Lewis Fic: Life's Sweetest Reward - Part 2
***
Go here for the Part 1 and the header information
The easiest way of getting somewhere you weren’t supposed to go was simply to walk in and look like you belonged. Robbie led the way toward the crew only areas, all the while pondering that perhaps the same held true for other things too. Like behaving in a distinctively proprietary manner toward your sergeant.
Lewis ducked into a staircase leading downward toward the lower decks, sensing more than hearing Hathaway following at his heels. He couldn’t quite shake the memory of leaning against James at the bar, sitting pressed together in the booth, how right and natural it had felt. How much he wanted to do it again if James would...
A door banged open somewhere above them, two voices arguing loudly over whose turn it was to take a break. Lewis froze in his tracks, almost at the foot of the stairs, heart jumping.
“I think they’re coming this way, Sir,” James whispered behind him urgently.
“Damn, damn, quickly then lad.” He grabbed Hathaway’s hand, tugging him along the corridor, trying every door on the way. Unfortunately, they were all locked.
“Maybe we should just...?” James was digging out his warrant card but Lewis shook his head.
“No, it’ll be all over the ship in less than five minutes that we’re coppers and we’ll be sure to never find him then!”
They were standing close, whispering in the middle of the corridor and all the while the two arguing crew members were getting nearer.
“Well, then we need an excuse,” Hathaway hissed, casting around as if expecting to pluck one from the air.
For a few seconds Lewis was drawing a blank too, just about to give up and get his warrant card out after all, but then his eyes landed on a narrow space between what he assumed were storage closets. It was nowhere near big enough to actually hide them, but there were other reasons why two people might seek such a place in a cruise like this...
Before he had a chance to change his mind he pushed James into the alcove, pressing himself right against him.
“What...?”
“An excuse,” Robbie murmured, his insides knotted with tension, mind screaming at him, demanding what the bloody hell he thought he was doing. But there was no time for second guessing. The arguing voices were getting closer, about to round the corner into the corridor and once that happened...
Despite the low lighting Lewis could see the exact moment James realised what he was about to do; the almost comical widening of his eyes and the panicky exhale that Robbie could feel against his face, and he was so desperately sorry if he was causing some genuine distress here, crossing a line he should’ve left well enough alone, but then they were out of time for regrets or change of plan.
The first press of lips was awkward and stilted, most of Robbie’s attention on the approaching crew members. Hathaway was silent and tense against him, his hands gripping at Robbie’s arms like he didn’t know whether to push him away or hold him close, and somewhere in the background, though not coming any nearer at the moment, the argument over appropriate distribution of break times was still going on.
It was instinct, not so different from his usual urge to sooth and care, that made him change the angle, to cradle James’ head in one of his hands and card his fingers through the short hairs at the nape. There was a moment of resistance; just a few seconds long enough for Lewis to think he’d made a mistake, but then James relaxed, his mouth softening as he slouched low and - bloody fuck - spread his legs to accommodate the way Robbie was pressed between them.
And then... Then they were kissing properly; slow and tentative but with definite intention and Robbie forgot this was supposed to be nothing but a way to maintain their cover, forgot all the reasons why this was a bad idea, forgot everything but the heated push of lips and tongues and the way James’ breath hitched when Robbie scraped his fingernails against his base of his skull.
It had been years since he’d kissed someone like this, decades since he’d kissed another man, and the roughness of stubble and the hard planes and angles of the body pressing against him made desire coil hot inside his chest. And lower.
Then James made a sound, a quiet desperate noise, caught somewhere between a moan and a sob.
It was like a kick to the gut. What they hell were they doing? Robbie wrenched himself away, shocked and panting and-
“You guys really shouldn’t be here,” an amused female voice said.
James’ stare shifted to somewhere over of his shoulder and with an effort Lewis turned around. Two women, their argument momentarily forgotten, regarded them with identical expressions of exasperation, tinged with laughter.
“If I got a pound every time I walked in on guests having sex, I’d be able to quit my job,” one of them said.
“We weren’t having sex!” Hathaway almost squeaked, clearly scandalised.
In any other circumstances it would have been funny but Lewis found himself similarly indignant. “No, no, we were just...”
“...not far from it,” the first woman said. Being older she was the less amused and more tired looking of the two, clearly having had her share of dealing with difficult customers. “Look, gentlemen, this area is staff only. I’m going to have to ask you continue your... discussion, above deck.” She folded her arms, looking stern.
“Of course, we’re very sorry,” Lewis said, the words sounding insincere even to his own ears. “Come on, Ha-James.” He grabbed Hathaway by the arm, starting a slow walk back toward the stairs.
***
James’ legs were moving, keeping pace, and when Robbie let go of his hand he tucked it into his jeans pocket, safely out of way. His mind, however, felt frozen in place, still trying to process what had happened earlier.
