Here come I to my own again [Lewis fic], L/H/H, 13K+ (Part I)
Title: Here come I to my own again
Author: cactusonastair
Characters: Lewis, Hathaway, Hobson, Lyn Lewis and family, Innocent, Julie, Gurdip, Gray
Pairings: Lewis/Hobson, Lewis/Hobson/Hathaway
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 13K+
Warnings: Internalised homophobia and references to a canon suicide. Spoilers for S7.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to barcardivodka for supplying local knowledge. first half of this fic was beta-ed by the wonderful wendymr. The second half is unbeta-ed but would not have come into existence without her encouragement. All remaining infelicities are, of course, my own.
Summary: The week after Lewis and Hathaway leave the Oxfordshire Police, Hathaway goes missing.
Link to fic on AO3
i
no tearful leaving
It was remarkable what a difference a week made.
A week ago, Robbie Lewis would have been following his usual Tuesday evening routine - not that police work had much of a routine. He could still have been at his desk, puzzling over some last-minute clue with Hathaway. Or perhaps Laura would have called from the mortuary with a crucial piece of evidence, and he'd be down there, having an awkward conversation over a dead body. Or, if they were minus a case, he'd be clearing up paperwork, and his thoughts would be drifting to where to go for tea.
A week ago, whether a restaurant offered pensioner's specials wouldn't even have been a consideration.
Instead of any of those things, he was sitting on the carpet in Lyn and Tim's sitting room, making a valiant attempt at an impression of a Tyrannosaurus Rex devouring its prey.
It was apparently unsatisfactory, despite him being practically a dinosaur himself.
"No, Granda, like this! Rawwwwwwwr!" At age two and a half, the bairn already had his own bloodcurdling dinosaur imitation down pat. He was a demanding taskmaster to boot.
Lyn laughed at Robbie's helpless look. "It's no use, Dad. No matter how hard you try, you just don't seem bloodthirsty enough."
Robbie slumped against the settee. "Surely there must have been peace-loving, herbivorous dinosaurs I could pretend to be," he complained.
"Matthew doesn't like any of those, I'm afraid. Not that he's big on historical accuracy," she added, as a fire engine rushed to the aid of a wounded triceratops, to the accompaniment of the deafening wail of a siren.
"Maybe I'll pop down to the shops and get him one anyway," Robbie said, smiling benevolently at his grandson, who immediately abandoned his rescue efforts when he heard the word "shops".
"New din'saur?" Matthew asked hopefully.
"That's right, new dinosaur, if you're a good boy and pop off to bed now. It's your bedtime."
"But Granda..."
"I'll take him," Tim volunteered. He folded up his newspaper and picked up his protesting progeny. "Say good night to granddad."
"G'ight, Granda," Matthew said dejectedly.
"Good night, lad." Robbie ruffled his hair and gave him a kiss before he was whisked away. He levered himself onto his knees and made a start on tidying up the mess his playmate had left behind.
"Oh, let me do that, Dad." Lyn helped him off the carpet, for which he was grateful, then bent to the task of clearing up. "You really shouldn't have promised him a new dinosaur," she reproached him as she picked up five others. "You already brought him a whole load of toys when you came up on Saturday. You're going to turn him into a little tyrant."
"Privilege of being a granddad. We're supposed to spoil our grandkids, aren't we?"
Lyn smiled and shook her head. "I'll just go and kiss Matthew good night, Dad. You make yourself comfortable, all right? I'll be back down in just a moment."
Robbie watched her fondly as she bustled off. It was a constant pleasure being here, spending time with Lyn, seeing what a wonderful mother she made. Val would have been proud of her, and of her rambunctious little grandson. Matthew would be even more spoiled if she was alive, Robbie was sure.
He dropped with a sigh into the settee and pulled out his mobile, his thoughts turning to the one cloud over his existence in the past week. He checked his list of incoming messages hopefully, but there were no new ones. He frowned, and asked himself a question he wouldn't have had to ask a week ago.
Where the devil is Hathaway?
He'd messaged James several times already since he'd come up to Manchester. The first message to let him know that he'd arrived and Lyn said to say hi. The second to inform him of Matthew's newfound obsession with dinosaurs and impressive ability to name every one, concluding that he must have another cleverclogs in the family, just his luck.
When no reply had arrived to either, he'd sent a third message asking where the hell Hathaway was and why he was ignoring his texts. He'd let it rest for a couple of days, not wanting to seem pushy when the lad probably had a lot on his mind, but he'd succumbed that morning and sent another message, carefully crafted not to sound too pleading.
Still no answer.
His finger hovered over the "Messages" button for a moment, before he made up his mind. It was time for more drastic action. He held down the "3" key instead, and the words "Hathaway (Pers)" flashed across the screen. A single ring, and then a sequence of three discordant tones beeped into his ear, followed by a dispassionate woman's voice. "The number you have dialled has not been recognised," she informed him. "Please check and try again."
Robbie looked back at the screen again. He hadn't dialled the number manually, so no chance of a mistake there - and it had been James himself who'd programmed his personal number in for him, years ago, at Robbie's request.
Could James have changed his number? There was no reason for him to have - he would have had to surrender the mobile issued by the Force, but that shouldn't have affected his personal line. And if he had changed it, why hadn't Robbie been given his new contact?
Lyn returned to the sitting room. "Tim's managed to quiet Matthew down," she announced. Then she spotted his expression. "What's the matter, Dad?" she asked, coming over to sit by him on the settee.
"Ah, it's nothing." Robbie sighed, putting the mobile back down on the coffee table. "I just can't reach James, that's all."
"Your sergeant? I mean, ex-?"
Robbie nodded. "He hasn't been returning my texts..."
"Are they even legible?" Lyn teased. She sobered instantly when she saw his frown. "Let me give it a go."
Robbie surrendered his phone, but in a moment, it was clear she'd got the same result. "It could be nothing," she said, switching to her reassuring nurse's voice. "Maybe he decided to change mobile providers and they haven't ported his number properly yet. It happened to Tim once."
"Maybe. Don't worry about it, love," Robbie said, wishing he could do the same. "Sorry, what did you say when you came back in?"
"Just that Tim's managed to quiet Matthew down. It took less time than usual. You managed to tire him out nicely. You're a wonderful grandfather, Dad, you know that?" Lyn pressed a kiss to his cheek.
"Better grandfather than I was a dad, eh?"
"We always knew you loved us, Dad. Even when you were yelling at me to turn down the volume of my music. But it's nice to know you'll be spending so much more time with Matthew now that you've retired."
A stab of guilt twisted through Robbie. "I'll be back whenever I can," he promised.
There was a moment's pause while she processed his words. "You mean you're leaving?"
"Tomorrow morning," he confirmed.
"So soon? I thought you were going to stay two weeks!" A small furrow of hurt creased her forehead. Robbie hated to see it.
"I just...need to take care of a few things, that's all." Or just one thing, he thought. One tall, blond, gangly question mark.
Lyn was silent for a moment. Then she began hesitantly, "Dad, I know this might sound nosy, but..."
"You know you can talk to me about anything at all, love," Robbie assured her.
"But it is Laura that you've...well..." She trailed off awkwardly, leaving Robbie completely at sea.
"Pet?"
Lyn took a deep breath, her next words tumbling out. "What I mean is, you don't have to hide anything from me. It honestly doesn't matter to me whether they're a he or a she, or how old or how young they are, I just..."
Christ, Robbie thought. Did she really think that he and James...? And that Laura was just a convenient cover?
"...want you to be happy," Lyn concluded. She gave him a solemn, wide-eyed look, looking for all the world like a two-year-old tyke herself.
Robbie took Lyn's hands in his own. "I do love Laura," he said gently. "But I'm also fond of James. I just want to make sure he's alright. It was a big change for him too, leaving the police."
