Lewis fic: A Time To Lose
Story: A Time To Lose
Author: wendymr
Characters: Robbie Lewis, James Hathaway, Jean Innocent (briefly)
Rated: PG
Spoilers: Major spoilers for 7:01 Down Among the Fearful
Summary: Robbie's known this has been coming for a while.
With many thanks to lindenharp and uniquepov for invaluable assistance with research and suggestions, and to lindenharp for excellent BR services. Don't read this if you haven't seen 7.01 and are avoiding spoilers.
A Time to Lose
Robbie sits with James on the bench, not talking, just watching people go by, until he’s finished his sandwich. James hasn’t touched his. He’s sat next to Robbie, their shoulders rubbing, staring down at his hands - when he isn’t jerkily smoking a cigarette.
He’s known this has been coming for a while. James has become increasingly morose over the past year or so, with happier periods progressively briefer and further apart. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen the lad smile.
It could have been worse. It could have been so appallingly, horrifyingly worse. Like he just said to James, if not for a quarter of an inch of foam... Well. The lad’s alive and well, and even if their days together are numbered - well, they were anyway, weren’t they? He’s not got long to go in the force himself.
But there’s nothing he can do about James here and now, and they can’t stay away from the office much longer. The murderer’s in custody and they have work to do, and any minute now Innocent’s going to be phoning and demanding to know where they are.
“We really should get back.” Robbie stands again. “Was thinking,” he adds as James stands - with obvious reluctance - and falls into step beside him. “Come over to mine tonight? Been a while since we’ve had a takeaway and a natter.”
He knows James isn’t going to be fooled, no matter how casually the invitation was offered. But it’s a further sign of his sergeant’s state of mind that there’s no immediate sarcastic response. Instead, James’s words are quietly spoken. “I’m not sure that’s-”
“Do me a favour and don’t argue, man. Couple of hours, that’s all, and no shop talk if you don’t want to.” He pauses beside his car; James’s is around the corner.
“If you’re insisting.” It’s reluctant, but Robbie will take it.
“I am. So, later then.”
________________________________________
The afternoon’s taken up with paperwork, CPS reports, interviewing Katherine Dutta, and a meeting with Innocent to bring her up to date. She’s relieved, of course, because Professor Crane can stay out of bounds - and it’s a long time since Robbie’s seen Innocent as unsettled as she was over that. Looks like Vicki was right and there is some kind of defence or military funding behind the arrogant professor.
“And you’re absolutely positive that you’re all right, James? Sure you shouldn’t have been seen by a doctor?”
“Absolutely certain, Ma’am. Given how quickly Etorphine works, I doubt I would be standing here now if I weren’t.”
James always hates being the focus of people’s concern, but that’s irritable even for him. Robbie intervenes. “He’s fine, Ma’am. I saw for myself the needle didn’t go anywhere near his skin.”
“All right. It was good work, both of you,” she adds, and she’s definitely looking a lot less pressured than yesterday. “The university and... other people... are particularly grateful that you saved Professor Crane’s life. There’s talk of some sort of recognition.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Robbie catches the look of recoil on James’s face, and immediately shakes his head. “Just doing our job, Ma’am. Wouldn’t want anything like that.”
“Well, quite right too, but all the same, if the university insists...”
“Tell them they can make a donation to the Benevolent Fund.” He glances at James and tilts his head towards the door. James takes the hint with clear relief.
It’s still a few hours before they can leave, but finally at around half past five Robbie’s had enough. “Come on, then, let’s get out of here.” James doesn’t protest, but it’s not surprising. Not today.
Outside, it occurs to him that he’d rather not give James the opportunity to go home and then phone to say he’s changed his mind. “Leave your car here,” he suggests. “You can drive mine home later and pick me up in the morning.” James just nods, but as he walks towards the BMW Robbie gets a good look at the back of James’s suit. Crumpled, and both jacket and trousers stained with pollen from the flowers. “Don’t suppose you have a change of clothes in your car, do you? You don’t want to stay in that all evening - and you’ll need to get it cleaned.”
James pulls a face. “What’s that, three dry-cleaning bills on expenses this month? Innocent won’t be happy.”
“After today she’d approve a brand-new suit if you wanted.” Robbie waits while James opens the boot of his car. There’s a duffel bag inside that looks full. “What’ve you got in there? Half a dozen tracksuits?”
James closes the boot again. “I was supposed to be going away. You remember, the emergency a few weeks ago when all leave got cancelled? Just never got around to bringing the bag back into the flat.”
“Should’ve said, man! I’d have made sure you got the time off again.”
James shrugs, getting into the BMW’s passenger seat. “I know. I wasn’t in any hurry.” He reaches for his phone. “What do you fancy? Chinese? Indian? Something else?”
________________________________________
He sends James to change as soon as they get in, and sets out their Chinese on the table, along with a couple of beers, while he waits. It’s only a couple of minutes before James reappears in jeans and a casual shirt, looking far too bloody young again. It was odd how much younger he’d looked earlier as soon as he pulled the neck-brace off, too.
Robbie keeps the conversation light, as promised, slagging off a local politician who was stupid enough to play the family values card and then get caught with his pants down. “Won’t be sorry to see the back of him at the next election. Always in the Mail stirring up shit about so-called benefit scroungers. As if he has the first idea of what it’s like to live like that.”
“Always assuming he loses. Can’t help noticing that the great and the good aren’t distancing themselves from him as quickly as one might have hoped. Including your friends at the Mail.”
“Give ‘em time. I reckon there’s more scandal to come.”
“And if there isn’t, you’ll dig it up, maybe?” James’s lips twitch briefly. “Tut tut. Innocent would not approve. He did always vote in favour of increasing the policing budget, after all.”
Robbie grins, then notices James stretching his neck. “All right? No more twinges?”
“No, it’s fine. Just had my phone against my shoulder a bit too long earlier. Not that I’d recommend almost getting injected with Etorphine as a cure for whiplash, but it does seem to have been extraordinarily effective.”
Robbie winces inwardly, his mind flashing back to that moment when he saw James lying unmoving with the hypodermic apparently sticking into him. “Yeah, think I’d prefer it if you didn’t do that again. Wasn’t expecting I’d come close to losin’ you this morning.”
“Wasn’t expecting it myself,” James comments dryly, and for a moment they just look at each other in silence.
He’ll never get a better opportunity. “I’m gonna lose you anyway, aren’t I?”
James’s expression freezes, and he looks down at the table. “Sir-”
“James,” he interrupts quickly. “I’m not askin’ as your boss. Off the record. But I’m right, aren’t I?”
“I…” He seems to be struggling with something, but then after a moment looks up again, apology in his eyes. “Yes. I think so.”
Even though it’s the answer he expected, has been expecting ever since lunchtime, or maybe even longer than that, Robbie feels his stomach clench. For some reason, something the vicar read at Val’s funeral flashes into his head.
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven... a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away. For James, seems it’s time, and there’s nothing Robbie can do about it.
Well, he could argue. Ask James to stay as a favour to him, or even guilt him into it. It’s not as if he doesn’t know the strategies to use by now, and he knows he’d win.
But at what cost? His partner’s continued unhappiness - misery, even? He can’t be that selfish. It would be wrong.
“Fair enough,” he manages after a moment. “Your decision. It’s not as if I didn’t know the job wasn’t for you long-term. Suppose I just thought you’d stick with it until I retire.”
“I’m sorry,” James says instantly. “I… was intending to. But now I don’t think I can.”
Robbie nods. “Vicki’s death wasn’t your fault, you know. But it’s not just her, is it?”
A brief shake of the head is his answer, but after a moment James adds, “What do we really do, sir? Oh, we solve crimes and most of the people we charge get convicted, but what good does it do? We don’t stop people getting murdered. We put one murderer away and another two or three take their place. It’s just...” He shakes his head, a helpless gesture. “It never stops. To quote your namesake - CS Lewis, not Lewis Carroll - we not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief. ”
“I know.” He’s been in the job more than thirty years, after all, and he’s had plenty of times when he’s felt like this as well, even felt like packing it in after one or two particularly brutal cases, or cases involving kids - like the Zelinsky one a few years back. But his temperament’s different to James’s. Much as the lad tries to hide it, he’s not as good as he should be at staying detached. At least some of what’s going on with him could be burnout, but it’s more than just that. James is a good detective - no, a bloody excellent detective - but at the same time he was never really cut out to be a copper.
Robbie gets more beer from the fridge. “Not gonna try and tell you you’re wrong. Yeah, I believe we do some good - wouldn’t still be in the job if I didn’t - but I won’t deny it can sometimes feel like... what’s that Greek legend? Hercules trying to clean the Augean stables?” He pauses for the smile he knows will come; James always pretends such awe and admiration whenever Robbie reveals knowledge of something educated.
“That’s... a good analogy for how it feels,” James comments instead.
Robbie nods. “So you’ve made up your mind.”
James takes a deep breath and starts to pick at the label on his bottle. “Feels like it.”
A lump’s starting to settle in his gut, but he ignores it. This is about James, not himself. Though James - unless he’s just being respectful of Robbie’s feelings - doesn’t sound one hundred per cent certain. “You’ll be handing in your papers, then.” He pushes his almost-empty plate aside. “Do something for me first, eh?”
“What’s that? Train my replacement?” James’s tone is dry, sardonic.
“Don’t be daft, man. No, you said earlier you were supposed to have gone away for a couple of days.” No doubt to think over his decision. “Take that time off first an’ go away. Think about this and be sure it’s really what you want, and if you feel the same way when you come back I won’t try to convince you otherwise.”