Lewis had kissed him. Yes, for cover, ostensibly. But.
It hadn’t felt like that.
Robert Lewis had kissed him. And he had kissed back. Of course he had, desperately, wantonly, because if he’d ever thought he’d be strong enough to resist an opportunity like that he had been fooling himself. They’d kissed and he suspected that if not for the interruption, they would still be kissing.
“Wait.” Lewis came to a stop at the foot of the stairs and Hathaway only narrowly missed walking straight into him. “I think we’re clear.”
James turned to look behind them, seeing the two women round the corner at the end, seemingly trusting that the trespassers were leaving. “What are you doing?” he asked as Lewis started back down the corridor. “They might come back.”
“They might. But we still have rooms to check. Look. I...” He turned around, seemed to hesitate, not quite meeting James’ eyes. “I promise that next time we’ll just come clean, alright? Identify ourselves as officers and take our chances. No more... you know.” He laughed, but it was forced, almost painfully awkward, and Hathaway could feel his chest grow tight with disappointment.
“Of course, Sir.” He nodded, quickly looking away. He’d already given away too much today and wanted at least to be able to pretend that this hurt was hidden even though he knew that Lewis was able to read him too well for that. It had always been part of the problem.
They worked in silence, trying the doors again, and picking up where they’d left off. Most of them were locked as before and the few that were open were nothing more than cleaning cupboards or toilets. They rounded the corner cautiously but there was no sign of the two crew members from earlier. Lewis pointed at another staircase at the end of this corridor, presumably leading above deck at the other end of the ship and Hathaway nodded.
Halfway through they struck gold. Well, an open door at any rate, one leading to what was clearly the staff room. It was far from luxurious; a small kitchenette at one end, tucked around a partition wall, a couple of battered looking tables and chairs, and a row of lockers. It was also blessedly empty.
“No one should be on break now, not until the food service has finished,” Hathaway commented, scrutinising the rota taped to the wall. His voice sounded perfectly even and his fingers skimming the paper didn’t shake at all.
“Good, good,” Lewis answered absently. He was focussed on the row of lockers, running a hand over the doors, almost... Almost like he was caressing them.
Hathaway cleared his throat. “Sir? What are you doing? I assume they’re locked and we can’t...”
He trailed off in surprise as Robbie suddenly let out a triumphant: “Ha!” and thumped the lockers hard on the side, the bang of metal making James jump.
“See, wide open,” Lewis said, pulling the first door open with a tip of his finger. He grinned, some of the earlier awkwardness vanishing in the face of his genuine delight. “Used to have lockers just like this at my old football club. Not the most secure when you know just where to knock.” He tapped the side of his nose meaningfully and despite his hurt and confusion, despite not knowing where exactly they stood, Hathaway felt an answering smile cross his features.
Briefly.
“Well then,” he said, “Let’s have a look.”
They started at the opposite ends. The first two lockers were unremarkable, containing only jackets and handbags, bottle of water and tennis racket in one of them. The third one, however, produced a far more incriminating bounty. At the bottom of the locker, underneath some magazines and an old umbrella, Hathaway uncovered something hard and heavy, wrapped in a plastic bag. He knew what it was as soon as he picked it up, the weight and feel of it familiar from firearms training and those few occasions he’d have to carry one on the job.
“Sir,” he said, using the edge of his t-shirt to open the bag just enough for the two of them to confirm its contents.
Lewis frowned, unhappily. “Anything in there that would tell us who this belongs to?”
They drew a blank on that one. There was nothing with a name or any kind of identification at all in the locker.
Robbie huffed, annoyed. “We could just start questioning the staff. They’ll know whose locker this is.”
“And give our potential shooter here fair warning. Just having the gun doesn’t mean they’re going to use it. If we arrest them now...” Hathaway spread his hands.
“Yeah, yeah, a good defence lawyer will have him out with nothing but a slap on the wrist for illegal possession and some hate mail.” Lewis gazed down into the bag. “Any ideas?”
Carefully, James took it from him, wrapping the gun back up and tucking it where he’d found it, closing the locker. “We wait.”
***
And so they did.
James, the clever sod that he was, had argued that whoever would come for the gun, would want to do it soon, before the end of dinner service meant a steady flux of staff coming in for their breaks. The kitchenette gave enough cover that it wouldn’t be immediately obvious someone else was in the room, unless whoever was checking was thorough. And Hathaway thought that they’d be too distracted for that.
“People see what they expect to see,” he said, his voice far too even. Which is why Robbie knew for certain that he wasn’t just talking about their suspect.
So there they were, huddled in the small space between a fridge and microwave. The partitions were low enough that Hathaway was forced to slouch down uncomfortably or risk having his head visible. Robbie found his attention drawn to the long line of his legs, the way Hathaway’s large hands gripped the edge of the counter, as tightly as they’d held onto Robbie’s shirt just mere minutes earlier.
