Lewis fic: The Case of the Missing Macchiato
Story: The Case of the Missing Macchiato
Author: wendymr
Characters: Robbie Lewis, James Hathaway
Rated: G
Summary: He’s a fool, he tells himself; a stupid, childish, pathetic idiot to place so much store on a four-quid cup of coffee.
For uniquepov on the occasion of her birthday; I hope you had a lovely day. And with many thanks, as always, to lindenharp for her invaluable beta assistance.
The Case of the Missing Macchiato
The office is empty when James pushes open the door.
It’s a surprise; he was pretty sure that they had nowhere else to be this morning, and Lewis hadn’t mentioned any appointments that would keep him away from the station first thing. He shrugs internally; they’re coppers. There’s no such thing as routine in their job.
His desk is just as he left it yesterday evening, with one exception, but not the exception he was expecting. There’s no coffee sitting by his keyboard. There’s just a Post-It stuck to his mouse, with a brief message in Lewis’s familiar scrawl: Keep working on the interview reports. Back later.
So his governor’s been into the nick this morning. He could have brought James’s birthday coffee, but didn’t. James slumps into his office chair and boots his computer, but can’t stop his mind from wandering. What has he done to piss Lewis off? Though he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. He has no idea what time Lewis was here. True, it’s not much after half-past eight now, but if Lewis had come in at eight or thereabouts then he wouldn’t have left a drink to go cold.
And besides, it’s not as if it’s something Lewis is obliged to do. A habit of four years does not make it a requirement on his part. And why should Lewis know, or care, that his little gesture has become something James looks forward to every year?
It started three months after they became official partners. James came in to find Lewis in the office before him, and large takeaway cups from Costa Coffee sitting on both their desks. He’d thanked his boss, but didn’t think much of it until he started to drink. Instead of the ordinary coffee with milk he’d expected, it was his favourite macchiato, for which Lewis had mocked him on the couple of occasions he’d had one.
“Sir?” he’d queried, astonishment lacing his voice.
Lewis had glanced up for less than a second, giving him one of his patented something wrong, Sergeant? half-exasperated looks. “Just don’t expect it more than once a year.”
“Erm... I won’t,” he’d answered, utterly lost.
Although he’d been looking at his computer, Lewis had grinned. “Happy birthday, Hathaway.”
That evening, he’d insisted on taking James for a pint after work. Just one; he wouldn’t keep James from celebrating his birthday with friends, or whatever he’d intended to do, Lewis had said. James hadn’t told him - and still hasn’t - that he had no-one else to celebrate with.
The following year and the year after, they’d had a couple of pints together after work, and last year Lewis had shouted James dinner at their favourite pub rather than just a pint. What hadn’t changed in the past four years was the large macchiato - which is not in evidence this year.
Later, when Lewis gets in, James concludes.
But by lunchtime there’s no sign of his boss. At close to one, James gives up waiting and gets a sandwich from the canteen, then finds a bench off station property where he can smoke while he eats. He thought briefly about sending Lewis a text before going to the canteen, to ask whether he should get his boss a sandwich as well, but discarded the idea; it’s already late and if Lewis had intended coming back for lunch he’d have phoned James by now.
It’s almost three, and James has just about given up on seeing his governor today at all, when the door abruptly opens and Lewis walks in.
His hands are empty. James focuses his gaze on his computer, not wanting Lewis to see any disappointment that might be on his face. “Afternoon, sir.”
“Hathaway.” Lewis nods. “Anything urgent?”
“Nothing.” It’s been a quiet day, and James has used it to catch up on a variety of reports and official forms.
“Good.” Lewis has gone straight to his desk and is rummaging in a drawer. As James glances around, he pulls out a folder and shuts the drawer again. “I’ll be off, then. Probably won’t be back this evening.”
James’s heart plummets. “Have a good evening, then, sir,” he manages, and he can hear the stiffness in his voice.
Lewis appears not to, however. With a casual, “Night, James,” he departs.
James swallows, and it’s a couple of minutes before he can focus on his computer again. He’s a fool, he tells himself; a stupid, childish, pathetic idiot to place so much store on a four-quid cup of coffee and a pint or pub meal after work.
But it’s not just the coffee, or Lewis buying him a meal. It’s the fact that someone - someone he respects and admires - recognises and marks his birthday. Thinks it’s important enough to mark. And Lewis has done it every year since the beginning, even when they barely knew each other and were still figuring out how to work together.
