Snapshot/short scene.
Thanks as always to my betas.
James sat on a bench seat under an ancient willow tree, his head lowered and hands clutching his knees. He wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to stop from shaking, his knees or his hands. Although his gaze was fixed on the ground between his feet, it was the events of the last forty-eight hours that he was focused on. Memories hurtled and collided through his mind, but slipped away before they solidified into anything meaningful. As he struggled to make sense of them, he didn't notice DCS Innocent crouch down in front of him, until a gentle hand under his chin lifted his head.
Anger tightened Innocent's features for a moment, as she took in the swollen and bruised face, before softening with concern. She squeezed his hand gently and James fought the urge to clasp it, to cling to it. It was the first time in two days that he had been touched with such kindness.
James looked down as he felt Innocent move her hand to slowly pull up the cuff of his torn and dirty shirt, revealing a raw circle of torn flesh around his wrist.
"An ambulance is on its way," Innocent informed him as she lowered the cuff and covered his hand with hers once again. "You had us all very worried." James looked up and frowned as Innocent's voice seemed to crack and she turned away for a moment. When she turned back she was smiling reassuringly.
"I need to take a look at the scene, James. I'm going to have a someone come over and stay with you. If you need anything, James, you let them know immediately, ok?"
James nodded. "Yes, ma'am." He attempted a smile, but it was lost in the grotesque distortion of his swollen features.
Innocent moved her hand as she stood up, and James had to ruthlessly squash the urge to reach out and grab it.
"You did well, James," Innocent said," we're all very proud of you," and with a squeeze of his shoulder she was gone.
James frowned as he watched Innocent walk away, bewildered by her words. He hadn't done well; in fact he was pretty sure he had royally fucked things up, or he wouldn't be covered from head to toe in filth and bruises. If he had done well surely he would have been able to recall the events that put him in such a sorry state, wouldn't he? He lowered his head again as he tried yet again to make sense of all that had transpired.
He shook his head as he tried to remember, he only recalled pain, boots and fists aimed at him as he tried to curl away from the beatings, hands cruelly handcuffed behind his back. There had also been an overwhelming sense of inevitability that he would die, and with it the apprehension that he hadn't done enough to redeem his soul, that he would never know peace.
Unaware of the silent sentinel, in the guise of WPC Julie Lockhart, who stood at the other end of the bench, James raised a trembling hand to cover his eyes, uncaring of the pain it caused his battered face and wept quietly.
Someone sat down next to him, a firm arm curling around his shoulders, pulling him into a sideward hug.
"It's all right, lad," Lewis' soothed, his voice rumbled in his chest as he cradled James to his heart. "I'm here now, you're safe, you're safe, James. Oh, thank god, you're safe."
