Lewis Smallfandombang Fic: Terra Incognita 4/7
Story: Terra Incognita
Author: wendymr
Artist:
wallflower18
Rated: Mature
Characters: Robbie Lewis, James Hathaway, Jean Innocent, Laura Hobson, Julie Lockhart, original characters
Summary: The two of them have always been more effective together than apart.
Warning: [Under spoiler cut (PLEASE READ if you are prone to triggers)]
References and some descriptions through much of the story to physical and sexual violence against women, and one 'live action' scene containing threat of violence, all in the context of criminal acts. May be triggery for some.
Many, many thanks to my brilliant artist,
wallflower18, for the gorgeous banners, chapter headers and icon. Please, if you like her artwork, send her kudos and compliments! Also much appreciation to my BRs, uniquepov and lindenharp, for both editing assistance and cheerleading as I was writing. And thanks to the organisers of smallfandombang for all their work in organising this fic event.
Chapters will be posted at intervals throughout the day.
Chapter 1: Strange Land ~ Chapter 2: Initiation ~ Chapter 3: A Fine Evening for a Stroll
Chapter 4: Going Home
Once they’re alone, outside the station and walking towards Robbie’s car, James finds himself tongue-tied. He’s always been crap at this sort of thing: putting things right after he’s made a mistake. He never even managed to apologise to Lewis after lying to him over and over on both the Will McEwan case and at Crevecoeur, after all, did he?
Lewis - Robbie, though he won’t be allowed to use that name again, will he? - forgave him both times, but this is different. This time he... Christ, he took advantage of the kindest, most decent man he’s ever known. He practically assaulted his boss, kissing him and then pressing him into a sexual encounter without giving him a chance to consent or not. Oh, yes, Lewis participated, but it’s not something he ever would have initiated himself, or gone along with if he hadn’t been affected by what they’d both just been through.
How can he possibly beg forgiveness for that? How could Lewis bring himself to forgive that?
What’s worse is that he knows Lewis is heterosexual, has been all his life, and is still in love with his dead wife. He pushed himself at a man who would never have freely consented to sexual relations with another man, let alone his sergeant.
Should he tell Lewis of his intention to resign now? Or wait until they’re back in Oxford and hand in his papers? Or do nothing and give Lewis the opportunity to file disciplinary action - or criminal charges?
He’s still trying to formulate a sentence that will tell Lewis how deeply sorry he is when, abruptly, his boss speaks. “Glad that’s over. Tell the truth, I hope I never have to meet any of those tossers again. Dunno how you managed to put up with them for three months.”
It takes a moment or two for Lewis’s words to sink in, for James to recognise that the first thing his boss has said isn’t related to what he did back at the flat - and that, in fact, Lewis’s tone was remarkably friendly.
He makes some sort of sound of agreement. Lewis clearly doesn’t notice anything strange, because he adds immediately, “I’ve got to get my stuff from the caravan, and you need to pack. I’ll drop you off first an’ then come back for you, all right? Or would you prefer to sleep first an’ we can leave in the morning?”
The sooner they’re back in Oxford the better, as far as James is concerned. But Lewis generally needs his sleep, and it’s after three in the morning. “Which would you prefer?”
“This hour of the night, it’ll take barely two an’ a half hours. Could be in me own bed by just after six.” Lewis glances at him again as they stop at the car. “Though I forgot. You left the keys to your flat at the station for safe-keeping.” He gets into the driver’s seat. “Ah, not a problem. You can come home with me. Kip on the couch for a few hours.”
James has to stop himself from staring at his boss. It doesn’t make sense. Lewis is talking as if nothing happened. He’s actually offering to make James welcome in his flat.
“Sir...” he begins, though he has no idea at all of what he’s going to say.
Lewis gives him a sharp look as he manoeuvres the car into the road. “Ah, for god’s sake, do we have to go back to that already? We’re not even back in Oxford, man!” Lewis sighs. “Look, why don’t we try this? Sir at work, Robbie off-duty.”
It must be sleep deprivation; that’s why none of this is making sense. Although it is only shortly after three. They’ve been up all night on cases before and he’s not had this sort of hallucinatory experience - and neither has Lewis suffered from apparent amnesia.
It’s not much more than five minutes from the station to James’s flat, and he manages to exit the car without, he hopes, sounding like too much of an idiot. He has around half an hour before Lewis - no, still Robbie - will be back, in which time he has to sort out personal belongings from items provided by Dorset CID, and leave the flat in some sort of reasonable state.
Not that there’s much here that he needs to take with him, anyway. His instructions had been to travel as light as possible and bring nothing that could in any way identify him as Detective Sergeant James Hathaway or link him with Oxford. A very small amount of his own clothes, his guitar - with some soul-searching, but in the end he couldn’t face being separated from it for months on end - and his iPod. It’ll take ten minutes at most to throw everything into a rucksack.
The bed has to be his first priority. He bundles up the sheets and throws them in the washing machine; it’s got a drying cycle, which is just as well since he won’t be here to sort that. There is absolutely no way he wants anyone else coming into this place and seeing evidence of... well.
God, how could he have imagined for one second that Lewis wanted him like that? It’s as clear as day now; what he thought was Robbie reaching up to touch his face was nothing of the kind. He can hear his boss’s words now: You’ve got something in your- Something in his hair, maybe. Probably from that cigarette he’d shredded just before Lewis arrived. And the hug - that was only for comfort.
“Congratulations, James. You’ve gone and fucked everything up again.”
______________________________________
James is quiet once they’re on the A34. Hardly surprising, really. The bloke’s had a bloody awful few months, not to mention what happened earlier. Being faced with the choice of blowing his own cover - and probably getting killed as a result - and doing harm to that young girl... no wonder he’s not himself.
“Put the seat back and get your head down for a couple of hours if you want,” he suggests. “I’m fine driving.”
“Don’t think I could sleep, but thanks.” There it is again, that strain in the lad’s voice. He knows only too well that there’s no point asking what’s up. James won’t say. Never does.
Best just change the subject, then. Distract him.
“I was gonna wait until we were back in Oxford before bringing this up, but since we’ve got a couple of hours to kill now... might as well get it over with, I suppose.”
He’s glancing in James’s direction as he finishes speaking, and catches sight of the alarmed - no, almost appalled - expression on his sergeant’s face. He frowns. “James?”
