A/N: I'm aware I've taken liberties with Norse mythology, combining bits of different translations because I like them, and with Oxford's geography, for convenience's sake. But, hey, it's fiction, right? And of course, I do not own nor gain anything financial from using Colin Dexter's and ITV's characters.
A measure of wisdom each man shall have,
But never too much let him know;
For the wise man's heart is seldom happy,
If wisdom too great he has won.
- The Poetic Edda: Hávamál, stanza 55
James Hathaway drained the remains of his pint of best and checked the glass of his companion to see how much brown was left there. Considerably less than half the pint.
"My shout?" He prepared to stand.
Robbie Lewis picked up his glass and finished it off in one swallow. He grinned. Obviously feeling pretty good, his Sergeant decided.
"Yeah, why not?" Handed over his glass.
When James returned, Robbie took a long pull and then wiped the trace of foam from his top lip. "Plans for the weekend?" They'd finished up a tough case this week and it looked as though the weekend would, for once, be two complete days of rest.
Hathaway gave a quiet snort. "Oh yeah, big plans." The raised eyebrow caused a rueful grin to spread across the younger man's face. "Three big loads of washing, a lot of loose change, and that's me at the laundromat half of Saturday."
Lewis huffed in amusement. "I thought you were going to buy a new machine."
Hathaway peered into his pint glass. "I chucked that plan. What else gets me out of the flat and into the real world?"
A wry grin. "Well, work, I woulda thought."
"Not exciting enough."
Lewis shook his head and chuckled. "If you say so, Sergeant."
James only smiled enigmatically. He sipped a while on his beer, studying the surface of the amber liquid. At last he looked up.
"And yourself?"
Robbie blinked at the unexpected question. "What?"
"Plans for the weekend? Or aren't you at liberty to say?" He cocked an eyebrow with all the insinuation he was capable of mustering. Which was, in fact, a lot.
"Alright, Sergeant, enough cheek for one night." Robbie took a long swallow before answering, deliberately drawing out his time to respond.
"As it happens, I will be spending much of the weekend with Wagner. Radio 3 is airing the entire Ring Cycle, the Solti-Vienna Philharmonic recording, from noon to eight Saturday and Sunday."
Hathaway stared. "And you are . . . looking forward to this?" His voice and expression betrayed his disbelief.
"It's a terrific story . . ." Lewis trailed off, his gaze unfocused.
Hathaway's eyes narrowed. His silence outlasted Lewis's charade, and the older man cracked a grin.
"Okay, I plan to do a bit of redecorating. Painting, specifically, and the Ring Cycle, I figure, will take me mind off the tedium of all that boring prep work."
Hathaway nodded sagely, still saying nothing and forcing Robbie to fill the awkward silence.
"Well, y'know. Power over the world, betrayal, death of the gods . . . it's not something we have to deal with every day, is it?" He drained the remains of his pint. He was slightly embarrassed, and it made him surly, clipping his words. "Nice change of pace. More exciting than doing washing all weekend." He stood. "I've got a lot of work ahead of me over the next two days, so I'd better get on to bed. See you Monday, then."
"'Night." Hathaway, looking slightly amused, watched him go.
