The Story So Far. . . by Nathalie B
Disclaimer #1: I do not claim to own any of the characters in this story apart from Gemma Clarke. Everyone else belongs to the writers of the show LEWIS. I am not affiliated with the show in any way. If I were I probably wouldn't be writing fan fiction.
Disclaimer #2: It's been quite a while since I wrote a story at all, so I'm sorry if some parts are inconsistent or don't make sense. I did my best. I'm just excited my muse came back to play.
It was a complete surprise seeing her standing there in front of some shop on the street, laughing with a few other women, holding what could only be described as some kind of homemade bread, wrapped in cling film. Her laugh was unmistakable, and she had a manner of tilting her head back when she laughed that was captivating.
Hathaway stood there for a moment or two, caught by surprise. His intention was simply to move on, keep walking, after all, it had been a long week. This last case had been exhausting, and all he wanted to do was go home and sleep. Instead, he slowed down his pace, and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He stopped to light it, all the while, keeping her in his sights. She was still so lovely.
The years since Cambridge had been very good to her. She was dressed in a pair of fashionable, skin tight jeans, and boots with a heel so high it made up for her small stature. A red sweater in some vintage style pulled it all together, showing off those long, dark curls to perfection. But it was her face that was sheer loveliness. Green eyes fringed by dark lashes, delicate features, full lips. They would have been beautiful on their own, but that perpetual smile made her the loveliest thing on earth. At least to James Hathaway.
He watched as she smiled at her companions, said her goodbyes, and then nimbly crossed the street. Hathaway had resolved to go home and forget he ever saw her, and was thoroughly ashamed when he found himself crossing the street after her, careful to stay far enough behind her so that he'd evade her notice, but close enough to keep an eye on her. He followed as she walked down the street, turned, and ducked into a small hotel that Hathaway wasn't familiar with. He stood there for a few moments, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his cigarette, staring up at the small building. Barely bigger than a pub, really. But the name on the front proclaimed itself a hotel. Hathaway blew a cloud of smoke, shook his head, and slowly turned around and walked back to the high street. He'd left his car there, and didn't want to leave it unattended all night.
Lewis was staring at him. He could feel it. This time between cases was always frought with paperwork, and Lewis wasn't much one for paperwork. He liked to be out, doing things, not sitting behind a computer, pecking away at the keys as he typed up various reports. Honestly, Hathaway didn't enjoy it very much either, but found that he could avoid a lot of grief if he just got it done. After all, it really didn't take that long.
"So, I heard something interesting from a lady on my street this morning. Lovely old woman, really, been living in Oxford for the last twenty years, her son just opened a small hotel there just off the high street. She was telling me that she saw an interesting looking fellow following her niece yesterday. Said he was very tall, and very blond. Told me she wouldn't have been concerned, except he just kind of stood there in the street for a few minutes after the girl went in, standing there smoking a cigarette. She said the oddest thing about it was that he was very well dressed," Lewis said. He was staring at Hathaway again, he could just feel it. Hathaway looked at him briefly, then went back to typing. "So, Hathaway," Lewis said, "what were you doing loitering in front of that hotel? And what were you doing following that girl. . . what was her name? Gerri, Gina –"
"Gemma. Gemma Clarke. And she's not a girl, she's my age," Hathaway said, glaring at the computer.
"Well, what were you doing following Gemma, then? You had her aunt very concerned, y'know."
"Gemma and I were at Cambridge together. When I saw her last night. . . I wasn't sure it was her. When I saw her. . ." Hathaway leaned back in his chair, a cigarette in his hand. He contemplated it as Lewis sat there grinning at him. Hathaway didn't have to look up to know that Lewis was grinning. He could feel it.
"Ah. . . I get the feeling that the two of you were more than just 'at Cambridge together'," Lewis grinned.
A dark brooding look took its place on Hathaway's face, and Lewis' grin fell.
"Well, what did happen between the two of you," Lewis asked, his natural curiosity winning out over his common sense.
