Grace and Reason
Howlynn
Chapter 7: This Our Exile
Summary:
Innocent has a little meeting with Robbie about James.
Because philosophy arises from awe, a philosopher is bound in his way to be a lover of myths and poetic fables. Poets and philosophers are alike in being big with wonder.
~Thomas Aquinas
The first time James stood on his own, and not with the contraptions of physical therapy, it was both a triumph and a moment of realization. Hathaway might fully recover, but his days chasing subjects and tackling them in flower stalls were behind him.
He looked at Robbie who grinned at him with pure joy and all James could feel at that moment was a desire to step in front of a bus. Then he felt guilty, knowing that the last thing he could do, would be to ever cause Robbie to relive that sort of pain a second time.
He let Robbie take him to the pub and buy him his favorite, Steak, mushroom, and Guinness pie, and seven pints of best to wash it down. James was thoroughly befuggered. Robbie held it better but he was feeling no pain and had a terrible case of toothy grins planted on his face and they had not left as the evening wore on.
"You are ridiculously smiley this evening, Ro … Bert. Row-bert. Bert. Why are you not a Bert, rather than a Robbie. Robbie. Nobody can call you that because normally you are not smiley enough to earn it, you see? " James said as if imparting some magical wisdom.
The pub owner called them a cab.
The next morning they had bickered thanks to the raging chemical lobotomy working its way out of their pores. It turned into a major row and Robbie stormed out slamming the door. James realized at once that he'd said a stupid thing, but he was so angry at everything that this just added to the fuel. He sat down on the sofa and pulled his guitar to himself and began to play.
When it got dark, he didn't move, he just kept playing. It grew late and Robbie Lewis was never coming back. James smoked and stared into the darkness. As the sun rose, he fell asleep.
Robbie's day did not get better. He waited for James to text him and when he didn't, his hurt grew legs and stepped in a hole full of stubborn. He wasn't on duty until the next day, so he went round to Laura's. She was not unhappy to see him, but she was distant and introspective. He slept there, but he felt like a guest.
He went to work and just before noon, Jean called him into her office. She inquired about James and he gave her polite answers. She looked uncomfortable and looked down at the file in her hand. "Remember that thing I asked you, right when we found James was alive and you told me what Morse told Strange?"
Robbie stilled and carefully responded, "Aye?"
"I didn't want to…But, I think you have the right to know. It was not just rumors that had me asking. I know you were focused on, getting James help. I sort of assume that you were not paying attention to the writing on the wall?" Jean said softly.
"I don't know what you mean," Robbie insisted.
She smiled a little and carefully laid a crime scene photo in front of him across her desk. "I don't mean metaphorical writing on the wall. I mean, James left a note. For you. In his own blood. And I know from Laura, that you didn't see it. I made the decision that it would not be in the general file, because it, well, it didn't matter for a case one way or the other. It was private. Laura said you and he had a row."
"You and Laura seem to do an awful lot of this meddling thing lately," Lewis groused.
"Laura cleaned the flat. She wanted to give James a chance to tell you in his own way. Maybe he thought you did see it and decided to not respond. I don't know. What you do or don't do with this is up to you," She said with dismissal in her voice.
"I don't know what to say to this Ma'am. I swear to you that I didn't lie to you. He's never…" Robbie is looking at the photo as if it were a snake.
Innocent sat down and sighed. She folded her hands and considered her words. "He had a head trauma and he was dying. He wanted you to know what you meant to him. No matter how you feel about this, it must be weighed in context. I think you would have found comfort in those words if they had been his last. Take them at that value and be aware of the power and faith he placed in you. If you can't return his feelings, at least be very gentle with them. That's all I am asking."
"Thank you, ma'am," Robbie said, his face flushed with mortification.
Robbie wandered around the city for a while, driving randomly. He went out to the Thames Bridge and pulled off onto the verge. He got out and stood in front of his car. The place looked different now with the sun shining and the river gurgling peacefully. It was a world away from the smell of petrol and ozone and winter.
He let his mind fall into accepting that he would never speak to Hathaway again, as if events had one way or the other led to James being gone from the world. A terrible weight filled him and he carefully read the words again.
R. L. Never doubt my affection. I never knew much love in this world and you taught me of its existence. The greatest regret on my soul is in not telling you. Please forgive me. Knowing you has been my greatest honor. Farewell and please remember me kindly. J.
"I knew, soft lad," Robbie whispered to himself.
He sighed and started the car. In perspective, he knew his first reaction was pants. He didn't know what to do about the note, but his heart was not going to let him forget the words. Not often in life you had the chance to know that you were someone's last thoughts. He wouldn't bollocks this up if he could keep from it. He drove around for a bit longer, went back to the nick and worked on a suspect board, double checking the timelines and just puttering with the case to keep his mind occupied.
He drove straight to James' flat after work and let himself in.
James was exactly where he'd been when he left. He was curled into a tiny ball in one corner of the sofa, his face was down and his arm slung over his head protectively. Robbie felt his heart beating hard and fast as his mind took in the stillness and the bottle of pills clutched in his hand.
"James?" He whispered, fearing the worst. He reached out and touched him, expecting to find him cold.
James startled and jerked as if he were under attack and terrified. "Easy now. It's just me," Lewis said in quick relief, expelling the breath he'd been holding.
"Sir?" James mumbled in confusion.
"Are you alright, lad?"
"Fine," James groaned as he unfolded from his position.
"Don't look it," Robbie challenged.
"No. Not really. My head. It won't stop. Hurts. Really hurts. Took the pills, but…" James floundered around and then he began to wretch. Nothing came up after the first wave, but Robbie didn't waste any time. He bundled James up and drove him straight to hospital.
Post-concussion syndrome. They were informed. They kept James overnight and gave him a new list of rules, one of which included abstaining from alcohol. Robbie felt so guilty that they had tied one on, then the row had put James under emotional stress and when he'd been brought to the John Radcliffe it was determined that James was severely dehydrated and that that had probably contributed to the onset of his symptoms. The note was not forgotten exactly, but it was not the time to get into all of that in Robbie's mind. But, the words did not leave his heart for a second.
