Fic for sarren - Hurt/Comfort Sequence - Parts 5 & 6
Hurt/Comfort Sequence - Parts 1 & 2 (including full header information)
Hurt/Comfort Sequence - Parts 3 & 4
Title: Alone
Pairings: Lewis/Hathaway
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 4849
Notes: hc_bingo prompt "orphans and runaways".
Warnings: Murder of a young mother, baby in brief distress, mentions of teenage suicide
Summary: A heart-breaking case makes Lewis and Hathaway face the changes in their relationship.
The woman on the ground is young, barely in her twenties James would say. Her jeans and sweater are splattered with blood and there are cuts on her face and her arms - she fought for her life.
Lewis looks around the yard, spotting something pink in the bushes a few steps away.
"What's that?" he asks.
James walks to the bushes with him, and moves the branches so that they can take a better look at what appears to be a baby doll wrapped in a pink blanket.
"Oh God," James says, quietly, when he realises the thing in the bushes is not a doll after all. It's a baby, smallest he's ever seen - was a baby, because it's so quiet, so pale, eyes closed and it has to be dead. James hates it, hates the cases with dead children, and he wants to cry or be violently sick.
Lewis is kneeling on the ground fingers reaching for a pulse.
"She's still alive!" he says, hurried, hands already loosening his tie and for a moment James can only stare as he's unbuttoning his shirt and then he's cradling the baby against his chest.
James has never seen that much of the other man's skin, and despite the situation, despite the horror still stuck in his throat he has to swallow, and to make a conscious effort to turn away. Damn. He knows he's blushing.
"Call an ambulance," Lewis says, but at least some reactions are trained to be instinctive, and his phone is already out.
Lewis walks towards Laura while James is talking with the dispatch, and as he turns to follow, he can hear a sound he has never considered beautiful before - the baby starts to cry, faintly at first, then gaining strength until she's wailing, and all three of them are sharing grins.
"That's it, luv," coos his boss, jiggling the little girl as well as he can, still holding her against the warmth of his chest.
James catches the soft look on Laura's face when she's looking at her old friend, the dead woman on the ground momentarily forgotten, and has to look away. But his eyes turn back to Lewis almost on their own volition. The older man is smiling down at the still crying baby, and once again James remembers that the man is a father himself.
He held his kids like that once. He'll hold his grandchildren one day, looking just like that, happy and proud, and damn, damn, damn, if he had any doubts about his true feelings towards Lewis they are gone now.
- - -
The ambulance takes the girl away, and they turn their attention to the woman on the ground.
"You think it's the mother?"
"Can't say until I get her to the morgue but she can't have been dead for much longer than an hour, about what I'd expect the baby to survive on its own on a day like this."
“Call us when you know anything,” Lewis says and they prepare to leave.
The corner of the park is quiet but not completely sheltered from view. It is possible someone saw something. Well, that's for the uniforms to find out.
- - -
They stop by the hospital, and neither one tries to even pretend it's only because of work.
"How is she? Is she a she?" Lewis asks the doctor in charge.
"Yes, she is. She's about a week old, and doing okay. You found her?"
"Yes. Can we see her?"
"Of course."
She leads them to the ward.
"Is it true she was found with a dead woman? Was it her mother?"
"We don't know yet, but that's where we found her, yeah."
"So you have no name yet?"
"No, sorry."
"Would you like to name her?"
"Me?"
The doctor shrugs. "Hospital tradition."
They look at the tiny girl, now asleep in her cot, looking like any baby. Like Lyn Lewis, maybe, James thinks, wondering if that is the reason behind the odd expression on the older man's face.
"Lucy," Lewis says, quietly, not taking his eyes off the baby.
- - -
"It was what we would have called Mark if he had been another girl," Lewis explains in the car, and James doesn't know what to say.
"Maybe it's stupid," his boss starts but James interrupts, quietly: "It's a good name."
He considers telling Lewis about the origins of the name, about Lucia, but doesn't open his mouth. He is still a little unsettled about the strength of his reaction to the sight of his partly undressed boss - friend - and needs a moment to regroup.
Thinking about children left to die isn't exactly conducive to that either.
“Let's go to the morgue. If Laura can at least confirm she is the mother we get a starting point on figuring out who she is. That wee thing can't be much older than a week. We might find her via the hospital records.”
- - - - - - - - - -
“Well, I can confirm that she has given birth quite recently. If you want something else, you have to wait for a few days. There are defensive wounds on her arms and hands, we might be able to get you a sample, but it will take time.”
“So she fought back?”
“Furiously,” says Laura.
Lewis and James look at each other.
“There were no marks on the baby,” James says.
“She wasn't dropped,” Lewis confirms. “The mother must have known she was about to be attacked.”
“So she hid her child and tried to defend herself? Why didn't she run, if she had time to place her down?”
“The child wasn't hidden as such, I don't suppose the killer cared about her survival.”
“Maybe they didn't know about the child? If she was quiet she could have been missed in the bushes.”
“But if the attacker wasn't someone she knew, why didn't she run in the time it took to hide the baby?”
“And maybe you can go speculate somewhere else and let us work?” Laura suggests, but not unkindly. “Oh, how is the child, by the way?”
“She'll be okay,” Lewis replies. “She'll be even better when we find her a family.”
- - -
They make no progress before having to call it a night, There's no pub or shared dinner tonight, and James is glad of the time to think.
He knew his feelings ran deep, had even revealed their nature to Lewis in a weak moment but... he never realised how physical his appreciation was. James has never had a very active sex life, nor much of an interest in one so the distracting desire is... well, distracting.
To think that he once thought the other man looked old and worn, now he just looks familiar and loved. He's not handsome in the traditional sense, perhaps, but to James the signs of life on his face just add to his charm.
Lewis said it was not the time. Was it just because of his vulnerability at the time? How long should he wait?
He sleeps badly, and is at the office the next morning way before Lewis.
- - -
“We have a name,” James says as Lewis walks into the office.
“Did you actually go home to sleep at some point?”
“Yes. The hospital round yielded results. She is Teresa Kingsley, and I have the address she gave the hospital.”
“Did she register the birth yet?”
“No, and the hospital only listed her as 'baby girl Kingsley.'”
“Let's go.”
- - -
The apartment is one room with a bed, dresser and an electric stove. There is no separate cot for the baby. But everything is clean and neat, and there are plenty of clothes and supplies for the child - maybe she just wanted to sleep with the child close, or there was a carrier that went missing in the park.
There are no photos, no letters, nothing to give them any indication as to the identity of the father or any people in her life.
There is no wallet or a phone, and there was nothing on the body either, so if she ever had them, they went missing from the scene.
The few books on the bedside table are library books on pregnancy and child care. She had been taking notes.
- - - -
Laura has good news for them when they return to the station. They managed to extract a sample of the possible attacker from under Teresa Kingsley's nails.
Unfortunately it has no match in the database, meaning the killer has no previous record, but at least they have something to compare their possible future suspects to.
While they are performing background checks on Ms Kingsley, the hospital calls. James takes the call.
“That was the hospital,” he says, reaching for his coat. “A man has shown up, claiming to be the father and demanding to be handed the baby. He is not being very co-operative, nor is he willing to submit to a paternity test so they called us.”
“Finally we're getting somewhere.”
- - -
A nurse they met earlier nods them towards the man in question. He's in his thirties, dressed in a suit that probably costs more than James' flat, and looking like he owns the place. James isn't surprised he has managed to alienate the nurses if he talked to them in a voice matching the haughty expression.
“DI Lewis, this is my sergeant, James Hathaway.”
“The coppers? Finally! I want my child.”
“And you are...?”
“Matthew Maitland,” the man says as if they should recognise the name. When they show no reaction he continues. “My family owns the Maitland Consumer Products.”
It's not really that big a company but it is something they know about, and it explains his apparent wealth, so James schools his expression to appear sufficiently impressed.
“Ah, yes,” says Lewis vaguely. “And your relationship with the deceased was...?”
“You mean Tess? There was no relationship.”
“But the child is definitely yours?”
“We slept together after she came to work for us months ago. She tried to make more of it than it was but I was getting married, so...”
“Did you know about the pregnancy?”
“Obviously. We do... did work at the same building.”
“And...?”
“And what? It was her business, not mine.”
“I see. But now you want the baby?”
“It's mine, isn't it?”
“I think, Mr Maitland, that we would like to ask you a few questions about your relationship with the mother, and your whereabouts yesterday.”
- - -
Maitland refuses to talk without a lawyer. Luckily when one arrives, he does convince his client to submit to a paternity test, and even to give the police a sample to exclude him from the murder investigation.
During the three days it takes to get the results on the paternity test, they get another father candidate when a much more polite young man by the name of Luke Gabb shows up at the hospital, asking to get to see “his baby.”
The hospital calls Lewis while he is on his way back from the lab, and he collects James from the office.
“Well, this is getting interesting. Did you find anything, sir?”
“The prelim is maybe, the blood types match but they'll refrain from making judgement calls before the results come in. You?”
“I got a few names of the co-workers she was closest to.”
- - -
Luke Gabb maintains that a paternity test is unnecessary.
“Of course she's mine, me and Tess have been dating since last year.”
“You were together when she died?”
“Yes, of course. We were planning to get married,” he says, and his voice breaks when reminded of his loss.
He seems genuine, a nice man, obviously distraught by the death of his loved one, but there is something off, something that doesn't add up here.
They inform him that the child is going to stay at the hospital until the paternity tests go through.
“Tests? What tests? Why tests?”
“Because, Mr Gabb, you are not the only one trying to claim the child.”
“What?” The sadness on his face turns to anger. “Who? Who was trying to take my Tess?”
“We are not at a liberty to say,” Lewis says, politely. “But the sooner you submit to the test, the sooner we can put all this unpleasantness behind us, and you take your daughter home.”