This year, Lewis has just... forgotten. Which seems to suggest that James’s birthday - and, by extension, James - is just not all that important after all.
James forces himself to concentrate on the response he’s writing to a CPS lawyer, and if his fingers pound the keyboard harder than usual, or his narrative uses rather more four-syllable words and a touch more sarcasm than usual - well, at least there’s no-one else around to see.
_________________________________
It’s not far off half-past five, and James is getting ready to wrap up for the day. At least he’s got a lot of admin done; that’s something. It’s been the crappiest birthday he’s had in the last few years - but then it was no worse than most of the birthdays he’s had since about the age of fourteen, was it? He’s just forgotten what normality is like.
He’s just shutting down his computer when his mobile rings. Lewis! His heart jumps again. His governor’s going to be apologetic, explaining that he didn’t realise the date, and asking James to meet him down the pub.
But Lewis’s tone is businesslike. “You still at the office?”
“I was just about to leave, sir.” His hand clenches around the phone.
“Glad I caught you, then. I meant to pick up the Lorcan file when I popped in earlier. Drop it over to the flat on your way home, eh?”
Get it yourself, James wants to say. “Of course, sir. I’ll be there in under fifteen minutes,” is what he actually says.
“Good man.” Lewis disconnects before James can respond.
Exactly thirteen minutes later, James is knocking on the door of Lewis’s flat; Lewis gave him the code for the building entrance long ago. When his boss opens the door, dressed in a more casual shirt and trousers than he was wearing earlier, James holds out the file. “Here you are, sir. Goodnight.”
He takes a step backwards and turns to leave. But Lewis catches his arm. “Where’s your hurry? At least come in an’ have a cuppa. Let me know what you got done today.”
Reluctantly, James allows himself to be led inside. “Just for a few minutes, then, s-”
He halts abruptly. The small dining table is laid in the style of an expensive restaurant: table-mats, linen napkins, long-stemmed wine glasses, and even a candle centrepiece. James suspects that he recognises Marks and Spencer Home in at least a couple of items.
And, from the kitchen, there is the pleasant aroma of a meal cooking in the oven.
“Sir, you’re obviously expecting a guest,” he says coolly. “I’ll get out of your way.”
Lewis gives him an exasperated shake of the head. “Not expecting, man. You’re already here.”
James blinks. “I... This is for me?”
“Course it is, idiot. What, you think I’d forgotten it’s your birthday?”
He swallows, not trusting himself to say anything. Lewis has gone to all this trouble for him?
“Sit yourself down,” Lewis says, gruffly kind. “Or, actually, you can make yourself useful and open the wine first.”
It’s a more than decent bottle of red, and not one Lewis would have picked up at M&S. His boss has gone to a lot of trouble over this.
The meal’s excellent too; for someone whose normal mode of cooking is to throw - which really is the appropriate verb - a ready so-called meal into the microwave, Lewis has really gone to town. A starter of melon balls in port, and if a few of the balls are more oval than round James doesn’t care. Beef and vegetables in a red wine sauce, with slices of potato on top. And a black forest gateau for dessert.
“You have hidden talents, sir,” James comments as he’s polishing off his casserole. “It does make one wonder why you’re ordinarily so reliant on Sainsbury’s menu items - when you’re not ordering takeaway.”
“I can cook, when I set me mind to it,” Lewis comments, a touch acerbically - but he’s smiling. “Well, and when I have a decent recipe to follow. Decent meaning one that doesn’t use stupidly big words an’ sticks to instructions that can be followed by a normal person rather than a cleverclogs like you.” He drains his wine, then reaches to top up both glasses. “Took me all day, though, this did. Can’t do that all the time.”
“All day?” James stares. “That’s what you were doing, sir?”
“Ah, call me Robbie. And yeah. Only came into the office so you wouldn’t think it was too odd that I wasn’t around.”
James looks down at his plate so that Lewis can’t see his face. While he’d spent the day feeling slighted that his boss had forgotten his birthday, Lewis - no, Robbie - had been doing all this for him.
He looks up after a few moments. “Thank you, Robbie. I... this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
He has no idea why, although Robbie smiles, there’s a flash of sadness in his eyes.
_________________________________
Robbie won’t let him help to clear away, instead sending him straight to the living room and giving him instructions to put some music on. Steering away from his boss’s beloved Wagner, James chooses some Puccini chamber music.
He’s just taken a seat on the sofa when Robbie joins him. And then he stares, because what Robbie’s holding out to him is a large Costa Coffee cup.
