Conflagration - a Lewis commentfic

[wendymr]

Conflagration

A Lewis commentfic challenge for paperscribe.

This will be a work in progress for a while, so anyone who doesn't like being kept on the edge of their seats with fic should wait until it's reposted in full elsewhere. Warning for character in danger in the first instalment, below the cut.

Comments

[paperscribe]

James is awake and alert the next morning when Robbie comes to visit. He's got his earbuds in his ears and is listening to something, though he removes the earbuds and gives Robbie a slight smile when Robbie sits beside the bed. "Thank you for bringing the iPod. Is it yours or mine?"

"Yours," Robbie says. So the songs haven't jogged any memories. Robbie opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again.

But James is too sharp to miss it. "What?"

"I'm not sure," Robbie says hesitantly, "but there might be some of your music on there."

James looks intrigued. "I play music? What instrument? Or do I sing?"

"You do play music. Guitar, from what I know. And…" Robbie has to stop and think. "I don't know if you sing. I've never heard you do it but that doesn't mean you don't. Just means I haven't heard you."

"But you've heard me play," James says.

Robbie nods.

James looks hopeful. "Any good?"

"Well, I think so," Robbie says with a smile.

James looks dolefully at his heavily bandaged hands. "Don't suppose I'll be doing that for a while."

"Your hands will mend soon enough," Robbie says gently.

James hesitates. "The other day…when we were…" He looks worried. "…does it bother you?"

"I'll need more of a clue than that," Robbie says.

"When you held my hand," James says quietly. "Did you do it just to be nice? Or…"

"Did it cos I wanted to," Robbie says. "Helps, does it?"

James looks relieved not to have to spell it out, and he nods. Robbie holds out his hand, and James rests his hand lightly in Robbie's, fingers curling gently around.

Robbie's not going to say this, but it helps him too.

[wendymr]

They're not left in peace for long today. All the drips and tubes are out, and so it's time to move James's recovery on. Around mid-morning, a physiotherapist arrives for an initial assessment: to begin with, range of motion on hands, arms, neck and elsewhere on James's upper body. Then he has to get out of bed so the physio can do the same with his lower body, particularly his legs and feet.

Robbie has to smother his initial reaction when he sees James's legs. They're covered in blisters as well, and the skin looks so very tight, even despite all the treatment they've had. It's clear that even slight bending of his knees is painful. Yet the physio gets James walking - or, rather, limping very slowly and almost dragging his feet - several steps.

It has to be done, Robbie knows and, by the look of dogged determination on his face, so does James. The physio is patient and kind, and is positive and motivating in response to James's questions about the likely extent of his recovery. But she doesn't promise that he'll have full mobility back. There's a good chance, she says, but it depends on so many things: elasticity of the skin, James's general health before the damage was done (good, of course, Robbie thinks - except for his smoking), the level of commitment he puts into his physiotherapy, and other factors which will be completely beyond his control.

And, of course, if he doesn't recover to full mobility he won't be able to do his job, quite apart from whether there's still lung damage.

"Will it help if I try walking and stretching here?" he asks. "My friend will help."

"Oh, you'll be doing that, all right. But I need to get you down to the physio department first. We'll go through some exercises there that you can do on your own, or with your friend. And then when you're discharged you'll have more exercises to do daily, and you'll have outpatient appointments twice or three times a week."

James looks glum when she's gone, and Robbie assumes it's that he's only now realising that at least some of the damage to his body could be permanent. He picks at the sheet awkwardly with his unbandaged fingertips.

Robbie reaches across and takes his hand gently, offering silent reassurance. James gives him a troubled look. "I just realised... she was talking about me going home in a day or two, and I don't even know where home is. Or how I'd manage to get here for appointments."

Robbie rolls his eyes, just a little. "Don't be daft, man. I know where you live, and I've even got the keys to your flat, as you should know given the amount of your stuff I've brought in for you. But I was thinking you should probably stay with me for a bit when you're discharged. You're going to need help, maybe more than you need surroundings that might or might not feel familiar. And how d'you think you'll get to your appointments?" With the thumb of his free hand, he jabs his chest.

"I..." James looks away, the picture of embarrassed. "It just seems like far too much to ask of anyone. I'm already being an incredible nuisance, taking up all your time. I can't keep doing it."