James’s swallow is audible. “Sir - no, don’t correct me, please,” he adds hurriedly as Robbie sighs. “I... I know I owe you an apology. No, more than that. You have every right to be furious about what I did, and I-”
Robbie cuts across his stammering ramble. “What are you on about? You’re making no sense at all.” Abruptly, he frowns. “I hope you’re not referring to the way you went nuclear on Carson’s arse back there? Because I couldn’t be prouder of you for that. You were bloody brilliant.”
As he glances across again, he sees James’s hands curled into fists on his lap. “No, that’s not - but thank you.” James swallows again. “I meant at the flat. I sincerely apol-”
Oh, Christ, so that’s it. The lad’s got himself in a panic about getting carried away earlier. Clearly, just ignoring it isn’t going to work after all.
And, again, Robbie can’t help but feel the irony of it. He and James had sex, and who’s the one going into a tailspin about it? Course, it is bloody odd that he isn’t bothered about it himself. Maybe it’s just not sunk in yet that he wanked off, and was wanked off by, his bagman. No, his friend. But still, his very male and very young friend. He should be feeling awkward and embarrassed, at the very least. The fact that he’s not... well, is it just that he’s so comfortable around James now that even snogging him and falling into bed with him doesn’t seem strange?
Is this how he reacts to dangerous incidents on cases now? Instead of a pint or two at the Trout, he-
Now who’s going into panic-mode? But he’s not - well, not about the sex. Having a melt-down about the fact that he’s not having a melt-down is just ridiculous. As is James getting himself tied up in knots about it.
Right; well, that’s easily sorted.
“Oh, don’t be so gormless! We were both on edge after what happened in the wood, an’ then relieved that everything turned out okay. Nothin’ to apologise for.” He shakes his head. “Forget it - I have.”
“I...” He can feel James looking at him, his shock almost tangible. “Thank you.”
Right. Because that makes him feel so much better. Robbie turns his attention back to the road, glad of the lack of lighting along the road so James can’t see his face. Of course he knew the bloke wasn’t really attracted to an old fart like him, that it was just the circumstances, but it’s hardly a compliment, all the same, that a five-minute mutual wank with him’s got James this worked up and desperate to wipe it out.
Not that he’s looking for anything more with James - it’s not as if he’s even gay, is he? But it’s the principle that matters.
Ah, it’s not important, is it?
He steers the car around a hairpin turn, then glances back at James. “What I actually wanted to talk about is your career. Specifically, your next move. I think it’s time you started studying for OSPRE.”
“What?” There’s an edge to James’s voice that says he’s not at all happy.
“You’re ready for it, man. Was obvious to me back there with Carson, though it should’ve been before now.”
“And what if I don’t want promotion?” That edge is still there.
Robbie hesitates. He never expected this. James was supposed to be the high-flyer, the fast-tracked graduate entrant. He’s not chasing after the next rank? “You don’t?” he says, aware as the words emerge that he sounds like a sodding idiot.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” James asks - though it’s more of an accusation.
“What?” Sod it, what made him think this was a suitable conversation to have while driving? If it wasn’t almost four in the morning, he’d pull into the closest transport café and have it out with James face to face. Can’t, though. Even if there were anything open, if he stops now he’ll be too tired for the rest of the journey.
He’s too weary to be anything but bluntly honest. “Don’t be daft. If I had my way, you’d be with me until I retire. But that’s not fair to you. You’re too good a copper to trot around after me for the next four or five years.”
“I see.” It’s spoken in that bland Hathaway tone that gives away absolutely nothing.
“You should be thinking about promotion. And, as your governor, I should be encouraging you. Mentoring you.” Robbie shakes his head. “Not that Morse ever did that for me - but then I’d never’ve taken lessons from Morse in how to treat a bagman.” He smiles faintly, fondly. “If you really don’t want it, though... well, it’s up to you. I won’t push you.”
James exhales, a long breath, and when he speaks the suspicious, resentful note’s completely gone from his voice. “I appreciate your belief in me. It does mean a lot. But I don’t know if I’m ready. Not sure when I will be, really. I feel there’s so much more I can learn from you.”
“Ah, it’s not as if we’d never run into each other once you’re promoted,” Robbie makes himself point out, much as he wants to accept James’s reluctance as the final word. “An’ you could always talk to me if you needed to. I wouldn’t suddenly stop going for a pint with you.”
With a wry curl to his lips, James says, “Wouldn’t you have to do your duty by your replacement bagman?”
“It’s not an obligation, y’know.” Robbie just about stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Look, think about it,” he adds. “I think you’re ready. If it was up to me, I’d tell Innocent to put you down for the exams like a shot. Don’t hold yourself back because you’re comfortable working with me, all right?”
“I’ll think about it,” James promises. “Now, can we talk about something else, please?”
______________________________________
“Come on in.” Robbie leads the way into the flat, snapping on a light in the hallway, and James follows. “You know the way. Why don’t you use the bathroom while I get a pillow and a blanket for you? If you need a toothbrush, there should be a spare under the sink.”
James just stops in the hall, barely absorbing Robbie’s words as he takes in the familiar sight of his boss’s flat. It’s finally sinking in that he’s home. Back in Oxford - and back to being James Hathaway again. No more Jim Henderson, petty criminal and would-be drug runner.
God, it feels... what? He can’t even put it into words.
“James?” He blinks, then realises that Robbie is standing in front of him, one brow raised as he studies him. “You really are wiped out, aren’t you? Should’ve tried to sleep in the car.”
“It’s not that.” He tries to explain. “It just suddenly hit me that it’s over, I think. I can be myself again.”
Robbie steps closer and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, I know. First time undercover, wasn’t it? It’s never easy, an’ especially not in a long job like this one, never mind the danger.”
James dips his head. “You did try to warn me, I know.”
Robbie’s expression is endlessly patient. “Just wanted you to think it all through, that’s all. I knew it’d be good experience. Though if I’d known what Moore and his team would be like...”
“Yeah.” But it’s over - even though it’s not, really - and he doesn’t want to talk about it any more. “Look, just tell me where to find the blankets and I’ll sort myself out. You go to bed, please.”
Robbie hesitates, then directs him to the hall cupboard. “Innocent doesn’t know we’re back, so I reckon we can sleep until early afternoon if we want. Then we’ll get you sorted properly.
