It started innocently enough with a kindness on Laura's part. The events surrounding the Phoenix murders had created a powerful ripple between Robbie and James, and though Robbie was deeply relieved that James had survived Zoe Kenneth's murderous revenge, he was hesitant to readily fall back into their familiar patterns; for his part, James was reluctant to make any assumptions. It was Laura James called when he was eventually released from hospital.
"The doctor won't let me go home in a taxi, and I…Inspector Lewis is… if you're busy…" She pushed down a sigh at the uncertainly in his voice, picking up the tremor he was trying hard to hide.
"I'll be there in half an hour, James," she offered kindly. She could picture his shoulders sagging in relief as he sighed his thanks.
*
She watched James through the glass door for a few minutes. He was perched on the edge of the visitor's chair, bag between his feet. His head was bowed and one leg bounced nervously, shaking his thin frame. She'd never felt maternal towards James, and she certainly wasn't now, however, seeing the young man at a loss saddened her. A gesture was needed; something to let James know Robbie wasn't the only person who could be his friend.
James rarely used more words that he had to – unless he was quoting wild and free to wind Robbie up – but even though Laura was used to that, she found his silence in the car unsettling. It was as if he'd completely turned into himself. When she pulled up outside his building, he had the seatbelt off and the door open before she came to a complete stop.
"James!" She grabbed his arm, stalling his flight. "Come to dinner, at my place – tonight. You look like you could use a friend."
She wanted to give him a shake when he hesitated and her impatience must have shown in her face as James' acceptance stumbled out.
"Seven o'clock, James." Her voice was kinder, "If you're not there, I'll be here by half seven, juggling hot dishes."
James gave a small but genuine smile, and shocked her by quickly leaning across and kissing her cheek. He walked to his building without looking back, and Laura was pleased to see he wasn't slouched.
For the first time in months, Laura was grateful for her sister's recent 'care' visit. Convinced Laura was incapable of cooking – surely she'd be married by now if she could cook a half-decent meal – her sister regularly dropped over with a dish of some description, packaged up for the freezer; she even kindly supplied heating instructions and serving suggestions. Laura was, in fact, and excellent cook, however, having no idea what James would like and limited time to prepare, Laura pulled out this week's lasagne. She could easily make a side salad, and there was lemon sorbet in the freezer if James wanted dessert.
*
James arrived promptly at seven and Laura wondered if he'd been waiting in his car outside, watching the clock. It was a mild night and without a tie and suit jacket he looked younger than the new intern.
"You never said what to bring." He held the bottle of wine before him like a shield, his voice soft and low, his eyes not quite meeting hers. Laura took the bottle in one hand and his elbow in the other, and drew him inside. He stood awkwardly in the entry as she headed into the kitchen.
"James," Laura spun to face him, one hand on the bench, the other planted on her hip, "Either come in here and open the wine, or go and make yourself comfortable in the living room. Dinner'll be about ten minutes and you're making the place look untidy."
He blinked at her in surprise and stepped into the kitchen; Laura pointed to the top drawer.
*
Laura watched in amazement as James methodically ate his way through half the lasagne and finished off the salad; far from barely eating, as she and Jean had often hypothesised, James apparently had hollow legs. She was pleased that he readily engaged in the conversation, but she had to work hard to keep it going as he offered nothing of his own. Still, it was better than an uncomfortable silence.
As the level of wine went down in the bottle, however, James grew quieter.
He carried the dirty dishes into the kitchen, rinsed them and stacked the dishwasher, and rested against the bench, watching Laura as she made coffee; it was beginning to irritate her.
"James..."
"I think he's going to have me transferred." It came out in a rushed sob.
"James?"
"I deserve to lose my job. Be disciplined." James' lip was quivering and his cheeks flushed. He stared at the floor and began chewing viciously at this thumbnail.
Without a word, Laura grasped James' arm above the elbow, tugging hard to get him to follow her; she pushed him onto the couch. Seated, he didn't tower over her to the same degree and she felt more in control.