With some effort, he turned around so that his gaze was firmly directed at the lockers, just visible through the gap in the makeshift walls. Robbie could feel the weight of an impending decision, knew he had a choice to make here, and soon. He could carry on as nothing had happened and everything would stay the same; he and James would still work together (until he retired at least) and go for drinks together (though maybe only until he retired) and occasionally share a meal or an outing (but what about when he retired, what then, what if he...).
Robbie suddenly felt a cold certainty of what was to come if he did nothing. The two of them would drift apart, without meaning to, but inevitably nevertheless; James returning to his studies or the church, while Robbie would be left with empty days and excuses.
He didn’t want that. He wanted...
“Sir?” Hathaway’s voice pulled him out of his own head, back into the dingy kitchenette. “Are you... alright? Just... You looked...”
“I’m fine, lad,” Lewis said, giving a decisive nod. And he was. Because he had a chance to change things, he had a chance to... He turned around, ready to say something, anything, that would break the tension and let James know that he wanted-
Someone opened the break room door.
In an instant all their attention snapped to what was happening on the other side of the partition walls.
It seemed that Hathaway’s prediction was accurate. A man entered the room, dressed in the staff uniform, and opened the locker, his movements swift and decisive as he pulled out the plastic bag.
They’d seen enough. Lewis was first to step out, Hathaway right behind him. “I think you should put that down.” Lewis held out his warrant card, circling toward the door, hoping to block the exit.
The man, who he could now see was the bartender from earlier, visibly startled, whipping around.
“Police,” Lewis identified himself, automatically falling into the caution: “I’m arresting you for the possession of a firearm with intention to endanger life. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention-”
It seemed the situation was not so easily solved, however. Instead of doing as he was told, the man unwrapped the deadly parcel and had the gun in his grip before Lewis could even blink.
“Hey, hey, let’s take it easy now,” Robbie said, holding up his hands in what he hoped was a calming manner, all the while cursing silently. Two seasoned coppers like them, and James with his extra smarts too, and neither of them had thought to empty the gun of bullets.
“I have been ‘taking it easy’,” the bartender said. His eyes were clear and calm, his stance relaxed. “I have given plenty of warning to Mr Atkins what would happen if he brought this... this abomination here.”
From the corner of his eye Lewis could see Hathaway taking a slow, cautious step toward them, still out of the gunman’s sights.
“You have, absolutely.” Robbie was agreeing and nodding, trying to keep their target distracted and talking for just a little longer. “Admirable patience on your part.”
“And now it’s run out.” The words were frighteningly true. There was a look a person got when they were willing to cross the line and Lewis saw it in the eyes above the gun. “Now, step aside or I-”
Hathaway grabbed the man from behind, going straight for the arm holding the gun. Lewis dove to the side, out of the line of possible fire, his heart hammering in his chest. He tried to find a way to help, but James and the gunman were still struggling, too close for him to intervene without the risk of making things worse.
Turned out, they got worse anyway. With a shouted “Fucking faggot lover!” the bartender-slash-dangerous-bigot managed to jam his fist into James’ stomach. He doubled over but, grabbing hold of his opponent’s jacket, brought him to the floor with him.
Robbie cursed, prepared to wade in after all, when the tussle was brought short by the heart-stopping sound of a gun being fired.
The shot rang disproportionately loud in the small room. It was like being suddenly drenched in ice cold water, the terrible, all too real possibility of loss washing over him in waves of ‘no, no, please not him too’ and for a few seconds he could not move, could not breathe, could do nothing but regret.
Then James pulled back his arm and punched the gunman straight on the nose. “Fuck,” he said, shaking his hand. “That didn’t quite go as planned, Sir. Sir? Are you alright? What...?”
Robbie was on the ground.
***
Two hours later it was all over. Except for the dancing, apparently, as Hathaway could hear the music starting up again.
“And the paperwork,” Lewis added, coming to stand next to him at the railing. “Don’t forget about the paperwork.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir.” James kept his gaze on the river, watching the play of lights on the waves as they passed at a leisurely pace. His stomach was still tender from its meeting with a fist, but at least he was able to stand straight and walk around, albeit a little gingerly.
Evening had fallen in earnest, while they had dealt with the conveniently unconscious Joe Cunard, aka bartender with some extreme prejudices and knowledge on how to acquire an illegal gun. Luckily, the only casualty had been the break room wall, the shot leaving a neat bullet hole next to the lockers.
Once they’d ascertained that everyone was alive and well, and their offender subdued, it had been relatively easy to inform Mr Atkins and the ship’s captain and radio the whole thing in. Innocent had had a patrol car and an ambulance - no need to take any risks about Mr Cunard’s wellbeing, everyone wanted him whole and healthy for the court - waiting at the nearest pier big enough for the ship to stop at.