"'If you go, I go'," she quoted at him, smiling wryly. "Did he really say that?"
"Yeah," Robbie said, remembering that day down at the Trout, years ago, when James had made his declaration. The way Lyn said it, it sounded like a cheesy line from a film, but that wasn't what he'd heard when the words came out of James' mouth - only utter sincerity and devotion. Hathaway had never forgotten that promise. He'd proven it by handing in his resignation at the same time as Robbie, much to Innocent's dismay.
"Maybe the next time you come here, you can bring Laura and James with you," Lyn suggested.
Robbie smiled at the thought of Laura and James trying to interact with Matthew. Laura was as unmotherly as Val had been maternal, and James was awkward as hell around kids.
He pulled his daughter close. "Thanks for the invitation, lass. I'll do my best."
* * *
Robbie drove down to Oxford the next morning, after stopping at the toy shop for a dinosaur the clerk solemnly swore was a herbivore. He dropped it off at Lyn's, then went straight to Hathaway's flat.
The windows were open when he got there, which meant James must be in. Robbie relaxed. Maybe the lad's phone had gone on the blink or something, just as Lyn had said.
But then a shadow flitted past the window, and Robbie stiffened. It was short, squat, and decidedly un-Hathawayesque.
He strode up the path and rang the bell. The flat quieted as the hum of a vacuum cleaner died down, and the owner of the shadow answered. He was a portly, ruddy-faced man in working clothes. Robbie blinked at him uncomprehendingly.
"You must be 'ere to see the flat. Come on in," the man said, jerking a thumb towards the interior.
Robbie gaped at him. "Sorry, what?"
"Saw the ad in the paper this mornin', didn't you?"
"No, I - I was looking for James," Robbie faltered.
"Oh, James Hathaway! Sorry, mate, he moved out last week. Mate of his, are you?"
"Yeah. You could say that," Robbie said.
"The name's Mike Trent. I own this building, obviously." The man wiped his hands on his coveralls and offered one to Robbie.
Robbie shook it like a zombie, his mind still stuck on the fact that in the four days since the farewell party at which he'd last seen his sergeant, James had cleared out of his flat and cancelled his phone service, without a word to him about his plans.
"And you'd be?" Trent prompted.
Robbie's hand automatically stole to his jacket pocket for his warrant card, before he realised what an idiot he was being. He pulled himself together. "Robbie Lewis," he responded. "But if James left, his furniture...?" He gestured towards the room behind Trent. He hadn't been by here much - they'd somehow always wound up Robbie's for takeaway and drinks - but he recognised the furnishings. Except that something was missing.
The books, some still-functioning part of his brain supplied. The books are gone.
"Yeah, he left most of it," Trent said. "Said I could 'ave it, so's I can rent it out furnished. I got rid of that weird Medusa head on the wall though. Didn't think it was everyone's cup o' tea."
"Where did he go?" Robbie asked, clinging to his last shred of hope.
"Your guess is as good as mine, guv. He said he'd send a forwarding address soon as he knew where he was headed."
Robbie's heart plummeted to his feet.
* * *
Robbie Lewis, you bloody idiot. Why didn't you just ask him?
Robbie kicked himself all the way home. It would have been so easy. All he'd had to do was open his mouth and just ask, the way he asked any of a million questions of a million witnesses. Just a few little words: "What are your plans, for after?", any time during the month when they'd been serving out their notice, and he wouldn't be in this state.
But he hadn't. He could produce any of a million excuses for why he hadn't. Innocent had kept them too busy. "If I'm going to lose my two best detectives, I'm going to make sure I get my money's worth out of you before then," she'd told them - and what with one thing and another, their last day had nearly taken Robbie completely unawares. And then there was James' prickliness, too - he hated anyone prying into his personal life. Robbie had learnt that the hard way. Best to wait for James to volunteer the information.
But he never had.
Had James thought he hadn't cared, just because he hadn't asked?
Whatever the lad would have thought - he should have asked. Just because everything had been falling into place for him - a nice, quiet retirement, decent pension, Laura - didn't mean the ground wasn't falling out from under James' feet. He'd been in the police for ten years, and though he was sure James would excel at any job he put his mind to, it couldn't have been easy giving up a career like that.
Even so, he could have sworn they'd left things at a good spot, agreeing to have the odd pint together. He hadn't thought it would be once a year or once a decade odd.
He arrived home, sorted through the post lying on the front rug - nothing from James. He switched on his computer and checked the personal e-mail address James had once helped him set up. He'd sent an email last night, from Lyn's laptop. It hadn't received a response.
A pulse of anger surged through Robbie. Bloody hell, James. What had he ever done to deserve this? If Hathaway'd been planning to leave Oxford, the least he could have done was to just send Robbie a civil message saying so, shared a last pint.
Then, just as quickly as it came, the anger was gone. James was a grown man, after all, and he was free to do what he wanted with his life.
But that didn't mean Robbie was about to give him up without a fight.
ii
wilful missing
Robbie'd never thought he'd be back in this office again, but here he was, and there Innocent was, sitting across the desk from him.
She gave a deep sigh and massaged her temples. "Robbie, you've only been out of the police for a week. The regulations for declaring someone missing haven't changed in the meantime."
"I'm concerned for his welfare. The regulations say that's enough, don't they?" Robbie said obstinately.
"He's a grown man. He knows how to look after himself..."
Robbie snorted. "That's debatable."
Innocent ploughed on as if he hadn't said a word. "And, much as I hate to say it, Hathaway is under absolutely no obligation to let you know what he's doing and where. He left his flat carrying his backpack, a suitcase and his guitar. He terminated his mobile number. He clearly wanted to sever connections, and we have to respect that even if we don't like it. Didn't you talk to him at all about what he was going to do afterwards?"
"Not much," Robbie muttered.
"Well, I did, at the party, and I can't say he was very forthcoming." Innocent sighed. "But that's still no reason for working yourself up into such a froth."
"It's uncharacteristic behaviour," Robbie argued. "Who knows? Maybe someone he once arrested kidnapped him out of revenge. Or perhaps -"
Innocent interrupted him before he could enumerate any more of the dire scenarios he'd found himself imagining over the past few hours. "Robbie, it's not so much that Hathaway's missing as that you miss him, isn't it?"
"I..." Robbie found himself at a loss for words.
"Have you talked to Laura about this at all?"
"Not yet," he admitted. "She was in a PM when I tried calling her before. But I was going to, later."
"I'd do that before I started giving credence to these wild theories of yours," Innocent said firmly.
They're not wild theories, Robbie wanted to protest, but sanity took over. Hathaway being kidnapped? Getting lost in the middle of the English countryside? Innocent was right, the lad knew how to look after himself, physically if nothing else. But still...
"Look, I know I'm overreacting," Robbie said wearily. "But if something has happened, and we don't look for him, who will? We're the closest thing he has to family."
Innocent's gimlet stare softened. "Alright," she said, in the long-suffering tone Robbie had become accustomed to. "Tell me. What've you tried so far?"
"I rang one of his band mates. Apparently James left the band over a year ago." It bothered Robbie that he'd been left in the dark about this fact. Music was so central to James' life. "I also tried Professor Pinnock at St Gerard's - she offered Hathaway a job before, but she hadn't heard from him in ages. And one of his church mates, a Victoria Fraser, who went to Prisztina with him."
"And?"
"Well, she wasn't exactly forthcoming either. I don't think she was very happy that I dragged Hathaway away from their mission trip and sent him traipsing across Eastern Europe," Robbie admitted sheepishly. "She claimed she didn't know where he was, though."
"I see. Anything else?"
Robbie listed the rest of the leads he'd tried and discarded. Innocent nodded as she took it all in, occasionally making a note on her notepad. Finally she folded her hands together, which Robbie knew meant she'd come to a decision about the plan of action.