She had her body turned slightly toward him, hands on her knees, mirroring his position, and sat quietly examining his face for any clues. When he didn't speak, she asked softly "I assume 'he' is Robbie?"
James nodded briskly. As Laura waited and watched, James' hands, now loosely clenched between his knees, began to shake. Before Laura's eyes, the tremor moved quickly up James' arms and across his shoulders, spreading like a wave until his entire body was trembling.
When he screwed his eyes shut and dropped his chin to his chest, Laura's reaction was to put her arm around his shoulder. She wasn't prepared for James falling forward into her embrace, his own arms wrapping around her waist as his head came to rest tucked under her chin.
Laura froze, her arms hovering over James' back. Cautiously she lowered them, laying one hand against the back of his head while the other rested lightly across his shoulders. She was troubled when she realised he was crying, weeping softly against her chest, his tears dampening the top of her blouse. She knew how to comfort the newly bereaved, the words to say, the appropriate expressions; she could even comfort young children up to a point. She had no idea what to do with a grown man who so far had been unable to articulate his need.
And it certainly didn't help that the man in question was dishy and, as she was discovering, firm and very pleasing to the touch. Laura Hobson, get a grip! He's young enough to be... not your son, too old for that. Nephew? Still too old. Brother? Eww, don't go there. She reminded herself that she had to work with James – and Robbie – and she didn't need that sort of awkwardness in her working day. Would it be awkward? They were all mature adults. Weren't they?
She shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind as she concentrated on calming James and finding out what the hell had happened between him and Robbie.
She fell back onto the only other experience she had – as a child, calming her puppy when he'd been terrified by the sound of her mother's vacuum cleaner. She rubbed James' back and stroked his hair – short and surprisingly soft – and made what she hoped were appropriately soothing noises. She held him close and waited for the trembling and the tears to stop.
*
The words came first, hesitantly, stuttering out the facts she already knew from Robbie: James' connection to Will, the history of the Garden, and Feardorcha/Zoe. She saw nothing there at all to reasonably account for James' obvious distress.
Without warning, James' confession came in a torrent: the lies, the concealment, the ambiguity, the denials. James' greatest sorrow was lying to the one person he trusted above all others, whose respect he craved.
"I don't know if I can look him in the eye again, Laura." His voice was barely a whisper but he was calm. "In the hospital, when I woke, he was there, and – God help me – he was kind." He sat up and gazed mournfully at her, "I didn't deserve it Laura."
Laura quietly hushed him. "James, I know Robbie. If he showed you kindness it was because he wanted to. Believe me, if he were angry with you, you would know about it. If he'd chosen not to forgive you, he wouldn't have been in that room, waiting." She cradled his cheek, the stubble rough against her palm, her breath catching as he leant into her hand. "I'm not saying things will go back to exactly how they were, but if you're prepared to wait, to follow his lead, you will get through this. The important thing now is not to push. It may take a while, and you'll have to expect some rough days, but you will get there."
*
She couldn't read his expression – which wasn't an uncommon occurrence – but she did know he was in an emotionally better place. His eyes had lost their haunted look, and his hands, which had stopped trembling, now rested against her waist.
Laura held his face with both hands; oddly it felt less intimate, "Until it does, you know you can come and talk to me – if you don't want to talk at work, you can come here and I'll cook you dinner again."
"That's very generous," James blurted, "But I couldn't intrude, you've done enough tonight and..."
Without moving her hands, she'd pressed a thumb over his lips to stop him. "For some strange reason, James Hathaway, you and Inspector Lewis are rather important to me, though only God knows why – you both drive me to distraction; you with your facts and quotes, him with his impatience for results." James snorted softly and returned Laura's pleased smile. "Let me do this for you – for both of you – you are a bit of package deal: annoy one, annoy both; make one happy, make both happy."
James nodded, his gaze becoming thoughtful as he held Laura's eyes. As she dropped her hands to his shoulders, he leant towards her.
