With a distinctly morose James in the car Robbie decides to forgo stopping for a take away and instead goes straight home. He has enough menus at home and they can get it delivered.

He's decidedly confused by James strange behaviour. First the lad turns up looking like a blond Mr Darcy, all smug and self-confident, then he goes toppling off the horse and he clings to Robbie like there is no tomorrow, something Robbie never thought he would experience, and now he is all sullen and sulking. It's like being on an emotional rollercoaster, he has no idea what direction the lad's mood might take him in next.

He gets his answer. When they get to the flat James is out of the car before Robbie has even got his seatbelt off. Once outside however he stands there swaying slightly as though he isn't sure if the trip to the front door is a good idea or not.

It is an odd association but he reminds Robbie of Morse's beloved Jaguar when it had been dented and damaged by a suspect. Dented and damaged but not less beautiful for that and putting it on blatant display that those things, and people, who are truly great are often also very fragile.

James' hesitation gives Robbie the time to round the car and join him. He doesn't ask if James wants help. He knows if he does the answer will be a self-conscious negative. Instead he slip an arm around his back and nudges James in the direction of the front door.

They make it into the box filled flat and slump down on the sofa where Robbie rifles through a bunch of Take away menu's and finally orders Chicken tikka masala and Lamb Madras. Meanwhile James sits in a corner of the sofa, slumped against the armrest, prodding at his injured knee and looking miserable.

'Right, take your trousers off.' Robbie orders as he stands to head into the kitchenette.

'Sorry?' James blushes and slouches slightly.

'You need to take your trousers off so you can ice that knee of yours.' Robbie explains, feeling inordinately pleased at the tinge of red spreading across James' cheeks.

'They're jodhpurs actually.' James retorts but he sounds more petulant than actually challenging.

'Whatever they are, take them off, I'll be right back.' Robbie orders and then heads off into the kitchen to search for what he wants.

James struggles to get out of the boots and jodhpurs. It's hard enough removing riding boots without a knee that won't bend properly and the whole endeavour is something of an ordeal. He ends up having to remove his jacket in order to reach properly and even then it is a struggle.

When Robbie returns he is lying on the sofa in nothing but the billowy shirt and a pair of briefs. He has one arm slung across his eyes and if before he looked rather like a romantic hero he has now taken on more of the aspect of a swooning heroine.

Robbie smiles as he sees the pink socks sticking out of the top of one boot. James has clearly deemed them not aesthetic enough to be worn because his feet are bare and the socks have been balled up and stuck into one of the boots.

'As requested.' Robbie offers, holding out a brandy. James removes the hand from his eyes and accepts the drink appreciatively. He starts to get up but Robbie holds out a hand to stop him. Setting his own drink down on the side table he lifts James' feet and slides in under them.

James watches in astonishment as Robbie positions himself so that James' lower legs are resting in his lap. Placing the ice pack over James swollen knee he grabs a blanket from the back of the sofa and spreads it over James' legs before turning on the TV.

They are ostensibly watching some kind of home decorating program, which seems apt considering the state of Robbie's flat. Neither of them is actually watching however. Robbie's concentration is focused on the thumping of James' pulse on the side of the ankle he is holding carefully in his right hand and James has attention for nothing much other than Robbie's thumb drawing circles on his ankle. The atmosphere is simultaneously relaxed and strangely tense. It is as though something has shifted in their relationship. Like a wall that has always been painted blue that someone has suddenly sloppily sprayed with green spray paint. The wall is still blue, but there is no denying that it is no longer just a blue wall.

'Are you alright?' Robbie suddenly asks.

'Just bruised, I'm fine.' James smiles but Robbie shakes his head.

'I don't mean the fall, I mean this…' Robbie makes a sweeping gesture with his hand '… whatever this is.'

James blushes furiously but recovers himself quickly 'You mean, you ordering me to come home with you, telling me to take my clothes off and rubbing my feet.' There is no real bite in James' voice, just gentle teasing but now it is Robbie's turn to blush.