[paperscribe]

"James, you've got to realise, I'm doing this because I want to," Robbie says. "You're not being a nuisance. I'm choosing to be here because I want to be. If I wanted to be here less, I could do, but I don't."

"But your life," James says quietly. "Your work."

Both of which have more to do with you than anyone else, Robbie thinks. "I don't have…" No, that's not the way to begin. He pauses. "I told you what it was like for me when I thought I lost you."

James nods.

"Once I knew you weren't dead…I promised meself I'd do whatever it took to help you. Whatever you needed. Don't you understand? I almost didn't get the chance. I…" A lump forms in his throat, and he waits for it to subside a bit before speaking again. "You're my friend. My family. And anything I can do for you, even if it feels like too much to you, can never feel like too much to me." It can't even feel like enough, sometimes.

James is looking at him, and there's a softness in his gaze. "You really mean it."

"I really do," Robbie says with a nod.

"It might be difficult," James says quietly. "I might be…difficult."

"Warn me all you like," Robbie says. "You can't scare me away."

James's breath hitches in his throat, and his fingers tighten around Robbie's. "Thank you, Robbie. Thank you for…being my family."

Robbie nods. "Thank you for being mine."

[wendymr]

"Come on in." Robbie leads the way into his flat; James follows, looking around curiously. Curiosity - but no sign of recognition. Just like when they were at James's own flat half an hour ago.

It's been close to a week since the fire, and there's no sign of James's memory returning. Not even minute flashes. Oh, he remembers general information, such as the boys in the band and the complete works of Cicero, and he's still got that same enormous, logical brain as before - but he doesn't remember anything about who he is or what he does.

It was interesting, if a little heartbreaking, watching James in his own flat. He'd walked around - slowly; he's still regaining full capacity in his movements as the burns heal - obviously looking at everything and deducing. He'd touched one or two books, the sofa-back, the kitchen counter, and even picked up his guitar. He'd held the guitar for a few seconds before starting to pluck out a couple of chords, and for a moment Robbie's heart had leapt. Had he remembered? But then James had shaken his head and put the guitar down.

All the same, Robbie had brought it here, along with the other things he and James had thought he'd need.

He ushers James into his bedroom, where the lad will sleep. Although James is a lot better than he was a few days ago, he's still got healing burns over a lot of his body, and he's in near-constant pain. The bed will be much better for him than the couch. James sets his things down, then frowns, looking at Robbie. "Is there another bedroom?"

Robbie shakes his head. "I'll be fine on the couch. No arguments," he adds, as James is about to protest.

In the kitchen, Robbie makes coffee, and James prowls around the flat, again taking inventory. He touches some things, but nothing too personal; Robbie notices that he looks for a long time at the photo of Robbie and Val on the shelf, but doesn't touch it.

When the coffee's ready, James comes over and leans against the counter. "Can I ask you something, Robbie?"

"Course." This time, he decides, he will answer James's questions properly, though he won't volunteer information James doesn't ask about. After all, he can hardly keep the bloke's life a secret from him indefinitely.

"I couldn't help noticing the photo, yet it's obvious you live alone. What happened to your wife, Robbie?"

[paperscribe]

Robbie isn't expecting that question, and it surprises him. He'd have thought James would have questions about himself, not…not about Robbie. And not about that. Because…God, James really can't remember anything if he doesn't know not to ask about this.

"Val," he says quietly to buy himself some time. "Her name was Val. She…" It's been years, but he still feels choked and helpless when he thinks about it. "She died."

James looks alarmed, as though he's done some irreparable damage. "I'm sorry."

Robbie nods slowly. "Me too. It was years ago…before you and I ever met." He looks at James. "Do you want to know what happened?"

James looks torn. Clearly he does want to know, but he's a bit afraid to ask. "If you want to tell me."

Robbie stares at the mug in his hands without really seeing it. "She was shopping in London. And a car knocked her down."

James reaches out tentatively, his fingers brushing the back of Robbie's hand. "I'm so sorry."

Robbie wishes he could open up as some people do. Maybe that would help. Maybe it would stop the dull ache he feels whenever he thinks of losing her. It isn't that he doesn't feel--sometimes it seems as though he feels too much. But all he feels is locked inside him, and nobody's got the key; even he hasn't got it. Feelings translate to deeds sometimes…hardly ever to words. James was always better at those sorts of things.

