Note: This is set during "The Point of Vanishing"
Stealing
"Thanks again for helping me pack, James. I really needed the extra pair of hands," Fiona McKendrick said, glancing over at Hathaway.
" Oh, you're welcome," the detective sergeant said, forcing a smile as he packed up another box. "I only wish it wasn't necessary," he added under his breath. He mentally berated himself for his selfishness. This promotion was a marvellous opportunity for Fiona, and Hathaway knew that she must take it.
"Would you care to stay for dinner?"
"I…er…"
"Please?" Fiona asked.
Although he knew that spending more time with her would only make their parting more painful, Hathaway consented, delighted for any excuse to stay in her presence.
Fiona left the room, claiming that she would order pizza for the two of them. Hathaway, meanwhile, continued to box up Fiona's possessions. The thought occurred to him that neither he nor Fiona had thought to look under the sofa. James did so now, peering underneath the puce monstrosity of a couch that Fiona had inherited from an aunt. He saw nothing—save a small, red glove without a mate.
He grabbed it and turned it in his hand.
Unbidden, a memory rose in Hathaway's mind.
Last December, Oxford had received the largest snowfall in decades. Much to the chief constable's chagrin, even the police officers had forgotten their duties in their excitement, abandoning half-solved cases in favour of sleds and snow angels.
Hathaway had been determined not to let himself get distracted, but when Fiona had walked into his office and demanded that he help her build a snowman, he had decided that he could use a short break after all.
He had agreed to meet her outside in twenty minutes. James had worked for awhile and had then put on his coat. Fortunately, he had not run into Innocent on his way out. Hathaway knew that the chief superintendent would not have approved of this excursion.
No sooner had Hathaway exited the building then he was struck by an enormous snowball. He had glanced around for the source and saw Fiona, her red -gloved hands holding a pile of snowballs. She had grinned at him mischievously before pelting him with the rest of her pile.
He'd sworn that he'd make her pay and had chased her around, making and throwing snowballs of his own. Finally, he'd cornered her against the wall of the station, and she had surrendered.
Then, they had built their snowman. The finished product had borne more than a passing resemblance to the chief constable, and they had laughed at that.
Then, Fiona had laced the fingers of her gloved hand with James's own and had led him back inside for a cup of warm coffee.
"James, would you care for a soda?" asked a loud voice from the other room.
Hathaway was swiftly drawn out of the memory. "I'll be there in a minute, Fiona," he called.
Before he left the room, however, he pocketed the red glove.
James Hathaway spared another thought for Fiona McKendrick. The two of them hadn't really kept in touch after she'd left for Scotland Yard; Fiona had been far too busy with her new job.
He wondered if she ever thought of him and of the day they'd spent playing in the snow together.
Not that it really mattered one way or the other. Fiona was gone now. He'd had the opportunity to stay with her, and he hadn't taken it, choosing his career over his heart. And he'd spend the rest of his life unsure that he had made the right decision.
He was sure that she had looked for the missing glove; it was cashmere after all. By now, however, she'd probably given up hope of ever finding it. He supposed that he should have felt guilty for taking the glove from her, but he hadn't. It was all he had to remind him of the few glorious months they'd spent seeing each other in secret.
Hathaway then returned his thoughts to his imminent confession and moved on to the next commandment: 'Thou shall not bear false witness against thy neighbour.'
