s not surprised that he ends up having to chase an unknown suspect through trees and thicket after Barnaby just yells “Winter!” to the persons retreating back.
Jamie’s also not surprised that he ends up with holes in his suit or mud smeared across almost every inch of him.
“Just come inside,” Barnaby says when Jamie pulls up at the front of their house. Apparently he looks particularly pathetic.
“It’s fine, sir.”
“Sarah’s doing dinner, and I’m sure I have something for you to wear.”
Jamie rolls his eyes but he’s already turning off the car and reaching for his seatbelt. “You know, if I didn’t know you better sir, I’d swear you felt bad for ordering me to chase after Markham.”
Barnaby pulls a face that basically says why would I when that’s your job, Winter. “Good thing you know me better.”
Naturally, Sarah’s happy to see him (despite the fact he only just saw her a few days ago) and more than happy for Jamie to use their bathroom, towels, toiletries and clothes.
Jamie thinks he’s a nice person, but he honestly has nothing on the Barnabys. Well, on Sarah at least.
“Okay, so I definitely feel a lot better,” Jamie says, coming down the stairs and still scrubbing at his head with a towel. Barnaby had given him a jumper and some jogging pants and Jamie was not going to make a single comment about how big they were in the waist or how short they were in the leg. “What is it about your shower head, who did you pay to - ”
Jamie stops dead when he realises that Sarah and Barnaby are now joined by Ben Jones, all sitting around the dinner table with a pot of tea.
“Oh, hi,” he says, enlisting every ounce of willpower to stop himself from running the other way. The plan had been to get warm, have some dinner, and recover from the day of hell. It was not to come face first with the reason he’s been so distracted and terrible at his job lately.
“Hi,” Ben says with a small smile. “I heard you got into a fight with a swamp.”
“Something like that,” Jamie agrees, looking at Barnaby who is smirking gleefully. “Here was me thinking you felt bad, sir. Yet you can’t wait to tell the whole story.”
Barnaby just throws his hands up as if he’s innocent.
“Trust me, I’ve fallen in more ponds than I can count,” Ben tells him.
“Yes, see,” Barnaby says. “Be glad it wasn’t a pond.”
Jamie pulls a face, while Sarah gives her husband a gentle slap on the arm. “Just be grateful you have a healthy and fit Sergeant who can chase after suspects."
"Excuse me, I've done my time." Barnaby points at a temple. "This is my work now. Straining the brain these days.”
Jamie excuses himself to go and put his towel in the laundry, and then gets pounced on by Betty on his way back with Paddy yapping at his heels. They play tea parties out in the backyard until it’s time for dinner, Betty insisting that Jamie sits next to her.
It’s a pretty good night after all.
“I didn’t realise you’d be here,” Ben says when it’s just the two of them out the back, the sun mostly set and the porch lights flooding into the backyard. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Jamie just shrugs. “Last minute thing.”
“Right, because of the mud.”
“Yeah.” Jamie looks at him to see he’s smirking. “Shut up.”
Ben throws his hands up. “Trust me, you’re not alone. I had to borrow an old pinstripe suit from Tom once after showering at his place. At least you don’t look ridiculous.”
“Don’t I?” Jamie says with a scoff, not expecting to see Ben look him over. From head to toe. It makes Jamie’s whole body flush.
“Trust me,” Ben goes on, quickly pulling his eyes away. “If you’d seen that suit you’d know what I mean.”
They stand in fairly easy silence for a moment or two, both of them holding glasses of wine, Jamie hearing the Barnabys laughing in the kitchen. Jamie wonders why it all seems to idyllic to him, when he’s not sure marriage, and kids, and the whole nuclear family is ever going to be something he wants.
“I’m sorry, again,” he manages to say eventually. “For my behaviour the other night. I was a bit drunk and ...”
“Well ... thanks, for apologising.”
“That’s not who I am,” he says but then quickly stumbles on. “I mean ... what I said to you, I meant it, but ... I didn’t mean to be forceful or make you uncomfortable.”
