It was not the pink, frilly room from her childhood. It had been one of those once, a long time ago. But she'd outgrown such things soon enough. The pink had given way to ocean blue with dolphin posters that had yielded to summer green and horses and finally the no-frills tans and browns that had suited her studious nature through her teen years. There were on the high shelves lining the walls remnants of each of those bygone stages: a rag doll her grandmother had made her dressed in a frilly, embroidered apron with tiny flowers; a blown-glass dolphin her father had found for her on one of his trips; a ceramic colt with a missing forefoot—her first and last attempt at painting; and books, piles and piles of them, some carefully stacked and some tossed rather haphazardly as though she'd planned to get back to them one day.
She'd been sure of who she was when she'd lived in this room. Her parents' only child, loved and somewhat pampered; smart and capable, on her way to med school and on from there; someone ready to face life and look it squarely in the eye…
She felt a stranger in it now.
Quickly, she scrolled through the missed calls, deleting those that didn't matter, putting off listening to the murmured words of concern, the sympathetic and vague offers of help should she need it, the worried rumblings of her second assuring her she could take all the time she needed but about the Randolph autopsy… In the end, she did listen to them, even called back the ones from work that couldn't wait. Found to her surprise that the details of the Randolph PM were still clear enough in her mind that she had no trouble verifying what needed clearing up. Most of the calls were quickly handled. Just Hathaway's then, and Robbie's.
She'd felt some of her old confidence returning as she dealt with the other calls. She was capable. Sure this had gotten to her. Bound to, wasn't it? But, that didn't mean she still wasn't up to facing her life. No. She would kick the nightmares and be her old self in no time. Back from the grave so to speak…
Only. Hathaway who'd held her while she wept and seen her terror and her weakness; and Robbie who…well, he was the one she'd wanted to hold her—if someone had to see her trembling and out-of-control, he was the one she would have wanted there for that. She could trust his discretion (just like he'd said in the street, begging her to tell him whatever she could so he could stop the killings). More than that…well, whatever hopes she'd had for that—she'd nailed the coffin shut over when she'd refused to talk to him, when she'd forced him to ask her what she knew he needed to know and blamed him for it.
But. She wasn't going to run from either of them. Couldn't if she wanted her own screams to quit haunting her sleep…she wasn't that screaming, terrified person down in that grave anymore. She refused to be.
So. Hathaway first because…well, she could afford to lose his respect and good will. It would hurt. Robbie's sergeant had become a big part of her life when he became part of Robbie's. The three of them spent a lot of time together, drinking a few rounds to unwind before heading off to their individual homes, sharing their days and jokes and thoughts. In addition, Robbie had talked to her a great deal about his concerns for Hathaway when things were difficult for the young man or when Robbie had been at his wit's end over knowing how best to deal with things that came up between him and his sergeant. She felt as close to Hathaway as anyone besides her mum, Ellen, and Robbie himself. She valued his quiet strength and innate intelligence and most of all his loyalty to Robbie. But, if she'd lost him through her weak and embarrassing display, if instead of his respect she now had only his pity…that would be easier to live with than if it were Robbie she'd lost.
Listening to Hathaway's calls one after another, she was struck with the differences between the two…they mirrored her own recovery.
"Laura?" his first call had started out. He'd sounded unsure, perhaps even shaken, and his usually carefully thought-out message had been jumbled and hesitant. "Just heard you'd gotten out already…hope you are all right. Wanted you to know—though I hope you already do—you can call…if you need anything. You know…well, I don't suppose it—well, call if I can help. All right?"
By the last though, he'd sounded much like the Hathaway she knew. "Dr. Hobson, it's James Hathaway again. I'm sure you're aware there are a few loose ends we need to tidy up before we can close the books…if you can get back to either Inspector Lewis or myself before the weekend, it would be most helpful. Probably best if it were Lewis. I know he is wanting to talk to you."
The pity she'd been afraid she'd hear in his voice was absent from both the unguarded warmth and concern in that first call and the studied calm in the last. There was worry and sympathy in both, but not pity. Sympathy she could handle…well, not handle exactly as it moved her to tears in her admittedly vulnerable state. But, pity…she was having quite enough trouble revising her view of herself without being ambushed by pity.
