Unspoken
Thomas Lynley had never wanted anyone's pity or sympathy when his wife was killed. The flowers and cards, the tributes to what a wonderful woman she had been, the tears, the pleas to call if he should ever need the slightest bit of help, no questions asked- and even the nervously offered I-bought-you-and-Helen-a-present-for-the-baby-if-you-want-it-it's-yours…'s, while appreciated, for the kindness of the thought behind them, were honestly the last thing that he had wanted to hear. In fact, at that time, there really was very little –if anything- that he found more frustrating than the longing "if I only could help you…" gazes that he so frequently found shyly directly toward him by his friends and family- as though it were he who was suffering the most. He thought, how could they worry so after him when it was Helen who was dead? And their poor baby… their poor baby who had never seen the sky. How could they worry about him?
She had been he same, at first. Even her. She, who had, in times of trial, been his rock- never caring what anyone thought of her, always following through on her gut feeling. It had been she who had saved him- not just physically, from death at the hands of his wife's killer, but in just being her and being there for him. Yet all of a sudden, his vibrant, cultured and clumsy DS, Barbara Havers, was the gloomiest soul of the lot, and it broke his heart. Because not only had he lost Helen, he was also losing the only woman he had ever truly loved…
Helen had been beautiful, of course, and kind too. She had made him laugh and smile and helped him to relax when things were troubling him at work… but he had always shared something special with Havers- some little spark that, despite all efforts to extinguish it before it was too late, had only grown brighter and brighter over the years. Because as far as he was concerned, it had been "too late" from the first time he had ever laid eyes on her. He was in love.
Ultimately, Lynley had returned to the Met because of her. Coming across her again during the investigation of the boy's -Santo's- murder had only served to fuel the spark of love that he felt of her that remained inside him even then- the spark he had tried and tried and failed to drown in his own sorrows so many times since the death of his wife.
When he returned, the pity was gone completely from her gaze. The way she looked at him… her expression was different.
Bloody stubborn mindlessness, he thought - the very essence of the Barbara Havers he had come to know and love over the years that he had worked with her- however reluctant such a love may have been to unfold. Now, staring him resolutely in the face, she was so sure of herself- and so sure of him too. Yes, the memories of his trials and sympathy for his loss remained –would always remain- but she would no longer let them control her perception of him, nor her behaviour toward him, just as he would no longer allow Helen's death to control his actions.
They were new people. Dead, yet somehow brought to life in one another's presence- like puppets whose strings had been left unattended by their manipulators- alone in the world for the first time. Now, together again, their strings tangled and crossed and they were one.
Lynley and Havers. Havers and Lynley…Though the words remained unspoken between them, he thanked her. For bringing him back to the Met, yes- but also for bringing him back from a place so much farther than the cliff path could ever have taken him, even if he could have followed it to the ends of the mortal world.
"Welcome back, sir."
From death. She'd brought him back. He was finally living again.
"We missed you."