There had also been a message to ‘take the rest of the weekend off’ and once Mr Atkins had heard that one, he’d insisted that the ‘two heroes of the hour’ stayed on to enjoy the cruise. James hadn’t been sure, a large part of him wanting the safety of his flat or even the office. Staying meant spending more time with Robbie, staying meant talking about what had happened and that... That quite likely meant having it all explained away as nothing more than having gotten carried away.
All things considered, James would rather cling on to his ‘maybe’ just a little while longer. He cast a sideways glance at Lewis, taking in his serious ‘we need to talk’ expression and decided to see if he could delay the inevitable. Plus, he was still worried, even though the paramedic had checked them both over, Lewis thoroughly at James’ insistence.
“Maybe you should sit down, Sir,” he said. “You’re still looking a little grey.”
Robbie glared at him. “I’m fine,” he said. “And I did not faint and there was no need to go bleating about that to all and sundry. I just...” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, turning to face James fully, seeming to have come to a decision of sorts. “Truthfully? I thought you were hurt and it... did rather fell me there for a moment, and then when I realised you weren’t... Well, I got a bit weak at the old knees. From relief.”
James gripped the railing hard, looking at Robbie’s face and the remnants of fear there, as long as he could. Then he shifted his gaze back to the river, and the darkening sky above it. “I didn’t... I’m fine,” he said, even if it wasn’t technically true. “Everything’s fine.”
“Ah, lad,” he heard Robbie sigh, almost as if to himself, and then “James,” directed at him now, “James, look at me. Please, this isn’t... easy, but I... Please?”
It was a warm night, but the feel of Robbie’s hand on his back, gently turning him, made him shiver anyway. “It’s quite alright, Sir,” he said, wrapping his arms around his middle and hating himself for such an obvious gesture. “There’s no need to-”
“There’s every need,” Robbie interrupted. “I want to... to explain... to ask...” He sighed, clearly exasperated with himself. “Why am I making such a hash of this?” The question sounded rhetorical, directed as it was toward the stars.
“You kissed me so as not to blow our cover,” James said, because someone had to, and maybe it was easier this way. “It’s fine, you don’t need to worry about it. I understand.”
Robbie looked at him sharply. “That’s just it,” he said. “I don’t think you do. Yes. I kissed you so we wouldn't blow our cover. But I kept kissing you because I wanted to.”
James could feel his mouth opening in reply but the only thing that came out was a shaky exhale. They stared at each other for long moments, during which nothing seemed to move; he didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, couldn’t think at all. It was as if his mind was entirely unprepared to deal with this eventuality, because... Well, because he never believed it would happen.
Finally, after endless seconds of silence, Hathaway managed to utter one word: “Why?”
Incongruously, Lewis snorted in laughter. “Should’ve expected that, huh?” He shook his head, clearly amused, and James felt a flash of irritation at how relaxed and unconcerned he seemed when he himself felt like he was hollowed out, nothing but an empty shell waiting to be filled with either joy or despair. “Don’t,” he said, voice catching. “I can’t...”
“Oh, lad, no,” Robbie said, his hands coming to rest on James’ shoulders, grounding him. “I’m not... This isn’t a joke. I wouldn’t do that. James... I...” He looked down briefly, then back up again, something bright and fierce in his eyes that made James’ breath catch with hope. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while,” Robbie said. “I’d quite like to do it again if-”
The rest of the sentence was muffled by James’ mouth but that was okay as Robbie got his message across just fine, even without words.
***
“Dancing, huh?” There was a definite note of amusement in James’ voice, but his grip was strong and he showed no inclination of actually getting off the floor.
“Shut it,” Robbie grumbled, shuffling them toward one end of the miniscule dance space, jostled by other couples. To the side, Mr Atkins was looking supremely pleased, talking to a young woman who inexplicably gave him and James a thumbs up when she caught Robbie’s eyes.
“I’ll have you know I was a bit of a mover in my day. Used to take Val dancing all the time when we were dating,” he continued. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wondered if he shouldn’t have mentioned her. It wasn’t really the done thing, was it, to talk about one’s previous relationships on... Bloody hell, on the first date.
But James only huffed, pointedly asking: “What’s this ‘in your day’ talk? Today is your day too, isn’t it?”
Robbie grinned, spinning James awkwardly. “Our day,” he corrected. “And tomorrow too.” Val was part of his past and part of him, and James had always been accepting of that, but now there was this too: a future.
Around them, people danced and laughed, happy and safe. Robbie felt grateful; for being, in small part, responsible for that, and for the man smiling at him as they swayed to the song, fully aware of the cheesiness of it all but uncaring.
A breeze blew in from the shore and picked up the sound of life and music, carrying it over the dancers and past the ship, down the old river and all the way to the sea.