For a moment, the lad looks like he’s going to argue, but then clearly decides to give in. “All right. I’ll look at the schedules tomorrow and see when I can go.”
“You can go once we’ve finished the Dutta paperwork,” Robbie says. “I’ll tell Innocent you’re owed the time and if there’s a new case first you’re not to be involved.” James just nods. “Where were you going?” Robbie asks.
“The Lake District. Thought I’d do some walking... and thinking.” Just as Robbie thought.
He approves of the destination, though. It’d be a good place to do some proper thinking, all right, and in his mind it’s better than something like a monastery, which was his first suspicion. “Lake District, eh? Ages since I’ve been there. Used to love taking Val and the kids.”
James looks at him, arrested suddenly, showing the first sign of animation in hours. “Come with me.”
Robbie blinks. That’s the last thing he expected James to say. “How’s that gonna help? You’re supposed to be getting away from the job.”
James sighs and tugs at his hair. “It’s not you that’s the problem, and you know it. You’re the only reason I’ve stayed in the job as long as I have.”
Robbie frowns. “Then you definitely don’t need me around to stop you from thinking straight.”
James shakes his head. “Won’t make any difference now, I assure you. Come with me. I’d enjoy your company, and you need a break as much as I do. How long has it been since you took time off?”
“A while,” he concedes; it’s been a busy few months.
“Two or three days,” James says, a smile tugging at his lips. “No cases, no paperwork, no Oxford academics. Just lakes, scenery, fresh air and some of the best pubs in England. Not to mention excellent company.”
“That’d be you, then, I take it?”
“Naturally.” The same faint smile twitches at James’s lips again. “Say you’ll come, Robbie.”
It’s a shock to hear his name spoken in James’s voice, and it occurs to him that in all the time they’ve known each other it’s the first time James has ever called him anything other than sir. And, for some reason, it’s that realisation that makes his mind up.
“Yeah. Yeah, all right, then.”
________________________________________
“Ah, not Windermere, man. Far too commercial.” James has brought his laptop tonight, now their time off is booked. Four days and three nights, they’ve decided on, and they’re looking for a B&B. Robbie’s finding himself almost as enthusiastic about this as the Italian holiday he took with Lyn a couple of years ago, before the baby - and that’s despite this very likely being almost the last opportunity he’ll have to spend time with James.
He can’t help wondering if that thought’s also occurred to James. Is that why the lad invited - practically begged - him to come with him?
“Fair enough. I looked at Keswick, but that seems a bit too close to main roads and traffic. Ambleside?”
“Mmm.” He watches while James loads a site called TripAdvisor. “That one looks good. Rated...” He squints to see. “What, first out of 77 places?”
“Yes, and over 600 five-star reviews.” James scrolls through a few reviews, enough to verify that the guesthouse is as good as it seems, and then jumps to a new window. The Riverside Hotel does seem to be everything they want, and the prices are reasonable, though as always they’re based on per person sharing. Typical; always costs more to travel as a single person.
“We should look at a couple of others to be sure,” James suggests, switching back to TripAdvisor.
Robbie glances at the next two pages James loads, but shakes his head. “Still think the first one’s best.”
James goes back to the Riverside website, then looks at him for confirmation, and he nods. “Go for it. Can you book online?”
“Could do, but it’s very short notice. Better to phone.” He’s already dialling.
Robbie listens as James talks to someone at the hotel. It doesn’t sound positive. “Yes, I know it’s short notice. We were just hoping... Ah, only one room? Yeah, unfortunately we’d need-”
Robbie grasps James’s arm. “A double or a twin?”
“Twin,” James answers.
“Take it.”
James raises an eyebrow, but follows the instruction, providing his credit card details to hold the booking.
“You’re absolutely sure? I can call back and cancel.” James looks uncertain - though not, Robbie thinks, because he’d have a problem with sharing a room. He’s worried that Robbie might.
“Why wouldn’t I be? The room’s a decent size, judging by the photos on their site, an’ it’s not as if we haven’t stripped off or dressed in front of each other before.” In the gym, frequently, and times when James has arrived early to pick him up here and come into the bedroom to brief him while he finished dressing. “You don’t snore, do you?”
James blinks. “Actually, I have no idea.”
Robbie waves a hand. “I’ll just throw a pillow at you if you do. Or something heavier, depending on how loud you are.”
“Very kind of you.” James puts his wallet away. “Well, no backing out now, sir. It’s booked.”
Robbie raises an eyebrow. He’s not backing out, and James should know he wouldn’t. “Thought you were calling me Robbie now.”
James looks a little abashed. “That was a liberty I took in an attempt to persuade you to say yes.”
“I know that. Still hope you’re not planning on sirring me all the way around the Lake District, though. That’d just feel like you invited me on holiday under false pretences.”
“In that case, Robbie, the word ‘sir’ will leave my vocabulary entirely as soon as we set off from Oxford the day after tomorrow.”
________________________________________
Robbie picks James up bright and early on the day of their departure, a fine spring day with a clear blue sky and no rain whatsoever in the forecast. They’re sharing the driving, though he’ll take the first couple of hours. James thoughtfully provides coffee in travel mugs - and he’s brought CDs.
“None of them better be a bloody meditative whatsit or you’re travelling in the boot,” Robbie threatens.
“I think you’ll find that’s illegal, Robbie,” James points out, and loads a CD containing a Sixties mix. Robbie gives his approval.
Shortly after they join the M40, James asks him about his previous holidays in the Lake District. Robbie reminisces for a while about caravanning or camping holidays with Val and the kids, when they were young, and it dawns on him that it’s the first time he’s actually talked to James about stuff like this, ordinary events in the past with Val. It doesn’t even hurt any more, either; the memories are fond, not painful.
James smiles at an account of Mark accidentally getting into a field full of sheep and being scared by the one with the horns, and Robbie catches his breath. That’s the first smile he’s seen from the man in weeks, he thinks.
And, just as he’s also wishing that his friend had a happier childhood to look back on, James talks about running wild on the Crevecoeur estate with Paul and Scarlett and the other children. “We were very young then, of course,” he comments. “That was before... Well.” He shrugs lightly.
Before other things happened. “Before your family moved away,” Robbie says, keeping his tone casual. It’s never been acknowledged between them, what might have happened to James as a kid on that estate, and he suspects it never will be - but he’s pretty sure that James is aware of his suspicions.
Part of him hopes he’ll never find out the truth.
________________________________________
They stop for lunch in a pub on the edge of the Lake District National Park, where Robbie has a ploughman’s and James a mature cheddar and pickle on local granary bread, and then head for the guesthouse. After they’ve checked in and brought their bags up to the very nice room, they decide to take one of the recommended walks. It’s probably a bit ambitious - three or so hours, towards Grasmere and up and down a fell along the way - but the weather’s perfect for it and they’re both stiff after four or so hours in a car.
It’s one of the most enjoyable afternoons Robbie’s had in a long time. They don’t talk much - occasional comments on the scenery or wildlife, friendly greetings to passersby, and mutually mocking comments when James’s long legs mean he gets to the summit some time before Robbie. By the time the guesthouse is in sight, Robbie’s tired and in need of his dinner, but happy.
“I’ll sleep well tonight, even if you do snore.” He nudges James with his arm.
“What if you’re the one who snores?”
“I won’t be the one kept awake if I am.” Robbie grins, then adds, “I’m glad you asked me to come with you - even if you are a bloody longshanks on those hills. Never would’ve even thought of suggesting it myself, but it was a great idea.”
A rare, genuine smile appears - and stays - on James’s face. “I’m glad. Maybe we could do it again some time?”
“Yeah, I’d like that,” Robbie says immediately. “What d’you think about Scotland? Or Cornwall?”
“Sounds good, though there are places in Europe I’d like to visit too. Prague, Zagreb, Madrid, Dublin...” He hesitates, then adds, “I’d probably have to put it off for a bit, though.”
“Oh.” Is that James trying to get out of it? Well, he won’t make it hard for the lad. “Well, whatever you want. You can always just phone me, see if I’m free, if you do want to go some time.”
“I will,” James begins, but they’re greeted by the owner as they walk into the guesthouse, and the conversation’s interrupted.
________________________________________
It’s warm enough in the evening for them to eat in the beer garden. The local draught is excellent, and the steak and kidney pie’s so delicious that Robbie barely remembers to roll his eyes when James starts telling him about an order of Cistercian monks who had monasteries all over the Lake District and surrounding areas. Apparently there are still ruins around the place, the closest being Shap Abbey, though according to James the most interesting ruin is Furness Abbey over in Barrow-in-Furness.
Something about what James is saying sounds familiar. “Hang on, didn’t that lot have something to do with Carlisle Cathedral as well?”
He gets that complimentary, almost awed look that he swears James practises for times when Robbie surprises him with his knowledge. “Indeed they did. I take it Carlisle might appeal to you more than Barrow?”
Robbie shrugs. “Don’t mind going to both if you want.”
James blows out a cloud of smoke. “Should warn you, Furness Abbey - located, by the way, in the Vale of Deadly Nightshade, I kid you not - is supposed to be haunted. And Wordsworth wrote about it - And, on the mouldered walls, how bright, how gay, flowers in pearly dews their bloom renewing!”
Robbie snorts. “Show me something in the Lake District Wordsworth didn’t write about. Anyway, wouldn’t have thought you’d believe in ghosts any more than you do in clairvoyants or any of that stuff.”
“Charlatans.” James waves the hand holding his cigarette dismissively. “On the other hand, how does a headless monk on horseback appeal to you? Or the mysterious White Lady? There’s also the secret tunnel, alleged to exist but which no-one’s actually found in hundreds of years. Supposedly, the Holy Grail and King John’s missing jewels are in there. Now, that’d be a find.”