They leave the man in the hospital lab, and walk slowly towards their car.
“Have you ever seen a young woman's room without some indication about the boyfriend if one exists?” Lewis asks, musingly.
“That's what was bothering me,” James realises. “If they've really been together that long, were planning to marry... why were there no signs of him in her home?”
- - -
There's a shout behind them and they turn as one to see a man, a little older than James, perhaps, jog up to them.
“Inspector Lewis!”
“Jacob, isn't it?” Lewis says, shaking his hand. “Mark's friend.”
“That's right. Jacob Cooper.”
“How are you?”
“Having a bit of a problem, in fact. Can I offer you a cup of tea? Both of you?”
“My sergeant, James Hathaway.”
“Yes, I believe my partner plays in the same band. Simon.”
“Oh, yes?” says James, shaking his hand. “It is lunch time, sir.”
They settle down in a nearby café and sip their drinks while Jacob Cooper seems to search for a way to start.
“What can I do for you?” Lewis asks, in the end.
“When we were kids... yours was one of the only homes I was welcome to,” Jacob says quietly. “After I came out.”
“Really?” Lewis asks, frowning.
“Yes. You and Mrs Lewis... it didn't seem to make no difference to you, me spending time with Mark.”
“It didn't,” Lewis says, simply, and shrugs, and James looks at him surreptitiously. If my boy was... it just wouldn't matter. He hadn't realised Lewis had had a reason to consider the issue.
“It meant a lot. And I need that attitude now. I work with a lot of troubled LGBT youth on voluntary basis, and one of my kids - Monty Sorrell - was recently found dead. The inquest is going to find it a suicide, and make a speech about the sad fate of so many gay men.”
“But?”
“But he couldn't have killed himself. I know, everyone must think that but... He was kicked out of his home at 16 for being gay, lived on the streets for a while, got mixed up in some bad shit but he got through that. He was finishing school, had a job lined up, was dating. I know some people crack just when things seem to be turning up, I've seen it so many times, but this, him... I just don't see it.”
“There's something else, isn't there,” Lewis says, more a statement than a question.
“He overdosed on pills. His roommate committed suicide with sleeping pills last year, we found him together... it was not pretty. His death had not been easy, and it showed. Monty would never have risked that, he would have hanged himself - jumped in front of a lorry - anything but that.”
“And have you told this to the investigating officers?”
“There are no investigating officers. It's a closed case, a foregone conclusion. Another dead gay kid. A sad statistic.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I don't know. I just know Monty wouldn't kill himself. Not now, and not like this. I can name at least five kids I am afraid for all the time, waiting to hear those news. But not Monty.”
“Okay, I'll see if I can poke the right people. I'm making no promises, mind. But your concerns should be addressed.”
“That's all I ask. Thank you. And... I heard about Mark's mum. I'm sorry. She was brilliant.”
“So she was. Thanks for the tea.”
- - -
“I know it happens, but it never fails to astonish me,” Lewis says in the car.
“Sir?”
“Parents rejecting their kids just for being who they are. Your Will's dad, this Monty's family - all those other parents when Jacob was a teenager. I mean, we weren't exactly waving a rainbow flag with Val, but it didn't even occur to us to forbid him to visit. I just don't get it.”
There is nothing in his voice to indicate the subject has some personal relevance to him, to them, and again James has to wonder if he only imagined the shared admission all those weeks ago.
- - -
Tess Kingsley's department head shows them to a coffee room, and soon they are joined by a woman in her late twenties, introduced as Madeline Smith.
“Tess was... she was an odd one,” she says after they have sat down. “We were friendly, sure, but not friends as such. We went out together, shopping, coffee, dancing, but she never much cared to ask about my life, and I knew very little about hers. She never told me who the father was, for example.”
“Was there any gossip?”
“Sure, of course, everyone knew she hooked up with the boss's son at the Christmas party when she first came to us, but that came to nothing. Tess wasn't interested in pinning it on him, at least, and dammit, I might have been tempted, he could sure afford the support payments. Even if he is a complete bastard.”
“Oh?”
“Oh, nothing relevant to your case, I'm sure. Just, you know, god's gift to women. I hear his dad is after him to settle down, finally marry, get some kids. There's even some talk that the old man is planning to will his whole property to his future grandkids! I say, good for him.”
While coffee room gossip is hardly a reliable source of information, that might explain why Matiland is so keen on claiming the handily available motherless child.
“Do you think she knew the father?” Lewis asks, bringing them back to the subject of the dead woman.
“Look, she didn't sleep around. I mean, she liked to party, sure, and liked men, but she wasn't a... she wasn't a slut. I knew she had someone back home, someone she cared about but didn't want to get tied down to.”
“Back home?”
“Some town near the Welsh border, I'm bad with names.”
“But not here?”
“No.”
“Did she ever talk about a Luke Gabb?”
“Did she not! That creep's been making her life hellish for months now.”
“He claims he was her boyfriend.”
“Luke's a crazy stalker. A neighbour she met at a party who wouldn't leave her alone after. He's a complete nutter.”
“Would he have wanted to hurt Tess?”
“I never thought he was more than a nuisance but of all the people in her life? If you can't pin it on the bastard boss, then at least nab that guy.”
With that, they thank Ms Smith for her information and leave the building.
“I think we should pay Mr Gabb another visit, don't you?” Lewis says when they reach the car.
- - -
“The bitch is lying! Tess was mine, my love, my girl. And the only thing I have left of her is the child, I want that child, why can't I have the child?”
“I think, Mr Gabb, that we would like a DNA sample from you.”
- - -
They don't have enough to arrest Mr Gabb yet, so they return to the office to wait for the results of any of their pending lab tests, taking a quick detour to find out who is handling the inquiry into the supposed suicide Jacob Cooper told them about.
The detective in charge of the Monty Sorrell case proves receptive to Lewis' subtle prompts. “Did you interview the support group leader? He's a friend of my son's, and seemed to have his doubts about the case.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, and mind you, this is a guy who deals with a lot of teenage suicides. He says he doesn't believe Sorrell would kill himself, and especially not with drugs.”
“Based on?”
“The fact he actually saw the after-effects once.”
“That is a compelling argument. Okay, I'll talk to this Cooper. Thanks for the tip.”
“Who is that man, and what has he done with his ego? I don't think I've ever had as easy a dip into other people's investigations.”
“It's your reputation,” James says, solemnly. “He must hope to have some of it rub off.”
“Get out,” Lewis says.
They return to their own office and have hardly had time to settle down when there is a knock on the door.
“Excuse me? I was told you were in charge of the Teresa Kingsely case?”
James looks up to see a dark man in his thirties, dressed in a suit that is a multitude cheaper than Matthew Maitland's and looks like it was bought for a much younger man.
“Yes?” says Lewis.
“I'm John Drury. I just wanted to know...” He digs a photo from his wallet. “If it really is Tess.”
Lewis takes the photo, then hands it to James who offers a seat to their visitor. Tess Kingsley looks young and happy in the picture, arm around the man in the room, also younger.
“I'm afraid so, Mr Drury.”
“And... and there was a child?”
As that much is public knowledge by now, Lewis nods.
“I think... I think she may be mine.”
- - -
The tests come through, one by one, first excluding Mr Maitland, then Mr Gabb from the paternity race, and confirming Mr Drury's claim. He is overjoyed, and to see him cooing at the baby makes Lewis smile for what feels like the first time in days, and that is enough to bring a smile to James' lips.
Maitland is unfortunately also not their man, his DNA profile completely different to the samples collected from the body.
Mr Gabb proves to be an exact match.
With him under arrest a search warrant for his apartment is easy enough to obtain. His is bigger than Tess', two floors up, filled with stuff, and one wall filled with pictures of her, notes, screenshots of emails and text messages, most of them telling him to stay away, some of them banal greetings, all of them adding up to a disturbing picture.
There is even a baby bootie pinned to the wall.
They find Tess' wallet and phone among the detritus by the wall, surrounded by what must be her underwear and other items stolen from or discarded by her.
It is enough for them to hold Gabb under arrest, and eventually he starts to talk.
From the interview they gather that when the baby was born, the illusory relationship turned sour, and Gabb's stalking turned darker.
No doubt Tess feared for her life at the end, knowing she couldn't run, choosing to stay and fight for the safety of her child. And in the end, he hadn't even threatened her safety, considering her too insignificant... until another man tried to claim her, and at the same time her mother, too, posthumously.
James is glad they get to leave the questions about his mental health and culpability to someone else. Their job is to catch them, not to judge and condemn them.
- - -
Turns out Jacob Cooper's instincts were correct as well. Monty Sorrell was helped along in his suicide, to the tune of a murder charge. Turns out his father wasn't content to disowning his son. While he had been down on his luck on the streets he had been able to see it as the wages of sin, but when things started to pick up, he then extracted vengeance in the name of the Lord, and were all of their cases filled with lunatics?
- - -
At least they have one happy ending, and they are present when John Drury collects his daughter from the hospital.
“I suppose she just wanted to have her without being accountable to me,” he says, quietly. “She told me she didn't want to get stuck in the same town her mother had, she wanted something more, so... So she told me she had an abortion, and was going to start over in here. I wouldn't have... But now she's gone and little Lucy has no one, so... well, I'm here. She's my girl.”
“We don't know if she had named her,” Lewis says. “Lucy is just...”
“I know. The hospital told me. I like Lucy. Thank you. I would have been terrible at naming her. My cat is called Kitten. But maybe... Lucy Teresa. What do you think?”
“I think that's a fine name,” Lewis says, and James nods, and they wish the new family all the best in their new life.
- - -
James can't quite figure out whether he's feeling elated or dejected as they walk out of the hospital. They did get their man, but a young mother is still dead. Then again, a baby girl has been united with her real father, who seems to be thrilled with his new role, so there is that.