James barely sleeps, despite being so tired he was ready to drop by the time he’d made up the sofa. There’s too much in his brain: vivid images of violence and weapons and murderous intent, and the terror in the eyes of the girl Robbie says is called Maria Cristina. Fear of him, of what she was convinced he was going to do to her.
Rape. Such an ugly word. Uglier than murder, somehow. Worse? Difficult to say. Murder’s final, the death of the body, the consignment of the soul to judgement before it’s fully prepared. Rape is a life sentence of memories of pain and invasion and humiliation. It can change a person beyond recognition. Even where consent is dubious at best, the effect on a person can be devastating. Did Robbie change tonight? But he says it was nothing. Mutual. Circumstances. Not worth remembering. Not worth repeating, therefore. Got carried away, nothing more.
Robbie got carried away? Robbie gave in because he felt sorry for him, more likely, assuming James gave him the opportunity to think clearly at the time.
Forget it. I have.
Can’t forget it, though, can he? Holding Robbie. Kissing Robbie. Touching him. Licking the skin of his neck and throat. Nibbling that ear he’s always rubbing. Holding Robbie’s cock in the palm of his hand. Stroking it, squeezing it, feeling it respond. Wanting to lick and suck it, but no time, not this time. Wanting to make him come, lose control, cry out James’s name mid-orgasm. Wanting to lie with him afterwards, limbs tangled, damp skin clinging, breath mingling in sleepy kisses.
Wanting to wake up and do it all over again. Only it didn’t turn out like that.
He tosses and turns, alternately too hot and too cold as the inescapable images flash through his mind. This is what he has become. This is who James Hathaway is beneath the veneer he knows he shows to the world. Useless in the face of danger. Selfish, obsessive and unworthy of Lewis’s forgiveness and, yes, compassion.
He can - must - will do better. Whatever it takes.
______________________________________
James looks at Robbie blearily when he walks into the living-room not long after noon. Of course, the bloke wears contacts - and, yes, there’s one of those little plastic containers on the coffee table - so he probably isn’t seeing that clearly. But he doesn’t look like someone who’s had a decent six hours’ sleep either.
“I’d make coffee, but I haven’t got anything in,” he points out, apology in his voice. “Though if you’re as knackered as you look, why don’t you just go an’ sleep in my bed for a couple of hours? I’ll go and get some shopping before heading to the station, so you can get yourself something when you want to get up.”
“No, there’s no need for that.” James throws the blanket aside and swings his bare legs to the floor. “I just need...” He frowns for a moment. “A shower, if you don’t mind, and a cigarette. I brought the shaving kit I had at the flat.” He rakes a hand through his untidy hair that’s far longer than Robbie could ever have imagined on James, but of course cutting it would have ruined his cover. “I just don’t have appropriate work clothing.”
“Ah, you don’t need to worry about that.” Robbie perches on the arm of the sofa, next to James. “You don’t even need to come into work. After what you just came back from, you’re probably due at least a couple of weeks’ leave.” A quick glance at James’s face tells him that leave is the last thing his sergeant wants. “But, all right, if you don’t want that we’ll go in together. I doubt Innocent will have a problem with how you’re dressed, an’ anyway it’s not as if we’d be back on the rotation immediately. Go on.” He waves in the general direction of the bathroom. “Sort yourself out. We’ll stop for lunch on the way in.”
It’s around half past one when they finally make it to the station. James catches several curious glances as they walk through the public area and then up the stairs, but other than an occasional nod or a smile in response to a shout of Welcome back, sir! neither of them acknowledges their curious colleagues.
They have to see Innocent first; Robbie’s been away for a month, as well, and there’s every possibility that their office has been commandeered by other officers in the meantime. And anyway, James’s warrant card and keys - car, office and even his flat, for safe-keeping - are locked in Innocent’s safe. He can’t even go home to change without seeing the Chief Super.
“Robbie! James!” She’s already standing in the outer office as Robbie taps on the door. The grapevine’s working normally, then; the desk sergeant obviously reported their presence. “Come in. I heard you had a major breakthrough last night.”
“DI Carson, Ma’am?” Robbie will be very interested to hear the version of events Innocent’s been told.
“DCI Moore, actually. He called to thank me for the loan of two outstanding officers.”
James glances at Robbie, his mouth turned down at the corners and his brows raised. Robbie’s sentiments exactly; he had not imagined either senior officer would be their biggest fans. But it seems that the report Innocent received was very positive, citing James as a highly observant, resourceful officer who demonstrated significant initiative and the ability to think on the spot, as well as excellent skills of analysis and logical thinking.
“There’ll be a commendation on the way for you, James,” Innocent adds, laying down the printed-out email. “From Dorset Police, but I expect it will be echoed by Oxford CID. Excellent work - I’m very proud of you, and I’m sure Inspector Lewis is as well.”
James looks as if he’d prefer to be anywhere else other than standing in Innocent’s office listening to this. “Thank you, Ma’am.” His tone is stiffly polite. “Though last night’s major breakthrough, and the arrests made, are largely thanks to Inspector Lewis.”
“So I understand, though they could not have happened had it not been for the groundwork you laid so successfully.”
Robbie decides that it’s time to intervene. “Ma’am, there are some things that DCI Moore may not have told you about. James has some serious concerns about the way the case was handled, and I agree with him.”
“Go on.”
After they’ve explained, Innocent frowns. “Strictly speaking, it’s not any of our business. We don’t have the right to interfere. All the same, if poor decision-making put one of my officers at risk...” She taps a pen on her desk. “Leave this with me. I take it you made your concerns clear?”
James is silent, so Robbie answers for him. “Yes, Ma’am. Very effectively and professionally, naturally.”
“Naturally.” She continues tapping, then pauses. “Very well. Again, excellent work, Sergeant Hathaway. I do hope, however, that normal sartorial standards will resume as of tomorrow? Including a haircut?”
“Of course, Ma’am. I do need my keys back, however.”
James gets his keys and warrant card, and then Innocent sends him away. “Robbie, should I be worried about him?”
If he could be sure of the answer to that himself... If only the lad wasn’t so reluctant to admit when he needs help, or unwilling to talk about experiences that have upset him. Not that Robbie can criticise him for that; he’s not exactly a sharer himself, to use what seems to be the popular expression these days. He’d thought he was making something of a breakthrough with James the evening he arrived in Abbotsbury, given the bloke revealed more than usual about how the case was affecting him. But now, though Robbie knows damn well that James isn’t all right, he’s closed off again.