“Too much paperwork.” Robbie shakes his head. “But if we’re deciding on places to go, I’m insisting on the Keswick Brewing Company. Coniston Brewery as well if we have time.”
“Maybe we should’ve taken another couple of days.” James looks a bit regretful.
“We’re both owed the time. If we still fancy it day after tomorrow, I’ll phone Innocent and sort it.”
James blinks. “Does she know we’re here together?”
“I didn’t tell her. Hardly matters, though, does it, if you’re resigning.”
He was completely matter-of-fact about it, no indication in his voice or tone that he wishes otherwise, but James still winces. “I did say I’d think about it.”
“I know,” Robbie says. “But I’m not blind. I know you’ve not felt right about the job for a long time. If it’s the right time for you, well... you do what you need to, never mind about me.”
James is silent for close to a minute, smoking and gazing up at the fell in the distance. Then, finally, he says, “I won’t decide until our last night here, and I’ll tell you as soon as I do.”
Robbie nods. “What will you do? When you do leave, I mean. Cause you will, whether it’s now or when I go.”
“Drinks first.” James jumps up to head to the bar. He isn’t avoiding the issue, though. As soon as he’s back, he says, “Obviously going into research is one option. Regardless of Professor Pinnock’s very flattering offer, however, I don’t think I’d get a post without a research degree, so I’d have to apply to do a PhD. The other alternative, which seems to be more appealing the more I think about it, is teaching. I’d need a primary subject, though, since theology’s not enough. Which wouldn’t be too difficult - I could take something alongside a PGCE. English or history, probably.” He pauses to drink. “That’s why I said another holiday would have to wait a while, by the way. If I’m going to be a student, with no income, I wouldn’t be able to afford it for a few years.”
Oh. Well, that makes sense. Especially as university’s a lot more expensive than it used to be, now there’s fees for everything and they’re a lot higher than they were a year or so ago. Of course, there’s an obvious solution on the holiday thing, not that he’d suggest it now. Another time, and he’ll just have to figure out a way to get James to accept.
“You’ll be looking for scholarships, then? Cambridge or Oxford?”
“Wherever I get accepted, though I’d prefer Oxford, I think.” Is it his imagination, or is James avoiding looking at him? “What about you? When are you planning to retire?”
“Thought a cleverclogs like you would already have that information.”
James waves a hand dismissively. “I know when you’ll be sixty - just over a year away now.” Robbie nods. “But you don’t have to go on your birthday. You’ve got up to a year.”
“True.” He gazes into his pint. “Haven’t pinned it down to a day yet. Thought I’d probably just see how I feel. Other people have told me that it’s like you just wake up one day and you know it’s time.”
James nods. “I thought you’d decided it was time a couple of years ago. Not that I’m sorry you stayed on.”
“Ah, that was just Lyn naggin’ me. She was scared stiff about the baby coming and started worrying about everything else to pretend she wasn’t. Realised I wasn’t ready then, so I didn’t go.”
Didn’t want to at all, he realised, once he started to think seriously about what it would be like. Losing all the structure to his life in one fell swoop. Moving away from the place where he’s spent most of his life to a city where he only knows Lyn and Tim, and where he’d have no friends, little or nothing to do, and would more than likely end up the convenient childminder. Not that he doesn’t love little Jack, and he loves spending time with the toddler, but he’s done his share of childrearing, thanks very much.
And, too, once he discovered that James’s decision depended on him, that made it much easier. The more he’d thought about retiring, the more it’d dawned on him that he’d miss the people he worked with every day. Laura, James, some of their DCs - even Innocent and some of the other DIs and DCIs. James and Laura most of all, of course, and it’d depressed him to recognise that he and James would most likely drift apart pretty quickly once they stopped working together.
It won’t happen now, or at least he hopes not. One thing James’s invitation to join him on holiday suggests is that he’d like them to stay friends.
James nods. “And you’ll be off to Manchester once you do retire?”
Ah, now that’s definitely a hint of regret in James’s tone there. He shakes his head quickly. “Course I’ll spend more time there, but I’m still gonna stay in Oxford. Lived here too long to think about upping stakes an’ moving somewhere else.”
The smile he gets in response almost takes his breath away. “I’m glad. Wouldn’t want to have to drive a couple of hundred miles north any time I fancied a pint.”
Robbie smiles back, but it’s overtaken by a yawn. A glance at his watch shows that it’s after ten - where has the time gone? He didn’t even notice how dark it’s got, though the pub’s got excellent outdoor lighting. “Bedtime for me. If you want to stay up and read or whatever, I doubt you’ll wake me.”
James stands. “I’m tired too. Not as young as I used to be, sadly.”
“Yeah, right.” Robbie cuffs lightly at James’s shoulder as they walk side by side, arms occasionally brushing, out of the beer garden and back to the pub.
________________________________________
It’s either the country air or the long walk, but Robbie sleeps like a log. He couldn’t say whether James snores or not; all he knows when he wakes up the next morning to sunlight through the curtains is that he didn’t hear a thing.
He starts to sit up, and immediately James says, “Ah, you’re awake! I’ve just made coffee.”
“Could get used to this,” he comments as James, in T-shirt and underwear, puts the mug on his bedside cabinet.
“I thought you already were. Did you forget I usually bring you coffee in the mornings?”
“Not to me bedside.” Robbie settles back against the pillows.
James raises an eyebrow. “I’m not driving to your flat first thing every morning. On the other hand, if you have another solution...?” He actually waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Robbie flushes.
“It’s too early in the morning for your mockery. Go an’ shower,” he orders gruffly, and hears James chuckling lightly as he heads to the ensuite bathroom.
________________________________________
They decide to visit Furness in the morning and Windermere in the afternoon. The abbey’s more interesting than Robbie expected, even in the absence of ghosts and hidden tunnels.
As they’re strolling through the old cloisters, he asks a question that occurred to him as he was getting up. “You said last night that you’d need to go back to university first. You can’t do that until September and it’s only May now.” The lad’s surely not going to leave himself without income all that time?
“Yes, and it’s already almost too late to apply for September entrance, but I’m hoping to beg a few favours - I have met a few influential people in Oxford thanks to the job, after all. Assuming... you know, that I do decide to go.” James leads the way back out into the sunlight.
Robbie’s more and more convinced that, whatever James says about thinking about it, he is going. And he’s getting used to the idea, however much he dislikes it. “I was thinking about how you’d pay the bills until then.”
“Oh.” James smiles slightly. “I’m not that much of an idiot. I wouldn’t resign until term started.”
Relief - he’s not losing his sergeant immediately, then - is followed by concern. “Do you want me to... Innocent sometimes wants people willing to be relieved of regular duties to research an’ write some report she needs, for the Home Office or Chief Constable or whatever. I could recommend you next time it comes up.”
James looks alarmed. “Then I wouldn’t get to work with you.”
“Don’t be daft, man. We’d see each other around the station all the time, and there’d be nothing stopping us having a pint after work. It’d get you away from the constant murders.”
James’s hand brushes his back. “Thanks for the thought, but I’d still prefer to work with you. Unless she needs a senior officer and an assistant?”
“What, me working on a report? Only if you did all the writing and I got to... supervise. Which, just so we understand each other, means spending a lot of time thinking, Morse-style.”
“In the pub, while I do all the legwork?” James smirks faintly. “Innocent might have a word or two to say about that. Exploitation of valuable resources and so on.”
“Only if you tell her.” He switches tack to something he picked up on a few minutes ago. “Noticed you said Oxford, by the way. Last night you mentioned Cambridge too.”
“No, you mentioned Cambridge, actually. I did say I’d prefer to stay in Oxford if I can. As you said, my friends-” He glances briefly at Robbie, a meaningful look. “-are here.”
It’s flattering, all these hints and direct statements James is making about wanting to keep working with him as long as possible, wanting to stay in touch after he leaves the force, even going on holiday together again. Course, it’s not as if Robbie hasn’t known for a long time that James doesn’t seem to have any social life to speak of, nor friends that he sees regularly. As for family - well, he’s never mentioned any, and Robbie’s always sensed that enquiries wouldn’t be well-received. So, yeah, he’s not got anyone else - but at the same time James isn’t the type of person to cling to someone for lack of options. He actually likes being with Robbie. Okay, he likes being with the bloke as well, but it still doesn’t seem right that James doesn’t have anyone else. It doesn’t make sense that he’d want to be with Robbie - in work, outside work - so much that he’d stay in a job that makes him unhappy.
And it’s not as if he himself is eager to lose contact with James, anyway. God, his heart almost stopped the other day when he saw that hypodermic sticking out of James’s neck brace.
He’s given up trying to hint James towards what other people might think he should be doing with his free time. It’s not worked before, so why should it now? And James isn’t so much of a young lad any more. He’s capable of making up his own mind - and entitled to do so.
All the same... “You want to watch it. At this rate, you’ll end up being me designated contact when I’m in the old folks’ home.”
James says nothing, but Robbie catches sight of the expression on his face. It’s almost as if he’d want that.
And what’s almost as much of a shock is Robbie’s realisation that he’d be more than disappointed if James wasn’t part of his life at that point.
Robbie wraps his arm briefly around James’s shoulders. “Come on, I’m getting hungry.”
________________________________________
Although it’s been another day with a lot of walking, little of it’s been uphill and Robbie’s not so exhausted by evening. They have another leisurely pub meal - a different pub this time, about twenty minutes from the guesthouse - and stroll back shortly after ten again.