***
Go here for the Part 1 and the header information
The easiest way of getting somewhere you weren’t supposed to go was simply to walk in and look like you belonged. Robbie led the way toward the crew only areas, all the while pondering that perhaps the same held true for other things too. Like behaving in a distinctively proprietary manner toward your sergeant.
Lewis ducked into a staircase leading downward toward the lower decks, sensing more than hearing Hathaway following at his heels. He couldn’t quite shake the memory of leaning against James at the bar, sitting pressed together in the booth, how right and natural it had felt. How much he wanted to do it again if James would...
A door banged open somewhere above them, two voices arguing loudly over whose turn it was to take a break. Lewis froze in his tracks, almost at the foot of the stairs, heart jumping.
“I think they’re coming this way, Sir,” James whispered behind him urgently.
“Damn, damn, quickly then lad.” He grabbed Hathaway’s hand, tugging him along the corridor, trying every door on the way. Unfortunately, they were all locked.
“Maybe we should just...?” James was digging out his warrant card but Lewis shook his head.
“No, it’ll be all over the ship in less than five minutes that we’re coppers and we’ll be sure to never find him then!”
They were standing close, whispering in the middle of the corridor and all the while the two arguing crew members were getting nearer.
“Well, then we need an excuse,” Hathaway hissed, casting around as if expecting to pluck one from the air.
For a few seconds Lewis was drawing a blank too, just about to give up and get his warrant card out after all, but then his eyes landed on a narrow space between what he assumed were storage closets. It was nowhere near big enough to actually hide them, but there were other reasons why two people might seek such a place in a cruise like this...
Before he had a chance to change his mind he pushed James into the alcove, pressing himself right against him.
“What...?”
“An excuse,” Robbie murmured, his insides knotted with tension, mind screaming at him, demanding what the bloody hell he thought he was doing. But there was no time for second guessing. The arguing voices were getting closer, about to round the corner into the corridor and once that happened...
Despite the low lighting Lewis could see the exact moment James realised what he was about to do; the almost comical widening of his eyes and the panicky exhale that Robbie could feel against his face, and he was so desperately sorry if he was causing some genuine distress here, crossing a line he should’ve left well enough alone, but then they were out of time for regrets or change of plan.
The first press of lips was awkward and stilted, most of Robbie’s attention on the approaching crew members. Hathaway was silent and tense against him, his hands gripping at Robbie’s arms like he didn’t know whether to push him away or hold him close, and somewhere in the background, though not coming any nearer at the moment, the argument over appropriate distribution of break times was still going on.
It was instinct, not so different from his usual urge to sooth and care, that made him change the angle, to cradle James’ head in one of his hands and card his fingers through the short hairs at the nape. There was a moment of resistance; just a few seconds long enough for Lewis to think he’d made a mistake, but then James relaxed, his mouth softening as he slouched low and - bloody fuck - spread his legs to accommodate the way Robbie was pressed between them.
And then... Then they were kissing properly; slow and tentative but with definite intention and Robbie forgot this was supposed to be nothing but a way to maintain their cover, forgot all the reasons why this was a bad idea, forgot everything but the heated push of lips and tongues and the way James’ breath hitched when Robbie scraped his fingernails against his base of his skull.
It had been years since he’d kissed someone like this, decades since he’d kissed another man, and the roughness of stubble and the hard planes and angles of the body pressing against him made desire coil hot inside his chest. And lower.
Then James made a sound, a quiet desperate noise, caught somewhere between a moan and a sob.
It was like a kick to the gut. What they hell were they doing? Robbie wrenched himself away, shocked and panting and-
“You guys really shouldn’t be here,” an amused female voice said.
James’ stare shifted to somewhere over of his shoulder and with an effort Lewis turned around. Two women, their argument momentarily forgotten, regarded them with identical expressions of exasperation, tinged with laughter.
“If I got a pound every time I walked in on guests having sex, I’d be able to quit my job,” one of them said.
“We weren’t having sex!” Hathaway almost squeaked, clearly scandalised.
In any other circumstances it would have been funny but Lewis found himself similarly indignant. “No, no, we were just...”
“...not far from it,” the first woman said. Being older she was the less amused and more tired looking of the two, clearly having had her share of dealing with difficult customers. “Look, gentlemen, this area is staff only. I’m going to have to ask you continue your... discussion, above deck.” She folded her arms, looking stern.
“Of course, we’re very sorry,” Lewis said, the words sounding insincere even to his own ears. “Come on, Ha-James.” He grabbed Hathaway by the arm, starting a slow walk back toward the stairs.
***
James’ legs were moving, keeping pace, and when Robbie let go of his hand he tucked it into his jeans pocket, safely out of way. His mind, however, felt frozen in place, still trying to process what had happened earlier.