Hardly surprising. Having to go through that experience in the woods, discovering what it was he was expected to do, is enough to give anyone nightmares. And James cares. He hasn’t become hardened by the job like so many other coppers have, and - although he’d find the work a lot easier to live with if he did - Robbie hopes he never does.
He grimaces as he responds to Innocent. “I’m keepin’ an eye on him. Leave him to me.”
“All right, but you will let me know if there’s a problem, won’t you? And if you could persuade him to see the psychologist...”
He’s already shaking his head before Innocent has finished. No chance James will agree to that. And it’s true that in the past the best counselling - for either of them - has been a pint or two shared in companionable silence, repeated as often as necessary. That’s already his plan for this evening.
“One other thing, Robbie. It occurs to me, based on what I’ve heard, that it’s really time we were planning for James’s promotion. I’ve got a set of OSPRE preparation materials for him-”
Robbie holds up a hand. “Ma’am, I really think it’d be for the best not to mention that at the moment, eh? Give him time to settle back here first. I’ll bring it up with him when the time’s right.”
Innocent accepts that, though with clear reluctance, and he’s dismissed. Back in their shared office, James is already reading emails, and he starts on the same task. There isn’t really any point in getting started on anything major. They’ll be back on the rotation as of tomorrow, and before too long there’ll be a new case.
At shortly after half-five, he starts to shut down. “Comin’ for a pint?”
James glances up, already shaking his head. “Thanks, but I really need to get home and see what state the flat’s in, and get some shopping in, not to mention a haircut.” He tugs at a forelock, grimacing. “See you in the morning, yeah?”
“If you’re sure.” He’d like to insist, but has no real grounds to argue, other than reasons he knows James would resist. He can’t leave it at that, though. “Look, call me, yeah? If you need... anything.” Someone to talk to, he’d like to say, but can’t get the words out.
“Of course, sir,” James says, tone smoothly professional, and he’s already turning back to his computer. Robbie’s starting to feel a bit foolish standing beside James’s desk with his jacket on, so after a moment he leaves. And spends the rest of the evening, and half the night, telling himself that he’s worrying about nothing and James will be okay.
If only he could believe it.
______________________________________
In some ways, it’s surprisingly easy to slip back into the routine. There’s a new case the day after, the murder of a city businessman who’s also an ex-con - so naturally the investigation focuses on his former criminal activities and associates while in prison. (It turns out to have nothing whatsoever to do with the victim’s past life, and everything to do with a resentful ex-employee, but the detour around several different paths of enquiry exercises James’s brain and helps him to get used to being a detective again rather than a pretend layabout, and to prove, as much to himself as to anyone else, that he’s a responsible professional more than capable of doing the job he’s paid for).
Lewis is worried about him; it doesn’t take more than that first afternoon back at work to see that. But not only does he not need anyone worrying about him, he doesn’t want it. Either he can do the job or he can’t; it’s as simple as that. Push the nightmares aside; even if he still believes he could have done more to save that woman whose death he had to witness - and whose name he still doesn’t know; the Colombian police still haven’t been able to identify her - he can tell himself over and over that he tried. And he was partly instrumental in breaking the smuggling network up. No more women will be facing a brutal, terrifying death, at least not through this particular route.
He can - he must - put it behind him. Other coppers do. Lewis has dealt with many cases equally as bad as that, or worse. He’s still able to get up every morning and do the job, and James knows damn well that Lewis isn’t heartless, hasn’t lost that essential empathy that James admires so much in him.
Put the case behind him - and put the aftermath, that stolen hour in Jim Henderson’s flat, behind him as well. That’s easier to manage if he keeps his distance from Lewis as much as possible, beyond a pint after work once or twice a week - if he didn’t do at least that much, he knows he’d offend his boss.
If he were to allow himself to get too close to Lewis again, to spend time with him in a more relaxed environment like they did in Abbotsbury from time to time when they were able to let themselves forget about the case for a stolen half-hour or so; if he allowed himself to let Lewis become Robbie again, he’d never be able to rid his mind of the memory of kissing Lewis, of having sex and falling asleep together. It’s not that he still thinks he forced Lewis into anything; rational thought, which returned a day or two after they got back to Oxford and once he’d had a couple of decent nights’ sleep, told him that if Lewis really hadn’t wanted it in that moment he could and would easily have stopped James. But Lewis made his feelings on the subject very clear: it happened in the heat of the moment, and won’t be repeated.
Forget it. I have.
It’s all easier said than done - forgetting what happened with Lewis, and forgetting what happened in Abbotsbury.
It helps that there’s good news on that score, a month or so after they left Dorset. Further investigation, based on interviews with the arrested suspects and with locals at the ports now under suspicion, led to suspects further up the chain, and there’s now a real chance that they’re close to arresting the kingpin of the operation. Best of all, as far as James is concerned, there’ve been no more mutilated bodies of young Hispanic women found abandoned anywhere in Dorset. Or, yet, anywhere else in the country. That, above all, makes those three bloody awful months worthwhile.
Also, it’s very likely that Maria Cristina will be granted asylum in the UK. He and Lewis both wrote to the Home Office, as they’d said they would, and the formal response they received soon after informed them that DCI Moore had already made a strong case for exceptional leave to remain, due to the valuable information Maria Cristina provided to the investigation, leading to major arrests and the collapse of a significant drugs network.
And, of course, with every confession Dorset CID extracts from people further up the chain, the likelihood that he or Lewis - or both - will be needed to give evidence in person, beyond their written statements, recedes further.
He might yet be able to put it all behind him.
But then they’re called to investigate the murder of Bibiana Santos, a maid at the Malmaison who’s been found dead in Christchurch Meadow. She’s been raped and murdered, with savage knife-wounds inflicted ante-mortem. James gets to the scene before Lewis, though after Dr Hobson has started her preliminary examination. He takes one look at the woman’s body, and has to rush away as his stomach rebels.
He vomits up his breakfast near a clump of trees - and looks up immediately afterwards to see his boss standing in front of him, face creased in concern.
Salva me, Domine. Salva me.
“I can’t do this any more, sir. I’m sorry.” Without another word, and without waiting for Lewis to answer, he turns and bolts for his car.
