Title: Congressus Procul Oxfordiae
Rating: T (just a few strong words)
Disclaimer: I don't own either show. I just thought they should meet.
Summary: Oxfordshire Police hosts a training symposium for its coppers and invites an illustrious expert as a guest speaker, a Grace Foley. Misunderstandings must - naturally - ensue.
Notes: This is my first crossover and also my first foray into Lewis-fanfic. Therefore, I ask you to be gentle with me. In terms of spoilers - there is referral for WtD's "Endgame", but that's it. Set between WtD's series 8 and 9 and Lewis around series 5 (could be shortly before "Next Friday"). Many thanks go to my awesome beta Shadowsamurai83.
Hope you enjoy!
Congressus Procul Oxfordiae
She's said it before - not once, several times, in fact. But she doesn't like the situation and therefore feels entitled to repeat herself. "Why are we doing this?"
He shrugs and rolls his eyes, not for the first time, and gives the same answer he's given before. "Because the Chief Super said we have to."
"Why did she send me? And you? Why not go herself? Or send Hathaway? James would have enjoyed this!"
Lewis nods in agreement. It's true, his junior partner, who would have enjoyed the conference, grumbled - though not too loudly within ear shot of the Chief Super - that he was ordered to hold the fort.
Next to him, Laura rearranges her body on the chair to portray her reluctance in a way that would befit a sullen teenager, not an experienced pathologist. However, he can't shake the feeling that his superior has, in her incredibly subtle way, tried to force them into some further training to modernize at least his work, and sent Hobson along for company.
It's not an overly pleasant thought, despite the fact that Laura's presence does lighten up the situation. He's been in the service for too long to really start adopting the 'modern approach'. His working style might not be something to boast about to the press, but it gets the required results. Morse didn't do it much different, except that he was a lot smarter than his partner.
Sitting here between all these intellectuals - the actual coppers stick out like sore thumbs - he feels like this is going to be an afternoon truly wasted. That the conference elongates into the evening when it turns into a social event with banquet and drinks doesn't improve the situation. At least they don't have to do black tie, though formal wear is required.
"That's her," Laura suddenly says, gesturing quietly to a woman who has just entered the room. The sullen teenager impression is gone, replaced by one of quiet interest.
The change is a little unexpected, so Lewis follows her indication and watches the woman as well, trying to gauge her. It isn't easy, even though they sit fairly far in front. First impression says: small, slim, early to mid-sixties. Blonde hair, dyed, but tastefully so. Clothes well-chosen, elegant, not cheap, but a little quirky. The list is made within a fraction of a second, because then the scene is taken over by the woman's companion.
It's a deliberate impression, he realizes in a heartbeat. While the woman might be and is probably able to hold her own in this room or any other situation, the man takes the stance of her bodyguard. His body language brooks no argument and warns off anybody who dares to come close.
Robbie turns to Laura with a raised eyebrow, wondering whether she has noticed it too, but all he can see is the pathologist fighting a grin. There was nothing subtle about the couple's entrance, but Hobson's smirk is somewhat unusual.
"What is it?" he asks quietly, while their speaker makes her way to the dais, her companion following and glowering at the technician who is setting up the Powerpoint.
"Nothing," is the cryptic reply, intensified only when Laura leans back in her chair and announces, "I'm curious about the presentation."
That's a new one and not at all compliant with the remarks made just minutes before.
Lewis is puzzled by this sudden change of opinion, but this is Laura and in their long acquaintance and friendship, he can't say that he has really come to understand her. Which might be partially his fault for not trying more purposefully.
At this moment, their guest speaker - oddly enough not introduced by a local host - starts her opening remarks, which forces Lewis to abandon all rather disconcerting thoughts of Laura and why they are not so close that he can read her easily.
Instead he, and surprisingly every other occupant of the room, is beginning to focus on the speaker. She has an easy way of drawing attention to herself and though she uses long words and long sentences, nobody in the room feels like they don't get what is said. She's also quite witty and self-depreciating, making the lecture even more interesting.
The topic is hard to stomach and the illustrating examples, supported by pictures and small video clips, gruesome in places. Nobody expected it otherwise; mass murder is not a walk in the park, but faces pale around the room in any case.
Despite himself, Lewis is quite taken with the lecture, his interest more and more piqued the longer it goes on. In his mind questions form, ideas that would be interesting to discuss further with Dr. Grace Foley, who makes her presentation probably the most interesting training lecture Lewis has heard in years, if not in all of his career.
She's good.
Self-assured, knowledgeable and even funny at times. It's also obvious she's not one of those refined London-ladies, though her language is certainly top-notch. There's a lilt of a Northern accent beneath the polished veneer that makes it all the more interesting.
As Dr. Foley begins to outline the final example in her presentation, Lewis decides that the following social event might be actually something to look forward to.
The presentation as such finished, the floor is opened for questions, and while most are on topic and can't disguise a quiet admiration for the good Doctor, there are a few impertinent souls who want to laugh her explanations off as leaf-reading or just plain stupid.
The second to last questioner is particularly brazen, all but doubting Foley's professional credits. It makes Lewis bristle and Dr. Foley's companion...well, having hidden himself in the front row until then, the man suddenly gets up. His expression compares easily to a thundercloud and under all the civility of a smart and obviously expensive suit, something elemental shines through.
Quite a few people in the audience, who already turned around to catch a look of the man making an idiot of himself, begin to whisper excitedly in expectation of a brawl.
It doesn't happen.
Dr. Foley masters the situation easily, a quick but sharp joke at the question's expense and the room is fully on her side again. Her companion sits down again, but Lewis chances a look at Hobson next to him, and from her expression she doesn't believe either that this little incident will be completely forgotten for the night.
After a few further questions, the presentation is finished and the group disperses in search for refreshments.