They go straight up to their room where, by mutual agreement, they read for a while before bed. James soon becomes engrossed in something Robbie would never in a million years pick up: Witness To The Fullness Of Light: The Vision and Relevance of the Benedictine Monk Swami Abhishiktananda, while he himself is reading Extraordinary Beliefs: A Historical Approach to a Psychological Problem, a book he picked up in Blackwell’s a couple of days after they arrested Dutta. It’s about why people believe in psychics and mediums, but doesn’t tear the phenomenon apart the way Crane and his did; it explores the history and psychology behind the practice.
When he gets the book out of his bag, James glances his way, then looks again with a concentrated stare, putting down his own book and reaches out to pluck the book out of Robbie’s hands. “Oi!”
James ignores the protest, reading the back cover and then skimming a couple of inside pages before handing the book back. “I’d like to borrow that when you’ve finished, if you don’t mind.”
It’s tempting to mock, but tonight Robbie’s feeling mellow and relaxed. “Course. Won’t be asking to return the favour, though.” He gestures towards James’s own book.
“It’s very spiritually uplifting,” James assures him.
“I’ll bear that in mind, should I feel my spirits need uplifting. Mind, I generally find a decent pint or two of bitter sorts my spirits out quite well enough, thank you.”
James’s lips twitch, and he quirks an eyebrow. “Naturally. For malt does more than Milton can to justify God's ways to man.”
“Oh, yeah? Who’s that, then? Hardly your spiritually uplifting Benedictine monk.”
“AE Housman, actually.” James returns to his book and they both carry on reading, until around half an hour later when, by mutual consent, they prepare for bed.
________________________________________
The following day, they drive north, spending the morning walking around parts of Derwentwater before heading to Keswick for lunch and then the microbrewery Robbie’s interested in. It’s another leisurely day, with neither of them wanting to pack too much in, but conscious that there are other things they’d both like to do in the area.
As they leave the microbrewery, having decided to stop at Thirlmere for another lakeside stroll on the way back to Ambleside, Robbie says, “So I’ll phone Innocent and tell her we’re taking another couple of days, yeah?”
“If you’re sure, then yes, please. It’d give us time to see a few more lakes and get to Carlisle.”
As far as he’s concerned, it’s a no-brainer. He makes the call while James drives, and about twenty minutes later they pull into the small car park.
Walking across the gravelled area towards the footpath, Robbie halts abruptly and bends down. As he thought - a bloody used hypodermic. “Selfish sodding idiots,” he mutters, bending down to pick it up using his handkerchief. He wraps it carefully and puts it in the small rucksack they’ve been using to carry water, raincoats and the like.
“They just don’t care, do they?” James sounds as angry as he does.
Robbie resumes walking. “We never talked about it, did we?”
James’s glance in his direction is amused puzzlement. For once, it appears his cleverclogs friend can’t follow his thoughts.
“You, almost getting killed.”
James halts and glances briefly in his direction again, frowning this time. “We don’t do that.”
“Maybe we should.”
“Ah.” James gestures towards the narrow path leading down to the lake. They walk together, and James doesn’t speak again until they’re some distance from the car park. “You think that’s why I’m considering leaving the force?”
“Hardly. I know you’ve been wanting to leave for a long time, remember. And you’ve been... broody for a while.”
“I’m not a bloody hen!”
“Know that. But you know what I mean, smartarse.”
After a moment, James gives him a wry look. “Yes.”
“I know it’s not the first time either of us has come close, but this time...” Robbie sighs. “You had to watch Vicki die, and for all you knew you were about to go the same way. Had to be...” He gestures, uncomfortable about putting it into words.
“Petrifying? You could say, especially when I was trying to fight her off. Though I didn’t even know she’d stabbed it into me until I saw your face.”
Robbie doesn’t need to ask. If even a fraction of the ice-cold terror he felt had shown on his face, it would have been obvious. Looking at James, seeing the needle sticking out of the brace and remembering what Laura’d told him about both Reuben Bowen and Vicki’s deaths from that same drug. Remembering the haunted look on James’s face after he’d held Vicki as she died. Believing in that moment that James was seconds away from dying in exactly the same way and there wasn’t one fucking thing he could do about it - either to stop it happening or offer even a shred of comfort to him as he died.
And even now, standing here, all he can see is James lying on the ground, not moving, eyes staring fixedly upwards. He smells the crushed flowers and the mingled food aromas from all around the market. And all he can hear is the muted sounds of passers-by, bloody Katherine Dutta’s protests, and the frantic pounding of his own heart. His voice as he begs James to speak to him...
There’s a hand gently touching his face. “Robbie. Robbie. Look at me.”
He blinks. James is standing in front of him, so very close, with one hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his cheek. He’s just spoken to Robbie the way he’s heard the bloke talk to countless shocked victims or witnesses, but he’s never before seen such tender caring in James’s eyes.
“I...” He has to stop and swallow before he can continue. “Thought I was losing you, right in front of me eyes,” he manages after a long pause, and barely recognises his own voice.
James’s eyes widen and his expression changes, revealing something Robbie scarcely knows how to put a name to. He steps closer, and Robbie’s chest feels as if his T-shirt’s suddenly shrunk two sizes.
“What-?” he begins, but abruptly two hikers come around the corner behind them and overtake them, walking and talking noisily.
James steps back. “Come on. The lake’s this way.”
________________________________________
Back at the hotel, James is his normal imperturbable self. “Do you want to go straight out to dinner?” he asks as they leave the car.
Robbie swallows. There’s no way he could sit across a table from James right now, not with everything that’s in his head, everything he’s been thinking about since that moment on the path. “No.” His voice still sounds odd, not his own. “Let’s go upstairs first.”
James disappears into the bathroom, and Robbie’s got an extra few minutes to try to find the words he needs. It’s not easy - it’s not a conversation he’s ever in his wildest dreams imagined having with his awkward sod of a best friend. But not only can he not avoid it now, he doesn’t want to.
“Where were you thinking of for toni...” James, coming out of the bathroom, trails off and his expression turns wary. Robbie can barely imagine what must be visible on his own face.
“How long have I been missing it?” he asks.
James frowns. “Sorry, what-?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know.” Robbie sinks down onto the nearest bed. “I’m the one who never saw it - in you or me. God knows why. It’s not as if I’ve not had enough clues, including you nearly getting killed.”
James’s eyes close briefly. He looks despairing, until he turns away, preventing Robbie from seeing his face. In a low voice, he says, “I’m sorry. I never meant you to-”
“For god’s sake, man.” Robbie cuts across him. “I’m not- Was I running away from you earlier?”
“You were in shock.” James is still not looking at him. “I took advantage-”
Okay. Clearly talking’s not going to do it - which is a relief, since it’s hardly Robbie’s strong point, at least on this sort of topic. He was bad enough with Val, but now, with a bloke not much more than half his age... He stands abruptly, walks around James and reaches for the younger man’s face, tugging him down. Before James can react, Robbie reaches up and kisses him.
It’s no surprise that the kiss is good - once James recovers from his evident shock and kisses back. Once everything he knew about himself, about James and about their relationship got reassembled in his head down by Thirlmere, it didn’t take much imagination at all to know that - once he found the courage to act on his new knowledge - the chemistry between them would be bloody fantastic.
What he didn’t expect was for it to be even better than fantastic. Or that he’d be the one pulling James down onto one of the single beds within five minutes of starting to kiss him.
Later, they’re lying in a sweaty, sticky tangle when James says, his voice rumbling against Robbie’s chest, “You probably should have considered before we did this. You’ll never get rid of me now.”
“Idiot.” Robbie swipes at James’s arm. “What, you actually believe I think this is just a shag? For either of us? I’ll let you resign from the force, if you must, but if you think you’re escaping me apart from that you’ve got another think coming, bonny lad.”
James shifts closer and kisses him. “Just as well. For where thou art, there is the world itself, And where thou art not, desolation.”
Robbie can almost feel his heart expand. He tightens his arm around James. “So who’s that, then?”
“Shakespeare. Henry IV. Of course, you could have Dickens, from The Mystery of Edwin Drood.” He continues, tone dry and amused, “I love you, love you, love you! If you were to cast me off now - but you will not - you would never be rid of me. No one should come between us. I would pursue you to the death.”
“Sounds like a bloody stalker.” All the same, he squeezes James’s hand. “I got you, babe,” he half-sings, and laughs aloud when James groans.
________________________________________
When they do go out for dinner, Robbie stops at the front desk and books another two nights, this time asking for a proper double room. It’s mid-week now, and he’s happy to find that there is one available.
He doesn’t quite feel relaxed enough about his new status as a bloke involved in a gay relationship to hold James’s hand as they walk to the pub - the same one they went to the first evening - but he does manage, accidentally on purpose, to brush his hand against James’s several times on the way. Once, James strokes his fingers lightly, without for a moment breaking off his commentary on the easy life CID officers must have in this part of the country. “What do you reckon, maybe two suspicious deaths a year? The odd break-in at someone’s holiday cottage? Got to be a sinecure.”
“What, you think we should apply for a transfer to the local force?”
“It’s tempting.” James’s lips curve upwards. “Shame you’re retiring in a year.”
“You’ll just have to get a teaching job up here instead an’ look after me in me retirement.” Robbie smirks at him, arching an eyebrow.
James just smiles, slow and gentle, and with that a plan of sorts falls silently, implicitly into place. They don’t know the details yet, but they’ll work those out as they go along - and, now he thinks about it, that’s what they’ve already been doing over the last couple of days, isn’t it?
The details aren’t important, anyway.
What’s important is that this holiday isn’t an ending after all. It’s a beginning.