"I'd really rather not talk about it, sir," Hathaway said. Lewis sat there fidgeting for a few minutes, then watched as Hathaway got up and walked out.
"Moody bastard," Lewis mumbled to himself, trying to get back to his report.
"The thing about it, Laura, is that he won't talk about it at all," Lewis exclaimed as he stood in the morgue. Laura was ministering to a dead body.
"Yes, but that's Hathaway, isn't it? When does he ever tell you anything? We still don't know why he left the priesthood. . . Do we?"
Laura paused in what she was doing, waiting for an answer. She would have been very angry if Lewis had finally found out why the dishy Hathaway had become a policeman.
"No," Lewis admitted, "it wouldn't bother me so much. It just seems that there was something unresolved there. Like maybe they'd had some kind of relationship while at Cambridge and it had gone wrong, y'know?"
"That could be. But what business is it of ours?"
"Well, he's always matching people up. Shouldn't he get that kind of consideration."
Laura let out a laugh.
"Oh, so that's why you're so interested! You're trying to match him up with this girl!"
"Well, clearly they'd matched themselves up before. He had a look on his face that reminded me of how I'd felt about Valerie."
They both got silent at the mention of the dead woman.
"Right, then, so how're we going to get them together?" Laura said.
She was a lovely young woman, although convincing her to come with him for a surprise was difficult. It had taken a lot of assurance from her aunt that he was okay and trustworthy before Gemma would even think about coming with her.
"I'm a copper, y'know," Lewis said, matter of factly.
"You say it like it should tell me something about who you are," Gemma said, keeping pace beside him. He had been surprised by her small stature, and was equally surprised that she could keep up in those shoes.
"Well, shouldn't it?"
"Unfortunately, Inspector Lewis, nowadays. . . Well, things are different now than in the old days."
Lewis looked to find her smiling at him. He wanted to say something, felt he should be offended, but there was a truth in her words. And her smile was so lovely. He was completely disarmed by it.
"Inspector Lewis, I apologise if I'm being offensive. It's just been my experience that men are sometimes deceitful to get what they want."
"You mean that men lie."
"Yes."
Lewis shook his head, and chuckled.
"Did I say something to amuse?"
"No, you just remind me of someone."
Lewis opened the door to the pub. It was quiet at this time of day, and there were only a few others sitting at tables around the room. Hathaway was sitting with Laura Hobson at a table in the corner. It was a cozy corner, one that Laura and Lewis had thought a good place for two people to speak and catch up in privacy. If asked, Lewis would have denied that he'd taken this opportunity to spend time with Laura Hobson. Their conspiracy to bring Hathaway and Gemma to an impromptu reunion was as much for themselves as for the two young people.
They were three feet from one another when they noticed each other. Hathaway stood quickly, looking at Gemma. Gemma stopped in her tracks.
"Gemma," Hathaway exclaimed, a lightness in his features. Lewis saw the brooding wash away from his face and for a moment felt a small victory. His matchmaking efforts had worked!
"James," Gemma breathed, and in that one name everyone involved understood why Hathaway hadn't approached Gemma the other night.
She looked around at the others involved, her cheeks flaming red, tears shimmering in her eyes.
"Did you orchestrate this," she asked him quietly, her body held taught, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"No, Gemma, I had no clue," Hathaway said, equally quietly.
They looked at each other for a few moments, then Gemma looked down, shaking her head, wringing her hands together.
"I can't do. . . I just. I can't. I look at you, James, and. . . All. . . All I see is regret. I just. I can't."
Lewis and Hobson beat a hasty retreat, recognizing that they had made a mistake, but knowing this was going to have to be seen through to the end.
"I was surprised to see you. Here. In Oxford." Hathaway sat down, staring at the pint before him. He sipped it. He watched at Gemma stood there fidgeting. He could see the war inside of her, the part that was insisting she leave, the other, softer part of her, which wanted desperately to stay. They'd always been aware of the effect they'd had each other. A part of him cheered when she sat down, while another deeper part of him was heartbroken.