Laura offers to get him some tea, which Lewis gratefully accepts. As she leaves, he can't help but follow her movements with his eyes, enchanted by the way the dress and jacket hug her figure. For a moment he allows himself to imagine the possibilities of the evening with food and drink, away from the station and murder victims. He even imagines driving her home, maybe even following her in for a night cap and then...
Dr. Foley and her companion choose this exact moment to pass by his seat on their way out, dragging his thoughts back to the present. It strikes him that the criminal profiler - as the lecture announcement identifies her - is even slighter than it appeared at first. It seems to be due to the physical presence of her still nameless companion who seems to dwarf her. But even in the fractions of a second they need to pass him by, it becomes obvious that the impression is superficial and physical at best. Untrue in any way.
Lewis uses the time until Laura's return to read the lecture announcement and what he finds is quite enough to further his interest in the social event afterwards.
He meanders through the groups of people at the reception, in search for Laura. Unfortunately, it looks as if she's disappeared during the time he left to take a biological break. Exchanging nods and short, polite greetings with a few fellow coppers he knows, Lewis moves forward. It takes a while, but finally he sees her and the sight is a lot less appealing than predicted.
This man from London, who has apparently now abandoned his companion and moved onto... The thought is not charitable and Lewis squashes it before it fully forms. Neither woman deserves it. Laura is not some flighty, fickle young thing who can't take care of herself, and that Dr. Foley didn't look like she'd break down immediately either.
With his thought process firmly arranged back into proper, he approaches the bar and orders himself a glass of water. He'd prefer a pint, but he's still supposed to drive Laura home later on. This brings him back to the imaginary plans he's made earlier, but as he looks once again to the corner, he realizes that those plans will remain an image. Laura seems to have a very good time with that man, who is - admittedly - a good looking bloke, despite the slightly dishevelled look. The detective in Lewis quickly fathoms that it's carefully cultivated to contrast with the expensive suit and overly confident manners of the man.
They talk quite earnestly, very focussed on each other, until they laugh together somewhat carefree. Lewis hasn't heard Laura laugh like that for a long time, but he can't remember seeing her openly and genuinely flirt with somebody. His memory of the proceedings might not be the best, but if the at once coy smiles, then intense looks between the two are any indication, that is what they do.
The 'London-man' still has got no name, but from the looks of it, that needs to change.
Before Robbie can execute the thought and go over to interrupt, next to him a dark female voice orders a glass of dry red.
The Northern lilt is stronger now than it was before and there is a very small undertone in it. It conveys weariness, though not of the exhausted kind. There's something resigned to it, something wistful. It's an odd mix of tones that he knows so incredibly well, feels at this very moment, that he turns and comes face to face with Dr. Grace Foley.
At this close a distance, he retains his original guestimation of her age, but she seems more fragile than before. The lines in her face, the shadows are carefully covered by make-up, but the exhaustion that was not audible, is now easy to be seen. Lewis can also see that this woman is a little underweight, though gaining. He doesn't comment, but his mind automatically supplies an explanation that comes close to the truth.
He wanted to talk to her earlier, he remembers, and now she's standing next to him, abandoned by her companion who is flirting with Laura. Abandoned and forgotten, like him. A short glance over his shoulder proves the assumption to be correct, so Robbie raises his glass in a toast. "Thank you for a very enlightening lecture, Dr. Foley," he says quietly.
She gives him a polite smile, but her gaze remains guarded as if she's trying to get his measure first. He passes muster, apparently, because her smile widens and becomes much more genuine. "Thank you, Mr..."
"Lewis. Detective Inspector Lewis, Oxford Police." He doesn't know why he introduces himself with his full rank, it sounds idiotic in a social situation like this. Inwardly he cringes, his ineptitude at social communication painfully obvious.
Dr. Foley does not take offence; in fact, actual amusement drifts into her smile, making her chuckle in the end. "Foley. Doctor Foley. Home Office." She extends her hand. "On contract for the Metropolitan Police. Cold Case Unit." There is a pause, during which she looks at him again and then chuckles once more. "Is this precise enough for you, DI Lewis?"
He blushes, embarrassed, but amused at the same time. Embarrassment is surprisingly comfortable with her. Shaking her hand, he shrugs, then smiles himself. "Robbie will do."
"Grace" It strikes him yet again how small she is, her hand almost disappearing in his. "It is I who should, thank you, really. It's always a little daunting coming to Oxford, where some people think they reinvent the wheel every day." Her voice is a touch sardonic, compounded by the barely hidden roll of her eyes.
"Did you never haunt these hallowed halls as a student?" he asks and earns another, this time sarcastic, chuckle.
"No. I wasn't posh enough to be accepted as a student. Not even as a post-grad." He looks at her with interest, urging her to go on. "Back then, they were not so keen on some working class scouser girl."
This catches Lewis' interest, but he still can't place the lilt entirely.
Apparently, she can read minds, for she shrugs and says, "Merseyside."
It makes him chuckle, the way she utters this one word. Pride and resignation in one. Never an acceptable origin in the posh world of Oxford.
"Newcastle," he replies, instantly feeling a companionship. They raise their glasses again in a toast and she's polite enough to overlook that his is filled with water.
"And now?"
There is an unholy glee in her expression as Grace takes a large sip of her wine. "Now I am exclusive enough for them, but they can't offer me anything that catches my interest."
They laugh and begin an exchange of stories of their home towns that leads them to a table in a quiet corner about half an hour later, where they remain for the duration of the evening and long after its originally planned finish. Caught in their conversation, relaxed and amused, they are both oblivious to the curious glances they receive from most of the other guests.
What they are absolutely blind to is the intense perusal they receive from two sets of eyes from across the room. Neither of them even imagines the conversation that goes along with it.
Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.