______________________________________
Chapter 5: Exeunt
Author: wendymr
Artist:
wallflower18
Rated: Mature
Characters: Robbie Lewis, James Hathaway, Jean Innocent, Laura Hobson, Julie Lockhart, original characters
Summary: The two of them have always been more effective together than apart.
Warning: [Under spoiler cut (PLEASE READ if you are prone to triggers)]
References and some descriptions through much of the story to physical and sexual violence against women, and one 'live action' scene containing threat of violence, all in the context of criminal acts. May be triggery for some.
Many, many thanks to my brilliant artist,
wallflower18, for the gorgeous banners, chapter headers and icon. Please, if you like her artwork, send her kudos and compliments! Also much appreciation to my BRs, uniquepov and lindenharp, for both editing assistance and cheerleading as I was writing. And thanks to the organisers of smallfandombang for all their work in organising this fic event.
Chapters will be posted at intervals throughout the day.
Chapter 1: Strange Land ~ Chapter 2: Initiation ~ Chapter 3: A Fine Evening for a Stroll
Chapter 4: Going Home
Once they’re alone, outside the station and walking towards Robbie’s car, James finds himself tongue-tied. He’s always been crap at this sort of thing: putting things right after he’s made a mistake. He never even managed to apologise to Lewis after lying to him over and over on both the Will McEwan case and at Crevecoeur, after all, did he?
Lewis - Robbie, though he won’t be allowed to use that name again, will he? - forgave him both times, but this is different. This time he... Christ, he took advantage of the kindest, most decent man he’s ever known. He practically assaulted his boss, kissing him and then pressing him into a sexual encounter without giving him a chance to consent or not. Oh, yes, Lewis participated, but it’s not something he ever would have initiated himself, or gone along with if he hadn’t been affected by what they’d both just been through.
How can he possibly beg forgiveness for that? How could Lewis bring himself to forgive that?
What’s worse is that he knows Lewis is heterosexual, has been all his life, and is still in love with his dead wife. He pushed himself at a man who would never have freely consented to sexual relations with another man, let alone his sergeant.
Should he tell Lewis of his intention to resign now? Or wait until they’re back in Oxford and hand in his papers? Or do nothing and give Lewis the opportunity to file disciplinary action - or criminal charges?
He’s still trying to formulate a sentence that will tell Lewis how deeply sorry he is when, abruptly, his boss speaks. “Glad that’s over. Tell the truth, I hope I never have to meet any of those tossers again. Dunno how you managed to put up with them for three months.”
It takes a moment or two for Lewis’s words to sink in, for James to recognise that the first thing his boss has said isn’t related to what he did back at the flat - and that, in fact, Lewis’s tone was remarkably friendly.
He makes some sort of sound of agreement. Lewis clearly doesn’t notice anything strange, because he adds immediately, “I’ve got to get my stuff from the caravan, and you need to pack. I’ll drop you off first an’ then come back for you, all right? Or would you prefer to sleep first an’ we can leave in the morning?”
The sooner they’re back in Oxford the better, as far as James is concerned. But Lewis generally needs his sleep, and it’s after three in the morning. “Which would you prefer?”
“This hour of the night, it’ll take barely two an’ a half hours. Could be in me own bed by just after six.” Lewis glances at him again as they stop at the car. “Though I forgot. You left the keys to your flat at the station for safe-keeping.” He gets into the driver’s seat. “Ah, not a problem. You can come home with me. Kip on the couch for a few hours.”
James has to stop himself from staring at his boss. It doesn’t make sense. Lewis is talking as if nothing happened. He’s actually offering to make James welcome in his flat.
“Sir...” he begins, though he has no idea at all of what he’s going to say.
Lewis gives him a sharp look as he manoeuvres the car into the road. “Ah, for god’s sake, do we have to go back to that already? We’re not even back in Oxford, man!” Lewis sighs. “Look, why don’t we try this? Sir at work, Robbie off-duty.”
It must be sleep deprivation; that’s why none of this is making sense. Although it is only shortly after three. They’ve been up all night on cases before and he’s not had this sort of hallucinatory experience - and neither has Lewis suffered from apparent amnesia.
It’s not much more than five minutes from the station to James’s flat, and he manages to exit the car without, he hopes, sounding like too much of an idiot. He has around half an hour before Lewis - no, still Robbie - will be back, in which time he has to sort out personal belongings from items provided by Dorset CID, and leave the flat in some sort of reasonable state.
Not that there’s much here that he needs to take with him, anyway. His instructions had been to travel as light as possible and bring nothing that could in any way identify him as Detective Sergeant James Hathaway or link him with Oxford. A very small amount of his own clothes, his guitar - with some soul-searching, but in the end he couldn’t face being separated from it for months on end - and his iPod. It’ll take ten minutes at most to throw everything into a rucksack.
The bed has to be his first priority. He bundles up the sheets and throws them in the washing machine; it’s got a drying cycle, which is just as well since he won’t be here to sort that. There is absolutely no way he wants anyone else coming into this place and seeing evidence of... well.
God, how could he have imagined for one second that Lewis wanted him like that? It’s as clear as day now; what he thought was Robbie reaching up to touch his face was nothing of the kind. He can hear his boss’s words now: You’ve got something in your- Something in his hair, maybe. Probably from that cigarette he’d shredded just before Lewis arrived. And the hug - that was only for comfort.
“Congratulations, James. You’ve gone and fucked everything up again.”
______________________________________
James is quiet once they’re on the A34. Hardly surprising, really. The bloke’s had a bloody awful few months, not to mention what happened earlier. Being faced with the choice of blowing his own cover - and probably getting killed as a result - and doing harm to that young girl... no wonder he’s not himself.
“Put the seat back and get your head down for a couple of hours if you want,” he suggests. “I’m fine driving.”
“Don’t think I could sleep, but thanks.” There it is again, that strain in the lad’s voice. He knows only too well that there’s no point asking what’s up. James won’t say. Never does.
Best just change the subject, then. Distract him.
“I was gonna wait until we were back in Oxford before bringing this up, but since we’ve got a couple of hours to kill now... might as well get it over with, I suppose.”
He’s glancing in James’s direction as he finishes speaking, and catches sight of the alarmed - no, almost appalled - expression on his sergeant’s face. He frowns. “James?”