"Aye, well," Robbie says softly, feeling helpless to explain further. He brushes his own fingers against James's hand…he'd like to take his hand, but he can only do that when it's something that James seems to need. Not when it's something he needs.

[wendymr]

"I shouldn't have asked," James says, guilt lacing his voice. "Dragging up the memories all over again - I'm sorry."

Robbie shakes his head; he doesn't trust himself to speak right now. Yet, oddly enough, he doesn't mind that James asked.

James moves abruptly, and he's standing closer, reaching for Robbie. There's a question in his eyes, and Robbie must have answered it the right way, or at least not answered the wrong way, for James wraps an arm around his shoulders and tugs him into a hug. It's only for a few moments and then James lets him go, but it felt good. Comforting.

"Did they get the driver?" James asks as he pulls away.

Robbie startles, then reminds himself that this James has no idea. "You found him," he says softly. "You found him and got him to confess. He's serving a five-year sentence."

James's eyes widen almost impossibly far. Then he nods slightly. "I'm glad."

They're sitting down on the couch later, and James has been quiet for a while. Then, just as Robbie's about to suggest turning on the telly, he speaks. "I've been thinking. And doing a lot of looking, and analysing, and trying and failing to remember."

"Wouldn't expect anything less from you."

"Apparently," James says dryly. "You've been very careful not to tell me things, but you did let a few clues slip here and there - and then there's a few other things I noticed. You also told me that we're partners at work - not that we work together." He frowns briefly. "This feels a bit like that old TV series... what was it called? What's My Line?" His mouth tilts downwards. "Are we coppers?"

[paperscribe]

Robbie nods. "We are." And there's that detective streak in James, working out by deduction what he can't work out by memory. "I'm going to sound like a counsellor now…how do you feel about that?"

James sighs. "I don't know that I feel any way about it. I can't remember having done it." He lowers his head slightly. "It feels like a disconnect, I suppose."

Robbie waits for more, and when it doesn't come, he prompts James. "How do you mean?"

"I feel as though…there's this other person with another life who happens to look like me. I don't know how alike we are. I don't remember the things he remembers. I go to his flat and there's nothing there that seems familiar to me. He had a job I have no recollection of doing." He pauses. "Right now, I don't hear those things and think 'me.' I don't know how I feel about his life because I don't remember his life. I only remember this."

Robbie nods, casting about for the right thing to say.

But before he can, James looks at him and asks quietly, "How disappointed will you be if I never remember?"

Robbie shakes his head. "It's not about whether or not you remember. I told you before, I want you to be as well as you can, whatever that means. I don't think it does any good to blame yourself for something you can't control."

James smiles slightly. "I have the feeling I do that."

"It's been known to happen," Robbie says. "But whatever you remember, I'll still be here and I'll still be your friend. All right?"

[wendymr]

James touches Robbie's hand briefly. "Thank you. Though... If we're police officers and we work together as partners, doesn't that mean one of us is more senior? And, since that would more likely be you, are you my boss?"

Robbie shrugs. "Yes - when we're at work. Which, in case you haven't noticed, we're not at the moment." He takes a sip of coffee. "When we're not at work, we're mates, like I told you." He gestures around the flat. "You probably spend as many evenings here as you do at your own place. You sleep here, too, sometimes, if we've had a couple of drinks."

"I see." James sounds pleased at that. "So I call you sir at work and Robbie outside, then? I wish I could remember," he adds, pulling a face.

It isn't, of course - but why isn't it? Why did it never occur to him to tell James to drop the formality? He avoids the question. "Wish you could too."

There's silence for a while, then James speaks again. "What about work? For you, I mean. I assume I'm on sick leave."

"Took a week's leave." Which is almost up, of course. "It won't be a problem to take another few days, and by then you won't need me around. You'll be able to drive yourself to appointments."

"And get out from under your feet and go home," James adds, and Robbie wants to protest. But that wouldn't be fair; James needs to feel that he's fully capable of looking after himself. He almost is now; his movements are still a bit constrained, but he's getting better every day. His doctor believes that there's a very good chance that the burns will heal completely within a month or so, with minimal scarring. His scalp's a different matter - there, some of the burns destroyed follicles, so hair won't grow back all over, but there are treatments for that if James wants. The only unknown at this point is the long-term impact of the heat and smoke inhalation, which will determine whether James can return to work as a detective. Assuming, of course, that he wants to.