"I'm not going to declare him missing -"
"Ma'am -"
Innocent steamrolled on. "But, I will make discreet inquiries into his whereabouts."
Robbie knew that was as good as a missing person investigation from anyone else. "Thank you, ma'am," he said in relief.
"Robbie, please. It's Jean. And...I do hope he comes back to you soon." She had that little furrow in her brow that meant she was being sincere in her own way.
He stood up. "Thank you, Jean."
"And be sure to talk to Laura!" she called after him.
* * *The main squad room was close to empty when he left - he'd chosen to come in at lunchtime for a reason. He wandered over to their old office, almost hoping that he'd find James sitting at his desk as usual, looking up with a smile as he came in. But the desks were empty, the office just as they'd left it, minus the nameplates on the doors. Jean couldn't have filled her DI vacancy yet.
"It's not the same without you, sir," a voice said behind him. Robbie nearly jumped out of his skin.
He turned, and was met by the dazzling smile of DC Alex Gray.
"Gray. How are you, man?" he asked, shaking hands.
"Very well, thank you, sir. Everything alright with you, sir?"
"Yeah," Robbie prevaricated. "Fine, thanks."
Gray's gaze swept the darkened office. "Is there anything in particular that brought you back, sir? Something you misplaced?"
Not something, Robbie thought. Someone.
"May I help you look, sir?"
Now that he'd confided in Jean, and knew something was going to be done, Robbie no longer felt the urge to go around town putting up missing person signs. Innocent'd probably have him in for wasting police time if he started confiding his woes to every constable on the force. "There's nothing, but thanks all the same."
"Goodbye, sir," Gray said, agreeably enough, but Robbie could feel the young man's gaze boring into his back all the way to the exit.
* * *
"Oh, dear," Laura said, when he finally managed to corner her in between post-mortems and deliver the news. "I suppose it must be true, then."
"Why, what do you think's happened?" Robbie asked, alarmed.
"I thought this might be the case, ever since I saw his face that day at the pub, but..."
Robbie gave her a baffled look. "What might be the case? What day at the pub?"
"I wasn't a hundred percent certain before, but this rather clinches it, don't you think?"
"Clinches what, woman?" Robbie asked, voice rising in frustration.
Laura gave him a look. "Honestly, Robbie, call yourself a detective? James is in love with you." Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if she hadn't just dropped a twenty-tonne bombshell on Robbie's head.
"Hathaway? With me? You're joking!"
"Why not? I'm in love with you."
Robbie huffed out a laugh. "Thanks, love. But James isn't -" He stopped short.
Laura raised her eyebrows. "Isn't...gay?"
"Well, he's only dated women."
"That you know about," Laura pointed out.
"Well, I suppose I always did have a suspicion," Robbie admitted. "He does eat Yorkie bars and read Loaded - but that was just the once. On the other hand, he did bring over musicals to watch on DVD some nights, and he does wear pretty fancy shoes..." He trailed off when he saw the scrunched-up expression on Laura's face.
"Yorkie bars and musicals? What on earth are you banging on about, Robbie?"
"I just meant that maybe he, you know, runs both ways," he said hastily. But even so, why on earth would his tastes run to Robbie, of all people? It was impossible, surely.
He pulled himself together. He wasn't thinking this through the right way. He was taking this too personally, ruling out theories before he had evidence.
Think like a copper, Robbie.
First of all, "that day at the pub". Laura must mean the day they'd announced - rather publicly - that they were an item. He'd been too caught up in the moment to pay attention, but now that he thought about it, that had been a rather pained smile on James' face, as if he'd been holding his emotions in check. He'd congratulated Robbie afterwards, of course, and it had been sincere, but it was just like James to put his own desires aside, wasn't it? If there was one thing James was good at, it was self-denial. And he'd always been a bit distant after that day, refusing invitations to have dinner with him and Laura.
And if he rewound to before that day, there were many moments he could point to, with the knowledge he had now, and reinterpret them as proof of love rather than evidence of a sergeant's devotion to his job. Suddenly "if you go, I go" took on a whole new resonance.
Laura saw that he'd talked himself around to her point of view. "Right, then, let's take that as our working hypothesis. Now, let's talk about you."
"What about me?" Robbie asked guardedly, every sense blaring danger! at him.
"Have you never thought about.."
"What, like that, about Hathaway?" Robbie asked, incredulous.
"I've seen the way you look at his arse when he wears jeans," Laura said blandly.
Robbie blushed, but he knew her powers of observation too well to deny it. "Well...I can admire it objectively, can't I?" he asked defensively.
"Objectively, yes, it is a very fine specimen of an arse," Laura teased.
Robbie rolled his eyes, and went on the counter-attack. "Besides, it sounds like you've been doing the same."
"Ah, but I also think he's subjectively dishy." She gave him a knowing glance.
Robbie gave up. "Alright, I admit, I've thought about it." He'd surprised even himself by contemplating it. He'd thought he was heterosexual through and through. And he still was, in a way. He didn't fancy blokes. Just James.
James had wormed his way into his heart somehow, becoming a constant, reassuring presence through the depths of his despair. If it hadn't been for the lad, he probably wouldn't ever have made it out the other side. Even so, he hadn't ever let it develop beyond an idle thought, because no matter how much he might want it...
"It's still impossible," he said.
"Why?" Laura asked, relentless.
Robbie floundered. "Because...well, he's my sergeant!"
"Not any more," she pointed out.
"And...he's a him."
Laura rolled her eyes. "Any other utterly irrelevant objections?"
"He's young enough to be my son."
"If he doesn't mind that, why should you?"
"How can you be so sure he doesn't mind?"
"I can't. You'll have to ask James."
"If only I could," Robbie muttered in frustration.
"Right, so. Find him, then ask him."
"And what about after?" Robbie had learned to ask that question, now. "What if he says yes? What about, well, us?"
"You know what they say. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Where them equals us, of course."
Robbie furrowed his brow. "Laura, James is in his late thirties. We can't adopt him," he pointed out.
Laura rolled her eyes heavenwards, as if asking for strength. "That's not what I meant, Robbie. I doubt if he'd be very satisfied with that sort of arrangement, since I've also seen him stare dreamily at your arse when he thought no one was looking." Her eyes twinkled at him as he tried to wrap his mind around the idea of his sergeant ogling him as he went in and out of the office. Maybe that was why James had always insisted on walking two paces behind him.
"So, what're you proposing then, a - a -" Robbie glanced around the mortuary to check that the coast was clear before whispering, "a threesome?"
Laura nodded.
"You seriously wouldn't mind?" He knew Laura was far from conventional, but still.
Laura shrugged. "Why should I? He is rather..."
"Dishy, yeah, I know." He couldn't believe he was even contemplating this. But...that would be the best of all possible worlds, wouldn't it? He'd be happy. Laura'd be happy. James...
He shook his head. "I don't know about himself, though. He's rather...old-fashioned, you know."
"Stuck in the past?" Laura asked pointedly.
"Alright." He conceded the point. "But he's a stubborn one," he warned. Robbie hadn't had years of homophobia and opinions about what constituted a proper family unit hammered into his head since childhood.
"Find him, then worry about what he'll think. And if he objects on any other grounds besides simply not wanting it, well, send him to me, and I'll talk some sense to him."
Laura had a determined look on her face. For the lad's sake, Robbie hoped he'd give in before Laura got the bone-saw out.
* * *
"So he definitely hasn't left the country? I don't know, some sort of world music tour? Thank you, Jean, that's a relief." Robbie shut off the phone, feeling anything but relieved.
Now that he knew why James had gone away without a word, his fears about James having been bopped over the head by a released convict hellbent on revenge had been replaced by an even worse fear. He'd seen too many young people off themselves over what they'd thought was an impossible love. And the last thing Hathaway had said to him at the party had come to haunt his dreams.
"Goodbye, sir."
"What did I tell you about calling me sir? It's Robbie, man," he'd said.