“I know,” Ben says quietly, sipping at his wine. “And I understand how you feel.”
Jamie takes a moment to digest his words, trying to figure out if Ben means he’s felt that way about someone before, or he feels that way right now, or ... “What?”
Ben lets out a sigh, smiling as if it pains him. “The time we’ve spent together, seeing how you are with the Barnabys and Betty ... you’re a great guy. I like you a lot, Jamie.”
“What,” Jamie says again, moving in closer and ducking his head. “I thought you ... you said we can’t.”
“And I meant it.”
“But if you feel the same, if you understand.”
“That doesn’t change the fact I’m ten years older than you,” Ben says, but he’s moving a little closer too, brushing their arms together, his face in both the light and shadow. “And your superior officer.”
“I told you, I don’t care.”
“Jamie,” Ben says in a hush, and the sound of his voice makes Jamie reach out and twist fingers in Ben’s shirt.
“Please.”
The back door slides open and they both spring apart, Jamie looking over to see Barnaby peering out at them. He’s squinting, that way he does, as if he's trying to put clues together.
“Everything alright?” he calls, Jamie seeing Ben gulp down the rest of his wine out the corner of his eye.
“Yeah, of course sir.”
“Betty is requesting you read her a bedtime story.”
Jamie looks over at Ben but he’s looking resolutely away. “Of course, on my way.”
*
The Calham Cross investigation goes on for days. Thankfully there’s no more suspicious deaths to follow, but that also means they keep hitting walls or steering into dead ends. Jamie works well into the nights, digging through social media and paperwork and hard drives; trying to find any connections, however tenuous.
When he finds something odd he doesn’t think before dialling Barnaby.
“Winter, it’s 12AM,” he drones when he picks up the phone.
“Oh, uh, sorry sir, I didn’t - it can wait until morning.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes sir, just something fishy with Klein’s employment history. I’ll show you tomorrow. Or, today.”
Barnaby groans. “Right, see you then.”
Jamie double and triple checks that he hasn’t made a mistake, lining up the files and phone numbers he’ll need when he gets back into the office. In about 7 hours.
He groans at the realisation, turning off his desk lamp and grabbing his jacket.
When the elevator dings and the doors open, the last thing he expects to see is Ben standing there in jeans and a cream knitted sweater; looking worn out and lovely.
“Hi,” he says, obviously just as surprised to see Jamie.
“Hi,” Jamie says slowly, getting into the elevator with him. “You’re here late. I thought the perks of being a DI was going home at a reasonable time.”
Ben huffs. “Chance would be a fine thing.”
“I heard you had something big going on at the moment,” Jamie says. “Something out of Brighton”
“Yeah. I’ve had to send some of the team, since I’m too well known around those parts.”
“That’s fair.”
“Still, I feel bad for sending them to the wolves,” Ben admits, rubbing at his eyes. “I try and be here as much as possible, in case I’m needed.”
Jamie looks over at him with a smile. “You’re a good Inspector.”
“I learnt from the best.”
When they get to the car park they realise they’re parked pretty close together. There’s still a few scattered cars here and there, night staff and cleaners no doubt.
“And how’d you find out about the case?” Ben asks when they’re by his car. “Sergeant Bhati?”
It takes a moment for Jamie to realise what Ben’s insinuating. “Barnaby, actually.” Ben just raises his eyebrows. “I’m not seeing any one. I only spent one night with Bhati and that was only because - ”
“Don’t say it,” Ben says with a moan, tipping his head back.
Jamie scoffs, shaking his head. “No, you’re right. I’ve said it enough now. I’m done.”
He turns to walk over to his car, hands in fists with his frustrations. Not so much at Ben but with himself for acting like this. For being so desperate.
“Jamie,” Ben calls out before he makes it very far, Jamie spinning around. He just looks at Ben, waiting. “Do you ... have you got time for a night cap, at my place? You can follow me there.”