“The barista said I could heat it in the microwave. Wouldn’t taste exactly the same, but it’d be near enough.”
“I... thank you,” James stammers. His cup’s running over.
“Couldn’t let you have a birthday without your fancy coffee.” Robbie sits next to him, their shoulders rubbing.
James sips his coffee. It doesn’t taste quite the same, no, but at the same time he’s never tasted better. “I owe you an apology, sir.”
“Told you, Robbie. An’ what for?”
James’s lips turn down. “I was... out of sorts with you for most of the day. I thought you’d forgotten. I should have known better.”
“Wanted to surprise you,” Robbie says.
“You definitely did that.” He hesitates, then adds, “As I said, no-one’s ever done anything this thoughtful for me.”
“About time someone did, then.” Robbie pats his knee, leaving his hand in place.
James sips at his coffee again, and then, with great daring, leans his head sideways until it rests against Robbie’s shoulder. Robbie shifts slightly, and James is about to raise his head again until he realises that his boss is actually moving closer, to make their respective positions more comfortable.
“Just so you know,” Robbie says after a period of companionable silence, “it’s my birthday month after next.”
“I am aware of that.” He’s marked it every year with thoughtful presents including CDs and books he’s known his boss will enjoy, as well as a birthday pint or two.
“Seein’ as it’s you, I’ll be expecting a gourmet meal, then.” Robbie smirks.
James's eyes widen. “I will bear your wishes in mind.”
“You do that.” Robbie sips his own coffee - also Costa - and his hand tightens around James’s knee again.
“As long as I can have the day off to prepare, too.” James allows himself a faint grin. “Genius does take time, you know.”
“You mean you can’t walk on water?” Robbie nudges him with his shoulder. “Best find a training course for that, then.”
“I’ll add it to my to-do list.”
“See that you do.”
“Along with getting you to appreciate macchiatos.”
“Don’t push it. Simple Geordie, me, remember. We were lucky if we got coffee at all. Mug o’ Bovril’d be a treat.”
James shudders. “Philistine.”
“Good job I have you to educate me, then - when I think I need it.”
“Good job.”
Robbie’s head drops to rest against James’s. “Mind, if I let you educate me about your posh coffees, I get to teach you to appreciate Wagner.”
James winces and vows to invest in earplugs.
Author: wendymr
Characters: Robbie Lewis, James Hathaway
Rated: G
Summary: He’s a fool, he tells himself; a stupid, childish, pathetic idiot to place so much store on a four-quid cup of coffee.
For uniquepov on the occasion of her birthday; I hope you had a lovely day. And with many thanks, as always, to lindenharp for her invaluable beta assistance.
The Case of the Missing Macchiato
The office is empty when James pushes open the door.
It’s a surprise; he was pretty sure that they had nowhere else to be this morning, and Lewis hadn’t mentioned any appointments that would keep him away from the station first thing. He shrugs internally; they’re coppers. There’s no such thing as routine in their job.
His desk is just as he left it yesterday evening, with one exception, but not the exception he was expecting. There’s no coffee sitting by his keyboard. There’s just a Post-It stuck to his mouse, with a brief message in Lewis’s familiar scrawl: Keep working on the interview reports. Back later.
So his governor’s been into the nick this morning. He could have brought James’s birthday coffee, but didn’t. James slumps into his office chair and boots his computer, but can’t stop his mind from wandering. What has he done to piss Lewis off? Though he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. He has no idea what time Lewis was here. True, it’s not much after half-past eight now, but if Lewis had come in at eight or thereabouts then he wouldn’t have left a drink to go cold.
And besides, it’s not as if it’s something Lewis is obliged to do. A habit of four years does not make it a requirement on his part. And why should Lewis know, or care, that his little gesture has become something James looks forward to every year?
It started three months after they became official partners. James came in to find Lewis in the office before him, and large takeaway cups from Costa Coffee sitting on both their desks. He’d thanked his boss, but didn’t think much of it until he started to drink. Instead of the ordinary coffee with milk he’d expected, it was his favourite macchiato, for which Lewis had mocked him on the couple of occasions he’d had one.
“Sir?” he’d queried, astonishment lacing his voice.
Lewis had glanced up for less than a second, giving him one of his patented something wrong, Sergeant? half-exasperated looks. “Just don’t expect it more than once a year.”
“Erm... I won’t,” he’d answered, utterly lost.
Although he’d been looking at his computer, Lewis had grinned. “Happy birthday, Hathaway.”