Hathaway shrugged. "It's the last time I'll get to say it."
What had he meant, "the last time"? And "goodbye, sir"? The words rang ominously in his head now, sounding too close to a final farewell for his liking.
At least he knew James had left Oxford safely. He'd managed to trace him as far as London, having found a coach driver who remembered Hathaway boarding his bus to London the Saturday after the party.
Of course, it had to be there. Robbie knew what happened when people went off to London.
He rubbed his eyes tiredly. He'd been through his list of leads several times, but none seemed to know anything. Now that he knew James was no longer in Oxford, he'd have to broaden his search. He'd racked his brains for anyone James might know in London, but he knew James wouldn't thank him to call Inspector Fiona McKendrick of Scotland Yard and ask her for a lead on her ex-lover. Especially not if Laura was right about James.
That was the only name he'd come up with.
He looked back at his list and tapped his pencil tip against the name of Victoria Fraser, James' church friend. Perhaps he should go talk to her again. He'd got the feeling, over the phone, that she knew more than she'd said. Perhaps he should set Laura loose on her.
His mobile rang. He snatched it up without even glancing at the number.
"Sir?" Robbie was prepared to rejoice, only it was a woman's voice, not James'. "Sir, it's Julie Lockhart. I was wondering, have you had any news about Sergeant Hathaway?"
"No, not yet." Robbie frowned. "Who told you about what happened?"
"Alex - I mean, DC Gray - told us what was going on."
"He did, did he?" Robbie said grimly. He'd underestimated the young constable. He wasn't so much green as he was cabbage-looking, was he?
"We - oh, don't be such a coward, Gurdip, you did the most of all of us - we did a bit of digging," Julie told him, after a brief aside with what Robbie imagined was one very browbeaten technical officer. "Can you meet us after work at the Bear?"
Robbie hadn't been to the Bear since his days with Morse. Few police officers frequented it, despite its general popularity, or perhaps because of it. He had the feeling it had been carefully picked for just this reason. "Alright, see you there," he said, his hopes rising. Julie and Gurdip were good detectives. If they thought they had a lead, it was likely a solid one.
He glanced at his watch. He'd be early, but he wasn't about to sit around moping here while there was hope.
* * *
Robbie ended up having to nurse his ale for about half an hour, by the end of which the game of identifying the old school ties that adorned the walls of the Bear had got very stale. He was glad when Julie and Gurdip finally entered the pub, on time.
"You look so tired," Julie said to him the moment she sat down, patting his hand sympathetically.
"It's been...a bit trying," Robbie said, attempting a smile. He pushed the two ales he'd ordered for them minutes earlier across the table. "How've you two been?"
"Fine, but you don't want to make small talk, do you, sir?" Julie's voice became brisk. "We did some investigating, the two of us -" She flashed a warning glance at Gurdip, who was trying to scrunch himself up as small as he could in his seat. He didn't want any credit for this piece of detective work, Robbie guessed. "We turned up a...connection between between Sergeant Hathaway and one Father Michael O'Hara." Robbie noted the use of the delicate word connection, which revealed absolutely nothing about how they'd found this out. From Gurdip's squirming, he'd bet it was something they could lose their jobs over.
He was touched that they would go to such lengths for him, and for James.
Father Michael O'Hara. He'd known that church friend of Hathaway's sounded shifty.
"Who's he when he's at home, then?" But Robbie thought he already had an inkling.
"He's director of vocations at the Catholic seminary in London," Gurdip replied.
They looked at one another. Everyone knew what that meant. It had been common knowledge in the nick that Hathaway had once been destined for a career in the church. And it looked like he was again.
It explained everything so neatly that Robbie couldn't believe he hadn't worked it out before. What was it James had said about the seminary? Closes your life down a bit, and Robbie knew what James meant when he said a bit. He probably hadn't wanted Robbie knowing about it either, knowing how his closed-minded old boss felt about God-botherers.
Robbie sagged in his seat. He couldn't exactly stop James, if that was what he wanted now that he wasn't a copper any longer. As Innocent had pointed out, Hathaway was a grown man, capable of making his own decisions about his path in life.
But then Laura's voice rang in his head. Robbie, James is in love with you. If James was doing this to run away...
No, he had to have it out with James, one way or another.
"Thanks, you two. You deserve a promotion for this."
"Actually..." Julie blushed prettily, exchanging a glance with Gurdip.
"Julie's going to be promoted to DS next month. The Chief Super told her just yesterday," Gurdip announced proudly.
Robbie smiled for what felt like the first time in ages. Innocent had sounded him and James out before they left about their possible replacements, and they'd put Julie at the top of the list. It was good to know that their recommendation had been taken seriously. "Congratulations, lass. Innocent couldn't have made a better choice. Who'll your governor be?"
"It's not decided yet. Depends on who they get in for the DI vacancy," Julie answered.
Robbie stood up. "Well, when we get Hathaway back, I'll get him to treat you both to a celebratory dinner, eh? Enjoy the ale."
They grinned and lifted their glasses. "Go and get him, sir!"
* * *
Robbie stood at the entrance to the seminary, a little uncertain about how to make his approach at this hour of the night, when no one of authority seemed to be in evidence. Perhaps he should have waited till the morning instead of rushing all the way here, or just made a phone call - but he had to know.
The seminary lay tranquil under the cloak of late evening, despite the chaos of London surrounding it. It reminded Robbie of St Gerard's in Oxford. James had liked that place. Robbie could see why he'd been drawn back here.
Assuming he was here.
A group of seminarians happened to walk past the gate at that moment, talking quietly among themselves. One of them spotted him and detached himself from the rest, approaching him with a smile of welcome.
"May I help you?"
"Yeah. I'd like to speak to James Hathaway."
"James Hathaway?" The man looked puzzled. Then his frown cleared. "Oh, James! He's one of the prospective seminarians on the retreat, isn't he?'
Thank goodness. Robbie exhaled with relief. For a moment there, he'd thought this had been another wild goose chase. But no, James was here, safe.
"I'll just go get..."
Another man stepped out of the darkness. "I'll take care of this, Neville, you go on ahead," he said, in a voice that bespoke authority, even though this newcomer wasn't wearing priestly garments either. He reminded Robbie of the prefects at his secondary school, although he was pretty sure there was no such thing at a seminary. Either way, Neville scuttled.
The man looked Robbie up and down. "You said you were looking to see James?"
Robbie nodded. "I'm Robbie Lewis. If you could just let James know that I'm here..."
"Is it an emergency?" the man asked abruptly.
I need to ask James if he'll be willing to enter a menage à trois with Laura and me, a man old enough to be his father. Does that rate as an emergency?
"Not quite," Robbie said reluctantly.
"Then I'm afraid you won't be able to see him." As Robbie opened his mouth to protest, the man continued, "It's called a 'retreat' for a reason. This is a time for James to consider his vocation prayerfully and in seclusion from the outside world. No...outsiders are to disturb him during this vital process."
But he doesn't know all the facts! Robbie mentally protested, when doubt suddenly assailed him. He wasn't in possession of all the facts, either. What if they'd been laughably wrong about the whole thing? Imagining something that wasn't there?
What if this was the life James wanted to lead? He would fit right in here, Robbie could see that. He had the right to choose for himself, if this was what he wanted, without interference from Robbie or Laura or anyone else.
"How long does this retreat last?"
"Till Sunday."
Sunday. He could wait till Sunday. For now, it was enough just to know that James was safe and well. They could have a talk afterwards, and if James still wanted to become a priest...they would deal with it, somehow.
"Can you pass on a message for me, then?" he asked.
"Certainly."
"Ask him to call Robbie when he gets the chance, eh?"
"Of course." The man inclined his head.
Robbie turned to go to his car. "Oh, and one more thing."
The man raised his eyebrows in polite enquiry.