James’s swallow is audible. “Sir - no, don’t correct me, please,” he adds hurriedly as Robbie sighs. “I... I know I owe you an apology. No, more than that. You have every right to be furious about what I did, and I-”
Robbie cuts across his stammering ramble. “What are you on about? You’re making no sense at all.” Abruptly, he frowns. “I hope you’re not referring to the way you went nuclear on Carson’s arse back there? Because I couldn’t be prouder of you for that. You were bloody brilliant.”
As he glances across again, he sees James’s hands curled into fists on his lap. “No, that’s not - but thank you.” James swallows again. “I meant at the flat. I sincerely apol-”
Oh, Christ, so that’s it. The lad’s got himself in a panic about getting carried away earlier. Clearly, just ignoring it isn’t going to work after all.
And, again, Robbie can’t help but feel the irony of it. He and James had sex, and who’s the one going into a tailspin about it? Course, it is bloody odd that he isn’t bothered about it himself. Maybe it’s just not sunk in yet that he wanked off, and was wanked off by, his bagman. No, his friend. But still, his very male and very young friend. He should be feeling awkward and embarrassed, at the very least. The fact that he’s not... well, is it just that he’s so comfortable around James now that even snogging him and falling into bed with him doesn’t seem strange?
Is this how he reacts to dangerous incidents on cases now? Instead of a pint or two at the Trout, he-
Now who’s going into panic-mode? But he’s not - well, not about the sex. Having a melt-down about the fact that he’s not having a melt-down is just ridiculous. As is James getting himself tied up in knots about it.
Right; well, that’s easily sorted.
“Oh, don’t be so gormless! We were both on edge after what happened in the wood, an’ then relieved that everything turned out okay. Nothin’ to apologise for.” He shakes his head. “Forget it - I have.”
“I...” He can feel James looking at him, his shock almost tangible. “Thank you.”
Right. Because that makes him feel so much better. Robbie turns his attention back to the road, glad of the lack of lighting along the road so James can’t see his face. Of course he knew the bloke wasn’t really attracted to an old fart like him, that it was just the circumstances, but it’s hardly a compliment, all the same, that a five-minute mutual wank with him’s got James this worked up and desperate to wipe it out.
Not that he’s looking for anything more with James - it’s not as if he’s even gay, is he? But it’s the principle that matters.
Ah, it’s not important, is it?
He steers the car around a hairpin turn, then glances back at James. “What I actually wanted to talk about is your career. Specifically, your next move. I think it’s time you started studying for OSPRE.”
“What?” There’s an edge to James’s voice that says he’s not at all happy.
“You’re ready for it, man. Was obvious to me back there with Carson, though it should’ve been before now.”
“And what if I don’t want promotion?” That edge is still there.
Robbie hesitates. He never expected this. James was supposed to be the high-flyer, the fast-tracked graduate entrant. He’s not chasing after the next rank? “You don’t?” he says, aware as the words emerge that he sounds like a sodding idiot.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” James asks - though it’s more of an accusation.
“What?” Sod it, what made him think this was a suitable conversation to have while driving? If it wasn’t almost four in the morning, he’d pull into the closest transport café and have it out with James face to face. Can’t, though. Even if there were anything open, if he stops now he’ll be too tired for the rest of the journey.
He’s too weary to be anything but bluntly honest. “Don’t be daft. If I had my way, you’d be with me until I retire. But that’s not fair to you. You’re too good a copper to trot around after me for the next four or five years.”
“I see.” It’s spoken in that bland Hathaway tone that gives away absolutely nothing.
“You should be thinking about promotion. And, as your governor, I should be encouraging you. Mentoring you.” Robbie shakes his head. “Not that Morse ever did that for me - but then I’d never’ve taken lessons from Morse in how to treat a bagman.” He smiles faintly, fondly. “If you really don’t want it, though... well, it’s up to you. I won’t push you.”
James exhales, a long breath, and when he speaks the suspicious, resentful note’s completely gone from his voice. “I appreciate your belief in me. It does mean a lot. But I don’t know if I’m ready. Not sure when I will be, really. I feel there’s so much more I can learn from you.”
“Ah, it’s not as if we’d never run into each other once you’re promoted,” Robbie makes himself point out, much as he wants to accept James’s reluctance as the final word. “An’ you could always talk to me if you needed to. I wouldn’t suddenly stop going for a pint with you.”
With a wry curl to his lips, James says, “Wouldn’t you have to do your duty by your replacement bagman?”
“It’s not an obligation, y’know.” Robbie just about stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Look, think about it,” he adds. “I think you’re ready. If it was up to me, I’d tell Innocent to put you down for the exams like a shot. Don’t hold yourself back because you’re comfortable working with me, all right?”
“I’ll think about it,” James promises. “Now, can we talk about something else, please?”
______________________________________
“Come on in.” Robbie leads the way into the flat, snapping on a light in the hallway, and James follows. “You know the way. Why don’t you use the bathroom while I get a pillow and a blanket for you? If you need a toothbrush, there should be a spare under the sink.”
James just stops in the hall, barely absorbing Robbie’s words as he takes in the familiar sight of his boss’s flat. It’s finally sinking in that he’s home. Back in Oxford - and back to being James Hathaway again. No more Jim Henderson, petty criminal and would-be drug runner.
God, it feels... what? He can’t even put it into words.
“James?” He blinks, then realises that Robbie is standing in front of him, one brow raised as he studies him. “You really are wiped out, aren’t you? Should’ve tried to sleep in the car.”
“It’s not that.” He tries to explain. “It just suddenly hit me that it’s over, I think. I can be myself again.”
Robbie steps closer and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, I know. First time undercover, wasn’t it? It’s never easy, an’ especially not in a long job like this one, never mind the danger.”
James dips his head. “You did try to warn me, I know.”
Robbie’s expression is endlessly patient. “Just wanted you to think it all through, that’s all. I knew it’d be good experience. Though if I’d known what Moore and his team would be like...”
“Yeah.” But it’s over - even though it’s not, really - and he doesn’t want to talk about it any more. “Look, just tell me where to find the blankets and I’ll sort myself out. You go to bed, please.”
Robbie hesitates, then directs him to the hall cupboard. “Innocent doesn’t know we’re back, so I reckon we can sleep until early afternoon if we want. Then we’ll get you sorted properly.