"Yeah. Well. Don't expect me to haunt the streets of Oxford, the way I haunted Cambridge after. . . Well. I'm not the shell of myself that I was then." Gemma sat up straight in her seat, looking at him, trying to make her face all angles and lines, but succeeding only in looking terribly vulnerable. She'd always had such soft features.
"I wouldn't expect you to be, Gemma. I wouldn't want you to be. I never meant to hurt you after all."
"Well, but you did, didn't you?"
"You still haven't forgiven me then?"
"I loved you, James, genuinely loved you! You lost that, you know. I'm still angry too. Because even though I know you lost me, I lost you too. And I loved you, and it hurt. I loved you most, and it hurts, and. . . I don't even have all the words for it. I just…" Gemma trailed off, her eyes brimming with tears. Hathaway gazed at her, his angular face soft with the emotion he still felt for Gemma. He still felt so much for her. He still loved her. He just didn't want to admit that. But there she was, sitting before him, so vulnerable and small, and he couldn't help it. He was looking at her with the eyes of a young man, and to him she was once again the fresher crying by herself under a tree because a few of the other students had been rude to her. He saw her once again telling him how the other students misunderstood her, how her cleverness was misunderstood as arrogance. How she wished to be like the others. He remembered what it felt like to yearn for her then, even though he'd already made the decision to become a priest. Feeling angry, yet again, that something deep inside him was betraying him, that a common emotion could send him reeling.
He felt similar feelings now. All he had to do was look at her, and his desires came bubbling to the surface. Then he was bound by expectations he had for himself. This time he was bound by his knowledge that any action on his part might lead to more hurt on Gemma's part. And yet. . . he leaned in, his lips brushing hers.
She pulled back, half wild, glaring at him.
"What the hell, James!"
"I—I'm sorry. I—"
"No! No! I was like a zombie after you left! I walked around like I was half alive! Everyone kept trying to cheer me up, make me feel better. . . And now you kiss me as though you'd want me again? What, James, you didn't hurt me enough the first time?"
He hung his head in his hands.
"I know, I know, Gemma, and all I can do is ask you to forgive me. After the way I left. . . I know, I know I'm a horrible person. I should be –"
"Stop right there, James Hathaway! Don't try to apologise and make it better. After what you did? We never even talked about it!"
"And, I'm sorry, Gemma –"
"No! No James! The truth is you're a miserable person, and you delight in making everyone around you miserable!"
Gemma stormed off, leaving Hathaway sitting there, staring at his beer.
"What did you do?" Lewis said, a pint before him. The pub had filled up since the earlier fiasco, and the two sat there sharing a drink. Well, it would have been fair to say that Lewis was having a drink. Hathaway was on his way to getting good and pissed, and he didn't care that his boss knew it.
"Gemma and I. . . We met we were both students at Cambridge. She was young, just a freshman, and had a way about her that was off-putting to other students. She was very clever, really, but didn't know how to communicate with others. Not very well, anyway. We had that in common. We found in each other an easy companion. I suppose that was the trouble, really."
Lewis was almost salivating at the promise of information. He'd waited so long to learn about his Sergeant. This man had been a complete mystery to him almost since they'd met, and here was his backstory. Here was what was going to finally clear up the mystery.
Hathaway sighed, and stood.
"I don't want to talk about it, really," he muttered, and walked off.
"That's it? That's all you're going to tell me?" Lewis shouted after him. But Hathaway was already out the door.
Lewis grumbled to himself, then dropped some money on the table. Somehow, Hathaway managed to keep everything to himself. He'd worked with the man long enough, and yet everytime he thought he was going to learn something new about his sergeant, he found that he learned nothing.
He was still contemplating this frustrating phenomenon at home when there was a light knock at the door. Who'd be at the door at this time of night? Lewis threw it open only to find Gemma standing there.