"I'm on sick leave because of the injuries," James says abruptly, "but what about the amnesia? If I don't remember, would I even be able - or allowed - to do my job?"

[paperscribe]

Robbie considers the question. "Down the nick, they've got regulations and things saying that a police officer's got to be allowed to do work that's as close as possible to what he used to do. You'll probably need to see a counsellor there, be evaluated, and then you'll have a conversation with them about what you're able to do and what you'd like to do."

James nods. "I suppose they'll want to know how much of my training I remember."

Robbie tips his head to one side. "Not much?"

James shakes his head. "Ridiculous that I can remember poetry that has no relevance to the workplace but nothing about my work."

"You may not be able to remember the work," Robbie says carefully, "but you'll be pleased to know that you're just as sharp as you ever were. The way you worked out that we were coppers, for instance. Not just anyone could do that. Your instincts are there, lad."

James looks flattered and pleased. "You think so?"

Robbie nods. "You could still do loads of things that would be a help, even if your job has to change a bit. And I'll support you whatever you choose to do."

"But…if they reassign me…" James hesitates, shifting uneasily in his seat. "Will I see you any more?"

"Don't see why not," Robbie says. "We get together for a drink and a chat after work a few times a week anyway. Nothing about that has to change. I can reintroduce you to some of our favourite pubs."

"You'll have to tell me what I like," James says. It's clearly meant to be a joke, but…Robbie isn't quite sure it is one.

[wendymr]

Acting on instinct, he reaches for James's hand again, wrapping his fingers around it. James clings in return. Good - the contact still helps James. Still helps him, too. Seeing James like this, facing a possible future where he doesn't know who he is and might never be the man he was before, is heartbreaking.

And that's ignoring his own feelings about not having James as his bagman and partner any more. Damn it, he doesn't want another sergeant. If he can't have James, he'll - well, he told Laura he'd retire, but he still isn't sure he's completely ready for that. If James's injuries had been worse, if he'd needed ongoing care, then Robbie would have provided it, but now... well, if the lad does transfer to a different role, maybe Robbie could transfer with him. Or he could take a training job until he is ready to retire.

He turns to James, his own reactions under control at last. "Maybe I don't know what you like. You said earlier the other James feels like a different person to you. Maybe you won't like what he liked. Doesn't matter, though. We can find out."

"Maybe." James looks unconvinced, or maybe he's just feeling down. Hardly surprising if the reality of the situation sinking in is getting to him. James drops Robbie's hand. "Think I should go to bed, if that's all right. I'm feeling tired suddenly."

Robbie nods. "Off you go, man." The lad's only just out of hospital, after all. It'll take his body a while to adjust. "If you need anything, just shout."

James nods in response, then carefully makes his way out of the room.

[paperscribe]

As James is going to bed, Robbie thinks he might have a little kip, but sleep doesn't come.

He tells himself it's the strangeness of being on the couch, and it's true he's slept more comfortable places than this…but it isn't the couch. Not really. The truth is, he's a copper and a dad…both jobs where you solve things…fix things…make things better. He wants to do that for James, only James doesn't have a problem Robbie can solve, does he? Robbie can't give James back his memory and he can't make his pain stop or his wounds heal.

But that's not what he's most worried about. What he's most worried about at the moment is the emotional pain, which James might or might not let him see. He used to tease James about being a perfectionist, but now he can almost understand it, because he wants to be sure that he says and does the right things for James. He doesn't want to discourage him or hurt him, if he can possibly help it.

Thinking that he might not be able to help it is another thing that's got Robbie sleepless.

Above all, though, it's comforting knowing that James is in the other room…that if James needs anything, or is having difficulties, Robbie will be here to hear and to help. He admits silently to himself that he doesn't fancy the thought of James going back to his own flat in a few days, even though he knows James is a grown man and can likely take care of himself. He doesn't seem to have forgotten any of the practical things.