'I… erhm…' Robbie isn't normally tongue tied but he has no response to that. Does he apologise, claim it wasn't meant as the romantic overture James has made it out to be, but then the lad is joking, surely… or maybe he's not because what the hell is this new thing between them. He's about to panic when James reaches out a hand and awkwardly wraps it around the one Robbie has been using to hold the ice pack to his knee.

Robbie's hand has gone almost numb with cold and James' fingers are like branding irons to his skin as they wrap around it. 'It's ok.' James whispers softly and even though he isn't sure what exactly it is that is 'ok' it makes Robbie relax.

They sit there hand in hand for moments that seem to go on forever, waves of strange, tingling, but not uncomfortable tension washing over them until suddenly the doorbell rings.

'It's the food. I'll get it.' Robbie says and extricates himself from beneath James. Despite the residual warmth he leaves behind, his absence seems to leave a cold empty space and James pulls his feet in, hugging his knees despite the pain it causes. He sits in silence, listening to Robbie pay for the food. His head feels like it's full of cotton wool and he's pretty sure it's not from hitting it in the fall. He's barely aware of the bruises, all he can feel is the fluttering of his own heart and a strange emptiness in his stomach that has nothing to do with physical hunger. He doesn't care about the food. All he wants is for Robbie to come back and touch him again, to hold him like he had at the photo shoot or stroke his naked leg like he had just a second ago.

Robbie returns with a bag of take away, cutlery, two plates and beer to find James curled up on the sofa, staring at a muted TV. Robbie sits down next to him and starts to pick the boxes of food out of the bag and after a few seconds James joins him. They eat in silence, sat side by side, nearly but not quite touching. When they're done Robbie tops up their brandy glasses and leans back in the sofa with a satisfied grin.

James shifts and frets next to him unable to find a position in which he is comfortable. Robbie watches him for a moment and then with a breathy chuckle he stills James with a hand on his shoulder. 'Just lie down and put your leg up, it worked before and I don't want you either hurting or fussing like this.' James nods and Robbie expects him to stretch out with his legs in Robbie's lap like before. Instead he turns around and it is James' head and shoulders that land in Robbie's lap.

For a second Robbie is completely at a loss as to where to put his hands. After a moment's hesitation he carefully places his right hand on the top of James' head and his left lightly resting across James' chest. The mud in James' hair has dried and as Robbie brushes his fingers across it the dirt crumbles away. It seems ample excuse to allow his fingers free reign of James' short golden hair. He's only cleaning it after all. James just closes his eyes and smiles so the ministrations don't seem unwelcome.

Robbie has less of an excuse when he decides that since James isn't watching and he couldn't care less about how to source original Victorian fireplaces, he will turn the TV off. Silence reigns in the flat for two minutes until he manages to find the right control to turn on the stereo. The prelude to Lohegrin sounds softly through the room and Robbie returns his hand to the top of James' head. Thank God for Morse and his attempts to educate Robbie about music, if left to his own devices they would have ended up with some horrid 70s pop music that would not have been at all suitable to the strangely electric mood in the room.

After a minute or two James eyes open. They are unusually dark in the softly lit room, pupils blown wide and bright with what looks like unshed tears.

'What's wrong?' Robbie asks concerned. 'Should I not have?' He's suddenly terribly aware of the awkwardness of their current position and he quickly removes his hands from James who instantly twists around and sits up next to him looking distraught, tears spilling through thick, wet eyelashes as he sits up. 'No I'm just happy, please do that again.' James clutches Robbie's hand and brings it up to his own face. Without hesitation Robbie cups his cheek in his palm and wipes the tears away with his thumb.

'I'm going to do something now, and if you don't want me to you have to tell me.' Robbie whispers uncertainly.

James gives a small nod and at the acknowledgement Robbie leans forward and touches his lips against James'. It's hesitant and a little awkward but James makes a soft sobbing noise and presses himself closer. Robbie's arm snakes around his back and pulls him in tighter until he is almost sitting in the older man's lap.

'Is this what you want?' Robbie whispers into the silky hair behind James' ear.

'I want to dance with you, like you did with DI Lovett yesterday.' James admits, unable to look Robbie in the eye.

