Title: Darkness gathers round
Rating: T
Summary: An attack on one of the team. This is a one-shot for now, but if you want me to write more then let me know.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with the television programme 'Lewis', no matter how much I wish and dream that I did, especially as it's got the wonderful Laurence Fox in it.
Author's Note: Okay I have absolutely no idea where this came from, I think it was from last Saturday's 'Lewis' and my love of angst. I started writing this whilst writing the next chapter of my CSI:NY fanfic, so hopefully that'll be up soon, just want to say a quick 'sorry' to everyone waiting for that chapter. It's currently the Easter holidays so I should be able to finish it, revision permitting of course. Anyway, as for this one...well I hope you like it and as always please do let me know what you think and if you want me to put another chapter up.
The darkness was closing in. The water had been forced into his lungs, removing all the oxygen that had once filled them. He could feel his life ebbing away with each second that he was kept under the cool liquid. His hands and feet had given up the struggle against his attacker, both too weak to continue to do much more then twitch occasionally against the porcelain bath or the white, tiled floor. His eyes were open under the surface of the water and through the tunnel of darkness that was engulfing his vision he could see the light glinting on the surface of the sloshing water. Small bubbles occasionally passed before his eyes, but the number was diminishing as his breaths became few and far between. His body was deciding that it wasn't getting what it required from the cold water, therefore it was slowly giving up the fight.
He could feel his attacker's hands on the back of his head and neck, pressing him firmly against the bottom of the bath tub. No sound could permeate the liquid surrounding him but he could almost imagine the other man grunting as he continued to hold his prey under the surface. The malevolent gleam in his eye would grow stronger as the last few bubbles popped, a wicked, satisfied grin would spread across his face when his victim lay still under his hands, his life extinguished. James tried to get rid of this image but it seemed to be ingrained on his retinas. His life was ending in such an undignified way! He'd had dreams of either going out with a bang or else dying in his bed when he was 110 years old…well maybe not that old, but still he'd wanted to live his life properly or die doing what he thought was right. He didn't want to be murdered in his own home, in his own bath by some madman who had taken a fancy to him when he saw his picture in the newspaper!
A small, barely noticeable shudder ran through the younger man at the thought of what this guy would do to him once he was gone, once his spirit had departed, once he'd kicked the bucket and was pushing up daises. So many euphemisms and so little time to list them all. He wondered what his Inspector would say when he didn't turn up for work tomorrow morning, no doubt there'd be a bit of confusion as to why the normally punctual Sergeant Hathaway wasn't at his desk complaining about his superior's tardiness, when in fact he was only a second late. Then this would soon turn into annoyance when James didn't pick up his phone, and eventually someone would come round to his house and find him, probably laid out on the bathroom floor. He could practically see the funeral now, a few of his colleagues there talking to his family and saying how sorry they were that he'd died so young. So young…God how many times had he said that to families grieving the loss of their children? He and Lewis had gone to numerous houses, witnessed the shock, grief and then acceptance of the parents as they tried to describe their children to the two officers. How would his own parents react?
The hands holding him down relaxed momentarily and for some reason Hathaway renewed his fighting for a few seconds, his hands gaining some kind of purchase on the bottom of the bath tub and pushing him upwards to get to that precious air. His head just managed to break the surface, he sucked in a miniscule amount of that lifesaving stuff before his attacker pushed him back down. This time the hands were firmer and he felt his forehead hit the hard surface with a sound that was lost in the water. His vision was blurring now, a small stream of red was twisting and turning in the water before his eyes. He wondered vaguely what it was.
Something in the pocket of his jacket was vibrating, it was tickling him and he couldn't stop a small chuckle from escaping his lips. Due to this he swallowed yet more water, gagging as it ran down his bruised trachea. He was bruised all over, but then again he'd managed to give his attacker a good few sore points during their tussle earlier. Somehow that didn't seem to be worth much now, not when he was the one being drowned.
Finally he closed his eyes, the need to fall asleep overpowering everything, even the burning in his lungs as they fought for oxygen. All he wanted to do was slip into blissful unconsciousness, then he would wake up and everything would be so much better. The small part of his brain that was still thinking clearly couldn't help but realise that, that was completely chimerical, if he fell asleep now then he wouldn't wake up again.
'Oh well,' said a small voice in his head as his brain began to move slower, most of his thoughts blurring together 'Doesn't really matter does it? Maybe this is for the best.' Everything was becoming harder to do, even thinking was difficult. He suddenly realised how peaceful it was, as long as he ignored the sensation in his chest, then it was almost possible for him to say he was at peace.
Suddenly the hands holding him down shifted, but it seemed as though it was happening to someone else. The feeling in his body seemed to have gone away, maybe on holiday to some lovely place where there was lots of air to breathe. One final thought played across his mind, before he slipped away. 'I'll miss him.'