- end
Author: wendymr
Characters: Robbie Lewis, James Hathaway, Jean Innocent (briefly)
Rated: PG
Spoilers: Major spoilers for 7:01 Down Among the Fearful
Summary: Robbie's known this has been coming for a while.
With many thanks to lindenharp and uniquepov for invaluable assistance with research and suggestions, and to lindenharp for excellent BR services. Don't read this if you haven't seen 7.01 and are avoiding spoilers.
A Time to Lose
Robbie sits with James on the bench, not talking, just watching people go by, until he’s finished his sandwich. James hasn’t touched his. He’s sat next to Robbie, their shoulders rubbing, staring down at his hands - when he isn’t jerkily smoking a cigarette.
He’s known this has been coming for a while. James has become increasingly morose over the past year or so, with happier periods progressively briefer and further apart. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen the lad smile.
It could have been worse. It could have been so appallingly, horrifyingly worse. Like he just said to James, if not for a quarter of an inch of foam... Well. The lad’s alive and well, and even if their days together are numbered - well, they were anyway, weren’t they? He’s not got long to go in the force himself.
But there’s nothing he can do about James here and now, and they can’t stay away from the office much longer. The murderer’s in custody and they have work to do, and any minute now Innocent’s going to be phoning and demanding to know where they are.
“We really should get back.” Robbie stands again. “Was thinking,” he adds as James stands - with obvious reluctance - and falls into step beside him. “Come over to mine tonight? Been a while since we’ve had a takeaway and a natter.”
He knows James isn’t going to be fooled, no matter how casually the invitation was offered. But it’s a further sign of his sergeant’s state of mind that there’s no immediate sarcastic response. Instead, James’s words are quietly spoken. “I’m not sure that’s-”
“Do me a favour and don’t argue, man. Couple of hours, that’s all, and no shop talk if you don’t want to.” He pauses beside his car; James’s is around the corner.
“If you’re insisting.” It’s reluctant, but Robbie will take it.
“I am. So, later then.”
________________________________________
The afternoon’s taken up with paperwork, CPS reports, interviewing Katherine Dutta, and a meeting with Innocent to bring her up to date. She’s relieved, of course, because Professor Crane can stay out of bounds - and it’s a long time since Robbie’s seen Innocent as unsettled as she was over that. Looks like Vicki was right and there is some kind of defence or military funding behind the arrogant professor.
“And you’re absolutely positive that you’re all right, James? Sure you shouldn’t have been seen by a doctor?”
“Absolutely certain, Ma’am. Given how quickly Etorphine works, I doubt I would be standing here now if I weren’t.”
James always hates being the focus of people’s concern, but that’s irritable even for him. Robbie intervenes. “He’s fine, Ma’am. I saw for myself the needle didn’t go anywhere near his skin.”
“All right. It was good work, both of you,” she adds, and she’s definitely looking a lot less pressured than yesterday. “The university and... other people... are particularly grateful that you saved Professor Crane’s life. There’s talk of some sort of recognition.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Robbie catches the look of recoil on James’s face, and immediately shakes his head. “Just doing our job, Ma’am. Wouldn’t want anything like that.”
“Well, quite right too, but all the same, if the university insists...”
“Tell them they can make a donation to the Benevolent Fund.” He glances at James and tilts his head towards the door. James takes the hint with clear relief.
It’s still a few hours before they can leave, but finally at around half past five Robbie’s had enough. “Come on, then, let’s get out of here.” James doesn’t protest, but it’s not surprising. Not today.
Outside, it occurs to him that he’d rather not give James the opportunity to go home and then phone to say he’s changed his mind. “Leave your car here,” he suggests. “You can drive mine home later and pick me up in the morning.” James just nods, but as he walks towards the BMW Robbie gets a good look at the back of James’s suit. Crumpled, and both jacket and trousers stained with pollen from the flowers. “Don’t suppose you have a change of clothes in your car, do you? You don’t want to stay in that all evening - and you’ll need to get it cleaned.”
James pulls a face. “What’s that, three dry-cleaning bills on expenses this month? Innocent won’t be happy.”
“After today she’d approve a brand-new suit if you wanted.” Robbie waits while James opens the boot of his car. There’s a duffel bag inside that looks full. “What’ve you got in there? Half a dozen tracksuits?”
James closes the boot again. “I was supposed to be going away. You remember, the emergency a few weeks ago when all leave got cancelled? Just never got around to bringing the bag back into the flat.”
“Should’ve said, man! I’d have made sure you got the time off again.”
James shrugs, getting into the BMW’s passenger seat. “I know. I wasn’t in any hurry.” He reaches for his phone. “What do you fancy? Chinese? Indian? Something else?”
________________________________________
He sends James to change as soon as they get in, and sets out their Chinese on the table, along with a couple of beers, while he waits. It’s only a couple of minutes before James reappears in jeans and a casual shirt, looking far too bloody young again. It was odd how much younger he’d looked earlier as soon as he pulled the neck-brace off, too.
Robbie keeps the conversation light, as promised, slagging off a local politician who was stupid enough to play the family values card and then get caught with his pants down. “Won’t be sorry to see the back of him at the next election. Always in the Mail stirring up shit about so-called benefit scroungers. As if he has the first idea of what it’s like to live like that.”
“Always assuming he loses. Can’t help noticing that the great and the good aren’t distancing themselves from him as quickly as one might have hoped. Including your friends at the Mail.”
“Give ‘em time. I reckon there’s more scandal to come.”
“And if there isn’t, you’ll dig it up, maybe?” James’s lips twitch briefly. “Tut tut. Innocent would not approve. He did always vote in favour of increasing the policing budget, after all.”
Robbie grins, then notices James stretching his neck. “All right? No more twinges?”
“No, it’s fine. Just had my phone against my shoulder a bit too long earlier. Not that I’d recommend almost getting injected with Etorphine as a cure for whiplash, but it does seem to have been extraordinarily effective.”
Robbie winces inwardly, his mind flashing back to that moment when he saw James lying unmoving with the hypodermic apparently sticking into him. “Yeah, think I’d prefer it if you didn’t do that again. Wasn’t expecting I’d come close to losin’ you this morning.”
“Wasn’t expecting it myself,” James comments dryly, and for a moment they just look at each other in silence.
He’ll never get a better opportunity. “I’m gonna lose you anyway, aren’t I?”
James’s expression freezes, and he looks down at the table. “Sir-”
“James,” he interrupts quickly. “I’m not askin’ as your boss. Off the record. But I’m right, aren’t I?”
“I…” He seems to be struggling with something, but then after a moment looks up again, apology in his eyes. “Yes. I think so.”
Even though it’s the answer he expected, has been expecting ever since lunchtime, or maybe even longer than that, Robbie feels his stomach clench. For some reason, something the vicar read at Val’s funeral flashes into his head.
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven... a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away. For James, seems it’s time, and there’s nothing Robbie can do about it.
Well, he could argue. Ask James to stay as a favour to him, or even guilt him into it. It’s not as if he doesn’t know the strategies to use by now, and he knows he’d win.
But at what cost? His partner’s continued unhappiness - misery, even? He can’t be that selfish. It would be wrong.
“Fair enough,” he manages after a moment. “Your decision. It’s not as if I didn’t know the job wasn’t for you long-term. Suppose I just thought you’d stick with it until I retire.”
“I’m sorry,” James says instantly. “I… was intending to. But now I don’t think I can.”
Robbie nods. “Vicki’s death wasn’t your fault, you know. But it’s not just her, is it?”
A brief shake of the head is his answer, but after a moment James adds, “What do we really do, sir? Oh, we solve crimes and most of the people we charge get convicted, but what good does it do? We don’t stop people getting murdered. We put one murderer away and another two or three take their place. It’s just...” He shakes his head, a helpless gesture. “It never stops. To quote your namesake - CS Lewis, not Lewis Carroll - we not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief. ”
“I know.” He’s been in the job more than thirty years, after all, and he’s had plenty of times when he’s felt like this as well, even felt like packing it in after one or two particularly brutal cases, or cases involving kids - like the Zelinsky one a few years back. But his temperament’s different to James’s. Much as the lad tries to hide it, he’s not as good as he should be at staying detached. At least some of what’s going on with him could be burnout, but it’s more than just that. James is a good detective - no, a bloody excellent detective - but at the same time he was never really cut out to be a copper.
Robbie gets more beer from the fridge. “Not gonna try and tell you you’re wrong. Yeah, I believe we do some good - wouldn’t still be in the job if I didn’t - but I won’t deny it can sometimes feel like... what’s that Greek legend? Hercules trying to clean the Augean stables?” He pauses for the smile he knows will come; James always pretends such awe and admiration whenever Robbie reveals knowledge of something educated.
“That’s... a good analogy for how it feels,” James comments instead.
Robbie nods. “So you’ve made up your mind.”
James takes a deep breath and starts to pick at the label on his bottle. “Feels like it.”
A lump’s starting to settle in his gut, but he ignores it. This is about James, not himself. Though James - unless he’s just being respectful of Robbie’s feelings - doesn’t sound one hundred per cent certain. “You’ll be handing in your papers, then.” He pushes his almost-empty plate aside. “Do something for me first, eh?”
“What’s that? Train my replacement?” James’s tone is dry, sardonic.
“Don’t be daft, man. No, you said earlier you were supposed to have gone away for a couple of days.” No doubt to think over his decision. “Take that time off first an’ go away. Think about this and be sure it’s really what you want, and if you feel the same way when you come back I won’t try to convince you otherwise.”