James barely sleeps, despite being so tired he was ready to drop by the time he’d made up the sofa. There’s too much in his brain: vivid images of violence and weapons and murderous intent, and the terror in the eyes of the girl Robbie says is called Maria Cristina. Fear of him, of what she was convinced he was going to do to her.
Rape. Such an ugly word. Uglier than murder, somehow. Worse? Difficult to say. Murder’s final, the death of the body, the consignment of the soul to judgement before it’s fully prepared. Rape is a life sentence of memories of pain and invasion and humiliation. It can change a person beyond recognition. Even where consent is dubious at best, the effect on a person can be devastating. Did Robbie change tonight? But he says it was nothing. Mutual. Circumstances. Not worth remembering. Not worth repeating, therefore. Got carried away, nothing more.
Robbie got carried away? Robbie gave in because he felt sorry for him, more likely, assuming James gave him the opportunity to think clearly at the time.
Forget it. I have.
Can’t forget it, though, can he? Holding Robbie. Kissing Robbie. Touching him. Licking the skin of his neck and throat. Nibbling that ear he’s always rubbing. Holding Robbie’s cock in the palm of his hand. Stroking it, squeezing it, feeling it respond. Wanting to lick and suck it, but no time, not this time. Wanting to make him come, lose control, cry out James’s name mid-orgasm. Wanting to lie with him afterwards, limbs tangled, damp skin clinging, breath mingling in sleepy kisses.
Wanting to wake up and do it all over again. Only it didn’t turn out like that.
He tosses and turns, alternately too hot and too cold as the inescapable images flash through his mind. This is what he has become. This is who James Hathaway is beneath the veneer he knows he shows to the world. Useless in the face of danger. Selfish, obsessive and unworthy of Lewis’s forgiveness and, yes, compassion.
He can - must - will do better. Whatever it takes.
______________________________________
James looks at Robbie blearily when he walks into the living-room not long after noon. Of course, the bloke wears contacts - and, yes, there’s one of those little plastic containers on the coffee table - so he probably isn’t seeing that clearly. But he doesn’t look like someone who’s had a decent six hours’ sleep either.
“I’d make coffee, but I haven’t got anything in,” he points out, apology in his voice. “Though if you’re as knackered as you look, why don’t you just go an’ sleep in my bed for a couple of hours? I’ll go and get some shopping before heading to the station, so you can get yourself something when you want to get up.”
“No, there’s no need for that.” James throws the blanket aside and swings his bare legs to the floor. “I just need...” He frowns for a moment. “A shower, if you don’t mind, and a cigarette. I brought the shaving kit I had at the flat.” He rakes a hand through his untidy hair that’s far longer than Robbie could ever have imagined on James, but of course cutting it would have ruined his cover. “I just don’t have appropriate work clothing.”
“Ah, you don’t need to worry about that.” Robbie perches on the arm of the sofa, next to James. “You don’t even need to come into work. After what you just came back from, you’re probably due at least a couple of weeks’ leave.” A quick glance at James’s face tells him that leave is the last thing his sergeant wants. “But, all right, if you don’t want that we’ll go in together. I doubt Innocent will have a problem with how you’re dressed, an’ anyway it’s not as if we’d be back on the rotation immediately. Go on.” He waves in the general direction of the bathroom. “Sort yourself out. We’ll stop for lunch on the way in.”
It’s around half past one when they finally make it to the station. James catches several curious glances as they walk through the public area and then up the stairs, but other than an occasional nod or a smile in response to a shout of Welcome back, sir! neither of them acknowledges their curious colleagues.
They have to see Innocent first; Robbie’s been away for a month, as well, and there’s every possibility that their office has been commandeered by other officers in the meantime. And anyway, James’s warrant card and keys - car, office and even his flat, for safe-keeping - are locked in Innocent’s safe. He can’t even go home to change without seeing the Chief Super.
“Robbie! James!” She’s already standing in the outer office as Robbie taps on the door. The grapevine’s working normally, then; the desk sergeant obviously reported their presence. “Come in. I heard you had a major breakthrough last night.”
“DI Carson, Ma’am?” Robbie will be very interested to hear the version of events Innocent’s been told.
“DCI Moore, actually. He called to thank me for the loan of two outstanding officers.”
James glances at Robbie, his mouth turned down at the corners and his brows raised. Robbie’s sentiments exactly; he had not imagined either senior officer would be their biggest fans. But it seems that the report Innocent received was very positive, citing James as a highly observant, resourceful officer who demonstrated significant initiative and the ability to think on the spot, as well as excellent skills of analysis and logical thinking.
“There’ll be a commendation on the way for you, James,” Innocent adds, laying down the printed-out email. “From Dorset Police, but I expect it will be echoed by Oxford CID. Excellent work - I’m very proud of you, and I’m sure Inspector Lewis is as well.”
James looks as if he’d prefer to be anywhere else other than standing in Innocent’s office listening to this. “Thank you, Ma’am.” His tone is stiffly polite. “Though last night’s major breakthrough, and the arrests made, are largely thanks to Inspector Lewis.”
“So I understand, though they could not have happened had it not been for the groundwork you laid so successfully.”
Robbie decides that it’s time to intervene. “Ma’am, there are some things that DCI Moore may not have told you about. James has some serious concerns about the way the case was handled, and I agree with him.”
“Go on.”
After they’ve explained, Innocent frowns. “Strictly speaking, it’s not any of our business. We don’t have the right to interfere. All the same, if poor decision-making put one of my officers at risk...” She taps a pen on her desk. “Leave this with me. I take it you made your concerns clear?”
James is silent, so Robbie answers for him. “Yes, Ma’am. Very effectively and professionally, naturally.”
“Naturally.” She continues tapping, then pauses. “Very well. Again, excellent work, Sergeant Hathaway. I do hope, however, that normal sartorial standards will resume as of tomorrow? Including a haircut?”
“Of course, Ma’am. I do need my keys back, however.”
James gets his keys and warrant card, and then Innocent sends him away. “Robbie, should I be worried about him?”
If he could be sure of the answer to that himself... If only the lad wasn’t so reluctant to admit when he needs help, or unwilling to talk about experiences that have upset him. Not that Robbie can criticise him for that; he’s not exactly a sharer himself, to use what seems to be the popular expression these days. He’d thought he was making something of a breakthrough with James the evening he arrived in Abbotsbury, given the bloke revealed more than usual about how the case was affecting him. But now, though Robbie knows damn well that James isn’t all right, he’s closed off again.