"Tell him he owes me a pensioner's special."
Go to Part II
Author: cactusonastair
Characters: Lewis, Hathaway, Hobson, Lyn Lewis and family, Innocent, Julie, Gurdip, Gray
Pairings: Lewis/Hobson, Lewis/Hobson/Hathaway
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 13K+
Warnings: Internalised homophobia and references to a canon suicide. Spoilers for S7.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to barcardivodka for supplying local knowledge. first half of this fic was beta-ed by the wonderful wendymr. The second half is unbeta-ed but would not have come into existence without her encouragement. All remaining infelicities are, of course, my own.
Summary: The week after Lewis and Hathaway leave the Oxfordshire Police, Hathaway goes missing.
Link to fic on AO3
i
no tearful leaving
It was remarkable what a difference a week made.
A week ago, Robbie Lewis would have been following his usual Tuesday evening routine - not that police work had much of a routine. He could still have been at his desk, puzzling over some last-minute clue with Hathaway. Or perhaps Laura would have called from the mortuary with a crucial piece of evidence, and he'd be down there, having an awkward conversation over a dead body. Or, if they were minus a case, he'd be clearing up paperwork, and his thoughts would be drifting to where to go for tea.
A week ago, whether a restaurant offered pensioner's specials wouldn't even have been a consideration.
Instead of any of those things, he was sitting on the carpet in Lyn and Tim's sitting room, making a valiant attempt at an impression of a Tyrannosaurus Rex devouring its prey.
It was apparently unsatisfactory, despite him being practically a dinosaur himself.
"No, Granda, like this! Rawwwwwwwr!" At age two and a half, the bairn already had his own bloodcurdling dinosaur imitation down pat. He was a demanding taskmaster to boot.
Lyn laughed at Robbie's helpless look. "It's no use, Dad. No matter how hard you try, you just don't seem bloodthirsty enough."
Robbie slumped against the settee. "Surely there must have been peace-loving, herbivorous dinosaurs I could pretend to be," he complained.
"Matthew doesn't like any of those, I'm afraid. Not that he's big on historical accuracy," she added, as a fire engine rushed to the aid of a wounded triceratops, to the accompaniment of the deafening wail of a siren.
"Maybe I'll pop down to the shops and get him one anyway," Robbie said, smiling benevolently at his grandson, who immediately abandoned his rescue efforts when he heard the word "shops".
"New din'saur?" Matthew asked hopefully.
"That's right, new dinosaur, if you're a good boy and pop off to bed now. It's your bedtime."
"But Granda..."
"I'll take him," Tim volunteered. He folded up his newspaper and picked up his protesting progeny. "Say good night to granddad."
"G'ight, Granda," Matthew said dejectedly.
"Good night, lad." Robbie ruffled his hair and gave him a kiss before he was whisked away. He levered himself onto his knees and made a start on tidying up the mess his playmate had left behind.
"Oh, let me do that, Dad." Lyn helped him off the carpet, for which he was grateful, then bent to the task of clearing up. "You really shouldn't have promised him a new dinosaur," she reproached him as she picked up five others. "You already brought him a whole load of toys when you came up on Saturday. You're going to turn him into a little tyrant."
"Privilege of being a granddad. We're supposed to spoil our grandkids, aren't we?"
Lyn smiled and shook her head. "I'll just go and kiss Matthew good night, Dad. You make yourself comfortable, all right? I'll be back down in just a moment."
Robbie watched her fondly as she bustled off. It was a constant pleasure being here, spending time with Lyn, seeing what a wonderful mother she made. Val would have been proud of her, and of her rambunctious little grandson. Matthew would be even more spoiled if she was alive, Robbie was sure.
He dropped with a sigh into the settee and pulled out his mobile, his thoughts turning to the one cloud over his existence in the past week. He checked his list of incoming messages hopefully, but there were no new ones. He frowned, and asked himself a question he wouldn't have had to ask a week ago.
Where the devil is Hathaway?
He'd messaged James several times already since he'd come up to Manchester. The first message to let him know that he'd arrived and Lyn said to say hi. The second to inform him of Matthew's newfound obsession with dinosaurs and impressive ability to name every one, concluding that he must have another cleverclogs in the family, just his luck.
When no reply had arrived to either, he'd sent a third message asking where the hell Hathaway was and why he was ignoring his texts. He'd let it rest for a couple of days, not wanting to seem pushy when the lad probably had a lot on his mind, but he'd succumbed that morning and sent another message, carefully crafted not to sound too pleading.
Still no answer.
His finger hovered over the "Messages" button for a moment, before he made up his mind. It was time for more drastic action. He held down the "3" key instead, and the words "Hathaway (Pers)" flashed across the screen. A single ring, and then a sequence of three discordant tones beeped into his ear, followed by a dispassionate woman's voice. "The number you have dialled has not been recognised," she informed him. "Please check and try again."
Robbie looked back at the screen again. He hadn't dialled the number manually, so no chance of a mistake there - and it had been James himself who'd programmed his personal number in for him, years ago, at Robbie's request.
Could James have changed his number? There was no reason for him to have - he would have had to surrender the mobile issued by the Force, but that shouldn't have affected his personal line. And if he had changed it, why hadn't Robbie been given his new contact?
Lyn returned to the sitting room. "Tim's managed to quiet Matthew down," she announced. Then she spotted his expression. "What's the matter, Dad?" she asked, coming over to sit by him on the settee.
"Ah, it's nothing." Robbie sighed, putting the mobile back down on the coffee table. "I just can't reach James, that's all."
"Your sergeant? I mean, ex-?"
Robbie nodded. "He hasn't been returning my texts..."
"Are they even legible?" Lyn teased. She sobered instantly when she saw his frown. "Let me give it a go."
Robbie surrendered his phone, but in a moment, it was clear she'd got the same result. "It could be nothing," she said, switching to her reassuring nurse's voice. "Maybe he decided to change mobile providers and they haven't ported his number properly yet. It happened to Tim once."
"Maybe. Don't worry about it, love," Robbie said, wishing he could do the same. "Sorry, what did you say when you came back in?"
"Just that Tim's managed to quiet Matthew down. It took less time than usual. You managed to tire him out nicely. You're a wonderful grandfather, Dad, you know that?" Lyn pressed a kiss to his cheek.
"Better grandfather than I was a dad, eh?"
"We always knew you loved us, Dad. Even when you were yelling at me to turn down the volume of my music. But it's nice to know you'll be spending so much more time with Matthew now that you've retired."
A stab of guilt twisted through Robbie. "I'll be back whenever I can," he promised.
There was a moment's pause while she processed his words. "You mean you're leaving?"
"Tomorrow morning," he confirmed.
"So soon? I thought you were going to stay two weeks!" A small furrow of hurt creased her forehead. Robbie hated to see it.
"I just...need to take care of a few things, that's all." Or just one thing, he thought. One tall, blond, gangly question mark.
Lyn was silent for a moment. Then she began hesitantly, "Dad, I know this might sound nosy, but..."
"You know you can talk to me about anything at all, love," Robbie assured her.
"But it is Laura that you've...well..." She trailed off awkwardly, leaving Robbie completely at sea.
"Pet?"
Lyn took a deep breath, her next words tumbling out. "What I mean is, you don't have to hide anything from me. It honestly doesn't matter to me whether they're a he or a she, or how old or how young they are, I just..."
Christ, Robbie thought. Did she really think that he and James...? And that Laura was just a convenient cover?
"...want you to be happy," Lyn concluded. She gave him a solemn, wide-eyed look, looking for all the world like a two-year-old tyke herself.
Robbie took Lyn's hands in his own. "I do love Laura," he said gently. "But I'm also fond of James. I just want to make sure he's alright. It was a big change for him too, leaving the police."
"'If you go, I go'," she quoted at him, smiling wryly. "Did he really say that?"