“Fancy a pint?”
“I think we've earned one,” Lewis says, sounding as tired as he is feeling.
“Maybe even several,” James says, smiling.
Maybe with several he might get the courage to approach the subject that has been hanging between them ever since... well, ever since he had his breakdown at Lewis' place after the Crevecoeur Hall case.
Maybe he made up the whole exchange, giving it meanings it didn't have. Maybe Lewis never read his true feelings from his face, maybe he's interpreting his response wrong.
Maybe, maybe, maybe, and maybe he'll never know if he can't make up his mind to risk it.
- - -
Neither one of them is in a mood for idle chatter, and they drink their pints in silence, which is rare. James keeps thinking about the case but doesn't want to talk about it, especially not in a pub, and he really doesn't want to start on the other subject in a pub.
They call it a night after finishing their drinks. As they walk outside towards the car James asks, quietly: “You said the time wasn't right. Do you think... the time will ever be right?”
If Lewis doesn't know what he is talking about... well, he has his answer, doesn't he?
“There's always something, isn't there?” Lewis asks without stopping. “A case, nerves and doubts... but it's always going to be there, isn't it?”
How is he supposed to interpret that? He could be referring to James' one-sided feelings just as well as to requited affection.
“Yes,” he says, because it's the answer in both cases, isn't it?
“So I suppose the question is - my place or yours?”
Is the bastard making fun of him? No, the smile on his face is amused, yes, but fond as well, and there might be a hint of anxiety in his eyes.
“You'd hate my bed,” James says boldly, and Lewis's smile grows into a grin, all traces of nerves gone.
“Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?”
“You don't put out on the first date?”
“Oi, I think I deserve a nice dinner at least.”
“We'll go home by the chippy, then.”
Lewis laughs, James grins, and somehow it is as simple as that. Like everything hard has already been talked about, and... maybe it has.
They're partners, already a natural part of each other's lives and homes. Maybe this was always inevitable.
“We don't actually need to...” he starts saying when they reach Lewis' home, and the older man stops him by the simple method of kissing him.
It's... weird but not bad weird, and he finds his hands going around the other man almost without a conscious thought while he opens his mouth to get a better taste of the man, and it's not unlike kissing a woman, and yet unlike kissing anyone else.
This is Robbie, and he's kissing back, tongue against his, hands on his waist, and what's weirdest is that it's not weird at all, really.
- - -
***
Title: With Every Beat of My Heart
Pairings: Lewis/Hathaway
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 3805
Notes: hc_bingo prompt "major illness".
Warnings: Major illness of canon character
Notes: The NHS web site is my new best friend.
Summary: Settling into their new lives is easy until Lewis gets a reminder of his age.
It's funny how easy it is. James has his own apartment but he rarely spends any time there anymore. His guitar was one of the first items that moved, and many of his books followed, so many in fact that Robbie consented to him buying a shelf for them. There is plenty of room in the closet for his clothes, and his albums co-exist peacefully with Robbie's record collection.
There is no pretence if someone should visit - James' toothbrush stays in the same mug as Robbie's, his razor and contacts openly in the bathroom; two sets of breakfast things left unwashed in the sink in the mornings when they are in a hurry.
James stops at his own home to check the mail and dust his books, occasionally sitting down to read, but, unable to concentrate, makes his way back home soon enough.
Home. Home is a bloke old enough to be his father, who snores and is too set in his ways. But also someone who finds it easy to share again, after doing it for most of his life, the ten or so years alone an easily forgotten aberration. Someone who smiles with his eyes and calls him 'pet' in a soft, soft voice, and where some might find it off-putting to be called the same name as your lover's daughter, James only feels warmth. For him, the word means family.
Work comes home with them, that's inevitable. Hard enough when on your own but near impossible to avoid when you have someone to talk to. They have to force themselves to let go, some nights, to just relax and watch something stupid on the telly just to turn their brains off.
Of course, there is another way of doing it, and somehow watching stupid TV often turns into making out on the sofa like teenagers, which is beyond ridiculous because neither one of them is one, and James has never had as much sex in his life, and aren't older people supposed to be past it?
Not that he is complaining. Oh no. He has never enjoyed it as much, either, because he has never trusted anyone as much as he trusts his Robbie. And there is something to be said about decades of experience.
Sometimes he misses the soft curves of women, true, but so does Robbie so that is okay. And sometimes, maybe, he thinks of firmer skin and unlined faces, but that never lasts long because no one has ever touched him like that, scorching through his skin into his heart.
One thing that takes time is getting used to touching without sex. They have to be so careful in public it took some time to relax at home, at first kissing and hugging are only something that happens before, after or during sex. But it turns out James enjoys it. He finds himself missing the warm presence by his side, and, gradually, touching becomes more casual.
Vegetating on the sofa watching stupid TV means cuddling on the sofa watching stupid TV which then often turns into something else but not always, not necessarily, and some nights James wakes up, Robbie snoring softly against his ear, his head resting on Robbie's shoulder, and he has to turn off the the telly and get them both to bed, to sleep.
They do not talk about love, future, or what they are doing. Love is present in everything they do and say, in affectionate looks as well as the exasperated ones, both at home and at work. Future is there when James finds himself giving away things they have in double, and in Robbie mentioning things they might do next summer, next year, when he is retired.
Retirement isn't discussed either, it's just something that looms in the distance. One day, yeah, they will have to deal with it but that will be then. Before that they have crimes to solve, murderers to catch, and paperwork to fill in.
The weird feeling in James' gut may be happiness, but he feels more comfortable in admitting to contentment. If his sappy smile speaks its own language then at least Robbie doesn't seem to mind, and his smile is bright enough when aimed at James.
- - -
"What are you looking at?" Robbie asks, taking his eyes off the TV screen only to find James looking at him, his book lying forgotten on his lap.
"You."
"Yeah, I know. Do I have broccoli in between my teeth?"
"Why would you have broccoli in between your teeth? You had a curry."
Robbie just stares at him pointedly, and James grins, unrepentantly.
"Fine, have it your way. I'm going to turn in."
"I'll be with you in a bit," James replies, turning his eyes on the book.
"All right. Night."
James lifts his face to get his kiss good night, and Robbie leans down to touch his lips with his own, no longer feeling self conscious about the gesture. James smiles the happy little smile he wears more and more often these days, and Robbie touches his cheek lightly with his fingers.
"I love you," he says, just because, the words coming easier every time he says them.
James' smile widens, and he covers his hand with his own. "Love you too."
- - -
When Robbie wakes up James is already in bed with him. It's not morning, and it feels like he's only had a few hours of sleep. He only has a second to wonder why he woke up before the pain returns.
He gets up, gasping for breath, and his movement wakes up James who has been snuggled close to his side. As soon as the younger man realises he is sitting there gasping for breath he is up as well.
"Sir?" He still occasionally slips into the mode of address at home because that was his sole name for him for years. "Robbie?"
"Hurts," he gets out. "Like someone's sitting on my chest, can't breathe. And my arm... it's like it's on fire."
It only takes a moment for the symptoms to add up now that he has listed them aloud and he meets James' wide worried gaze. He made the connection too.
"I'm taking you to the hospital. Now."
James is already off the bed and stripping off his pyjamas while he speaks, reaching for the nearest items - jeans, t-shirt, and Robbie stands up to change his own clothes.
"What are you doing? Sit down!"
"I'm not going there in my pyjamas!"
"Then sit down and I'll help you change! Swear to God, Robbie, if you..."
Robbie is on the ground, words losing their form and meaning, drowned in the noise in his ears, and his eyes see only black. The pain is worse, now, and suddenly he is so scared he feels like he is drowning in it.
James is still talking, but clipped, official sounding words, and he vaguely recognises the words "ambulance" and "now", then James' hands are on his neck, chest, wrist, and the blackness and pain take over.
- - -
James has never been so afraid in his life.
He's been at the hospital before, many times, both for work and for personal reasons, but never in the middle of the night, never without his shoes because he rode there in an ambulance with a man he loves.
And because they are not related, no one will tell him anything. Robbie never updated him as his point of contact so his info still only lists Lyn as his next of kin and... they'll call Lyn. He checks his pockets and realises he grabbed his phone with him.
He doesn't have shoes but he has his phone.
He scrolls through his contacts to find Lyn's number. He's had it, for emergencies, even before their relationship changed.
A sleepy voice answers his call faster than he expected.
"It's James Hathaway, I'm your father's sergeant. There's been a... he had a heart attack.”
Saying the words aloud make them more real, somehow, and he has to close his eyes before relaying the information of their location. “He's... they're not telling me anything. He's alive.”
She says she'll be there and hangs up. James rests the phone against his forehead for a minute before dialling again.
“Doctor Hobson? Laura? Robbie's... we're at the hospital. I think... I think he had a heart attack.”
That's not the official term, of course, but all he knows is that Robbie lost consciousness, and his heart lost its rhythm, and he had to perform CPR before the ambulance arrived.
“They're not telling me anything,” he repeats to her, too, and tries to not sound pathetic.
“Pull the cop card,” Laura says. “That should scare them. I'll be there in a bit, I should know someone there.”
- - -
Laura arrives in half an hour, and goes in search of someone she might know, or someone who might talk to a fellow doctor. James keeps staring at the wall, mind blank.
Please don't take him, I'm not ready.
About three hours after his phone call Lyn arrives. He recognises her easily from all the photos he's seen, even though they haven't met yet. Robbie had talked about Christmas, of them meeting, of telling her about their relationship.
He wanted to do it face to face instead of over the phone, stressing that any new relationship of his could be resented by his kids, even if it wasn't with someone male, someone young enough to be his son.
“Any word?” Lyn asks, and James directs her to the nurses, standing back while she talks to them.