"Inspector Lewis. I'm sorry to bother you so late," Gemma said, fidgeting. Lewis looked at her for a moment, then said,
"Well, come in, then. No sense in standing out there in the cool air, especially with the way you're dressed." He looked pointedly at the t-shirt and skirt she wore. He directed her to the sofa, and got her a cup of tea.
"Again, I'm sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to apologise for my behavior today. I was. . . so surprised to see James again, I didn't even know he was in Oxford."
Lewis watched as she looked into her cup, and then took a sip.
"I'm sorry if this is rude of me, but I've got to know, what did Hathaway do?"
Gemma chuckled.
"Didn't tell you, did he?"
"Hathaway doesn't tell me much. Doesn't tell anyone much."
"Yeah, that sounds like James. Didn't like to get to close to people, even then. If he told you anything of his life, then you were special indeed," Gemma sighed.
"From what I gather you were pretty special, then."
"But in the end, not special enough."
Lewis sat back, hoping that she would say more. She sat there for a few moments, staring into her tea like she was watching something.
"There's a song, Inspector Lewis, by a band called Flogging Molly. They do a song called Between a Man and a Woman. . . It goes '…between love and confusion there lies only pain . . .between a man and a woman, it's everything or nothing at all. . .'. I suppose that's what happened. James was the kind of man who kept everything to himself, every emotion was held deep inside. I suppose it still is. We enjoyed each other's company. Of course, naturally, anyone could have predicted the outcome of that."
Gemma looked up at Lewis with a wry smile.
"Well, one little indiscretion once," Lewis began.
Gemma shook her head.
Lewis sat there for a few moments.
"He was planning to be a priest, though."
"What he was planning had nothing to do with it. For a short while, I think he forgot about that. . . But then. . . Well. . . In the end it was a tragedy and neither of us knew how to cope. I wanted to talk about it, he just. . . walked away," Gemma said, that wry smile on her face again.
"So what exactly happened," Lewis cried out in frustration. He couldn't stand this any longer. These vague mentions of what may have happened. He wanted to know the truth, he wanted to know what had happened.
"James was a very angry young man. For a while he forgot that he was angry. And then when. . . Well, he found a reason to be angry – we both did – and he did what came naturally to him. He walked away." Gemma sat there once again staring into her cup, then finished off the tea and stood.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to take up so much of your time. I simply wanted to apologize for my behavior," Gemma said, smiling once again. A genuine smile this time.
Lewis was scribbling on a piece of paper, and then handed it to her.
"Look, whatever happened between the two of you, maybe you two should talk it out."
Gemma looked down at Hathaway's address there upon the paper, then smiled at Lewis.
"You're really sweet, you know that? Don't know what you're doing working with someone like James."
She was out the door before Lewis even realized that she still hadn't told him very much about what had happened between Hathaway and Gemma.
Hathaway happened upon her on his way home.
"Oh, James, there you are," Gemma said, smiling.
"I've been learning quite bit about your life in Oxford. Apparently you came here and started training for the priesthood. Then you gave it up."
"Who did you learn that from," Hathaway asked as Gemma stepped into pace beside him.
"Oh, various people."
"Lewis?"
"No, not him."
"For someone who would prefer not to speak with me, it seems strange that you'd seek me out."
"Now that was Lewis. He thought we should talk things out. He's really very sweet, you know."
Hathaway said nothing. He stopped in front of his flat, and looked at her. She was out of her usual clothing. Today she wore a pair of jeans with trainers, and a bright yellow shirt. He wasn't sure if it would fall into the category of blouse of t-shirt, but he liked the way it looked on her.
"You still have such a serious face, James. Do you smile anymore?"
"At times," Hathaway admitted, trying to hide one now.
"Such a long face. The James Hathaway I remember used to smile more. And on occasion would even laugh. . ."
Gemma looked up at him, her face serious, her eyes smiling. She was still his weakness. He pointed at the door keys in hand, then unlocked it, gesturing for her to go inside. She looked at him a moment longer, then turned away and quietly walked into the flat.