Lewis had kissed him. Yes, for cover, ostensibly. But.
It hadn’t felt like that.
Robert Lewis had kissed him. And he had kissed back. Of course he had, desperately, wantonly, because if he’d ever thought he’d be strong enough to resist an opportunity like that he had been fooling himself. They’d kissed and he suspected that if not for the interruption, they would still be kissing.
“Wait.” Lewis came to a stop at the foot of the stairs and Hathaway only narrowly missed walking straight into him. “I think we’re clear.”
James turned to look behind them, seeing the two women round the corner at the end, seemingly trusting that the trespassers were leaving. “What are you doing?” he asked as Lewis started back down the corridor. “They might come back.”
“They might. But we still have rooms to check. Look. I...” He turned around, seemed to hesitate, not quite meeting James’ eyes. “I promise that next time we’ll just come clean, alright? Identify ourselves as officers and take our chances. No more... you know.” He laughed, but it was forced, almost painfully awkward, and Hathaway could feel his chest grow tight with disappointment.
“Of course, Sir.” He nodded, quickly looking away. He’d already given away too much today and wanted at least to be able to pretend that this hurt was hidden even though he knew that Lewis was able to read him too well for that. It had always been part of the problem.
They worked in silence, trying the doors again, and picking up where they’d left off. Most of them were locked as before and the few that were open were nothing more than cleaning cupboards or toilets. They rounded the corner cautiously but there was no sign of the two crew members from earlier. Lewis pointed at another staircase at the end of this corridor, presumably leading above deck at the other end of the ship and Hathaway nodded.
Halfway through they struck gold. Well, an open door at any rate, one leading to what was clearly the staff room. It was far from luxurious; a small kitchenette at one end, tucked around a partition wall, a couple of battered looking tables and chairs, and a row of lockers. It was also blessedly empty.
“No one should be on break now, not until the food service has finished,” Hathaway commented, scrutinising the rota taped to the wall. His voice sounded perfectly even and his fingers skimming the paper didn’t shake at all.
“Good, good,” Lewis answered absently. He was focussed on the row of lockers, running a hand over the doors, almost... Almost like he was caressing them.
Hathaway cleared his throat. “Sir? What are you doing? I assume they’re locked and we can’t...”
He trailed off in surprise as Robbie suddenly let out a triumphant: “Ha!” and thumped the lockers hard on the side, the bang of metal making James jump.
“See, wide open,” Lewis said, pulling the first door open with a tip of his finger. He grinned, some of the earlier awkwardness vanishing in the face of his genuine delight. “Used to have lockers just like this at my old football club. Not the most secure when you know just where to knock.” He tapped the side of his nose meaningfully and despite his hurt and confusion, despite not knowing where exactly they stood, Hathaway felt an answering smile cross his features.
Briefly.
“Well then,” he said, “Let’s have a look.”
They started at the opposite ends. The first two lockers were unremarkable, containing only jackets and handbags, bottle of water and tennis racket in one of them. The third one, however, produced a far more incriminating bounty. At the bottom of the locker, underneath some magazines and an old umbrella, Hathaway uncovered something hard and heavy, wrapped in a plastic bag. He knew what it was as soon as he picked it up, the weight and feel of it familiar from firearms training and those few occasions he’d have to carry one on the job.
“Sir,” he said, using the edge of his t-shirt to open the bag just enough for the two of them to confirm its contents.
Lewis frowned, unhappily. “Anything in there that would tell us who this belongs to?”
They drew a blank on that one. There was nothing with a name or any kind of identification at all in the locker.
Robbie huffed, annoyed. “We could just start questioning the staff. They’ll know whose locker this is.”
“And give our potential shooter here fair warning. Just having the gun doesn’t mean they’re going to use it. If we arrest them now...” Hathaway spread his hands.
“Yeah, yeah, a good defence lawyer will have him out with nothing but a slap on the wrist for illegal possession and some hate mail.” Lewis gazed down into the bag. “Any ideas?”
Carefully, James took it from him, wrapping the gun back up and tucking it where he’d found it, closing the locker. “We wait.”
***
And so they did.
James, the clever sod that he was, had argued that whoever would come for the gun, would want to do it soon, before the end of dinner service meant a steady flux of staff coming in for their breaks. The kitchenette gave enough cover that it wouldn’t be immediately obvious someone else was in the room, unless whoever was checking was thorough. And Hathaway thought that they’d be too distracted for that.
“People see what they expect to see,” he said, his voice far too even. Which is why Robbie knew for certain that he wasn’t just talking about their suspect.
So there they were, huddled in the small space between a fridge and microwave. The partitions were low enough that Hathaway was forced to slouch down uncomfortably or risk having his head visible. Robbie found his attention drawn to the long line of his legs, the way Hathaway’s large hands gripped the edge of the counter, as tightly as they’d held onto Robbie’s shirt just mere minutes earlier.
