Staying Above the Surface

Hathaway shuffled his shoes against the fine gravel close to the back of the building. If he looked up just right and squinted he could see the silhouette of Inspector Lewis' son against the fifth window on the left three stories up. He didn't look.

He didn't belong there, in that room, intruding in their pain; but he couldn't leave them to it. The inspector would expect him to make sure his family was looked after. And even if that weren't the case, Hathaway himself couldn't leave.

Oh, he'd forced himself to check in at work a few times over the past several days, and he'd gone home for an hour here or there to shower and change and talk to his parents before they'd accepted he was fine and gone on home themselves. And he'd run one or the other of the inspector's kids to Lewis' flat or a shop when the need had arisen…grabbed up more cigarettes for himself, fed and watered Monty, checked on Hobson, that sort of thing. But.

He may not have belonged up in that hospital room, but he certainly didn't belong anywhere else either.

And maybe he did belong after all. When Lyn had first arrived, looking perhaps as distraught as anyone he'd ever seen, she'd gone first to her dad's side, and he'd stood on his other side and thought, 'I shouldn't be here…this is between her and her dad'. But after…after she'd finally been able to take in her surroundings, she'd looked up and seen him there, and she'd nodded her head as though she'd expected to see him. As though he did belong there. And when Ken had finally arrived, she'd introduced him with the words, "And this is Dad's sergeant." No name, nothing else, as though that one thing explained him and his presence in that room. And, Ken had nodded his head as though it were enough.

Innocent had taken Hathaway's report quietly. She'd been online doing the research and had known it could be a long road yet to come. Still, she had tried to sound upbeat for Hathaway's sake, and it was good news really. Lewis was off the respirator and holding his own as far as that went. Standing on the green, rather fatalistically believing she was watching the inspector die and his sergeant lose it…and all the ups and downs, hopes and despairs of Lewis' recovery to date—they shouldn't take it so badly, shouldn't be so discouraged; it was good news really.

Laura Hobson was trying to convince herself of much the same thing. From a medical standpoint, Lewis was making progress. The infection seemed to be beaten back, the lungs were healing nicely, blood count was coming back up…all the indicators were looking good. And, of course, she'd known better than to expect him to wake up with a grin and an 'Ah, hello, Pet' for his daughter but…

She'd knelt at his side and looked into his eyes as he lay as good as dying and the look in his eyes today…it had been the same. She hadn't been able to ease that fear and pain out there on the green, and she hadn't been able to ease it today. Hadn't even been able to add her own, "Just breathe, Robbie—it's okay" to everyone else's in that room. She didn't belong in there with James and the children…children. If they'd been children before these last nightmare days, they were far from it now. This had aged them all, even young Hathaway.

Someone else she wasn't doing any good. Lewis would expect her to look after his sergeant, but Hathaway was the one having to look after her. Innocent had been right. She wasn't in any state to be working…not on anything important. She made sure she stuck to the mundane busy work when she did manage to get herself enough together to show up at work. She couldn't stand being in that room…and she couldn't stand being away. Couldn't stand to see him like that and couldn't stand to not see him at all.

So. Splash more cold water on her face, blow her nose, straighten her clothes, run a hand over her hair, gird up her loins, and go beard the lion in its den.