That evening, he’d insisted on taking James for a pint after work. Just one; he wouldn’t keep James from celebrating his birthday with friends, or whatever he’d intended to do, Lewis had said. James hadn’t told him - and still hasn’t - that he had no-one else to celebrate with.
The following year and the year after, they’d had a couple of pints together after work, and last year Lewis had shouted James dinner at their favourite pub rather than just a pint. What hadn’t changed in the past four years was the large macchiato - which is not in evidence this year.
Later, when Lewis gets in, James concludes.
But by lunchtime there’s no sign of his boss. At close to one, James gives up waiting and gets a sandwich from the canteen, then finds a bench off station property where he can smoke while he eats. He thought briefly about sending Lewis a text before going to the canteen, to ask whether he should get his boss a sandwich as well, but discarded the idea; it’s already late and if Lewis had intended coming back for lunch he’d have phoned James by now.
It’s almost three, and James has just about given up on seeing his governor today at all, when the door abruptly opens and Lewis walks in.
His hands are empty. James focuses his gaze on his computer, not wanting Lewis to see any disappointment that might be on his face. “Afternoon, sir.”
“Hathaway.” Lewis nods. “Anything urgent?”
“Nothing.” It’s been a quiet day, and James has used it to catch up on a variety of reports and official forms.
“Good.” Lewis has gone straight to his desk and is rummaging in a drawer. As James glances around, he pulls out a folder and shuts the drawer again. “I’ll be off, then. Probably won’t be back this evening.”
James’s heart plummets. “Have a good evening, then, sir,” he manages, and he can hear the stiffness in his voice.
Lewis appears not to, however. With a casual, “Night, James,” he departs.
James swallows, and it’s a couple of minutes before he can focus on his computer again. He’s a fool, he tells himself; a stupid, childish, pathetic idiot to place so much store on a four-quid cup of coffee and a pint or pub meal after work.
But it’s not just the coffee, or Lewis buying him a meal. It’s the fact that someone - someone he respects and admires - recognises and marks his birthday. Thinks it’s important enough to mark. And Lewis has done it every year since the beginning, even when they barely knew each other and were still figuring out how to work together.
This year, Lewis has just... forgotten. Which seems to suggest that James’s birthday - and, by extension, James - is just not all that important after all.
James forces himself to concentrate on the response he’s writing to a CPS lawyer, and if his fingers pound the keyboard harder than usual, or his narrative uses rather more four-syllable words and a touch more sarcasm than usual - well, at least there’s no-one else around to see.
_________________________________
It’s not far off half-past five, and James is getting ready to wrap up for the day. At least he’s got a lot of admin done; that’s something. It’s been the crappiest birthday he’s had in the last few years - but then it was no worse than most of the birthdays he’s had since about the age of fourteen, was it? He’s just forgotten what normality is like.
He’s just shutting down his computer when his mobile rings. Lewis! His heart jumps again. His governor’s going to be apologetic, explaining that he didn’t realise the date, and asking James to meet him down the pub.
But Lewis’s tone is businesslike. “You still at the office?”
“I was just about to leave, sir.” His hand clenches around the phone.
“Glad I caught you, then. I meant to pick up the Lorcan file when I popped in earlier. Drop it over to the flat on your way home, eh?”
Get it yourself, James wants to say. “Of course, sir. I’ll be there in under fifteen minutes,” is what he actually says.
“Good man.” Lewis disconnects before James can respond.
Exactly thirteen minutes later, James is knocking on the door of Lewis’s flat; Lewis gave him the code for the building entrance long ago. When his boss opens the door, dressed in a more casual shirt and trousers than he was wearing earlier, James holds out the file. “Here you are, sir. Goodnight.”
He takes a step backwards and turns to leave. But Lewis catches his arm. “Where’s your hurry? At least come in an’ have a cuppa. Let me know what you got done today.”
Reluctantly, James allows himself to be led inside. “Just for a few minutes, then, s-”
He halts abruptly. The small dining table is laid in the style of an expensive restaurant: table-mats, linen napkins, long-stemmed wine glasses, and even a candle centrepiece. James suspects that he recognises Marks and Spencer Home in at least a couple of items.
And, from the kitchen, there is the pleasant aroma of a meal cooking in the oven.
“Sir, you’re obviously expecting a guest,” he says coolly. “I’ll get out of your way.”
Lewis gives him an exasperated shake of the head. “Not expecting, man. You’re already here.”
James blinks. “I... This is for me?”
