Disclaimer: This story is for fan purposes only, all characters belong to ITV.

This is my first ever fan fiction, so apologies if it isn't the greatest thing since sliced bread. This story popped into my head after the last episode of the latest series of Lewis, and I've been struggling to get it out since. I would genuinely hate it if this happened, because I love the fact that Hobson and Lewis are finally something! This is if Robbie and Lizzie had gone to the pumping station and been killed - please don't hate me for it - and how the remaining characters cope with it. I hope to continue with the story but am starting a new / first job next week. I've also rated it T because I don't know where this will go.

Laura put the phone down, and considered what Jean had just informed her through the haze of drink; James had turned up to work drunk, caused a massive scene, handed in his resignation and then left again, and Jean was obviously really worried and had rung her. Laura, picked up her glass and poured the remaining dregs of wine down her throat. Neither she nor Jean could really blame him for being in a drunken stupor, especially not her - it was only 2 in the afternoon and she was already somewhat drunk. She mused about what Jean had told her, although not surprised she did find it massively unsettling, especially how James was now acting. She needed to go and see him, he wasn't coping that much was obvious. She need to help him through this, because in helping him, maybe she could forget her own pain.

She rose unsteadily from the kitchen table, noting just HOW quiet the house was, especially now that Robbie's family had left, no Jack running around and giving the house some kind of warmth. As she walked unsteadily to the key bowl situated by the front door on the little table, she noted in her haze that Monty wasn't in his usual place, lazily stretched out underneath the window where the sun beam hit the floor. She knew she'd possibly had too much to drink by this point as she found herself wondering whether Monty had become like Grey friars Bobby, and that if she went to his grave, she might find Monty sitting there. She shook her head. Monty was a fickle cat at best and due to the chaotic few weeks that the household had been through he'd probably found someone else to feed him.

She paused by the table by the front door to pick up her keys, and realised with a sudden jolt that she shouldn't drive as she was probably already way over the limit. As she picked up the keys, she saw the other keys belonging to Robbie sitting there, glinting in the afternoon sun seemingly asking to be used by their owner. Suddenly she felt sick, a familiar wave of nausea flooding over her which came out of nowhere, rather like all the other times over the past 3 weeks. She tried to swallow it down, as she didn't want to be sick, not now. She knew that today it had come from her drinking and not eating. She also knew that her body needed her to eat, she'd seen several bodies on her mortuary slab ravished by drink and knew it was not the way she wanted to go, but couldn't face anything.

The nausea was still there and battling with her, so she made her way back to the kitchen and stood by the coffee machine, trying to decide between making herself a coffee or having a glass of water. Since he died, decisions had become so much harder. As she was hit by another nauseous wave, the decision was made for her, so she went to the sink, turning on the tap to make sure the hot water had run through and so it was ice cold whilst getting a glass down. Jesus Laura. You really need to get your act together. This isn't good for anyone. You need to be sober!

She finished her second glass of water - noting how she felt better and that the nausea had thankfully lessened - and made her way to the front door, hoping that the warm summer air would do her some good especially if she needed all her faculties ready for doing battle with him. He was enigmatic at best. On her way back to the front door, she stopped, trying hard not to look at the other set of keys and picked up the James' solitary key next to the bowl. Robbie had made sure when James had left for Spain that they had a spare key, just to keep his flat free from damp or whatever Robbie had been worried about. She could crumble right there, into the grief that seemed to be like the nausea and wave like. But she needed to see James. Make the lad see sense. Crumbling here whilst James was on the other side of Oxford wasn't going to do any good for either of them. She needed to see him, make sure he wasn't doing something stupid. She suddenly had so much to say to him, and she really couldn't let him give up the job, she couldn't wave goodbye to another person she loved.

Laura unlocked the door to James' flat and walked in. She knew he wouldn't like her doing this, but, she cared about him, and she had things that needed to be said. She peered around; the flat was dark, the curtains were pretty much drawn, with a small amount of light coming in from the windows and it smelt of cigarettes. She assumed that if the curtains were drawn there would be a smoky haze, like in the years before smoking was banned in pubs. Empty bottles were strewn around. She knew where she would find him, so from the times she'd been there before, she walked over to the tiny lounge. As her eyes got used to the gloom, she saw James' figure hunched in one of his brown leather arm chairs, long legs over the side. Beside the chair was a small table that she knew Robbie had brought him when he had moved in not so long ago, and as she had realised before she had even got to his flat, that there would be half empty bottle of scotch on the table, and the glass filled up.