With some effort, he turned around so that his gaze was firmly directed at the lockers, just visible through the gap in the makeshift walls. Robbie could feel the weight of an impending decision, knew he had a choice to make here, and soon. He could carry on as nothing had happened and everything would stay the same; he and James would still work together (until he retired at least) and go for drinks together (though maybe only until he retired) and occasionally share a meal or an outing (but what about when he retired, what then, what if he...).
Robbie suddenly felt a cold certainty of what was to come if he did nothing. The two of them would drift apart, without meaning to, but inevitably nevertheless; James returning to his studies or the church, while Robbie would be left with empty days and excuses.
He didn’t want that. He wanted...
“Sir?” Hathaway’s voice pulled him out of his own head, back into the dingy kitchenette. “Are you... alright? Just... You looked...”
“I’m fine, lad,” Lewis said, giving a decisive nod. And he was. Because he had a chance to change things, he had a chance to... He turned around, ready to say something, anything, that would break the tension and let James know that he wanted-
Someone opened the break room door.
In an instant all their attention snapped to what was happening on the other side of the partition walls.
It seemed that Hathaway’s prediction was accurate. A man entered the room, dressed in the staff uniform, and opened the locker, his movements swift and decisive as he pulled out the plastic bag.
They’d seen enough. Lewis was first to step out, Hathaway right behind him. “I think you should put that down.” Lewis held out his warrant card, circling toward the door, hoping to block the exit.
The man, who he could now see was the bartender from earlier, visibly startled, whipping around.
“Police,” Lewis identified himself, automatically falling into the caution: “I’m arresting you for the possession of a firearm with intention to endanger life. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention-”
It seemed the situation was not so easily solved, however. Instead of doing as he was told, the man unwrapped the deadly parcel and had the gun in his grip before Lewis could even blink.
“Hey, hey, let’s take it easy now,” Robbie said, holding up his hands in what he hoped was a calming manner, all the while cursing silently. Two seasoned coppers like them, and James with his extra smarts too, and neither of them had thought to empty the gun of bullets.
“I have been ‘taking it easy’,” the bartender said. His eyes were clear and calm, his stance relaxed. “I have given plenty of warning to Mr Atkins what would happen if he brought this... this abomination here.”
From the corner of his eye Lewis could see Hathaway taking a slow, cautious step toward them, still out of the gunman’s sights.
“You have, absolutely.” Robbie was agreeing and nodding, trying to keep their target distracted and talking for just a little longer. “Admirable patience on your part.”
“And now it’s run out.” The words were frighteningly true. There was a look a person got when they were willing to cross the line and Lewis saw it in the eyes above the gun. “Now, step aside or I-”
Hathaway grabbed the man from behind, going straight for the arm holding the gun. Lewis dove to the side, out of the line of possible fire, his heart hammering in his chest. He tried to find a way to help, but James and the gunman were still struggling, too close for him to intervene without the risk of making things worse.
Turned out, they got worse anyway. With a shouted “Fucking faggot lover!” the bartender-slash-dangerous-bigot managed to jam his fist into James’ stomach. He doubled over but, grabbing hold of his opponent’s jacket, brought him to the floor with him.
Robbie cursed, prepared to wade in after all, when the tussle was brought short by the heart-stopping sound of a gun being fired.
The shot rang disproportionately loud in the small room. It was like being suddenly drenched in ice cold water, the terrible, all too real possibility of loss washing over him in waves of ‘no, no, please not him too’ and for a few seconds he could not move, could not breathe, could do nothing but regret.
Then James pulled back his arm and punched the gunman straight on the nose. “Fuck,” he said, shaking his hand. “That didn’t quite go as planned, Sir. Sir? Are you alright? What...?”
Robbie was on the ground.
***
Two hours later it was all over. Except for the dancing, apparently, as Hathaway could hear the music starting up again.
“And the paperwork,” Lewis added, coming to stand next to him at the railing. “Don’t forget about the paperwork.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir.” James kept his gaze on the river, watching the play of lights on the waves as they passed at a leisurely pace. His stomach was still tender from its meeting with a fist, but at least he was able to stand straight and walk around, albeit a little gingerly.
Evening had fallen in earnest, while they had dealt with the conveniently unconscious Joe Cunard, aka bartender with some extreme prejudices and knowledge on how to acquire an illegal gun. Luckily, the only casualty had been the break room wall, the shot leaving a neat bullet hole next to the lockers.
Once they’d ascertained that everyone was alive and well, and their offender subdued, it had been relatively easy to inform Mr Atkins and the ship’s captain and radio the whole thing in. Innocent had had a patrol car and an ambulance - no need to take any risks about Mr Cunard’s wellbeing, everyone wanted him whole and healthy for the court - waiting at the nearest pier big enough for the ship to stop at.