But he can't forget the lost way James walked round his own flat, and how for the first time, James hadn't seemed to belong there. Robbie doesn't know if it will be a good thing or a bad thing for James to stay in that place…but maybe he'd better extend an open invitation for James to drop by and spend the night any time. He thinks he has already, but sometimes with James you've got to make it absolutely explicit.

Enough, man. Robbie closes his eyes, pretending he's going to be able to sleep.

[wendymr]

James is subdued the following day, which is concerning though not all that surprising. In response to Robbie's question, he says he's just tired, and also doing a lot of thinking. "I'm not shutting you out," he explains, correctly anticipating that Robbie would think that - after all, James has been very open with him so far. "I just want to try to make sense of things in my own head first."

That's so like the pre-amnesia James that Robbie can only smile and pat his shoulder. "Take your time, man. I'm not going anywhere."

In the early afternoon, James has an outpatient physio appointment, where he's pushed to stretch skin and muscles, and exert strength, beyond what he's done so far. He copes, though it's clearly painful at times, and James's face is pale beneath the blistering as they leave. Robbie wants to take him straight home, but as soon as they're in the car James turns to him.

"Can we go to the station?"

He's too taken aback to say anything but what first comes to mind. "What on earth for?"

"That's one of the things I've been thinking about - what we do. Where we work. I've been trying to picture it, but I just can't seem to. I wondered whether, if we went there, I might remember."

Robbie hesitates. "Maybe tomorrow? You're in pain, lad."

James shakes his head. "It's not that bad - and anyway, more walking around will help."

Against Robbie's better judgement, he drives to the nick, and the two of them walk in together. It's clear from the curious way James looks around that he remembers nothing. What's also very apparent, within a minute or two, is that he's attracting stares and whispers.

Isn't that Hathaway?

Christ, what does he look like?

Not so handsome now, is he? Think he'll have scars?

Furious, Robbie glares at the whisperers, taking note of each and every one. He'll deal with them later. For now, he needs to focus on James - who is staring ahead very deliberately, doing a very convincing act of not having heard. Just not convincing enough to fool Robbie. Shit. He should have anticipated this. He's used to the way James looks now, and he thinks nothing of it, but it should have occurred to him that others might not be inclined to hide their reactions.

He's entirely focused on what he's going to do about the malicious whisperers that Innocent's voice, from the balcony above, takes him by surprise. "Lewis! Hathaway! My office, now."

[paperscribe]

James's hand instinctively seeks out Robbie's, though after a moment James remembers where they are and moves his hand away. "Have I got us in trouble?" he whispers.

"I don't think so," Robbie says. He can't imagine what sort of lecture Innocent would give a bloke who's just beginning to recover from his injuries.

"Does she always call me Hathaway?" James whispers as they head for her office.

"Sometimes," Robbie whispers back.

"Oh, hell," is James's succinct response. He has clearly worked out that Robbie's hesitation is not entirely an indicator of good things.

But Innocent doesn't look upset when they enter her office. In fact, Robbie can't read her expression at all. James gives him a questioning look, and Robbie shrugs slightly, as if to say he doesn't know either.

Innocent looks at them. "Good afternoon, you two. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Robbie opens his mouth, not sure what he's going to say, but suddenly James plunges in. "It was my fault, ma'am. I'm sorry."

Both Robbie and Innocent give James quizzical looks. Robbie isn't sure why James is convinced that something is his fault…why would they be in trouble for coming in to the place where they work? Or is James so uncertain that he wants to be sure that, if there is blame to be had, it's laid at his feet?

"I beg your pardon?" Innocent asks politely, nonplussed.

"It's my fault. I…" James blinks once, slowly, looking faintly bewildered. "…I ordered the expedited pathology report?"

[wendymr]

Innocent is clearly taken aback, but she recovers quickly. "Of course you didn't, James. You haven't been here since-" She breaks off then, and changes tack. "Do you know who I am?"

Robbie can see James tense up, and he'd love to take the lad's hand. Instead, he lets his arm brush against James's. Staring straight ahead, James says, "Of course. You're the senior officer in charge, ma'am."

Innocent's expression turns concerned for a moment. Then she glances at Robbie, and he recognises the more familiar irritation. "What have you been saying to him, Robbie?" Without waiting for an answer, she says, "Sit down, both of you. James, I'm Jean Innocent, Chief Superintendent. And, since I'm very familiar with the extent of your injuries, there's no need to hide the fact that you don't remember me."