'Ah, soft lad.' Robbie smiles 'Stay.' He orders before getting up and heading over to a box which holds his CDs. He has to lift quite a few out of the box before he finds what he wants. By the time he has the CD in the player and the first few bars of the Waltz from Swan lake sounds James has managed to wiggle his way back into his trousers and is pulling his boots back on with a grimace.

'What are you doing?' Robbie asks, amused by the awkward display.

'Cinderella did not go to the ball in her knickers and neither will I.' It is supposed to sound ironic but James looks a little too sincere and sensitive to make it truly believable.

'Come on then.' Robbie holds out his hand and pulls James to his feet. James winces slightly and Robbie steps in with a firm hand under his elbow. 'Sure your knee is up to it?' He asks, and James doesn't answer, just nods and steps a little closer. 'Lean on me if you need to, I'll support you' Robbie offers as he wraps his arm around James' back, pulling him in closer than is strictly warranted for a waltz.

'You always do.' James whispers under his breath as he places his left hand on Robbie's shoulder and his right in Robbie's hand.

There is no room for an actual waltz between the boxes in Robbie's living room and despite his assurances James' steps are a little hesitant and uneven as he attempts not to favour his right knee but carefully Robbie leads him in a series of twirling motions around the obstacle course that is Robbie's piles of moving boxes. They're not even half way through the waltz when they bump in to a box of books which goes flying, spreading across the floor with a crash. They stop but instead of breaking apart and abandoning the dance Robbie pulls him in tighter, releasing the grasp on his hand in favour of wrapping both arms around his back.

They stand there awkwardly entwined, listening to each other's breathing and silently acknowledging the evidence that this most certainly is no longer a blue wall.

The last bars of the waltz fade out and without knowing who has taken the lead they're kissing again, carefully, still testing the waters. 'I was wont to be alone in this fair garden, till he came, unasked by night' James whispers as he leans his forehead against Robbie's shoulder.

'I don't know where you got that from and I don't have any poetry to give you back, all I have is one last instruction. You're not my sergeant any longer so you don't have to listen to me. I will suggest you do one of two things though. I am going to go into the kitchen and get another drink. When I get back you can either have picked up the rest of your clothes and called yourself a taxi, in which case we will pretend that tonight never happened, or you can take those things off again and make your way into the bedroom and we will most certainly have to talk about it, but not until tomorrow.' Robbie releases James and heads into the kitchen where he pours himself a stiff brandy and compels himself not to think.

He forces himself to wait for five excruciating minutes before heading back into the living room. It's empty. James clothes are gone and for a second Robbie's insides grow cold before he hears a thump of something from the bedroom.

Robbie opens the door to a sight he never thought he'd see in his life. When he thought of James in bed, and yes the thought had crossed his mind, the vision he had was of the young man sprawled out naked on top of fancy sheets. Robbie doesn't own fancy sheets. The ones currently on his bed are faded blue with wooden buttons holding the bottom together, and James isn't sprawled seductively across them, he is curled at the head of the bed, knees drawn up and covering himself self-consciously with the duvet.

When Robbie steps through the door and puts the brandy bottle down on the night stand before starting to unbutton his own shirt James' eyes grow wide. He reaches out and takes a swallow of the brandy straight from the bottle revealing the colourful bruises across his shoulder and arm.

Six hours ago Robbie had watched a fantasy creature mount that horse. This was nothing like that, no romantic dream or lust filled fantasy. James is bruised and nervous and Robbie is downright terrified but as Robbie lets his trousers drop and kicks off his socks, James smiles. Then as Robbie sit's down on the bed James inches closer and melts into Robbie's arms.

No this is certainly no pornographic fantasy, it is awkward and strange and utterly terrifying but it is also just as it should be and when Robbie slips under the duvet to join James all thoughts of fantasy calendar images are gone and left is only two men who have loved each other for longer than they care to admit and who have finally found their way home.

It had not been love at first sight, nothing as simple as that, and yet somehow everything that had happened after that first meeting in the airport seemed to have lead them steadily and inexorably toward this point.