"Yeah," Robbie said, remembering that day down at the Trout, years ago, when James had made his declaration. The way Lyn said it, it sounded like a cheesy line from a film, but that wasn't what he'd heard when the words came out of James' mouth - only utter sincerity and devotion. Hathaway had never forgotten that promise. He'd proven it by handing in his resignation at the same time as Robbie, much to Innocent's dismay.
"Maybe the next time you come here, you can bring Laura and James with you," Lyn suggested.
Robbie smiled at the thought of Laura and James trying to interact with Matthew. Laura was as unmotherly as Val had been maternal, and James was awkward as hell around kids.
He pulled his daughter close. "Thanks for the invitation, lass. I'll do my best."
* * *
Robbie drove down to Oxford the next morning, after stopping at the toy shop for a dinosaur the clerk solemnly swore was a herbivore. He dropped it off at Lyn's, then went straight to Hathaway's flat.
The windows were open when he got there, which meant James must be in. Robbie relaxed. Maybe the lad's phone had gone on the blink or something, just as Lyn had said.
But then a shadow flitted past the window, and Robbie stiffened. It was short, squat, and decidedly un-Hathawayesque.
He strode up the path and rang the bell. The flat quieted as the hum of a vacuum cleaner died down, and the owner of the shadow answered. He was a portly, ruddy-faced man in working clothes. Robbie blinked at him uncomprehendingly.
"You must be 'ere to see the flat. Come on in," the man said, jerking a thumb towards the interior.
Robbie gaped at him. "Sorry, what?"
"Saw the ad in the paper this mornin', didn't you?"
"No, I - I was looking for James," Robbie faltered.
"Oh, James Hathaway! Sorry, mate, he moved out last week. Mate of his, are you?"
"Yeah. You could say that," Robbie said.
"The name's Mike Trent. I own this building, obviously." The man wiped his hands on his coveralls and offered one to Robbie.
Robbie shook it like a zombie, his mind still stuck on the fact that in the four days since the farewell party at which he'd last seen his sergeant, James had cleared out of his flat and cancelled his phone service, without a word to him about his plans.
"And you'd be?" Trent prompted.
Robbie's hand automatically stole to his jacket pocket for his warrant card, before he realised what an idiot he was being. He pulled himself together. "Robbie Lewis," he responded. "But if James left, his furniture...?" He gestured towards the room behind Trent. He hadn't been by here much - they'd somehow always wound up Robbie's for takeaway and drinks - but he recognised the furnishings. Except that something was missing.
The books, some still-functioning part of his brain supplied. The books are gone.
"Yeah, he left most of it," Trent said. "Said I could 'ave it, so's I can rent it out furnished. I got rid of that weird Medusa head on the wall though. Didn't think it was everyone's cup o' tea."
"Where did he go?" Robbie asked, clinging to his last shred of hope.
"Your guess is as good as mine, guv. He said he'd send a forwarding address soon as he knew where he was headed."
Robbie's heart plummeted to his feet.
* * *
Robbie Lewis, you bloody idiot. Why didn't you just ask him?
Robbie kicked himself all the way home. It would have been so easy. All he'd had to do was open his mouth and just ask, the way he asked any of a million questions of a million witnesses. Just a few little words: "What are your plans, for after?", any time during the month when they'd been serving out their notice, and he wouldn't be in this state.
But he hadn't. He could produce any of a million excuses for why he hadn't. Innocent had kept them too busy. "If I'm going to lose my two best detectives, I'm going to make sure I get my money's worth out of you before then," she'd told them - and what with one thing and another, their last day had nearly taken Robbie completely unawares. And then there was James' prickliness, too - he hated anyone prying into his personal life. Robbie had learnt that the hard way. Best to wait for James to volunteer the information.
But he never had.
Had James thought he hadn't cared, just because he hadn't asked?
Whatever the lad would have thought - he should have asked. Just because everything had been falling into place for him - a nice, quiet retirement, decent pension, Laura - didn't mean the ground wasn't falling out from under James' feet. He'd been in the police for ten years, and though he was sure James would excel at any job he put his mind to, it couldn't have been easy giving up a career like that.
Even so, he could have sworn they'd left things at a good spot, agreeing to have the odd pint together. He hadn't thought it would be once a year or once a decade odd.
He arrived home, sorted through the post lying on the front rug - nothing from James. He switched on his computer and checked the personal e-mail address James had once helped him set up. He'd sent an email last night, from Lyn's laptop. It hadn't received a response.
A pulse of anger surged through Robbie. Bloody hell, James. What had he ever done to deserve this? If Hathaway'd been planning to leave Oxford, the least he could have done was to just send Robbie a civil message saying so, shared a last pint.
Then, just as quickly as it came, the anger was gone. James was a grown man, after all, and he was free to do what he wanted with his life.
But that didn't mean Robbie was about to give him up without a fight.
ii
wilful missing
Robbie'd never thought he'd be back in this office again, but here he was, and there Innocent was, sitting across the desk from him.
She gave a deep sigh and massaged her temples. "Robbie, you've only been out of the police for a week. The regulations for declaring someone missing haven't changed in the meantime."
"I'm concerned for his welfare. The regulations say that's enough, don't they?" Robbie said obstinately.
"He's a grown man. He knows how to look after himself..."
Robbie snorted. "That's debatable."
Innocent ploughed on as if he hadn't said a word. "And, much as I hate to say it, Hathaway is under absolutely no obligation to let you know what he's doing and where. He left his flat carrying his backpack, a suitcase and his guitar. He terminated his mobile number. He clearly wanted to sever connections, and we have to respect that even if we don't like it. Didn't you talk to him at all about what he was going to do afterwards?"
"Not much," Robbie muttered.
"Well, I did, at the party, and I can't say he was very forthcoming." Innocent sighed. "But that's still no reason for working yourself up into such a froth."
"It's uncharacteristic behaviour," Robbie argued. "Who knows? Maybe someone he once arrested kidnapped him out of revenge. Or perhaps -"
Innocent interrupted him before he could enumerate any more of the dire scenarios he'd found himself imagining over the past few hours. "Robbie, it's not so much that Hathaway's missing as that you miss him, isn't it?"
"I..." Robbie found himself at a loss for words.
"Have you talked to Laura about this at all?"
"Not yet," he admitted. "She was in a PM when I tried calling her before. But I was going to, later."
"I'd do that before I started giving credence to these wild theories of yours," Innocent said firmly.
They're not wild theories, Robbie wanted to protest, but sanity took over. Hathaway being kidnapped? Getting lost in the middle of the English countryside? Innocent was right, the lad knew how to look after himself, physically if nothing else. But still...
"Look, I know I'm overreacting," Robbie said wearily. "But if something has happened, and we don't look for him, who will? We're the closest thing he has to family."
Innocent's gimlet stare softened. "Alright," she said, in the long-suffering tone Robbie had become accustomed to. "Tell me. What've you tried so far?"
"I rang one of his band mates. Apparently James left the band over a year ago." It bothered Robbie that he'd been left in the dark about this fact. Music was so central to James' life. "I also tried Professor Pinnock at St Gerard's - she offered Hathaway a job before, but she hadn't heard from him in ages. And one of his church mates, a Victoria Fraser, who went to Prisztina with him."
"And?"
"Well, she wasn't exactly forthcoming either. I don't think she was very happy that I dragged Hathaway away from their mission trip and sent him traipsing across Eastern Europe," Robbie admitted sheepishly. "She claimed she didn't know where he was, though."
"I see. Anything else?"
Robbie listed the rest of the leads he'd tried and discarded. Innocent nodded as she took it all in, occasionally making a note on her notepad. Finally she folded her hands together, which Robbie knew meant she'd come to a decision about the plan of action.
"I'm not going to declare him missing -"
"Ma'am -"
Innocent steamrolled on. "But, I will make discreet inquiries into his whereabouts."