Hardly surprising. Having to go through that experience in the woods, discovering what it was he was expected to do, is enough to give anyone nightmares. And James cares. He hasn’t become hardened by the job like so many other coppers have, and - although he’d find the work a lot easier to live with if he did - Robbie hopes he never does.
He grimaces as he responds to Innocent. “I’m keepin’ an eye on him. Leave him to me.”
“All right, but you will let me know if there’s a problem, won’t you? And if you could persuade him to see the psychologist...”
He’s already shaking his head before Innocent has finished. No chance James will agree to that. And it’s true that in the past the best counselling - for either of them - has been a pint or two shared in companionable silence, repeated as often as necessary. That’s already his plan for this evening.
“One other thing, Robbie. It occurs to me, based on what I’ve heard, that it’s really time we were planning for James’s promotion. I’ve got a set of OSPRE preparation materials for him-”
Robbie holds up a hand. “Ma’am, I really think it’d be for the best not to mention that at the moment, eh? Give him time to settle back here first. I’ll bring it up with him when the time’s right.”
Innocent accepts that, though with clear reluctance, and he’s dismissed. Back in their shared office, James is already reading emails, and he starts on the same task. There isn’t really any point in getting started on anything major. They’ll be back on the rotation as of tomorrow, and before too long there’ll be a new case.
At shortly after half-five, he starts to shut down. “Comin’ for a pint?”
James glances up, already shaking his head. “Thanks, but I really need to get home and see what state the flat’s in, and get some shopping in, not to mention a haircut.” He tugs at a forelock, grimacing. “See you in the morning, yeah?”
“If you’re sure.” He’d like to insist, but has no real grounds to argue, other than reasons he knows James would resist. He can’t leave it at that, though. “Look, call me, yeah? If you need... anything.” Someone to talk to, he’d like to say, but can’t get the words out.
“Of course, sir,” James says, tone smoothly professional, and he’s already turning back to his computer. Robbie’s starting to feel a bit foolish standing beside James’s desk with his jacket on, so after a moment he leaves. And spends the rest of the evening, and half the night, telling himself that he’s worrying about nothing and James will be okay.
If only he could believe it.
______________________________________
In some ways, it’s surprisingly easy to slip back into the routine. There’s a new case the day after, the murder of a city businessman who’s also an ex-con - so naturally the investigation focuses on his former criminal activities and associates while in prison. (It turns out to have nothing whatsoever to do with the victim’s past life, and everything to do with a resentful ex-employee, but the detour around several different paths of enquiry exercises James’s brain and helps him to get used to being a detective again rather than a pretend layabout, and to prove, as much to himself as to anyone else, that he’s a responsible professional more than capable of doing the job he’s paid for).
Lewis is worried about him; it doesn’t take more than that first afternoon back at work to see that. But not only does he not need anyone worrying about him, he doesn’t want it. Either he can do the job or he can’t; it’s as simple as that. Push the nightmares aside; even if he still believes he could have done more to save that woman whose death he had to witness - and whose name he still doesn’t know; the Colombian police still haven’t been able to identify her - he can tell himself over and over that he tried. And he was partly instrumental in breaking the smuggling network up. No more women will be facing a brutal, terrifying death, at least not through this particular route.
He can - he must - put it behind him. Other coppers do. Lewis has dealt with many cases equally as bad as that, or worse. He’s still able to get up every morning and do the job, and James knows damn well that Lewis isn’t heartless, hasn’t lost that essential empathy that James admires so much in him.
Put the case behind him - and put the aftermath, that stolen hour in Jim Henderson’s flat, behind him as well. That’s easier to manage if he keeps his distance from Lewis as much as possible, beyond a pint after work once or twice a week - if he didn’t do at least that much, he knows he’d offend his boss.
If he were to allow himself to get too close to Lewis again, to spend time with him in a more relaxed environment like they did in Abbotsbury from time to time when they were able to let themselves forget about the case for a stolen half-hour or so; if he allowed himself to let Lewis become Robbie again, he’d never be able to rid his mind of the memory of kissing Lewis, of having sex and falling asleep together. It’s not that he still thinks he forced Lewis into anything; rational thought, which returned a day or two after they got back to Oxford and once he’d had a couple of decent nights’ sleep, told him that if Lewis really hadn’t wanted it in that moment he could and would easily have stopped James. But Lewis made his feelings on the subject very clear: it happened in the heat of the moment, and won’t be repeated.
Forget it. I have.
It’s all easier said than done - forgetting what happened with Lewis, and forgetting what happened in Abbotsbury.
It helps that there’s good news on that score, a month or so after they left Dorset. Further investigation, based on interviews with the arrested suspects and with locals at the ports now under suspicion, led to suspects further up the chain, and there’s now a real chance that they’re close to arresting the kingpin of the operation. Best of all, as far as James is concerned, there’ve been no more mutilated bodies of young Hispanic women found abandoned anywhere in Dorset. Or, yet, anywhere else in the country. That, above all, makes those three bloody awful months worthwhile.
Also, it’s very likely that Maria Cristina will be granted asylum in the UK. He and Lewis both wrote to the Home Office, as they’d said they would, and the formal response they received soon after informed them that DCI Moore had already made a strong case for exceptional leave to remain, due to the valuable information Maria Cristina provided to the investigation, leading to major arrests and the collapse of a significant drugs network.
And, of course, with every confession Dorset CID extracts from people further up the chain, the likelihood that he or Lewis - or both - will be needed to give evidence in person, beyond their written statements, recedes further.
He might yet be able to put it all behind him.
But then they’re called to investigate the murder of Bibiana Santos, a maid at the Malmaison who’s been found dead in Christchurch Meadow. She’s been raped and murdered, with savage knife-wounds inflicted ante-mortem. James gets to the scene before Lewis, though after Dr Hobson has started her preliminary examination. He takes one look at the woman’s body, and has to rush away as his stomach rebels.
He vomits up his breakfast near a clump of trees - and looks up immediately afterwards to see his boss standing in front of him, face creased in concern.
Salva me, Domine. Salva me.
“I can’t do this any more, sir. I’m sorry.” Without another word, and without waiting for Lewis to answer, he turns and bolts for his car.
______________________________________
Chapter 5: Exeunt