“He's sleeping,” she reports. “They're letting me in to see him. It's too early to say, but getting help fast is a good thing.”
James nods and sits back down. He tries not to resent her for being able to see him.
- - -
When Lyn returns, she is visibly angry.
"I met a nurse I used to work with,” she says, nearly spitting the words out. “Nurses talk, you know.”
James can only stare at her.
"She was more than happy to tell me how he was found. Half dressed, with you in his bedroom."
"Yes."
"Is that all you're going to say?"
"Is this really important right now?"
"Yes! If you're shagging him to death!"
"We were not shagging!" he yells, then pauses, taking a deep breath. "We were sleeping, and he woke up and... it's not just 'shagging', we..."
He closes his eyes against the hostility of the woman, knowing she is the most important thing in Robbie's life.
"I'm sorry if you don't like it, but it is how it is and I..."
“What's going on?” Laura, appearing just at the right moment to save him.
“Nothing,” Lyn says, even though she obviously wants to say something else. Is she ashamed of her father? Or still trying to protect him, despite everything?
“Robbie hadn't had a chance yet to tell her about... us.”
“Oh. Well, I suppose the timing could be better. I talked to Doctor Patil. She thinks she can sneak you in to see him for a moment.”
“I saw him,” Lyn states. “He's sleeping.”
“I think James might feel better, seeing for himself that he's okay,” Laura says gently.
Lyn purses her lips but nods.
“Thank you,” James says quietly, even though her permission isn't really needed.
- - -
Robbie looks... he looks old against the white sheets. But he's breathing, and the machine recording his heartbeat is reassuringly steady.
James is afraid to touch him, even on the hand, knowing his presence is not really sanctioned officially. Still, he leans forward to place a soft kiss on his forehead. The skin is cool, dry, and he blinks back the tears that threaten to fall.
- - -
Robbie doesn't know where he is when he wakes up.
“James?”
“Good morning,” says a cheery female voice from his left and he turns his head to see a woman in white.
He's in a hospital. That jolts the rest of the memories loose. “I had a heart attack,” he says, incredulous.
“Nice diagnosis,” the woman says. “I'll get the doctor.”
The woman turns to leave.
“Wait! Where's James?”
“The man who came with you? I think he's still in the waiting room. He's... not family, is he?”
“He's my...” What is he? What is he, in here, to them? “He's family.”
“Would you... like to name him as your point of contact?” the woman asks almost hesitantly.
“My what?”
“You know,” she says, smiling impishly. “Like next of kin but not 'official' family. For, you know, situations like...”
“Like ours. Yes, yes I would. I want him to be kept informed.”
The doctor tells him everything looks all right, and the prognosis is good after surviving this long after the initial infarction. He just nods and waits for a chance to ask about meeting James. If the foolish lad really spent the night there...
“I'll send him in,” she promises, and Robbie closes his eyes.
Heart attack. That's something that happens to old people. That's how his own dad died.
The door opens again and he opens his eyes to see James. He's dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and for some reason he has a pair of disposable slippers on. He looks young and scared.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," James replies, smiling very slightly, his eyes still scared.
"I'm okay."
"Yes. And you're going to stay okay."
“If it's up to me,” he promises, then leans his head back in an obvious invitation for a kiss.
James' smile widens, and he leans into comply.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he says, sitting down next to the bed and holding on to his hand.
“Wasn't exactly a picnic for me either,” Robbie admits.
“Lyn will be happy to see you awake.”
“Lyn?”
“She arrived last night. She's having breakfast at the moment, she'll be upset that she missed this.”
There's something off about James' tone.
“What is it?”
“She... found out about us through hospital gossip,” James admits. “It's okay. We're okay. We've been... talking. Laura says hi, too.”
“Laura's here too?”
“Of course. Innocent sends her love.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“Well, something entirely proper, then.”
- - -
After Robbie lives through the first 24 hours, the discussion turns from survival to recovery. James is present for most of the discussions, and attacks the provided literature like there's going to be a test.
Robbie seems subdued, but James is prepared for that too, thanks to all the leaflets and web pages. He'll be damned if he's letting Robbie get depressed.
"I'm going to quit smoking," he says, determinedly. "And you are going to start eating more healthily. And we are going to start exercising more."
"James..."
“We can't do anything about your gender or age, and you're not actually overweight, so we're going to work with what we can change.”
“James.”
James shuts up, knowing that when Robbie uses that tone he has something important to say.
"Maybe it's time for you to cut your losses," he says, and for the moment James is confused.
"What do you...?"
"I'm old, and you are... not," he says with a resigned tone. "We always knew I was going to die before you but this just brought it closer to the surface, and I..."
"No." His voice is so determined Robbie leaves the sentence unfinished.
"I know you are older than me, and I did think of it. I did think of the implications before we... of course I did. I'm not stupid. But I - love - you," he says, pointedly. "And what ever years I can have with you I will have them." He is stressing every word, desperate for the older man to understand how deeply he means them.
"I will quit smoking. And you will start eating better. I will not lose you any sooner than I have to."
He is pressing Robbie's hand so forcefully it has to hurt but he'll be damned if he's going to be dumped from the sick bed.
"Okay," says Robbie, consoling. "Okay."
"Okay? No more talk of this nonsense?"
"Promise."
He must look sceptical because Robbie goes on. "Do you think I want you to go?"
"Could have fooled me," he says, sullenly.
"I'm just trying to think what's best for you."
"Well, you obviously suffered from oxygen deprivation to the brain because you're making no sense."
- - -
Not all of the talks are so heavy. James entertains Robbie with their new diet restrictions while Robbie goes through some simple exercises in his hospital bed.
“We have to eat more fish. And no, fish and chips don't count.”
“Horrible.”
“And you have to limit your alcohol intake... wait, what? You are not allowed to exceed the recommended limits for a day but the limits still allow you up to two pints of beer, four glasses of wine or four shots. Every day.”
That makes Robbie laugh, as they seldom exceed that anyway.
“Okay, maybe this won't require that many drastic changes.”
- - -
“Innocent wants to know when you're coming back to work,” Laura says by the way of greeting. “Everyone else sends their love.”
“As soon as they'll spring me,” Robbie says.
“In a few weeks,” says James, who has actually been listening to the doctors. “Light duties, office work.”
“Ah, paperwork. That is bound to encourage you to work hard on your recovery,” Laura predicts, smiling wickedly.
“Everyone is going to use this as an excuse to boss me around, aren't they?” Robbie complains. “Lyn is talking about early retirement.”
“Isn't she a bit young?” Laura asks, smirking.
“For me.”
“What would your prettier half do without you?”
“Pine away,” James replies, deadpan.
“You two are not as amusing as you think,” Robbie grumbles, but with a smile threatening at the corners of his mouth.
“Speaking of Lyn,” Laura turns serious. “How is she about... all this?” She makes a gesture to encompass both he and James.
“Getting better,” Robbie says. “We talked on the phone again this morning, and she actually asked how James was doing.”
“And he told her I am bossing him around mercilessly, and she didn't even take it seriously.”
“Some daughter. You do boss me around mercilessly.”
“I made him go meet a physiotherapist,” James explains to Laura.
“Horrible, unfeeling man,” she admits.
“I know,” James agrees with a sad expression and Robbie finally loses the fight against the smile.
- - -
When they finally let Robbie out of the hospital he gets exhausted just walking from the car to the apartment. It makes him downcast again.
“It's your first day out,” James tries to console him. “And you did walk back under your own steam after leaving on a stretcher.”
“But it'll be days if not weeks until I can return to work at this rate.”
“Then it will be.”
“You'll run out of vacation days.”
“Then I'll go back to work and you can have dinner ready for me when I come back.”
“I can't even drive!”
“You could, but they do recommend waiting for the full four weeks.”
“Yeah, to see whether I'm about to croak,” Robbie grumbles.
He is a little nervous about the 28 days limit - all the literature says that if he survives that long after the infarction, his chances of living for years longer grow.
The same month is the recommended break to take from driving, and also usually the time when myocardial infarction patients are allowed to have sex again, provided that he can climb stairs without getting out of breath or experiencing chest pains. He's happy he didn't have that conversation in the hospital but read it from a leaflet. It was enough that everyone there knew that James is his partner, talking about it would have been too much.
It's not like he's ashamed but James is quite a bit younger and... and it's not the sort of thing you talk about in public, is it.
- - -
He's overjoyed on the day he finally gets to go back to work. Innocent has kindly kept James working on light duties as well so that he was spared having to watch his sergeant work with another detective.
It might also have gotten awkward, trying to explain their living arrangements. It's not the first time a sergeant has bunked in the spare room of his governor, and they have a good reason for it, too, in that Robbie might still be considered to need a keeper but still. He's just happy if they can keep their changed status under the wraps at work. For his sake, he doesn't care, but it might harm James' career.
- - -
Two days of light duties later, Robbie can't remember why he was in such a rush to get back to that. Give him a juicy murder any day over processing expenses.
- - -
It's been a few weeks since he came back to work, and Robbie is ready to return to his normal duties. He's feeling better every day, and they are keeping to their new health regime, including the required amount of exercise, and okay, it isn't as bad as it could be, walking with James. Even if the lad tries to get him to jog.
And James hasn't smoked one cigarette since he came out of the hospital.
The doctors are hopeful that he walked out of the whole experience without any long-term issues, with his heart undamaged, and that he should have many years of active life left. He looks at James, by his side as ever, with his work face on, and can't help but smile.
"You know, I just walked the stairs up here. All three stories of them."
James turns to look at him, mind already on work.
"And I'm not out of breath."
The smile that is his only reply is the wide, goofy, happy one he never sees in public, and here it is, here they are, at work, and all that love and happiness visible on James' face for everyone to see. What is he to do but to return the smile, because he is back, this is his life, and James is there to share it with him.