Robbie knew that was as good as a missing person investigation from anyone else. "Thank you, ma'am," he said in relief.
"Robbie, please. It's Jean. And...I do hope he comes back to you soon." She had that little furrow in her brow that meant she was being sincere in her own way.
He stood up. "Thank you, Jean."
"And be sure to talk to Laura!" she called after him.
* * *The main squad room was close to empty when he left - he'd chosen to come in at lunchtime for a reason. He wandered over to their old office, almost hoping that he'd find James sitting at his desk as usual, looking up with a smile as he came in. But the desks were empty, the office just as they'd left it, minus the nameplates on the doors. Jean couldn't have filled her DI vacancy yet.
"It's not the same without you, sir," a voice said behind him. Robbie nearly jumped out of his skin.
He turned, and was met by the dazzling smile of DC Alex Gray.
"Gray. How are you, man?" he asked, shaking hands.
"Very well, thank you, sir. Everything alright with you, sir?"
"Yeah," Robbie prevaricated. "Fine, thanks."
Gray's gaze swept the darkened office. "Is there anything in particular that brought you back, sir? Something you misplaced?"
Not something, Robbie thought. Someone.
"May I help you look, sir?"
Now that he'd confided in Jean, and knew something was going to be done, Robbie no longer felt the urge to go around town putting up missing person signs. Innocent'd probably have him in for wasting police time if he started confiding his woes to every constable on the force. "There's nothing, but thanks all the same."
"Goodbye, sir," Gray said, agreeably enough, but Robbie could feel the young man's gaze boring into his back all the way to the exit.
* * *
"Oh, dear," Laura said, when he finally managed to corner her in between post-mortems and deliver the news. "I suppose it must be true, then."
"Why, what do you think's happened?" Robbie asked, alarmed.
"I thought this might be the case, ever since I saw his face that day at the pub, but..."
Robbie gave her a baffled look. "What might be the case? What day at the pub?"
"I wasn't a hundred percent certain before, but this rather clinches it, don't you think?"
"Clinches what, woman?" Robbie asked, voice rising in frustration.
Laura gave him a look. "Honestly, Robbie, call yourself a detective? James is in love with you." Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if she hadn't just dropped a twenty-tonne bombshell on Robbie's head.
"Hathaway? With me? You're joking!"
"Why not? I'm in love with you."
Robbie huffed out a laugh. "Thanks, love. But James isn't -" He stopped short.
Laura raised her eyebrows. "Isn't...gay?"
"Well, he's only dated women."
"That you know about," Laura pointed out.
"Well, I suppose I always did have a suspicion," Robbie admitted. "He does eat Yorkie bars and read Loaded - but that was just the once. On the other hand, he did bring over musicals to watch on DVD some nights, and he does wear pretty fancy shoes..." He trailed off when he saw the scrunched-up expression on Laura's face.
"Yorkie bars and musicals? What on earth are you banging on about, Robbie?"
"I just meant that maybe he, you know, runs both ways," he said hastily. But even so, why on earth would his tastes run to Robbie, of all people? It was impossible, surely.
He pulled himself together. He wasn't thinking this through the right way. He was taking this too personally, ruling out theories before he had evidence.
Think like a copper, Robbie.
First of all, "that day at the pub". Laura must mean the day they'd announced - rather publicly - that they were an item. He'd been too caught up in the moment to pay attention, but now that he thought about it, that had been a rather pained smile on James' face, as if he'd been holding his emotions in check. He'd congratulated Robbie afterwards, of course, and it had been sincere, but it was just like James to put his own desires aside, wasn't it? If there was one thing James was good at, it was self-denial. And he'd always been a bit distant after that day, refusing invitations to have dinner with him and Laura.
And if he rewound to before that day, there were many moments he could point to, with the knowledge he had now, and reinterpret them as proof of love rather than evidence of a sergeant's devotion to his job. Suddenly "if you go, I go" took on a whole new resonance.
Laura saw that he'd talked himself around to her point of view. "Right, then, let's take that as our working hypothesis. Now, let's talk about you."
"What about me?" Robbie asked guardedly, every sense blaring danger! at him.
"Have you never thought about.."
"What, like that, about Hathaway?" Robbie asked, incredulous.
"I've seen the way you look at his arse when he wears jeans," Laura said blandly.
Robbie blushed, but he knew her powers of observation too well to deny it. "Well...I can admire it objectively, can't I?" he asked defensively.
"Objectively, yes, it is a very fine specimen of an arse," Laura teased.
Robbie rolled his eyes, and went on the counter-attack. "Besides, it sounds like you've been doing the same."
"Ah, but I also think he's subjectively dishy." She gave him a knowing glance.
Robbie gave up. "Alright, I admit, I've thought about it." He'd surprised even himself by contemplating it. He'd thought he was heterosexual through and through. And he still was, in a way. He didn't fancy blokes. Just James.
James had wormed his way into his heart somehow, becoming a constant, reassuring presence through the depths of his despair. If it hadn't been for the lad, he probably wouldn't ever have made it out the other side. Even so, he hadn't ever let it develop beyond an idle thought, because no matter how much he might want it...
"It's still impossible," he said.
"Why?" Laura asked, relentless.
Robbie floundered. "Because...well, he's my sergeant!"
"Not any more," she pointed out.
"And...he's a him."
Laura rolled her eyes. "Any other utterly irrelevant objections?"
"He's young enough to be my son."
"If he doesn't mind that, why should you?"
"How can you be so sure he doesn't mind?"
"I can't. You'll have to ask James."
"If only I could," Robbie muttered in frustration.
"Right, so. Find him, then ask him."
"And what about after?" Robbie had learned to ask that question, now. "What if he says yes? What about, well, us?"
"You know what they say. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Where them equals us, of course."
Robbie furrowed his brow. "Laura, James is in his late thirties. We can't adopt him," he pointed out.
Laura rolled her eyes heavenwards, as if asking for strength. "That's not what I meant, Robbie. I doubt if he'd be very satisfied with that sort of arrangement, since I've also seen him stare dreamily at your arse when he thought no one was looking." Her eyes twinkled at him as he tried to wrap his mind around the idea of his sergeant ogling him as he went in and out of the office. Maybe that was why James had always insisted on walking two paces behind him.
"So, what're you proposing then, a - a -" Robbie glanced around the mortuary to check that the coast was clear before whispering, "a threesome?"
Laura nodded.
"You seriously wouldn't mind?" He knew Laura was far from conventional, but still.
Laura shrugged. "Why should I? He is rather..."
"Dishy, yeah, I know." He couldn't believe he was even contemplating this. But...that would be the best of all possible worlds, wouldn't it? He'd be happy. Laura'd be happy. James...
He shook his head. "I don't know about himself, though. He's rather...old-fashioned, you know."
"Stuck in the past?" Laura asked pointedly.
"Alright." He conceded the point. "But he's a stubborn one," he warned. Robbie hadn't had years of homophobia and opinions about what constituted a proper family unit hammered into his head since childhood.
"Find him, then worry about what he'll think. And if he objects on any other grounds besides simply not wanting it, well, send him to me, and I'll talk some sense to him."
Laura had a determined look on her face. For the lad's sake, Robbie hoped he'd give in before Laura got the bone-saw out.
* * *
"So he definitely hasn't left the country? I don't know, some sort of world music tour? Thank you, Jean, that's a relief." Robbie shut off the phone, feeling anything but relieved.
Now that he knew why James had gone away without a word, his fears about James having been bopped over the head by a released convict hellbent on revenge had been replaced by an even worse fear. He'd seen too many young people off themselves over what they'd thought was an impossible love. And the last thing Hathaway had said to him at the party had come to haunt his dreams.
"Goodbye, sir."
"What did I tell you about calling me sir? It's Robbie, man," he'd said.