“Course it is, idiot. What, you think I’d forgotten it’s your birthday?”
He swallows, not trusting himself to say anything. Lewis has gone to all this trouble for him?
“Sit yourself down,” Lewis says, gruffly kind. “Or, actually, you can make yourself useful and open the wine first.”
It’s a more than decent bottle of red, and not one Lewis would have picked up at M&S. His boss has gone to a lot of trouble over this.
The meal’s excellent too; for someone whose normal mode of cooking is to throw - which really is the appropriate verb - a ready so-called meal into the microwave, Lewis has really gone to town. A starter of melon balls in port, and if a few of the balls are more oval than round James doesn’t care. Beef and vegetables in a red wine sauce, with slices of potato on top. And a black forest gateau for dessert.
“You have hidden talents, sir,” James comments as he’s polishing off his casserole. “It does make one wonder why you’re ordinarily so reliant on Sainsbury’s menu items - when you’re not ordering takeaway.”
“I can cook, when I set me mind to it,” Lewis comments, a touch acerbically - but he’s smiling. “Well, and when I have a decent recipe to follow. Decent meaning one that doesn’t use stupidly big words an’ sticks to instructions that can be followed by a normal person rather than a cleverclogs like you.” He drains his wine, then reaches to top up both glasses. “Took me all day, though, this did. Can’t do that all the time.”
“All day?” James stares. “That’s what you were doing, sir?”
“Ah, call me Robbie. And yeah. Only came into the office so you wouldn’t think it was too odd that I wasn’t around.”
James looks down at his plate so that Lewis can’t see his face. While he’d spent the day feeling slighted that his boss had forgotten his birthday, Lewis - no, Robbie - had been doing all this for him.
He looks up after a few moments. “Thank you, Robbie. I... this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
He has no idea why, although Robbie smiles, there’s a flash of sadness in his eyes.
_________________________________
Robbie won’t let him help to clear away, instead sending him straight to the living room and giving him instructions to put some music on. Steering away from his boss’s beloved Wagner, James chooses some Puccini chamber music.
He’s just taken a seat on the sofa when Robbie joins him. And then he stares, because what Robbie’s holding out to him is a large Costa Coffee cup.
“The barista said I could heat it in the microwave. Wouldn’t taste exactly the same, but it’d be near enough.”
“I... thank you,” James stammers. His cup’s running over.
“Couldn’t let you have a birthday without your fancy coffee.” Robbie sits next to him, their shoulders rubbing.
James sips his coffee. It doesn’t taste quite the same, no, but at the same time he’s never tasted better. “I owe you an apology, sir.”
“Told you, Robbie. An’ what for?”
James’s lips turn down. “I was... out of sorts with you for most of the day. I thought you’d forgotten. I should have known better.”
“Wanted to surprise you,” Robbie says.
“You definitely did that.” He hesitates, then adds, “As I said, no-one’s ever done anything this thoughtful for me.”
“About time someone did, then.” Robbie pats his knee, leaving his hand in place.
James sips at his coffee again, and then, with great daring, leans his head sideways until it rests against Robbie’s shoulder. Robbie shifts slightly, and James is about to raise his head again until he realises that his boss is actually moving closer, to make their respective positions more comfortable.
“Just so you know,” Robbie says after a period of companionable silence, “it’s my birthday month after next.”
“I am aware of that.” He’s marked it every year with thoughtful presents including CDs and books he’s known his boss will enjoy, as well as a birthday pint or two.
“Seein’ as it’s you, I’ll be expecting a gourmet meal, then.” Robbie smirks.
James's eyes widen. “I will bear your wishes in mind.”
“You do that.” Robbie sips his own coffee - also Costa - and his hand tightens around James’s knee again.
“As long as I can have the day off to prepare, too.” James allows himself a faint grin. “Genius does take time, you know.”
“You mean you can’t walk on water?” Robbie nudges him with his shoulder. “Best find a training course for that, then.”
“I’ll add it to my to-do list.”
“See that you do.”
“Along with getting you to appreciate macchiatos.”
“Don’t push it. Simple Geordie, me, remember. We were lucky if we got coffee at all. Mug o’ Bovril’d be a treat.”
James shudders. “Philistine.”
“Good job I have you to educate me, then - when I think I need it.”
“Good job.”
Robbie’s head drops to rest against James’s. “Mind, if I let you educate me about your posh coffees, I get to teach you to appreciate Wagner.”
James winces and vows to invest in earplugs.