Jamie feels his frustration quickly replaced with something else entirely. With shock, and disbelief; with want and nervous energy. There can’t be any other way to read this situation. No one invites a person over in the middle of the night for a friendly drink.
“Okay,” Jamie finally says. “Yeah.”
Jamie follows Ben out of there, heading the opposite way from him own house. He’s glad to have a focus point, watching Ben’s tail lights; somewhere to direct his excitement and trepidation and impatience.
When Ben pulls into a driveway Jamie stops at the curb, practically jumping out of the car to rush and meet Ben to follow him through the front door.
“This is nice,” Jamie tells him honestly, looking around at the small foyer. It’s more modern and bright than a lot of places Jamie sees in Midsomer - more like the Barnaby’s place than Jamie had expected.
“Thanks,” Ben says with a small smile, dropping his keys on the entryway table and leading Jamie down a thin hallway, turning on lights as he goes. “Just leasing this one, I haven’t looked into buying anything yet.”
The hallway opens out into the kitchen, which has a small island bench. Ben pulls out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, putting them down.
“Do you think you’ll be looking for something like this?”
Ben pours the drinks and shrugs. “Maybe. Probably not this big. There’s two bedrooms upstairs, and there’s a conservatory through the back of the dining room.”
Jamie lets out a little laugh.
“Exactly,” Ben says with a smile, passing him a glass. “I don’t need a conservatory.”
They stand at either end of the island, sipping at their drinks. Jamie keeps catching Ben’s eye before he’s looking away, embarrassed or nervous Jamie can’t tell. Jamie can’t take his eyes off him though, the fall of his hair, his shoulders in that sweater, the way his tongue chases the taste of whiskey on his lips.
“I’m going to say this one last time, okay,” Jamie says into the quiet, fingers playing at his glass. “When I first met you I thought I was intimidated because you once had my job, because Barnaby loves you, because you were so sure of yourself while I’m still so lost ... but after a while I realised I wasn’t intimidated, I was attracted.”
“Jamie.”
“So, I’m sorry Ben, but I can’t just be friends. I can be friendly, but not friends. So if you don’t want this then please just tell me and I promise I won’t bother you any more.”
Jamie watches Ben gulp down the last of his drink, before he’s rounding the side of the bench and pulling Jamie to him by his shirt. Jamie groans into it, as Ben presses their mouths together, running his hands up Ben’s shoulders and into his hair.
Ben manhandles Jamie against the nearest wall, the impact taking Jamie’s breath away (more than it already was). Jamie opens his mouth for Ben’s eager tongue, chasing it with his own, curling it slick and warm into Ben’s own mouth as he listens to him hum.
Jamie’s not sure how long they’re like that, their hands tangling in hair and clothes as they touch whatever they can reach - Jamie’s tie loose and a few shirt buttons exposing his chest. Ben trails kisses down to there, beard catching and scratching as Jamie curses quietly and bucks his hips with his need.
“Can we,” he says breathlessly, pulling at Ben’s hair to bring his face back into frame. He’s red mouthed and dazed, Jamie hissing when the warm, rough touch of his hands move up under his shirt. “Bed?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Ben tangles their fingers together and pulls Jamie through another door, which leads up to a short, winding staircase. Jamie doesn’t have much of a chance to take everything in before he’s being pushed down onto Ben’s bed, on his back. He whines at the loss of contact, pulling Ben down on top of him.
“You’re so beautiful,” Ben tells him softly into his ear, making Jamie blush all over.
“You are,” he argues, tugging at Ben’s sweater to get it off, to get his hands on more skin, as much skin as he possibly can.
“Let me,” Ben says as he unbuttons the rest of Jamie’s shirt, kissing his way down, and down, unbuttoning his waistband as well.
Jamie twists his hands in Ben’s hair as Ben mouths at his hard cock through his trousers. He closes his eyes and tips his head back and says, “Yes, Ben, please,” something like relief oozing out of him.
At last it’s his, and it feels so right.