Hathaway shrugged. "It's the last time I'll get to say it."
What had he meant, "the last time"? And "goodbye, sir"? The words rang ominously in his head now, sounding too close to a final farewell for his liking.
At least he knew James had left Oxford safely. He'd managed to trace him as far as London, having found a coach driver who remembered Hathaway boarding his bus to London the Saturday after the party.
Of course, it had to be there. Robbie knew what happened when people went off to London.
He rubbed his eyes tiredly. He'd been through his list of leads several times, but none seemed to know anything. Now that he knew James was no longer in Oxford, he'd have to broaden his search. He'd racked his brains for anyone James might know in London, but he knew James wouldn't thank him to call Inspector Fiona McKendrick of Scotland Yard and ask her for a lead on her ex-lover. Especially not if Laura was right about James.
That was the only name he'd come up with.
He looked back at his list and tapped his pencil tip against the name of Victoria Fraser, James' church friend. Perhaps he should go talk to her again. He'd got the feeling, over the phone, that she knew more than she'd said. Perhaps he should set Laura loose on her.
His mobile rang. He snatched it up without even glancing at the number.
"Sir?" Robbie was prepared to rejoice, only it was a woman's voice, not James'. "Sir, it's Julie Lockhart. I was wondering, have you had any news about Sergeant Hathaway?"
"No, not yet." Robbie frowned. "Who told you about what happened?"
"Alex - I mean, DC Gray - told us what was going on."
"He did, did he?" Robbie said grimly. He'd underestimated the young constable. He wasn't so much green as he was cabbage-looking, was he?
"We - oh, don't be such a coward, Gurdip, you did the most of all of us - we did a bit of digging," Julie told him, after a brief aside with what Robbie imagined was one very browbeaten technical officer. "Can you meet us after work at the Bear?"
Robbie hadn't been to the Bear since his days with Morse. Few police officers frequented it, despite its general popularity, or perhaps because of it. He had the feeling it had been carefully picked for just this reason. "Alright, see you there," he said, his hopes rising. Julie and Gurdip were good detectives. If they thought they had a lead, it was likely a solid one.
He glanced at his watch. He'd be early, but he wasn't about to sit around moping here while there was hope.
* * *
Robbie ended up having to nurse his ale for about half an hour, by the end of which the game of identifying the old school ties that adorned the walls of the Bear had got very stale. He was glad when Julie and Gurdip finally entered the pub, on time.
"You look so tired," Julie said to him the moment she sat down, patting his hand sympathetically.
"It's been...a bit trying," Robbie said, attempting a smile. He pushed the two ales he'd ordered for them minutes earlier across the table. "How've you two been?"
"Fine, but you don't want to make small talk, do you, sir?" Julie's voice became brisk. "We did some investigating, the two of us -" She flashed a warning glance at Gurdip, who was trying to scrunch himself up as small as he could in his seat. He didn't want any credit for this piece of detective work, Robbie guessed. "We turned up a...connection between between Sergeant Hathaway and one Father Michael O'Hara." Robbie noted the use of the delicate word connection, which revealed absolutely nothing about how they'd found this out. From Gurdip's squirming, he'd bet it was something they could lose their jobs over.
He was touched that they would go to such lengths for him, and for James.
Father Michael O'Hara. He'd known that church friend of Hathaway's sounded shifty.
"Who's he when he's at home, then?" But Robbie thought he already had an inkling.
"He's director of vocations at the Catholic seminary in London," Gurdip replied.
They looked at one another. Everyone knew what that meant. It had been common knowledge in the nick that Hathaway had once been destined for a career in the church. And it looked like he was again.
It explained everything so neatly that Robbie couldn't believe he hadn't worked it out before. What was it James had said about the seminary? Closes your life down a bit, and Robbie knew what James meant when he said a bit. He probably hadn't wanted Robbie knowing about it either, knowing how his closed-minded old boss felt about God-botherers.
Robbie sagged in his seat. He couldn't exactly stop James, if that was what he wanted now that he wasn't a copper any longer. As Innocent had pointed out, Hathaway was a grown man, capable of making his own decisions about his path in life.
But then Laura's voice rang in his head. Robbie, James is in love with you. If James was doing this to run away...
No, he had to have it out with James, one way or another.
"Thanks, you two. You deserve a promotion for this."
"Actually..." Julie blushed prettily, exchanging a glance with Gurdip.
"Julie's going to be promoted to DS next month. The Chief Super told her just yesterday," Gurdip announced proudly.
Robbie smiled for what felt like the first time in ages. Innocent had sounded him and James out before they left about their possible replacements, and they'd put Julie at the top of the list. It was good to know that their recommendation had been taken seriously. "Congratulations, lass. Innocent couldn't have made a better choice. Who'll your governor be?"
"It's not decided yet. Depends on who they get in for the DI vacancy," Julie answered.
Robbie stood up. "Well, when we get Hathaway back, I'll get him to treat you both to a celebratory dinner, eh? Enjoy the ale."
They grinned and lifted their glasses. "Go and get him, sir!"
* * *
Robbie stood at the entrance to the seminary, a little uncertain about how to make his approach at this hour of the night, when no one of authority seemed to be in evidence. Perhaps he should have waited till the morning instead of rushing all the way here, or just made a phone call - but he had to know.
The seminary lay tranquil under the cloak of late evening, despite the chaos of London surrounding it. It reminded Robbie of St Gerard's in Oxford. James had liked that place. Robbie could see why he'd been drawn back here.
Assuming he was here.
A group of seminarians happened to walk past the gate at that moment, talking quietly among themselves. One of them spotted him and detached himself from the rest, approaching him with a smile of welcome.
"May I help you?"
"Yeah. I'd like to speak to James Hathaway."
"James Hathaway?" The man looked puzzled. Then his frown cleared. "Oh, James! He's one of the prospective seminarians on the retreat, isn't he?'
Thank goodness. Robbie exhaled with relief. For a moment there, he'd thought this had been another wild goose chase. But no, James was here, safe.
"I'll just go get..."
Another man stepped out of the darkness. "I'll take care of this, Neville, you go on ahead," he said, in a voice that bespoke authority, even though this newcomer wasn't wearing priestly garments either. He reminded Robbie of the prefects at his secondary school, although he was pretty sure there was no such thing at a seminary. Either way, Neville scuttled.
The man looked Robbie up and down. "You said you were looking to see James?"
Robbie nodded. "I'm Robbie Lewis. If you could just let James know that I'm here..."
"Is it an emergency?" the man asked abruptly.
I need to ask James if he'll be willing to enter a menage à trois with Laura and me, a man old enough to be his father. Does that rate as an emergency?
"Not quite," Robbie said reluctantly.
"Then I'm afraid you won't be able to see him." As Robbie opened his mouth to protest, the man continued, "It's called a 'retreat' for a reason. This is a time for James to consider his vocation prayerfully and in seclusion from the outside world. No...outsiders are to disturb him during this vital process."
But he doesn't know all the facts! Robbie mentally protested, when doubt suddenly assailed him. He wasn't in possession of all the facts, either. What if they'd been laughably wrong about the whole thing? Imagining something that wasn't there?
What if this was the life James wanted to lead? He would fit right in here, Robbie could see that. He had the right to choose for himself, if this was what he wanted, without interference from Robbie or Laura or anyone else.
"How long does this retreat last?"
"Till Sunday."
Sunday. He could wait till Sunday. For now, it was enough just to know that James was safe and well. They could have a talk afterwards, and if James still wanted to become a priest...they would deal with it, somehow.
"Can you pass on a message for me, then?" he asked.
"Certainly."
"Ask him to call Robbie when he gets the chance, eh?"
"Of course." The man inclined his head.
Robbie turned to go to his car. "Oh, and one more thing."
The man raised his eyebrows in polite enquiry.
"Tell him he owes me a pensioner's special."
Go to Part II