James didn't even bother looking up as he heard her letting herself into the flat. He knew it was her. He knew the moment he had left work in his drunken state Innocent would ring her. It made him feel worse, he should be going to HER, not her coming to HIM. She was the one who needed looking after, not him. She was the one who had lost the love of her life. He took a long gulp of the scotch, feeling it burn, but not taking away the piercing pain in his chest, instead almost matching the pain.

Laura sighed as she watched him. She wanted to grab him and hug him, and protect him from the pain, but the James sitting in the chair wasn't probably going to thank her for that. So instead, although she hated scotch, she grabbed a glass from the side cabinet – not bothering to see whether it was clean or not her and poured herself a large glass. She realised she didn't need it – but right now, she needed some Dutch courage. She could tell just by him sitting there, that this was going to be a difficult conversation, she needed to tell him that she cared. She needed to make him stay.

She sat down in the other chair next to the table, holding her glass. 'James…'

He looked up at her… 'I know. I knew the moment I left she would…' He felt angry, and the bitterness showed in his voice, thought Laura.

'Because she cares, . I care. James this isn't you…you turn up to work drunk and then hand in your notice. You know she won't accept your resignation and what do you think she was going to do? Just leave you to it.'

'I hoped so…'

'James, I couldn't. You know that. You're one of the best detectives that the force has. I can't let you leave… you're… the only thing.. Where..' Laura struggled to find the right words as she stared down at her glass, then she plumped for the line that had been going round her mind since she woke up and took the first sip of wine; 'What would Robbie say?'

'Robbie?! Don't do that to me Laura.' He did his sarcastic little snort, that she was so used to him doing. He looked at her, and realised, even in the gloom of the flat he could see how the past 3 weeks had taken its toll on her. She looked so tired, thinner, gaunt, and looked like she had aged by about 10 years. Christ. 'I just want to get away from here, the memories, the fact I feel like I've let everyone down that I love.'

Laura looked up at James in the gloom; 'Oh for god sake James, you've let no one down. You certainly haven't let me down. You would if you left though…'

'It would be better if I wasn't here in Oxford,' Christ 'he was like a father figure to me Laura, and she was my sergeant…and I couldn't even stop them being killed!'

'James, none of them would have blamed you. Robbie wouldn't, Lyn doesn't…' She took a large sip of scotch, knowing that she hated it, but knowing it may make this conversation easier. She had to make him stay, and right now this wasn't working.

'Well.. Tony does. You should have seen how he looked at me at the funeral. Not that I blame him. …I should have been THERE, it should have been me! He screamed like a wounded animal, making Laura jump and threw the glass at the wall, shattering it. She looked at him, ready to scold him for behaving so stupidly, but instead realise as she glanced across at him that he was crying. His great shoulders shaking.

She'd never seen James cry, not even at either Lizzie or Robbie's funeral, well not that she knew of. She knew that he had to let it out. She put her glass down, and slowly made her way across to where James was sitting. She sat on the arm of the chair, rubbing his arm which just made him cry harder. She made what she hoped were comforting noises, telling him that it was OK, that she was here. How can it be, I can barely look after myself she thought

James hated himself for this, he hated that he was breaking down in front of HER, when really it should have been the other way round, but the more he thought about it, the more the pain in his chest seemed to suffocate him and he found himself unable to stop crying. He felt himself put his arms around the tiny doctors waist and let himself go into the grief. His throat felt raw and burning from the tears, but it felt right. She felt so comforting, and realised with some shock that he could feel her ribs, and even through his tears whether she'd eaten at all today.

He doesn't know how long he cries for, it could have been a minute, or an hour. Finally he stops, and as he sits there, arms around the tiny doctor, he feels drained, his body shuddering as he tries to get back his breath. 'Did that make you feel better? You shouldn't keep it all in James..' He could smell the scotch on her breath, and the smell of her perfume. James nodded, although now he felt somewhat embarrassed.

James peered at Laura, she looked so small. James was suddenly hit by this need to protect her, to be with her, to stop her feeling this immense pain. Who was there for her? Who sat with her when she cried? If questioned later he would blame it on the scotch but suddenly he wanted to take away her pain, be there for her, be a comforting presence to her, and with that he couldn't stop himself leaning in to kiss her. Their mouths met, their tongues intertwined, desperately searching, almost like two drowning lovers seeking their last kiss. Then it became all teeth and tongue, and rough as they lost themselves to the kiss. He could taste the scotch on her, his hand went up to the back of her neck, bringing her closer to him, and he sucked at her tongue more deeply, his other hand still round her waist, her hand on his shoulder. Through the drunken haze the alarm bells started rang in his head, what are you doing?! You're kissing Laura. Dr Hobson. Laura Hobson. The pathologist. YOU ARE KISSING ROBBIE'S LAURA.

Shit.