*
The first thing she thought was this isn't a thank you kiss, as James pressed his lips to hers, firmly and confidently. That was quickly followed by oh, he does know what he's doing as his tongue teased her bottom lip. When a hand cradled the back of her neck, and another grazed her hip, she stopped thinking and let go.
Laura felt herself being gently laid back against the couch. She was dimly aware that James was changing position; that he wasn't simply leaning forward. She was very aware of his tongue and his lips as they traced patterns down her throat and back to her mouth. A strong hand raised her legs onto the couch, and the pressure against her body told her that James was straddling her, with one knee between her and the back of the couch and the other foot, presumably, on the floor. James' tongue probed carefully at her lips again and she let him in.
The small voice of reason told her to stop, to make James stop, but it was good and it had been a while since she'd been with anyone, and she missed this, dear God, how she missed it.
The brush of fingertips against her inner thigh brought Laura up with a jolt. Bringing a hand between herself and James, she pushed against his chest, relieved when he raised his head at the slight pressure.
His eyes were heavy, his breath short; he looked down on her with confusion.
"Did I hurt you, have I done something wrong?" Confusion was swiftly giving way to panic.
"Not wrong, James, not hurt either." Laura hurried to reassure James and willed her brain to work faster than his reactions.
"It's... I'm used to... I'm not in my carefree twenties anymore, that's all." She touched the arm that still caressed her thigh. James looked down to where she was touching him, his puzzled frown giving way to horror as he became aware of where his hand was.
He scrambled backward and helped Laura sit up. He tucked himself in the corner of the lounge, one leg tucked under, his arms crossed tightly over his stomach, not looking at Laura as she rearranged her dress.
"Doctor Hobson, I... I'm so sorry, I had no intention..." James stared at the cushion in front of him.
Laura had never seen James look so... disappointed. In himself? With me? Because he kissed me – or because I stopped him? She laid a hand on his knee.
"It's all right, James, I know." Laura chewed nervously on her bottom lip, debating the wisdom of her next words and deciding 'nothing ventured, nothing gained'. "You don't need to apologise, I was enjoying myself, but, given that we work together, perhaps we should consider this carefully."
*
James lifted his head slightly, just enough to let him see Laura's eyes, to read her intent. When he saw sincerity, he raised his chin and studied her openly. "You're not going to chase me out? Report me to Inspector Lewis?"
"No!" Laura laughed, a bright, carefree sound that gave James hope. "Why on earth would I want to do that?"
"I presumed," he stammered, "I took advantage..." He stopped when she shook her head, drawing her smile in a little.
"Trust me, James, you didn't take advantage. I could have stopped you at the first kiss and I didn't. I made a choice; it may not have been one of my more rational ones but it was a choice – and I don't regret it." She held his eyes and waited for his response.
James swallowed as words and ideas tumbled around his head, trying to make a coherent pattern in his mind and mouth. Kissing Laura was nice, more than nice, and it had been some time since he'd been with anyone – if you didn't count Zoe. He knew choosing Laura wasn't the safest decision he could make – there was Lewis to consider in that equation, and that could mean more secrets. But Lewis had had his chance with Laura, hadn't he? It wasn't James' fault if Lewis hadn't acted on Laura's interest. James made his choice.
"Neither do I."
He picked Laura's hand up off his thigh – she'd moved closer while he'd been reasoning with himself and her hand had slipped higher – and drew her towards him. She climbed onto his lap, straddling him, the skirt of her dress rising up her thighs.
"Shall I show you what I like on a second date, James?" Her lips nuzzled against his ear.
"Second?" James inhaled sharply, as Laura began to softly suck the pale skin between his ear and his jaw.
"I think we know each other well enough to skip the first date dancing around, don't you? And besides, we've got that not-so-awkward first kiss out of the way."
James sighed as Laura found his mouth. As her hands roughly untucked his shirt and pushed underneath, all his poetry imploded.