James looks down at his lap. "Sorry, ma'am."

"It is good to see you up and about, though," Innocent continues. "What brings you here? You're surely not cleared for work yet?"

"No." This time, James meets Innocent's gaze. Robbie is happy to note that she shows no reaction, not even the flicker of an eyelash, to the state of his face and hair. "I asked Robbie-" He halts, gives Robbie an apologetic look, then continues, "Inspector Lewis to bring me here in the hope that another familiar environment might jog my memory."

"And it hasn't," Innocent comments. "Give it time, James. In any case, from what I understand you shouldn't even consider coming back for at least another week, and even then only part-time and for light duties. If you prefer, you could work at home initially - I know we could find some paperwork for you to do."

"So people won't have to look at me," James comments, and the sarcasm in his tone's worse than anything Robbie's ever heard from him in the seven years they've known each other.

[paperscribe]

"No," Innocent says frostily, "because your home might be a more comfortable place for you. I realise you don't remember me, James, but I'm not in the habit of giving a toss whether people like the looks of anyone round the office, myself included."

James looks down. "No, ma'am." It's clear he doesn't believe her, but it's also clear that he knows he's overstepped his bounds.

Innocent is silent for a moment. "And if they should happen to need a sensitivity training seminar, I will sign everyone in this nick up for one that takes all bloody day. So just you remember that."

James looks up, frowning slightly. He hasn't got enough history with Innocent to know if she's joking or not, and he gives Robbie an apprehensive look. Robbie nods ever so slightly, and James turns his attention back to her.

"Your mental telepathy remains intact, I see," Innocent says wryly.

James tips his head to one side. "Ma'am?"

"You two have always done that," Innocent says, gesturing between the two of them. "Is there anything else I need to know about?"

"Such as what, ma'am?" Robbie asks.

"You came in to have a look round," Innocent says. "Nothing else?"

Robbie looks at James to see if there is, in fact, anything else, but James is shaking his head.

"No, ma'am," he says quietly. "I think we're done here."

James is silent for the rest of their visit and all the way home, and Robbie knows that's not a good sign. But he doesn't know what to say, and thinks that perhaps he shouldn't say anything. James will tell him when he's ready to talk.

It's not until they're back in Robbie's flat and having a cuppa that James speaks again. "I knew it hurt," he says quietly. "But I never thought about what it looked like. Whether…" He trails off, shaking his head, clearly still bothered and hurt by the attention he received round the nick.

[wendymr]

Robbie pushes back the fury he feels again at those insensitive morons. What matters here is James. He reaches for the lad's hand and grips it, careful not to hold him so tightly that it hurts. "They're idiots. What you need to understand is... there are some people at the nick who've always been jealous of you. You're bloody good at your job, and they're older than you and still constables. Also... well, you're clever, and you don't always suffer fools gladly. Not that I have a problem with that, but some people resent it."

James just shrugs; it's evident that Robbie's comments haven't convinced him.

"Yeah, your face is a bit red and blistered - well, like the rest of you. But you already knew that. It'll fade. In a few weeks' time, you'll be close to normal."

This time, he nods. "I know. And I know it shouldn't bother me. But-" He hesitates, staring down at their joined hands.

"What?"

"It's stupid. But I keep thinking... that maybe you feel the same way, but you're just doing a better job of hiding it." The embarrassment in James's voice tells Robbie that he shouldn't be angry that James thinks that of him. The lad needs reassurance, not criticism.

He turns to face James. "Look at me." After a moment, James looks up. "I don't care what you look like. Oh, I care that it hurts - I don't like to see you in pain. But, Christ, you could have huge scars all over your face - you could be bald - and all I'd care about is that you're alive. I almost lost you. D'you think anything else matters next to you being alive an' sitting next to me?"

James swallows, then nods.

All right. Clearly action is going to speak louder than words here. Robbie reaches up with his free hand and cups James's face - again gently, to avoid hurting James or damaging the healing skin.

James leans into his touch, though the doubt in his eyes doesn't entirely disappear. So Robbie shifts closer, then presses a gentle kiss against James's cheek. As he pulls back, James is staring at him, eyes wide...