A/N: A little slightly angsty thing. Robbie's POV.
Pairing: Lewis/Hathaway
Word Count: 555
Disclaimer: I own nothing at all, more's the pity.
Youth
There are days when Robbie wonders how young Hathaway truly is. Sure the file says he's 32 (33 in October. Must remember to buy a present. Or at least a pint) and in his sharp suits and shiny shoes his DS looks as mature and sensible as any 32 year old ever will. But there are moments, mostly moments of high stress or sheer boredom, when James looks so young and innocent that all Robbie wants to do is wrap him up in cotton wool and hide him away from all the bad things in the world.
It's infinitely more obvious when James is free from his work clothes, pottering about his flat in baggy jeans and slogan covered t-shirts, that inside he is practically still a child. Sure he's smart (too bloody smart) and seen enough murder and mayhem to know how the world works. Nevertheless, when they're settled on the sofa, eating take away and watching rubbish TV, James will watch him (he thinks Robbie doesn't notice) with such naive adoration that Robbie doesn't quite know what to do with himself.
Sometimes they get called to a crime scene and James has clearly been out somewhere and he's all artfully ripped jeans and deep purple eye shadow and skin tight tops and he looks at Robbie with such desperate eyes that beg not to be judged for what he looks like, not to see him as the child that he clearly still is, not to send him away for not being as mature as he should be, that Robbie's heart breaks.
Seeing the innocent Hathaway is all at once wonderful and terrifying and painful. How could this delicate creature possibly survive in their line of work? Surely one day Hathaway would turn around and he wouldn't be the same guy anymore. He'd be old and cold and hard.
On a purely selfish note he wishes James weren't so young. He looks at Hathaway and sees a young man at the start of his life, a whole world of possibilities laid before him and it never fails to remind him how old he is now. How much of his life has gone by. How little he has left. How little of his life he has left to share with James.
And that's the crux of the matter really. It isn't that James is a little immature sometimes. That's not an issue. Kids grow up too early nowadays. And it's not that he's old. He's not that old. Yes, he's no spring chicken anymore but he hasn't wasted his life and nearly 50 isn't all that old. No. It's the difference between them that scares him the most.
He knows James is in love with him (He's a detective. A certain level of observational and deductive skills is required. And Hobson told him) and he's accepted that he's more than a little in love back. But he can't do anything about it because James is so so young and he is an old man and as happy as having James would make him he refuses to be that selfish. He could spend the rest of his life with James but James couldn't spend his whole life with him.
Sometimes he looks at James and sees a child and wishes he didn't love him so much.