For a moment, the lad looks like he’s going to argue, but then clearly decides to give in. “All right. I’ll look at the schedules tomorrow and see when I can go.”
“You can go once we’ve finished the Dutta paperwork,” Robbie says. “I’ll tell Innocent you’re owed the time and if there’s a new case first you’re not to be involved.” James just nods. “Where were you going?” Robbie asks.
“The Lake District. Thought I’d do some walking... and thinking.” Just as Robbie thought.
He approves of the destination, though. It’d be a good place to do some proper thinking, all right, and in his mind it’s better than something like a monastery, which was his first suspicion. “Lake District, eh? Ages since I’ve been there. Used to love taking Val and the kids.”
James looks at him, arrested suddenly, showing the first sign of animation in hours. “Come with me.”
Robbie blinks. That’s the last thing he expected James to say. “How’s that gonna help? You’re supposed to be getting away from the job.”
James sighs and tugs at his hair. “It’s not you that’s the problem, and you know it. You’re the only reason I’ve stayed in the job as long as I have.”
Robbie frowns. “Then you definitely don’t need me around to stop you from thinking straight.”
James shakes his head. “Won’t make any difference now, I assure you. Come with me. I’d enjoy your company, and you need a break as much as I do. How long has it been since you took time off?”
“A while,” he concedes; it’s been a busy few months.
“Two or three days,” James says, a smile tugging at his lips. “No cases, no paperwork, no Oxford academics. Just lakes, scenery, fresh air and some of the best pubs in England. Not to mention excellent company.”
“That’d be you, then, I take it?”
“Naturally.” The same faint smile twitches at James’s lips again. “Say you’ll come, Robbie.”
It’s a shock to hear his name spoken in James’s voice, and it occurs to him that in all the time they’ve known each other it’s the first time James has ever called him anything other than sir. And, for some reason, it’s that realisation that makes his mind up.
“Yeah. Yeah, all right, then.”
________________________________________
“Ah, not Windermere, man. Far too commercial.” James has brought his laptop tonight, now their time off is booked. Four days and three nights, they’ve decided on, and they’re looking for a B&B. Robbie’s finding himself almost as enthusiastic about this as the Italian holiday he took with Lyn a couple of years ago, before the baby - and that’s despite this very likely being almost the last opportunity he’ll have to spend time with James.
He can’t help wondering if that thought’s also occurred to James. Is that why the lad invited - practically begged - him to come with him?
“Fair enough. I looked at Keswick, but that seems a bit too close to main roads and traffic. Ambleside?”
“Mmm.” He watches while James loads a site called TripAdvisor. “That one looks good. Rated...” He squints to see. “What, first out of 77 places?”
“Yes, and over 600 five-star reviews.” James scrolls through a few reviews, enough to verify that the guesthouse is as good as it seems, and then jumps to a new window. The Riverside Hotel does seem to be everything they want, and the prices are reasonable, though as always they’re based on per person sharing. Typical; always costs more to travel as a single person.
“We should look at a couple of others to be sure,” James suggests, switching back to TripAdvisor.
Robbie glances at the next two pages James loads, but shakes his head. “Still think the first one’s best.”
James goes back to the Riverside website, then looks at him for confirmation, and he nods. “Go for it. Can you book online?”
“Could do, but it’s very short notice. Better to phone.” He’s already dialling.
Robbie listens as James talks to someone at the hotel. It doesn’t sound positive. “Yes, I know it’s short notice. We were just hoping... Ah, only one room? Yeah, unfortunately we’d need-”
Robbie grasps James’s arm. “A double or a twin?”
“Twin,” James answers.
“Take it.”
James raises an eyebrow, but follows the instruction, providing his credit card details to hold the booking.
“You’re absolutely sure? I can call back and cancel.” James looks uncertain - though not, Robbie thinks, because he’d have a problem with sharing a room. He’s worried that Robbie might.
“Why wouldn’t I be? The room’s a decent size, judging by the photos on their site, an’ it’s not as if we haven’t stripped off or dressed in front of each other before.” In the gym, frequently, and times when James has arrived early to pick him up here and come into the bedroom to brief him while he finished dressing. “You don’t snore, do you?”
James blinks. “Actually, I have no idea.”
Robbie waves a hand. “I’ll just throw a pillow at you if you do. Or something heavier, depending on how loud you are.”
“Very kind of you.” James puts his wallet away. “Well, no backing out now, sir. It’s booked.”
Robbie raises an eyebrow. He’s not backing out, and James should know he wouldn’t. “Thought you were calling me Robbie now.”
James looks a little abashed. “That was a liberty I took in an attempt to persuade you to say yes.”
“I know that. Still hope you’re not planning on sirring me all the way around the Lake District, though. That’d just feel like you invited me on holiday under false pretences.”
“In that case, Robbie, the word ‘sir’ will leave my vocabulary entirely as soon as we set off from Oxford the day after tomorrow.”
________________________________________
Robbie picks James up bright and early on the day of their departure, a fine spring day with a clear blue sky and no rain whatsoever in the forecast. They’re sharing the driving, though he’ll take the first couple of hours. James thoughtfully provides coffee in travel mugs - and he’s brought CDs.
“None of them better be a bloody meditative whatsit or you’re travelling in the boot,” Robbie threatens.
“I think you’ll find that’s illegal, Robbie,” James points out, and loads a CD containing a Sixties mix. Robbie gives his approval.
Shortly after they join the M40, James asks him about his previous holidays in the Lake District. Robbie reminisces for a while about caravanning or camping holidays with Val and the kids, when they were young, and it dawns on him that it’s the first time he’s actually talked to James about stuff like this, ordinary events in the past with Val. It doesn’t even hurt any more, either; the memories are fond, not painful.
James smiles at an account of Mark accidentally getting into a field full of sheep and being scared by the one with the horns, and Robbie catches his breath. That’s the first smile he’s seen from the man in weeks, he thinks.
And, just as he’s also wishing that his friend had a happier childhood to look back on, James talks about running wild on the Crevecoeur estate with Paul and Scarlett and the other children. “We were very young then, of course,” he comments. “That was before... Well.” He shrugs lightly.
Before other things happened. “Before your family moved away,” Robbie says, keeping his tone casual. It’s never been acknowledged between them, what might have happened to James as a kid on that estate, and he suspects it never will be - but he’s pretty sure that James is aware of his suspicions.
Part of him hopes he’ll never find out the truth.
________________________________________
They stop for lunch in a pub on the edge of the Lake District National Park, where Robbie has a ploughman’s and James a mature cheddar and pickle on local granary bread, and then head for the guesthouse. After they’ve checked in and brought their bags up to the very nice room, they decide to take one of the recommended walks. It’s probably a bit ambitious - three or so hours, towards Grasmere and up and down a fell along the way - but the weather’s perfect for it and they’re both stiff after four or so hours in a car.
It’s one of the most enjoyable afternoons Robbie’s had in a long time. They don’t talk much - occasional comments on the scenery or wildlife, friendly greetings to passersby, and mutually mocking comments when James’s long legs mean he gets to the summit some time before Robbie. By the time the guesthouse is in sight, Robbie’s tired and in need of his dinner, but happy.
“I’ll sleep well tonight, even if you do snore.” He nudges James with his arm.
“What if you’re the one who snores?”
“I won’t be the one kept awake if I am.” Robbie grins, then adds, “I’m glad you asked me to come with you - even if you are a bloody longshanks on those hills. Never would’ve even thought of suggesting it myself, but it was a great idea.”
A rare, genuine smile appears - and stays - on James’s face. “I’m glad. Maybe we could do it again some time?”
“Yeah, I’d like that,” Robbie says immediately. “What d’you think about Scotland? Or Cornwall?”
“Sounds good, though there are places in Europe I’d like to visit too. Prague, Zagreb, Madrid, Dublin...” He hesitates, then adds, “I’d probably have to put it off for a bit, though.”
“Oh.” Is that James trying to get out of it? Well, he won’t make it hard for the lad. “Well, whatever you want. You can always just phone me, see if I’m free, if you do want to go some time.”
“I will,” James begins, but they’re greeted by the owner as they walk into the guesthouse, and the conversation’s interrupted.
________________________________________
It’s warm enough in the evening for them to eat in the beer garden. The local draught is excellent, and the steak and kidney pie’s so delicious that Robbie barely remembers to roll his eyes when James starts telling him about an order of Cistercian monks who had monasteries all over the Lake District and surrounding areas. Apparently there are still ruins around the place, the closest being Shap Abbey, though according to James the most interesting ruin is Furness Abbey over in Barrow-in-Furness.
Something about what James is saying sounds familiar. “Hang on, didn’t that lot have something to do with Carlisle Cathedral as well?”
He gets that complimentary, almost awed look that he swears James practises for times when Robbie surprises him with his knowledge. “Indeed they did. I take it Carlisle might appeal to you more than Barrow?”
Robbie shrugs. “Don’t mind going to both if you want.”
James blows out a cloud of smoke. “Should warn you, Furness Abbey - located, by the way, in the Vale of Deadly Nightshade, I kid you not - is supposed to be haunted. And Wordsworth wrote about it - And, on the mouldered walls, how bright, how gay, flowers in pearly dews their bloom renewing!”
Robbie snorts. “Show me something in the Lake District Wordsworth didn’t write about. Anyway, wouldn’t have thought you’d believe in ghosts any more than you do in clairvoyants or any of that stuff.”
“Charlatans.” James waves the hand holding his cigarette dismissively. “On the other hand, how does a headless monk on horseback appeal to you? Or the mysterious White Lady? There’s also the secret tunnel, alleged to exist but which no-one’s actually found in hundreds of years. Supposedly, the Holy Grail and King John’s missing jewels are in there. Now, that’d be a find.”