Hurt/Comfort Sequence - Parts 3 & 4
Title: Alone
Pairings: Lewis/Hathaway
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 4849
Notes: hc_bingo prompt "orphans and runaways".
Warnings: Murder of a young mother, baby in brief distress, mentions of teenage suicide
Summary: A heart-breaking case makes Lewis and Hathaway face the changes in their relationship.
The woman on the ground is young, barely in her twenties James would say. Her jeans and sweater are splattered with blood and there are cuts on her face and her arms - she fought for her life.
Lewis looks around the yard, spotting something pink in the bushes a few steps away.
"What's that?" he asks.
James walks to the bushes with him, and moves the branches so that they can take a better look at what appears to be a baby doll wrapped in a pink blanket.
"Oh God," James says, quietly, when he realises the thing in the bushes is not a doll after all. It's a baby, smallest he's ever seen - was a baby, because it's so quiet, so pale, eyes closed and it has to be dead. James hates it, hates the cases with dead children, and he wants to cry or be violently sick.
Lewis is kneeling on the ground fingers reaching for a pulse.
"She's still alive!" he says, hurried, hands already loosening his tie and for a moment James can only stare as he's unbuttoning his shirt and then he's cradling the baby against his chest.
James has never seen that much of the other man's skin, and despite the situation, despite the horror still stuck in his throat he has to swallow, and to make a conscious effort to turn away. Damn. He knows he's blushing.
"Call an ambulance," Lewis says, but at least some reactions are trained to be instinctive, and his phone is already out.
Lewis walks towards Laura while James is talking with the dispatch, and as he turns to follow, he can hear a sound he has never considered beautiful before - the baby starts to cry, faintly at first, then gaining strength until she's wailing, and all three of them are sharing grins.
"That's it, luv," coos his boss, jiggling the little girl as well as he can, still holding her against the warmth of his chest.
James catches the soft look on Laura's face when she's looking at her old friend, the dead woman on the ground momentarily forgotten, and has to look away. But his eyes turn back to Lewis almost on their own volition. The older man is smiling down at the still crying baby, and once again James remembers that the man is a father himself.
He held his kids like that once. He'll hold his grandchildren one day, looking just like that, happy and proud, and damn, damn, damn, if he had any doubts about his true feelings towards Lewis they are gone now.
- - -
The ambulance takes the girl away, and they turn their attention to the woman on the ground.
"You think it's the mother?"
"Can't say until I get her to the morgue but she can't have been dead for much longer than an hour, about what I'd expect the baby to survive on its own on a day like this."
“Call us when you know anything,” Lewis says and they prepare to leave.
The corner of the park is quiet but not completely sheltered from view. It is possible someone saw something. Well, that's for the uniforms to find out.
- - -
They stop by the hospital, and neither one tries to even pretend it's only because of work.
"How is she? Is she a she?" Lewis asks the doctor in charge.
"Yes, she is. She's about a week old, and doing okay. You found her?"
"Yes. Can we see her?"
"Of course."
She leads them to the ward.
"Is it true she was found with a dead woman? Was it her mother?"
"We don't know yet, but that's where we found her, yeah."
"So you have no name yet?"
"No, sorry."
"Would you like to name her?"
"Me?"
The doctor shrugs. "Hospital tradition."
They look at the tiny girl, now asleep in her cot, looking like any baby. Like Lyn Lewis, maybe, James thinks, wondering if that is the reason behind the odd expression on the older man's face.
"Lucy," Lewis says, quietly, not taking his eyes off the baby.
- - -
"It was what we would have called Mark if he had been another girl," Lewis explains in the car, and James doesn't know what to say.
"Maybe it's stupid," his boss starts but James interrupts, quietly: "It's a good name."
He considers telling Lewis about the origins of the name, about Lucia, but doesn't open his mouth. He is still a little unsettled about the strength of his reaction to the sight of his partly undressed boss - friend - and needs a moment to regroup.
Thinking about children left to die isn't exactly conducive to that either.
“Let's go to the morgue. If Laura can at least confirm she is the mother we get a starting point on figuring out who she is. That wee thing can't be much older than a week. We might find her via the hospital records.”
- - - - - - - - - -
“Well, I can confirm that she has given birth quite recently. If you want something else, you have to wait for a few days. There are defensive wounds on her arms and hands, we might be able to get you a sample, but it will take time.”
“So she fought back?”
“Furiously,” says Laura.
Lewis and James look at each other.
“There were no marks on the baby,” James says.
“She wasn't dropped,” Lewis confirms. “The mother must have known she was about to be attacked.”
“So she hid her child and tried to defend herself? Why didn't she run, if she had time to place her down?”
“The child wasn't hidden as such, I don't suppose the killer cared about her survival.”
“Maybe they didn't know about the child? If she was quiet she could have been missed in the bushes.”
“But if the attacker wasn't someone she knew, why didn't she run in the time it took to hide the baby?”
“And maybe you can go speculate somewhere else and let us work?” Laura suggests, but not unkindly. “Oh, how is the child, by the way?”
“She'll be okay,” Lewis replies. “She'll be even better when we find her a family.”
- - -
They make no progress before having to call it a night, There's no pub or shared dinner tonight, and James is glad of the time to think.
He knew his feelings ran deep, had even revealed their nature to Lewis in a weak moment but... he never realised how physical his appreciation was. James has never had a very active sex life, nor much of an interest in one so the distracting desire is... well, distracting.
To think that he once thought the other man looked old and worn, now he just looks familiar and loved. He's not handsome in the traditional sense, perhaps, but to James the signs of life on his face just add to his charm.
Lewis said it was not the time. Was it just because of his vulnerability at the time? How long should he wait?
He sleeps badly, and is at the office the next morning way before Lewis.
- - -
“We have a name,” James says as Lewis walks into the office.
“Did you actually go home to sleep at some point?”
“Yes. The hospital round yielded results. She is Teresa Kingsley, and I have the address she gave the hospital.”
“Did she register the birth yet?”
“No, and the hospital only listed her as 'baby girl Kingsley.'”
“Let's go.”
- - -
The apartment is one room with a bed, dresser and an electric stove. There is no separate cot for the baby. But everything is clean and neat, and there are plenty of clothes and supplies for the child - maybe she just wanted to sleep with the child close, or there was a carrier that went missing in the park.
There are no photos, no letters, nothing to give them any indication as to the identity of the father or any people in her life.
There is no wallet or a phone, and there was nothing on the body either, so if she ever had them, they went missing from the scene.
The few books on the bedside table are library books on pregnancy and child care. She had been taking notes.
- - - -
Laura has good news for them when they return to the station. They managed to extract a sample of the possible attacker from under Teresa Kingsley's nails.
Unfortunately it has no match in the database, meaning the killer has no previous record, but at least they have something to compare their possible future suspects to.
While they are performing background checks on Ms Kingsley, the hospital calls. James takes the call.
“That was the hospital,” he says, reaching for his coat. “A man has shown up, claiming to be the father and demanding to be handed the baby. He is not being very co-operative, nor is he willing to submit to a paternity test so they called us.”
“Finally we're getting somewhere.”
- - -
A nurse they met earlier nods them towards the man in question. He's in his thirties, dressed in a suit that probably costs more than James' flat, and looking like he owns the place. James isn't surprised he has managed to alienate the nurses if he talked to them in a voice matching the haughty expression.
“DI Lewis, this is my sergeant, James Hathaway.”
“The coppers? Finally! I want my child.”
“And you are...?”
“Matthew Maitland,” the man says as if they should recognise the name. When they show no reaction he continues. “My family owns the Maitland Consumer Products.”
It's not really that big a company but it is something they know about, and it explains his apparent wealth, so James schools his expression to appear sufficiently impressed.
“Ah, yes,” says Lewis vaguely. “And your relationship with the deceased was...?”
“You mean Tess? There was no relationship.”
“But the child is definitely yours?”
“We slept together after she came to work for us months ago. She tried to make more of it than it was but I was getting married, so...”
“Did you know about the pregnancy?”
“Obviously. We do... did work at the same building.”
“And...?”
“And what? It was her business, not mine.”
“I see. But now you want the baby?”
“It's mine, isn't it?”
“I think, Mr Maitland, that we would like to ask you a few questions about your relationship with the mother, and your whereabouts yesterday.”
- - -
Maitland refuses to talk without a lawyer. Luckily when one arrives, he does convince his client to submit to a paternity test, and even to give the police a sample to exclude him from the murder investigation.
During the three days it takes to get the results on the paternity test, they get another father candidate when a much more polite young man by the name of Luke Gabb shows up at the hospital, asking to get to see “his baby.”
The hospital calls Lewis while he is on his way back from the lab, and he collects James from the office.
“Well, this is getting interesting. Did you find anything, sir?”
“The prelim is maybe, the blood types match but they'll refrain from making judgement calls before the results come in. You?”
“I got a few names of the co-workers she was closest to.”
- - -
Luke Gabb maintains that a paternity test is unnecessary.
“Of course she's mine, me and Tess have been dating since last year.”
“You were together when she died?”
“Yes, of course. We were planning to get married,” he says, and his voice breaks when reminded of his loss.
He seems genuine, a nice man, obviously distraught by the death of his loved one, but there is something off, something that doesn't add up here.
They inform him that the child is going to stay at the hospital until the paternity tests go through.
“Tests? What tests? Why tests?”
“Because, Mr Gabb, you are not the only one trying to claim the child.”
“What?” The sadness on his face turns to anger. “Who? Who was trying to take my Tess?”
“We are not at a liberty to say,” Lewis says, politely. “But the sooner you submit to the test, the sooner we can put all this unpleasantness behind us, and you take your daughter home.”
