Someone was always going around the station collecting for something. A primary school orchestra, the Girl Guides, a charity, any number of things. It got a bit wearying and expensive to be asked to give to something almost constantly. Over the years, though, Lewis had developed a good system to save his sanity and his wallet. He didn't even consider giving unless he spoke with the person weekly, and generally didn't actually give unless he spoke to them daily.
Thus it was that he'd completely avoided this week's round of candy bars, raffle tickets, and miniature rubber ducks. He was actually feeling rather pleased on Friday afternoon. Another week down, more crimes solved, and he hadn't had to give to anything. Or maybe not that last, since Julie was carrying a small sack of cuddly toys and an envelope around the squad room. She seemed about as pleased to be carrying them as he was to see her carrying them, and he smiled at her more than he might have otherwise.
"Got volunteered, did ye, Julie?" he asked her, and she nodded ruefully.
"Yes, sir. I'd avoided it so far, but apparently it's my turn," she admitted respectfully, and held up the bag in a resigned kind of way. "Bears for the Benevolent Fund, sir. Five quid for one, three for ten."
The bag looked pretty well stuffed for a Friday and he could tell it was due to her sales tactics. She didn't seem as though she wanted to be selling the bears or wanted anyone to buy them, which clearly wasn't far from the truth. He knew from his days as a constable that this kind of thing could, unfortunately, have consequences beyond what it should. Julie was a good copper, and if she didn't want to flog charity bears, that was fine. Still, he did speak with her nearly daily and he'd been there himself, so he pulled out his wallet and handed her a tenner.
"Three bears for ten, is it?" he said kindly, and her face wore a look of such profound relief it was all he could do not to chuckle.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," she said fervently, and handed him three small blue bears with ribbons around their necks, then went off with a far more relaxed expression than she'd had at the start of their conversation. That was good and he was glad to see it, but now he had a bit of a dilemma himself. What was he to do with the bears? That was the problem with these things. It was a good cause and all, but he had no use for a cuddly toy. He'd probably just give 'em to Oxfam. Some mite'd get it for a treat and it would have done its job.
He walked into the office and studied his sergeant, bent over nearly double studying the fine print on a document, then placed a bear on Hathaway's desk before going over to his own. Hathaway glanced at the bear and then at him, raising an eyebrow.
"Sir?" Hathaway's sir was respectful in a different way than Julie's had been and it also had a very distinct air of confusion.
"Thought your desk could do with a bit of brightening up," Lewis explained in his best 'simple copper' voice, and sat down to work on a report.
Hathaway stared at him for a few moments further, clearly concerned that his governor had finally lost his mind, then gently placed the bear on the bookshelf behind him.
"What'll you call it, then?" Lewis couldn't resist asking, and Hathaway considered it for a moment.
"Exeunt," he pronounced, and then went back to his report. He wouldn't be drawn on why he'd chosen that name and finally Robbie gave up. He finally twigged to the name a few days later and nearly chuckled in the middle of a crime scene. Fortunately, he didn't, and Laura proceeded in her explanation without more than a quizzical glance.
A few months later, after one of Hathaway's periodic office reorganization fits, Robbie noticed that the bear was gone.
"Hathaway, what happened to the bear?" he asked, and Hathaway's smug smile let him know that he'd been waiting for this opportunity for quite some time.
"He exeunted, sir."