“Too much paperwork.” Robbie shakes his head. “But if we’re deciding on places to go, I’m insisting on the Keswick Brewing Company. Coniston Brewery as well if we have time.”
“Maybe we should’ve taken another couple of days.” James looks a bit regretful.
“We’re both owed the time. If we still fancy it day after tomorrow, I’ll phone Innocent and sort it.”
James blinks. “Does she know we’re here together?”
“I didn’t tell her. Hardly matters, though, does it, if you’re resigning.”
He was completely matter-of-fact about it, no indication in his voice or tone that he wishes otherwise, but James still winces. “I did say I’d think about it.”
“I know,” Robbie says. “But I’m not blind. I know you’ve not felt right about the job for a long time. If it’s the right time for you, well... you do what you need to, never mind about me.”
James is silent for close to a minute, smoking and gazing up at the fell in the distance. Then, finally, he says, “I won’t decide until our last night here, and I’ll tell you as soon as I do.”
Robbie nods. “What will you do? When you do leave, I mean. Cause you will, whether it’s now or when I go.”
“Drinks first.” James jumps up to head to the bar. He isn’t avoiding the issue, though. As soon as he’s back, he says, “Obviously going into research is one option. Regardless of Professor Pinnock’s very flattering offer, however, I don’t think I’d get a post without a research degree, so I’d have to apply to do a PhD. The other alternative, which seems to be more appealing the more I think about it, is teaching. I’d need a primary subject, though, since theology’s not enough. Which wouldn’t be too difficult - I could take something alongside a PGCE. English or history, probably.” He pauses to drink. “That’s why I said another holiday would have to wait a while, by the way. If I’m going to be a student, with no income, I wouldn’t be able to afford it for a few years.”
Oh. Well, that makes sense. Especially as university’s a lot more expensive than it used to be, now there’s fees for everything and they’re a lot higher than they were a year or so ago. Of course, there’s an obvious solution on the holiday thing, not that he’d suggest it now. Another time, and he’ll just have to figure out a way to get James to accept.
“You’ll be looking for scholarships, then? Cambridge or Oxford?”
“Wherever I get accepted, though I’d prefer Oxford, I think.” Is it his imagination, or is James avoiding looking at him? “What about you? When are you planning to retire?”
“Thought a cleverclogs like you would already have that information.”
James waves a hand dismissively. “I know when you’ll be sixty - just over a year away now.” Robbie nods. “But you don’t have to go on your birthday. You’ve got up to a year.”
“True.” He gazes into his pint. “Haven’t pinned it down to a day yet. Thought I’d probably just see how I feel. Other people have told me that it’s like you just wake up one day and you know it’s time.”
James nods. “I thought you’d decided it was time a couple of years ago. Not that I’m sorry you stayed on.”
“Ah, that was just Lyn naggin’ me. She was scared stiff about the baby coming and started worrying about everything else to pretend she wasn’t. Realised I wasn’t ready then, so I didn’t go.”
Didn’t want to at all, he realised, once he started to think seriously about what it would be like. Losing all the structure to his life in one fell swoop. Moving away from the place where he’s spent most of his life to a city where he only knows Lyn and Tim, and where he’d have no friends, little or nothing to do, and would more than likely end up the convenient childminder. Not that he doesn’t love little Jack, and he loves spending time with the toddler, but he’s done his share of childrearing, thanks very much.
And, too, once he discovered that James’s decision depended on him, that made it much easier. The more he’d thought about retiring, the more it’d dawned on him that he’d miss the people he worked with every day. Laura, James, some of their DCs - even Innocent and some of the other DIs and DCIs. James and Laura most of all, of course, and it’d depressed him to recognise that he and James would most likely drift apart pretty quickly once they stopped working together.
It won’t happen now, or at least he hopes not. One thing James’s invitation to join him on holiday suggests is that he’d like them to stay friends.
James nods. “And you’ll be off to Manchester once you do retire?”
Ah, now that’s definitely a hint of regret in James’s tone there. He shakes his head quickly. “Course I’ll spend more time there, but I’m still gonna stay in Oxford. Lived here too long to think about upping stakes an’ moving somewhere else.”
The smile he gets in response almost takes his breath away. “I’m glad. Wouldn’t want to have to drive a couple of hundred miles north any time I fancied a pint.”
Robbie smiles back, but it’s overtaken by a yawn. A glance at his watch shows that it’s after ten - where has the time gone? He didn’t even notice how dark it’s got, though the pub’s got excellent outdoor lighting. “Bedtime for me. If you want to stay up and read or whatever, I doubt you’ll wake me.”
James stands. “I’m tired too. Not as young as I used to be, sadly.”
“Yeah, right.” Robbie cuffs lightly at James’s shoulder as they walk side by side, arms occasionally brushing, out of the beer garden and back to the pub.
________________________________________
It’s either the country air or the long walk, but Robbie sleeps like a log. He couldn’t say whether James snores or not; all he knows when he wakes up the next morning to sunlight through the curtains is that he didn’t hear a thing.
He starts to sit up, and immediately James says, “Ah, you’re awake! I’ve just made coffee.”
“Could get used to this,” he comments as James, in T-shirt and underwear, puts the mug on his bedside cabinet.
“I thought you already were. Did you forget I usually bring you coffee in the mornings?”
“Not to me bedside.” Robbie settles back against the pillows.
James raises an eyebrow. “I’m not driving to your flat first thing every morning. On the other hand, if you have another solution...?” He actually waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Robbie flushes.
“It’s too early in the morning for your mockery. Go an’ shower,” he orders gruffly, and hears James chuckling lightly as he heads to the ensuite bathroom.
________________________________________
They decide to visit Furness in the morning and Windermere in the afternoon. The abbey’s more interesting than Robbie expected, even in the absence of ghosts and hidden tunnels.
As they’re strolling through the old cloisters, he asks a question that occurred to him as he was getting up. “You said last night that you’d need to go back to university first. You can’t do that until September and it’s only May now.” The lad’s surely not going to leave himself without income all that time?
“Yes, and it’s already almost too late to apply for September entrance, but I’m hoping to beg a few favours - I have met a few influential people in Oxford thanks to the job, after all. Assuming... you know, that I do decide to go.” James leads the way back out into the sunlight.
Robbie’s more and more convinced that, whatever James says about thinking about it, he is going. And he’s getting used to the idea, however much he dislikes it. “I was thinking about how you’d pay the bills until then.”
“Oh.” James smiles slightly. “I’m not that much of an idiot. I wouldn’t resign until term started.”
Relief - he’s not losing his sergeant immediately, then - is followed by concern. “Do you want me to... Innocent sometimes wants people willing to be relieved of regular duties to research an’ write some report she needs, for the Home Office or Chief Constable or whatever. I could recommend you next time it comes up.”
James looks alarmed. “Then I wouldn’t get to work with you.”
“Don’t be daft, man. We’d see each other around the station all the time, and there’d be nothing stopping us having a pint after work. It’d get you away from the constant murders.”
James’s hand brushes his back. “Thanks for the thought, but I’d still prefer to work with you. Unless she needs a senior officer and an assistant?”
“What, me working on a report? Only if you did all the writing and I got to... supervise. Which, just so we understand each other, means spending a lot of time thinking, Morse-style.”
“In the pub, while I do all the legwork?” James smirks faintly. “Innocent might have a word or two to say about that. Exploitation of valuable resources and so on.”
“Only if you tell her.” He switches tack to something he picked up on a few minutes ago. “Noticed you said Oxford, by the way. Last night you mentioned Cambridge too.”
“No, you mentioned Cambridge, actually. I did say I’d prefer to stay in Oxford if I can. As you said, my friends-” He glances briefly at Robbie, a meaningful look. “-are here.”
It’s flattering, all these hints and direct statements James is making about wanting to keep working with him as long as possible, wanting to stay in touch after he leaves the force, even going on holiday together again. Course, it’s not as if Robbie hasn’t known for a long time that James doesn’t seem to have any social life to speak of, nor friends that he sees regularly. As for family - well, he’s never mentioned any, and Robbie’s always sensed that enquiries wouldn’t be well-received. So, yeah, he’s not got anyone else - but at the same time James isn’t the type of person to cling to someone for lack of options. He actually likes being with Robbie. Okay, he likes being with the bloke as well, but it still doesn’t seem right that James doesn’t have anyone else. It doesn’t make sense that he’d want to be with Robbie - in work, outside work - so much that he’d stay in a job that makes him unhappy.
And it’s not as if he himself is eager to lose contact with James, anyway. God, his heart almost stopped the other day when he saw that hypodermic sticking out of James’s neck brace.
He’s given up trying to hint James towards what other people might think he should be doing with his free time. It’s not worked before, so why should it now? And James isn’t so much of a young lad any more. He’s capable of making up his own mind - and entitled to do so.
All the same... “You want to watch it. At this rate, you’ll end up being me designated contact when I’m in the old folks’ home.”
James says nothing, but Robbie catches sight of the expression on his face. It’s almost as if he’d want that.
And what’s almost as much of a shock is Robbie’s realisation that he’d be more than disappointed if James wasn’t part of his life at that point.
Robbie wraps his arm briefly around James’s shoulders. “Come on, I’m getting hungry.”
________________________________________
Although it’s been another day with a lot of walking, little of it’s been uphill and Robbie’s not so exhausted by evening. They have another leisurely pub meal - a different pub this time, about twenty minutes from the guesthouse - and stroll back shortly after ten again.