They leave the man in the hospital lab, and walk slowly towards their car.
“Have you ever seen a young woman's room without some indication about the boyfriend if one exists?” Lewis asks, musingly.
“That's what was bothering me,” James realises. “If they've really been together that long, were planning to marry... why were there no signs of him in her home?”
- - -
There's a shout behind them and they turn as one to see a man, a little older than James, perhaps, jog up to them.
“Inspector Lewis!”
“Jacob, isn't it?” Lewis says, shaking his hand. “Mark's friend.”
“That's right. Jacob Cooper.”
“How are you?”
“Having a bit of a problem, in fact. Can I offer you a cup of tea? Both of you?”
“My sergeant, James Hathaway.”
“Yes, I believe my partner plays in the same band. Simon.”
“Oh, yes?” says James, shaking his hand. “It is lunch time, sir.”
They settle down in a nearby café and sip their drinks while Jacob Cooper seems to search for a way to start.
“What can I do for you?” Lewis asks, in the end.
“When we were kids... yours was one of the only homes I was welcome to,” Jacob says quietly. “After I came out.”
“Really?” Lewis asks, frowning.
“Yes. You and Mrs Lewis... it didn't seem to make no difference to you, me spending time with Mark.”
“It didn't,” Lewis says, simply, and shrugs, and James looks at him surreptitiously. If my boy was... it just wouldn't matter. He hadn't realised Lewis had had a reason to consider the issue.
“It meant a lot. And I need that attitude now. I work with a lot of troubled LGBT youth on voluntary basis, and one of my kids - Monty Sorrell - was recently found dead. The inquest is going to find it a suicide, and make a speech about the sad fate of so many gay men.”
“But?”
“But he couldn't have killed himself. I know, everyone must think that but... He was kicked out of his home at 16 for being gay, lived on the streets for a while, got mixed up in some bad shit but he got through that. He was finishing school, had a job lined up, was dating. I know some people crack just when things seem to be turning up, I've seen it so many times, but this, him... I just don't see it.”
“There's something else, isn't there,” Lewis says, more a statement than a question.
“He overdosed on pills. His roommate committed suicide with sleeping pills last year, we found him together... it was not pretty. His death had not been easy, and it showed. Monty would never have risked that, he would have hanged himself - jumped in front of a lorry - anything but that.”
“And have you told this to the investigating officers?”
“There are no investigating officers. It's a closed case, a foregone conclusion. Another dead gay kid. A sad statistic.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I don't know. I just know Monty wouldn't kill himself. Not now, and not like this. I can name at least five kids I am afraid for all the time, waiting to hear those news. But not Monty.”
“Okay, I'll see if I can poke the right people. I'm making no promises, mind. But your concerns should be addressed.”
“That's all I ask. Thank you. And... I heard about Mark's mum. I'm sorry. She was brilliant.”
“So she was. Thanks for the tea.”
- - -
“I know it happens, but it never fails to astonish me,” Lewis says in the car.
“Sir?”
“Parents rejecting their kids just for being who they are. Your Will's dad, this Monty's family - all those other parents when Jacob was a teenager. I mean, we weren't exactly waving a rainbow flag with Val, but it didn't even occur to us to forbid him to visit. I just don't get it.”
There is nothing in his voice to indicate the subject has some personal relevance to him, to them, and again James has to wonder if he only imagined the shared admission all those weeks ago.
- - -
Tess Kingsley's department head shows them to a coffee room, and soon they are joined by a woman in her late twenties, introduced as Madeline Smith.
“Tess was... she was an odd one,” she says after they have sat down. “We were friendly, sure, but not friends as such. We went out together, shopping, coffee, dancing, but she never much cared to ask about my life, and I knew very little about hers. She never told me who the father was, for example.”
“Was there any gossip?”
“Sure, of course, everyone knew she hooked up with the boss's son at the Christmas party when she first came to us, but that came to nothing. Tess wasn't interested in pinning it on him, at least, and dammit, I might have been tempted, he could sure afford the support payments. Even if he is a complete bastard.”
“Oh?”
“Oh, nothing relevant to your case, I'm sure. Just, you know, god's gift to women. I hear his dad is after him to settle down, finally marry, get some kids. There's even some talk that the old man is planning to will his whole property to his future grandkids! I say, good for him.”
While coffee room gossip is hardly a reliable source of information, that might explain why Matiland is so keen on claiming the handily available motherless child.
“Do you think she knew the father?” Lewis asks, bringing them back to the subject of the dead woman.
“Look, she didn't sleep around. I mean, she liked to party, sure, and liked men, but she wasn't a... she wasn't a slut. I knew she had someone back home, someone she cared about but didn't want to get tied down to.”
“Back home?”
“Some town near the Welsh border, I'm bad with names.”
“But not here?”
“No.”
“Did she ever talk about a Luke Gabb?”
“Did she not! That creep's been making her life hellish for months now.”
“He claims he was her boyfriend.”
“Luke's a crazy stalker. A neighbour she met at a party who wouldn't leave her alone after. He's a complete nutter.”
“Would he have wanted to hurt Tess?”
“I never thought he was more than a nuisance but of all the people in her life? If you can't pin it on the bastard boss, then at least nab that guy.”
With that, they thank Ms Smith for her information and leave the building.
“I think we should pay Mr Gabb another visit, don't you?” Lewis says when they reach the car.
- - -
“The bitch is lying! Tess was mine, my love, my girl. And the only thing I have left of her is the child, I want that child, why can't I have the child?”
“I think, Mr Gabb, that we would like a DNA sample from you.”
- - -
They don't have enough to arrest Mr Gabb yet, so they return to the office to wait for the results of any of their pending lab tests, taking a quick detour to find out who is handling the inquiry into the supposed suicide Jacob Cooper told them about.
The detective in charge of the Monty Sorrell case proves receptive to Lewis' subtle prompts. “Did you interview the support group leader? He's a friend of my son's, and seemed to have his doubts about the case.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, and mind you, this is a guy who deals with a lot of teenage suicides. He says he doesn't believe Sorrell would kill himself, and especially not with drugs.”
“Based on?”
“The fact he actually saw the after-effects once.”
“That is a compelling argument. Okay, I'll talk to this Cooper. Thanks for the tip.”
“Who is that man, and what has he done with his ego? I don't think I've ever had as easy a dip into other people's investigations.”
“It's your reputation,” James says, solemnly. “He must hope to have some of it rub off.”
“Get out,” Lewis says.
They return to their own office and have hardly had time to settle down when there is a knock on the door.
“Excuse me? I was told you were in charge of the Teresa Kingsely case?”
James looks up to see a dark man in his thirties, dressed in a suit that is a multitude cheaper than Matthew Maitland's and looks like it was bought for a much younger man.
“Yes?” says Lewis.
“I'm John Drury. I just wanted to know...” He digs a photo from his wallet. “If it really is Tess.”
Lewis takes the photo, then hands it to James who offers a seat to their visitor. Tess Kingsley looks young and happy in the picture, arm around the man in the room, also younger.
“I'm afraid so, Mr Drury.”
“And... and there was a child?”
As that much is public knowledge by now, Lewis nods.
“I think... I think she may be mine.”
- - -
The tests come through, one by one, first excluding Mr Maitland, then Mr Gabb from the paternity race, and confirming Mr Drury's claim. He is overjoyed, and to see him cooing at the baby makes Lewis smile for what feels like the first time in days, and that is enough to bring a smile to James' lips.
Maitland is unfortunately also not their man, his DNA profile completely different to the samples collected from the body.
Mr Gabb proves to be an exact match.
With him under arrest a search warrant for his apartment is easy enough to obtain. His is bigger than Tess', two floors up, filled with stuff, and one wall filled with pictures of her, notes, screenshots of emails and text messages, most of them telling him to stay away, some of them banal greetings, all of them adding up to a disturbing picture.
There is even a baby bootie pinned to the wall.
They find Tess' wallet and phone among the detritus by the wall, surrounded by what must be her underwear and other items stolen from or discarded by her.
It is enough for them to hold Gabb under arrest, and eventually he starts to talk.
From the interview they gather that when the baby was born, the illusory relationship turned sour, and Gabb's stalking turned darker.
No doubt Tess feared for her life at the end, knowing she couldn't run, choosing to stay and fight for the safety of her child. And in the end, he hadn't even threatened her safety, considering her too insignificant... until another man tried to claim her, and at the same time her mother, too, posthumously.
James is glad they get to leave the questions about his mental health and culpability to someone else. Their job is to catch them, not to judge and condemn them.
- - -
Turns out Jacob Cooper's instincts were correct as well. Monty Sorrell was helped along in his suicide, to the tune of a murder charge. Turns out his father wasn't content to disowning his son. While he had been down on his luck on the streets he had been able to see it as the wages of sin, but when things started to pick up, he then extracted vengeance in the name of the Lord, and were all of their cases filled with lunatics?
- - -
At least they have one happy ending, and they are present when John Drury collects his daughter from the hospital.
“I suppose she just wanted to have her without being accountable to me,” he says, quietly. “She told me she didn't want to get stuck in the same town her mother had, she wanted something more, so... So she told me she had an abortion, and was going to start over in here. I wouldn't have... But now she's gone and little Lucy has no one, so... well, I'm here. She's my girl.”
“We don't know if she had named her,” Lewis says. “Lucy is just...”
“I know. The hospital told me. I like Lucy. Thank you. I would have been terrible at naming her. My cat is called Kitten. But maybe... Lucy Teresa. What do you think?”
“I think that's a fine name,” Lewis says, and James nods, and they wish the new family all the best in their new life.
- - -
James can't quite figure out whether he's feeling elated or dejected as they walk out of the hospital. They did get their man, but a young mother is still dead. Then again, a baby girl has been united with her real father, who seems to be thrilled with his new role, so there is that.