"So you came to Oxford to train for the priesthood, finally."
"Yes."
There was a long pause.
"Well, you're not a priest, James."
Hathaway chose not to answer that, instead locking the door quietly. He didn't know what he'd say to Gemma when he turned around.
"You don't have to tell me what happened. I know that you despise divulging your secrets. I simply don't understand why everything has to be a secret, that's all. When we were at Cambridge together. . . why did I have to be a secret? You weren't a priest yet, James, it wasn't like what we were doing was wrong, or that our relationship was wrong. . . We could have at least talked about it."
Hathaway stood there, looking down at the key in the lock. He didn't want to talk about it. How many times would he have to tell her, he simply didn't want to talk about it.
"Talked about what, Gemma," Hathaway asked, frustration in his voice. He turned around, looked at her.
"Marriage. Engagement. Instead of you running off like a frightened child right after graduation. I looked for you for months, asked about you again and again. You were nowhere to be found, apparently. Well, now I know why. But still, James, what a terribly cowardly thing to do."
Hathaway stood there, looking at her.
"Nothing to say? Well, of course not. You never do, or at least you never did with me. We could talk about anything in the world, but when it got serious. . . Oh, well, when it gets serious James Hathaway has nothing to say!"
"Gemma –"
"No, James, I'm so tired of it! We should have talked about it then! We should have talked about everything then!"
"Talked about what, Gemma? Talked about what?"
"The thing that broke up our relationship to begin with, James! The thing that drove you from me. . ."
"And what would that be, Gemma? You know there were many reasons –"
"The miscarriage, James."
Hathaway stopped short. He and Gemma stood there, looking at each other as a chasm opened between them. Each of them were lost for a moment in the past. . . The thrill both felt when they found that Gemma was pregnant, the plans they shyly came up with, the immense sorrow when Gemma lost the baby two months in. Hathaway sank down slowly into the sofa, a forlorn look on his face. Gemma sighed and came to sit next to him.
"James, I didn't say that to hurt you."
"But you did. Hurt me, I mean. You never did that before. . . it happened, Gemma. You never did that before."
"You never shut me out like that before. I mean, you'd kept your secrets, but you'd never shut me out the way you did after it happened. You walked away, and that hurt. We should have at least talked about it, James."
"What would there have been to talk about."
Gemma sat there, staring at her hands in her lap. He was right, after all. After the miscarriage, Gemma got moody, angry, and he wanted nothing more than to put everything behind him.
"I still wanted to marry you. I still did love you, James. I'm just sorry you couldn't love me anymore."
"Don't be ridiculous, Gemma."
"Am I? Being ridiculous, I mean? Did you ever prove to me that you still loved me?"
A pause. Her hands grasped each other.
"No, I don't suppose I did," Hathaway replied.
They both sat there, silent. Lonely. He gazed at her hands, those little hands. She was wringing them as she often did when she didn't know what to say. . . He couldn't stand the habit. He reached over and grasped one, intertwining his fingers with hers, holding tightly to her. They both looked at their hands intertwined, as if it had happened without their knowing. And then he felt her shake next to him. He looked at her, and found her crying silently.
He pulled her into his arms, gently murmuring nonsense into her ear, folding her to his chest. She wept for a long while, then looked up into his eyes.
They gazed at each other for several minutes, then he dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers. She let out a soft little sigh, melting against him, and he kissed her again, this time harder, with more passion.
She broke the kiss.
"I can't, James. I can't just forget everything with a kiss and an embrace. There's a lot there to get past, y'know, and I can't just get past it in one evening. I can't get past it with just one conversation."
Hathaway let her go, put a couple of feet between them, saying,
"Of course."
"But I'm willing to forgive you. I'm willing to try friendship. Wouldn't that work?"
He looked at Gemma, a small smile on her face. He smiled back at her.
"That would work."