They go straight up to their room where, by mutual agreement, they read for a while before bed. James soon becomes engrossed in something Robbie would never in a million years pick up: Witness To The Fullness Of Light: The Vision and Relevance of the Benedictine Monk Swami Abhishiktananda, while he himself is reading Extraordinary Beliefs: A Historical Approach to a Psychological Problem, a book he picked up in Blackwell’s a couple of days after they arrested Dutta. It’s about why people believe in psychics and mediums, but doesn’t tear the phenomenon apart the way Crane and his did; it explores the history and psychology behind the practice.
When he gets the book out of his bag, James glances his way, then looks again with a concentrated stare, putting down his own book and reaches out to pluck the book out of Robbie’s hands. “Oi!”
James ignores the protest, reading the back cover and then skimming a couple of inside pages before handing the book back. “I’d like to borrow that when you’ve finished, if you don’t mind.”
It’s tempting to mock, but tonight Robbie’s feeling mellow and relaxed. “Course. Won’t be asking to return the favour, though.” He gestures towards James’s own book.
“It’s very spiritually uplifting,” James assures him.
“I’ll bear that in mind, should I feel my spirits need uplifting. Mind, I generally find a decent pint or two of bitter sorts my spirits out quite well enough, thank you.”
James’s lips twitch, and he quirks an eyebrow. “Naturally. For malt does more than Milton can to justify God's ways to man.”
“Oh, yeah? Who’s that, then? Hardly your spiritually uplifting Benedictine monk.”
“AE Housman, actually.” James returns to his book and they both carry on reading, until around half an hour later when, by mutual consent, they prepare for bed.
________________________________________
The following day, they drive north, spending the morning walking around parts of Derwentwater before heading to Keswick for lunch and then the microbrewery Robbie’s interested in. It’s another leisurely day, with neither of them wanting to pack too much in, but conscious that there are other things they’d both like to do in the area.
As they leave the microbrewery, having decided to stop at Thirlmere for another lakeside stroll on the way back to Ambleside, Robbie says, “So I’ll phone Innocent and tell her we’re taking another couple of days, yeah?”
“If you’re sure, then yes, please. It’d give us time to see a few more lakes and get to Carlisle.”
As far as he’s concerned, it’s a no-brainer. He makes the call while James drives, and about twenty minutes later they pull into the small car park.
Walking across the gravelled area towards the footpath, Robbie halts abruptly and bends down. As he thought - a bloody used hypodermic. “Selfish sodding idiots,” he mutters, bending down to pick it up using his handkerchief. He wraps it carefully and puts it in the small rucksack they’ve been using to carry water, raincoats and the like.
“They just don’t care, do they?” James sounds as angry as he does.
Robbie resumes walking. “We never talked about it, did we?”
James’s glance in his direction is amused puzzlement. For once, it appears his cleverclogs friend can’t follow his thoughts.
“You, almost getting killed.”
James halts and glances briefly in his direction again, frowning this time. “We don’t do that.”
“Maybe we should.”
“Ah.” James gestures towards the narrow path leading down to the lake. They walk together, and James doesn’t speak again until they’re some distance from the car park. “You think that’s why I’m considering leaving the force?”
“Hardly. I know you’ve been wanting to leave for a long time, remember. And you’ve been... broody for a while.”
“I’m not a bloody hen!”
“Know that. But you know what I mean, smartarse.”
After a moment, James gives him a wry look. “Yes.”
“I know it’s not the first time either of us has come close, but this time...” Robbie sighs. “You had to watch Vicki die, and for all you knew you were about to go the same way. Had to be...” He gestures, uncomfortable about putting it into words.
“Petrifying? You could say, especially when I was trying to fight her off. Though I didn’t even know she’d stabbed it into me until I saw your face.”
Robbie doesn’t need to ask. If even a fraction of the ice-cold terror he felt had shown on his face, it would have been obvious. Looking at James, seeing the needle sticking out of the brace and remembering what Laura’d told him about both Reuben Bowen and Vicki’s deaths from that same drug. Remembering the haunted look on James’s face after he’d held Vicki as she died. Believing in that moment that James was seconds away from dying in exactly the same way and there wasn’t one fucking thing he could do about it - either to stop it happening or offer even a shred of comfort to him as he died.
And even now, standing here, all he can see is James lying on the ground, not moving, eyes staring fixedly upwards. He smells the crushed flowers and the mingled food aromas from all around the market. And all he can hear is the muted sounds of passers-by, bloody Katherine Dutta’s protests, and the frantic pounding of his own heart. His voice as he begs James to speak to him...
There’s a hand gently touching his face. “Robbie. Robbie. Look at me.”
He blinks. James is standing in front of him, so very close, with one hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his cheek. He’s just spoken to Robbie the way he’s heard the bloke talk to countless shocked victims or witnesses, but he’s never before seen such tender caring in James’s eyes.
“I...” He has to stop and swallow before he can continue. “Thought I was losing you, right in front of me eyes,” he manages after a long pause, and barely recognises his own voice.
James’s eyes widen and his expression changes, revealing something Robbie scarcely knows how to put a name to. He steps closer, and Robbie’s chest feels as if his T-shirt’s suddenly shrunk two sizes.
“What-?” he begins, but abruptly two hikers come around the corner behind them and overtake them, walking and talking noisily.
James steps back. “Come on. The lake’s this way.”
________________________________________
Back at the hotel, James is his normal imperturbable self. “Do you want to go straight out to dinner?” he asks as they leave the car.
Robbie swallows. There’s no way he could sit across a table from James right now, not with everything that’s in his head, everything he’s been thinking about since that moment on the path. “No.” His voice still sounds odd, not his own. “Let’s go upstairs first.”
James disappears into the bathroom, and Robbie’s got an extra few minutes to try to find the words he needs. It’s not easy - it’s not a conversation he’s ever in his wildest dreams imagined having with his awkward sod of a best friend. But not only can he not avoid it now, he doesn’t want to.
“Where were you thinking of for toni...” James, coming out of the bathroom, trails off and his expression turns wary. Robbie can barely imagine what must be visible on his own face.
“How long have I been missing it?” he asks.
James frowns. “Sorry, what-?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know.” Robbie sinks down onto the nearest bed. “I’m the one who never saw it - in you or me. God knows why. It’s not as if I’ve not had enough clues, including you nearly getting killed.”
James’s eyes close briefly. He looks despairing, until he turns away, preventing Robbie from seeing his face. In a low voice, he says, “I’m sorry. I never meant you to-”
“For god’s sake, man.” Robbie cuts across him. “I’m not- Was I running away from you earlier?”
“You were in shock.” James is still not looking at him. “I took advantage-”
Okay. Clearly talking’s not going to do it - which is a relief, since it’s hardly Robbie’s strong point, at least on this sort of topic. He was bad enough with Val, but now, with a bloke not much more than half his age... He stands abruptly, walks around James and reaches for the younger man’s face, tugging him down. Before James can react, Robbie reaches up and kisses him.
It’s no surprise that the kiss is good - once James recovers from his evident shock and kisses back. Once everything he knew about himself, about James and about their relationship got reassembled in his head down by Thirlmere, it didn’t take much imagination at all to know that - once he found the courage to act on his new knowledge - the chemistry between them would be bloody fantastic.
What he didn’t expect was for it to be even better than fantastic. Or that he’d be the one pulling James down onto one of the single beds within five minutes of starting to kiss him.
Later, they’re lying in a sweaty, sticky tangle when James says, his voice rumbling against Robbie’s chest, “You probably should have considered before we did this. You’ll never get rid of me now.”
“Idiot.” Robbie swipes at James’s arm. “What, you actually believe I think this is just a shag? For either of us? I’ll let you resign from the force, if you must, but if you think you’re escaping me apart from that you’ve got another think coming, bonny lad.”
James shifts closer and kisses him. “Just as well. For where thou art, there is the world itself, And where thou art not, desolation.”
Robbie can almost feel his heart expand. He tightens his arm around James. “So who’s that, then?”
“Shakespeare. Henry IV. Of course, you could have Dickens, from The Mystery of Edwin Drood.” He continues, tone dry and amused, “I love you, love you, love you! If you were to cast me off now - but you will not - you would never be rid of me. No one should come between us. I would pursue you to the death.”
“Sounds like a bloody stalker.” All the same, he squeezes James’s hand. “I got you, babe,” he half-sings, and laughs aloud when James groans.
________________________________________
When they do go out for dinner, Robbie stops at the front desk and books another two nights, this time asking for a proper double room. It’s mid-week now, and he’s happy to find that there is one available.
He doesn’t quite feel relaxed enough about his new status as a bloke involved in a gay relationship to hold James’s hand as they walk to the pub - the same one they went to the first evening - but he does manage, accidentally on purpose, to brush his hand against James’s several times on the way. Once, James strokes his fingers lightly, without for a moment breaking off his commentary on the easy life CID officers must have in this part of the country. “What do you reckon, maybe two suspicious deaths a year? The odd break-in at someone’s holiday cottage? Got to be a sinecure.”
“What, you think we should apply for a transfer to the local force?”
“It’s tempting.” James’s lips curve upwards. “Shame you’re retiring in a year.”
“You’ll just have to get a teaching job up here instead an’ look after me in me retirement.” Robbie smirks at him, arching an eyebrow.
James just smiles, slow and gentle, and with that a plan of sorts falls silently, implicitly into place. They don’t know the details yet, but they’ll work those out as they go along - and, now he thinks about it, that’s what they’ve already been doing over the last couple of days, isn’t it?
The details aren’t important, anyway.
What’s important is that this holiday isn’t an ending after all. It’s a beginning.
- end