“Fancy a pint?”
“I think we've earned one,” Lewis says, sounding as tired as he is feeling.
“Maybe even several,” James says, smiling.
Maybe with several he might get the courage to approach the subject that has been hanging between them ever since... well, ever since he had his breakdown at Lewis' place after the Crevecoeur Hall case.
Maybe he made up the whole exchange, giving it meanings it didn't have. Maybe Lewis never read his true feelings from his face, maybe he's interpreting his response wrong.
Maybe, maybe, maybe, and maybe he'll never know if he can't make up his mind to risk it.
- - -
Neither one of them is in a mood for idle chatter, and they drink their pints in silence, which is rare. James keeps thinking about the case but doesn't want to talk about it, especially not in a pub, and he really doesn't want to start on the other subject in a pub.
They call it a night after finishing their drinks. As they walk outside towards the car James asks, quietly: “You said the time wasn't right. Do you think... the time will ever be right?”
If Lewis doesn't know what he is talking about... well, he has his answer, doesn't he?
“There's always something, isn't there?” Lewis asks without stopping. “A case, nerves and doubts... but it's always going to be there, isn't it?”
How is he supposed to interpret that? He could be referring to James' one-sided feelings just as well as to requited affection.
“Yes,” he says, because it's the answer in both cases, isn't it?
“So I suppose the question is - my place or yours?”
Is the bastard making fun of him? No, the smile on his face is amused, yes, but fond as well, and there might be a hint of anxiety in his eyes.
“You'd hate my bed,” James says boldly, and Lewis's smile grows into a grin, all traces of nerves gone.
“Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?”
“You don't put out on the first date?”
“Oi, I think I deserve a nice dinner at least.”
“We'll go home by the chippy, then.”
Lewis laughs, James grins, and somehow it is as simple as that. Like everything hard has already been talked about, and... maybe it has.
They're partners, already a natural part of each other's lives and homes. Maybe this was always inevitable.
“We don't actually need to...” he starts saying when they reach Lewis' home, and the older man stops him by the simple method of kissing him.
It's... weird but not bad weird, and he finds his hands going around the other man almost without a conscious thought while he opens his mouth to get a better taste of the man, and it's not unlike kissing a woman, and yet unlike kissing anyone else.
This is Robbie, and he's kissing back, tongue against his, hands on his waist, and what's weirdest is that it's not weird at all, really.
- - -
***
Title: With Every Beat of My Heart
Pairings: Lewis/Hathaway
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 3805
Notes: hc_bingo prompt "major illness".
Warnings: Major illness of canon character
Notes: The NHS web site is my new best friend.
Summary: Settling into their new lives is easy until Lewis gets a reminder of his age.
It's funny how easy it is. James has his own apartment but he rarely spends any time there anymore. His guitar was one of the first items that moved, and many of his books followed, so many in fact that Robbie consented to him buying a shelf for them. There is plenty of room in the closet for his clothes, and his albums co-exist peacefully with Robbie's record collection.
There is no pretence if someone should visit - James' toothbrush stays in the same mug as Robbie's, his razor and contacts openly in the bathroom; two sets of breakfast things left unwashed in the sink in the mornings when they are in a hurry.
James stops at his own home to check the mail and dust his books, occasionally sitting down to read, but, unable to concentrate, makes his way back home soon enough.
Home. Home is a bloke old enough to be his father, who snores and is too set in his ways. But also someone who finds it easy to share again, after doing it for most of his life, the ten or so years alone an easily forgotten aberration. Someone who smiles with his eyes and calls him 'pet' in a soft, soft voice, and where some might find it off-putting to be called the same name as your lover's daughter, James only feels warmth. For him, the word means family.
Work comes home with them, that's inevitable. Hard enough when on your own but near impossible to avoid when you have someone to talk to. They have to force themselves to let go, some nights, to just relax and watch something stupid on the telly just to turn their brains off.
Of course, there is another way of doing it, and somehow watching stupid TV often turns into making out on the sofa like teenagers, which is beyond ridiculous because neither one of them is one, and James has never had as much sex in his life, and aren't older people supposed to be past it?
Not that he is complaining. Oh no. He has never enjoyed it as much, either, because he has never trusted anyone as much as he trusts his Robbie. And there is something to be said about decades of experience.
Sometimes he misses the soft curves of women, true, but so does Robbie so that is okay. And sometimes, maybe, he thinks of firmer skin and unlined faces, but that never lasts long because no one has ever touched him like that, scorching through his skin into his heart.
One thing that takes time is getting used to touching without sex. They have to be so careful in public it took some time to relax at home, at first kissing and hugging are only something that happens before, after or during sex. But it turns out James enjoys it. He finds himself missing the warm presence by his side, and, gradually, touching becomes more casual.
Vegetating on the sofa watching stupid TV means cuddling on the sofa watching stupid TV which then often turns into something else but not always, not necessarily, and some nights James wakes up, Robbie snoring softly against his ear, his head resting on Robbie's shoulder, and he has to turn off the the telly and get them both to bed, to sleep.
They do not talk about love, future, or what they are doing. Love is present in everything they do and say, in affectionate looks as well as the exasperated ones, both at home and at work. Future is there when James finds himself giving away things they have in double, and in Robbie mentioning things they might do next summer, next year, when he is retired.
Retirement isn't discussed either, it's just something that looms in the distance. One day, yeah, they will have to deal with it but that will be then. Before that they have crimes to solve, murderers to catch, and paperwork to fill in.
The weird feeling in James' gut may be happiness, but he feels more comfortable in admitting to contentment. If his sappy smile speaks its own language then at least Robbie doesn't seem to mind, and his smile is bright enough when aimed at James.
- - -
"What are you looking at?" Robbie asks, taking his eyes off the TV screen only to find James looking at him, his book lying forgotten on his lap.
"You."
"Yeah, I know. Do I have broccoli in between my teeth?"
"Why would you have broccoli in between your teeth? You had a curry."
Robbie just stares at him pointedly, and James grins, unrepentantly.
"Fine, have it your way. I'm going to turn in."
"I'll be with you in a bit," James replies, turning his eyes on the book.
"All right. Night."
James lifts his face to get his kiss good night, and Robbie leans down to touch his lips with his own, no longer feeling self conscious about the gesture. James smiles the happy little smile he wears more and more often these days, and Robbie touches his cheek lightly with his fingers.
"I love you," he says, just because, the words coming easier every time he says them.
James' smile widens, and he covers his hand with his own. "Love you too."
- - -
When Robbie wakes up James is already in bed with him. It's not morning, and it feels like he's only had a few hours of sleep. He only has a second to wonder why he woke up before the pain returns.
He gets up, gasping for breath, and his movement wakes up James who has been snuggled close to his side. As soon as the younger man realises he is sitting there gasping for breath he is up as well.
"Sir?" He still occasionally slips into the mode of address at home because that was his sole name for him for years. "Robbie?"
"Hurts," he gets out. "Like someone's sitting on my chest, can't breathe. And my arm... it's like it's on fire."
It only takes a moment for the symptoms to add up now that he has listed them aloud and he meets James' wide worried gaze. He made the connection too.
"I'm taking you to the hospital. Now."
James is already off the bed and stripping off his pyjamas while he speaks, reaching for the nearest items - jeans, t-shirt, and Robbie stands up to change his own clothes.
"What are you doing? Sit down!"
"I'm not going there in my pyjamas!"
"Then sit down and I'll help you change! Swear to God, Robbie, if you..."
Robbie is on the ground, words losing their form and meaning, drowned in the noise in his ears, and his eyes see only black. The pain is worse, now, and suddenly he is so scared he feels like he is drowning in it.
James is still talking, but clipped, official sounding words, and he vaguely recognises the words "ambulance" and "now", then James' hands are on his neck, chest, wrist, and the blackness and pain take over.
- - -
James has never been so afraid in his life.
He's been at the hospital before, many times, both for work and for personal reasons, but never in the middle of the night, never without his shoes because he rode there in an ambulance with a man he loves.
And because they are not related, no one will tell him anything. Robbie never updated him as his point of contact so his info still only lists Lyn as his next of kin and... they'll call Lyn. He checks his pockets and realises he grabbed his phone with him.
He doesn't have shoes but he has his phone.
He scrolls through his contacts to find Lyn's number. He's had it, for emergencies, even before their relationship changed.
A sleepy voice answers his call faster than he expected.
"It's James Hathaway, I'm your father's sergeant. There's been a... he had a heart attack.”
Saying the words aloud make them more real, somehow, and he has to close his eyes before relaying the information of their location. “He's... they're not telling me anything. He's alive.”
She says she'll be there and hangs up. James rests the phone against his forehead for a minute before dialling again.
“Doctor Hobson? Laura? Robbie's... we're at the hospital. I think... I think he had a heart attack.”
That's not the official term, of course, but all he knows is that Robbie lost consciousness, and his heart lost its rhythm, and he had to perform CPR before the ambulance arrived.
“They're not telling me anything,” he repeats to her, too, and tries to not sound pathetic.
“Pull the cop card,” Laura says. “That should scare them. I'll be there in a bit, I should know someone there.”
- - -
Laura arrives in half an hour, and goes in search of someone she might know, or someone who might talk to a fellow doctor. James keeps staring at the wall, mind blank.
Please don't take him, I'm not ready.
About three hours after his phone call Lyn arrives. He recognises her easily from all the photos he's seen, even though they haven't met yet. Robbie had talked about Christmas, of them meeting, of telling her about their relationship.
He wanted to do it face to face instead of over the phone, stressing that any new relationship of his could be resented by his kids, even if it wasn't with someone male, someone young enough to be his son.
“Any word?” Lyn asks, and James directs her to the nurses, standing back while she talks to them.