There had also been a message to ‘take the rest of the weekend off’ and once Mr Atkins had heard that one, he’d insisted that the ‘two heroes of the hour’ stayed on to enjoy the cruise. James hadn’t been sure, a large part of him wanting the safety of his flat or even the office. Staying meant spending more time with Robbie, staying meant talking about what had happened and that... That quite likely meant having it all explained away as nothing more than having gotten carried away.
All things considered, James would rather cling on to his ‘maybe’ just a little while longer. He cast a sideways glance at Lewis, taking in his serious ‘we need to talk’ expression and decided to see if he could delay the inevitable. Plus, he was still worried, even though the paramedic had checked them both over, Lewis thoroughly at James’ insistence.
“Maybe you should sit down, Sir,” he said. “You’re still looking a little grey.”
Robbie glared at him. “I’m fine,” he said. “And I did not faint and there was no need to go bleating about that to all and sundry. I just...” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, turning to face James fully, seeming to have come to a decision of sorts. “Truthfully? I thought you were hurt and it... did rather fell me there for a moment, and then when I realised you weren’t... Well, I got a bit weak at the old knees. From relief.”
James gripped the railing hard, looking at Robbie’s face and the remnants of fear there, as long as he could. Then he shifted his gaze back to the river, and the darkening sky above it. “I didn’t... I’m fine,” he said, even if it wasn’t technically true. “Everything’s fine.”
“Ah, lad,” he heard Robbie sigh, almost as if to himself, and then “James,” directed at him now, “James, look at me. Please, this isn’t... easy, but I... Please?”
It was a warm night, but the feel of Robbie’s hand on his back, gently turning him, made him shiver anyway. “It’s quite alright, Sir,” he said, wrapping his arms around his middle and hating himself for such an obvious gesture. “There’s no need to-”
“There’s every need,” Robbie interrupted. “I want to... to explain... to ask...” He sighed, clearly exasperated with himself. “Why am I making such a hash of this?” The question sounded rhetorical, directed as it was toward the stars.
“You kissed me so as not to blow our cover,” James said, because someone had to, and maybe it was easier this way. “It’s fine, you don’t need to worry about it. I understand.”
Robbie looked at him sharply. “That’s just it,” he said. “I don’t think you do. Yes. I kissed you so we wouldn't blow our cover. But I kept kissing you because I wanted to.”
James could feel his mouth opening in reply but the only thing that came out was a shaky exhale. They stared at each other for long moments, during which nothing seemed to move; he didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, couldn’t think at all. It was as if his mind was entirely unprepared to deal with this eventuality, because... Well, because he never believed it would happen.
Finally, after endless seconds of silence, Hathaway managed to utter one word: “Why?”
Incongruously, Lewis snorted in laughter. “Should’ve expected that, huh?” He shook his head, clearly amused, and James felt a flash of irritation at how relaxed and unconcerned he seemed when he himself felt like he was hollowed out, nothing but an empty shell waiting to be filled with either joy or despair. “Don’t,” he said, voice catching. “I can’t...”
“Oh, lad, no,” Robbie said, his hands coming to rest on James’ shoulders, grounding him. “I’m not... This isn’t a joke. I wouldn’t do that. James... I...” He looked down briefly, then back up again, something bright and fierce in his eyes that made James’ breath catch with hope. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while,” Robbie said. “I’d quite like to do it again if-”
The rest of the sentence was muffled by James’ mouth but that was okay as Robbie got his message across just fine, even without words.
***
“Dancing, huh?” There was a definite note of amusement in James’ voice, but his grip was strong and he showed no inclination of actually getting off the floor.
“Shut it,” Robbie grumbled, shuffling them toward one end of the miniscule dance space, jostled by other couples. To the side, Mr Atkins was looking supremely pleased, talking to a young woman who inexplicably gave him and James a thumbs up when she caught Robbie’s eyes.
“I’ll have you know I was a bit of a mover in my day. Used to take Val dancing all the time when we were dating,” he continued. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wondered if he shouldn’t have mentioned her. It wasn’t really the done thing, was it, to talk about one’s previous relationships on... Bloody hell, on the first date.
But James only huffed, pointedly asking: “What’s this ‘in your day’ talk? Today is your day too, isn’t it?”
Robbie grinned, spinning James awkwardly. “Our day,” he corrected. “And tomorrow too.” Val was part of his past and part of him, and James had always been accepting of that, but now there was this too: a future.
Around them, people danced and laughed, happy and safe. Robbie felt grateful; for being, in small part, responsible for that, and for the man smiling at him as they swayed to the song, fully aware of the cheesiness of it all but uncaring.
A breeze blew in from the shore and picked up the sound of life and music, carrying it over the dancers and past the ship, down the old river and all the way to the sea.
***