“He's sleeping,” she reports. “They're letting me in to see him. It's too early to say, but getting help fast is a good thing.”
James nods and sits back down. He tries not to resent her for being able to see him.
- - -
When Lyn returns, she is visibly angry.
"I met a nurse I used to work with,” she says, nearly spitting the words out. “Nurses talk, you know.”
James can only stare at her.
"She was more than happy to tell me how he was found. Half dressed, with you in his bedroom."
"Yes."
"Is that all you're going to say?"
"Is this really important right now?"
"Yes! If you're shagging him to death!"
"We were not shagging!" he yells, then pauses, taking a deep breath. "We were sleeping, and he woke up and... it's not just 'shagging', we..."
He closes his eyes against the hostility of the woman, knowing she is the most important thing in Robbie's life.
"I'm sorry if you don't like it, but it is how it is and I..."
“What's going on?” Laura, appearing just at the right moment to save him.
“Nothing,” Lyn says, even though she obviously wants to say something else. Is she ashamed of her father? Or still trying to protect him, despite everything?
“Robbie hadn't had a chance yet to tell her about... us.”
“Oh. Well, I suppose the timing could be better. I talked to Doctor Patil. She thinks she can sneak you in to see him for a moment.”
“I saw him,” Lyn states. “He's sleeping.”
“I think James might feel better, seeing for himself that he's okay,” Laura says gently.
Lyn purses her lips but nods.
“Thank you,” James says quietly, even though her permission isn't really needed.
- - -
Robbie looks... he looks old against the white sheets. But he's breathing, and the machine recording his heartbeat is reassuringly steady.
James is afraid to touch him, even on the hand, knowing his presence is not really sanctioned officially. Still, he leans forward to place a soft kiss on his forehead. The skin is cool, dry, and he blinks back the tears that threaten to fall.
- - -
Robbie doesn't know where he is when he wakes up.
“James?”
“Good morning,” says a cheery female voice from his left and he turns his head to see a woman in white.
He's in a hospital. That jolts the rest of the memories loose. “I had a heart attack,” he says, incredulous.
“Nice diagnosis,” the woman says. “I'll get the doctor.”
The woman turns to leave.
“Wait! Where's James?”
“The man who came with you? I think he's still in the waiting room. He's... not family, is he?”
“He's my...” What is he? What is he, in here, to them? “He's family.”
“Would you... like to name him as your point of contact?” the woman asks almost hesitantly.
“My what?”
“You know,” she says, smiling impishly. “Like next of kin but not 'official' family. For, you know, situations like...”
“Like ours. Yes, yes I would. I want him to be kept informed.”
The doctor tells him everything looks all right, and the prognosis is good after surviving this long after the initial infarction. He just nods and waits for a chance to ask about meeting James. If the foolish lad really spent the night there...
“I'll send him in,” she promises, and Robbie closes his eyes.
Heart attack. That's something that happens to old people. That's how his own dad died.
The door opens again and he opens his eyes to see James. He's dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and for some reason he has a pair of disposable slippers on. He looks young and scared.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," James replies, smiling very slightly, his eyes still scared.
"I'm okay."
"Yes. And you're going to stay okay."
“If it's up to me,” he promises, then leans his head back in an obvious invitation for a kiss.
James' smile widens, and he leans into comply.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he says, sitting down next to the bed and holding on to his hand.
“Wasn't exactly a picnic for me either,” Robbie admits.
“Lyn will be happy to see you awake.”
“Lyn?”
“She arrived last night. She's having breakfast at the moment, she'll be upset that she missed this.”
There's something off about James' tone.
“What is it?”
“She... found out about us through hospital gossip,” James admits. “It's okay. We're okay. We've been... talking. Laura says hi, too.”
“Laura's here too?”
“Of course. Innocent sends her love.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“Well, something entirely proper, then.”
- - -
After Robbie lives through the first 24 hours, the discussion turns from survival to recovery. James is present for most of the discussions, and attacks the provided literature like there's going to be a test.
Robbie seems subdued, but James is prepared for that too, thanks to all the leaflets and web pages. He'll be damned if he's letting Robbie get depressed.
"I'm going to quit smoking," he says, determinedly. "And you are going to start eating more healthily. And we are going to start exercising more."
"James..."
“We can't do anything about your gender or age, and you're not actually overweight, so we're going to work with what we can change.”
“James.”
James shuts up, knowing that when Robbie uses that tone he has something important to say.
"Maybe it's time for you to cut your losses," he says, and for the moment James is confused.
"What do you...?"
"I'm old, and you are... not," he says with a resigned tone. "We always knew I was going to die before you but this just brought it closer to the surface, and I..."
"No." His voice is so determined Robbie leaves the sentence unfinished.
"I know you are older than me, and I did think of it. I did think of the implications before we... of course I did. I'm not stupid. But I - love - you," he says, pointedly. "And what ever years I can have with you I will have them." He is stressing every word, desperate for the older man to understand how deeply he means them.
"I will quit smoking. And you will start eating better. I will not lose you any sooner than I have to."
He is pressing Robbie's hand so forcefully it has to hurt but he'll be damned if he's going to be dumped from the sick bed.
"Okay," says Robbie, consoling. "Okay."
"Okay? No more talk of this nonsense?"
"Promise."
He must look sceptical because Robbie goes on. "Do you think I want you to go?"
"Could have fooled me," he says, sullenly.
"I'm just trying to think what's best for you."
"Well, you obviously suffered from oxygen deprivation to the brain because you're making no sense."
- - -
Not all of the talks are so heavy. James entertains Robbie with their new diet restrictions while Robbie goes through some simple exercises in his hospital bed.
“We have to eat more fish. And no, fish and chips don't count.”
“Horrible.”
“And you have to limit your alcohol intake... wait, what? You are not allowed to exceed the recommended limits for a day but the limits still allow you up to two pints of beer, four glasses of wine or four shots. Every day.”
That makes Robbie laugh, as they seldom exceed that anyway.
“Okay, maybe this won't require that many drastic changes.”
- - -
“Innocent wants to know when you're coming back to work,” Laura says by the way of greeting. “Everyone else sends their love.”
“As soon as they'll spring me,” Robbie says.
“In a few weeks,” says James, who has actually been listening to the doctors. “Light duties, office work.”
“Ah, paperwork. That is bound to encourage you to work hard on your recovery,” Laura predicts, smiling wickedly.
“Everyone is going to use this as an excuse to boss me around, aren't they?” Robbie complains. “Lyn is talking about early retirement.”
“Isn't she a bit young?” Laura asks, smirking.
“For me.”
“What would your prettier half do without you?”
“Pine away,” James replies, deadpan.
“You two are not as amusing as you think,” Robbie grumbles, but with a smile threatening at the corners of his mouth.
“Speaking of Lyn,” Laura turns serious. “How is she about... all this?” She makes a gesture to encompass both he and James.
“Getting better,” Robbie says. “We talked on the phone again this morning, and she actually asked how James was doing.”
“And he told her I am bossing him around mercilessly, and she didn't even take it seriously.”
“Some daughter. You do boss me around mercilessly.”
“I made him go meet a physiotherapist,” James explains to Laura.
“Horrible, unfeeling man,” she admits.
“I know,” James agrees with a sad expression and Robbie finally loses the fight against the smile.
- - -
When they finally let Robbie out of the hospital he gets exhausted just walking from the car to the apartment. It makes him downcast again.
“It's your first day out,” James tries to console him. “And you did walk back under your own steam after leaving on a stretcher.”
“But it'll be days if not weeks until I can return to work at this rate.”
“Then it will be.”
“You'll run out of vacation days.”
“Then I'll go back to work and you can have dinner ready for me when I come back.”
“I can't even drive!”
“You could, but they do recommend waiting for the full four weeks.”
“Yeah, to see whether I'm about to croak,” Robbie grumbles.
He is a little nervous about the 28 days limit - all the literature says that if he survives that long after the infarction, his chances of living for years longer grow.
The same month is the recommended break to take from driving, and also usually the time when myocardial infarction patients are allowed to have sex again, provided that he can climb stairs without getting out of breath or experiencing chest pains. He's happy he didn't have that conversation in the hospital but read it from a leaflet. It was enough that everyone there knew that James is his partner, talking about it would have been too much.
It's not like he's ashamed but James is quite a bit younger and... and it's not the sort of thing you talk about in public, is it.
- - -
He's overjoyed on the day he finally gets to go back to work. Innocent has kindly kept James working on light duties as well so that he was spared having to watch his sergeant work with another detective.
It might also have gotten awkward, trying to explain their living arrangements. It's not the first time a sergeant has bunked in the spare room of his governor, and they have a good reason for it, too, in that Robbie might still be considered to need a keeper but still. He's just happy if they can keep their changed status under the wraps at work. For his sake, he doesn't care, but it might harm James' career.
- - -
Two days of light duties later, Robbie can't remember why he was in such a rush to get back to that. Give him a juicy murder any day over processing expenses.
- - -
It's been a few weeks since he came back to work, and Robbie is ready to return to his normal duties. He's feeling better every day, and they are keeping to their new health regime, including the required amount of exercise, and okay, it isn't as bad as it could be, walking with James. Even if the lad tries to get him to jog.
And James hasn't smoked one cigarette since he came out of the hospital.
The doctors are hopeful that he walked out of the whole experience without any long-term issues, with his heart undamaged, and that he should have many years of active life left. He looks at James, by his side as ever, with his work face on, and can't help but smile.
"You know, I just walked the stairs up here. All three stories of them."
James turns to look at him, mind already on work.
"And I'm not out of breath."
The smile that is his only reply is the wide, goofy, happy one he never sees in public, and here it is, here they are, at work, and all that love and happiness visible on James' face for everyone to see. What is he to do but to return the smile, because he is back, this is his life, and James is there to share it with him.