What was there in its place, through both the calls, was Hathaway's concern. She realized yet again that she'd been a bit irresponsible in running off without a word. If it had been James in her situation, she knew she and Robbie would both be beside themselves.
With more than a twinge of guilt, she put a call through to him.
"Laura!" he answered, obviously having seen her name on the screen before answering. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. I'm…well, still shaken up a bit, but I'm fine."
"You've had us in quite a state."
"I—it wasn't on purpose. I was…I went home with my mum."
"Yes, we found that out eventually…we're not detectives for nothing you know," he said and the relief in his voice came clearly through to her.
"Yes…and for that I'm very grateful, to you both."
There was a moment of grave silence from Hathaway, and then, "Yeah. Well, I'm sorry it took us so long…and I'm sorry, I—Lewis never doubted you, but I—"
"Let's not worry about that now, eh? I really am grateful…for what you did. Thank you, for being there when…"
"Of course," he said. Where he'd sounded troubled and guilty earlier over his perceived weakness, he was matter-of-fact with hers. "It was dreadful, wasn't it? I don't know about you, but I've had a few nightmares since…horrible, and I wasn't even the one down there. But, you really are all right, aren't you?"
And there it was, even Hathaway with his calm assurance and studied indifference understood what she'd been struggling against. It was a horrible thing that had happened to her, no one would have faced it calmly and quietly; kicking and screaming had been her only recourse. That didn't make her a coward, only human.
"Will be," she answered him quietly and though it was more a wish than a fact she was surprised to hear it come out a certainty. Hearing the confidence in her voice made her believe the truth of those words. She might have faltered a bit, but she wasn't staying down. "I think I'll be coming back tomorrow. Not to work maybe, give it a day or two before that, but home."
He laughed then, a small, friendly laugh. "Somehow I can't see you wandering around your house for a day or two…you'll be into work before the day's out."
She opened her mouth to deny it, but then thought better of it. He was right; she'd never be able to stand it, knocking about the house, cooling her heels, when there was work she could be doing. Even now.
"You're probably right. Now, about the—"
"We'll take care of that once you're back…it's not that important," he admitted. And she understood, the loose ends had simply been a ruse to get her to call in and assure him—them because it wouldn't just have been James who'd worried about her no matter how disappointed Lewis was in her—she was doing all right. "Have you…have you talked to Lewis?" Hathaway asked.
"Not yet, I thought I should answer your call as…well, I missed quite a few, but yours was the last to come through."
"You'll get to him soon though? He's been…worried about you."
"He's not there, I take it?" she asked though it was obvious he wasn't.
"No, got tired of pacing around here like a caged animal and went off for a walk. You might just catch him before he gets back if you'd like…listen, I know…well, it wasn't Lewis wanting to question you. He had no choice; it was—"
"Procedure. I know."
"Then you're not angry with him?"
"Angry with him? You two saved my life, how could I be mad at him?"
"That's what I thought, but…well, he thinks—well, I think he thinks—he hasn't said anything, of course…"
"What?"
"That he…well, not my business, is it? Best talk to him. Soon."
"Yes," and then she'd assured him again she'd be home the next day and they'd gotten off.
Robbie's name appeared five times on the list, but he'd only left a message the first time.
"Laura,' he'd said in his quiet voice, "call me when you can, eh?" And that had been it. What had she expected anyway? That he'd rant and rave at her for putting herself into danger when if she'd only talked to him maybe he could have made a difference? No, she hadn't expected that. That he'd gush and carry on in relief that she was ok and that it was all over? No, not that either. That he'd chide her for running off without a by-your-leave to the officer in charge of her case? No.
Then what? Well, it hadn't been what she'd expected, but what she'd hoped. And she'd known better anyway. He was fond of her, he enjoyed her company, he valued her opinion…but he wasn't in love with her. He hadn't called desperate to hear her voice and know she was ok regardless of what hard feelings had passed between them over the previous few days. She hadn't expected him to.
He hadn't jumped into that grave to pull her to safety; to hold her why she cried, to cling to her in relief and thanksgiving that she was alive. He'd sent James—or maybe James had just come on his own, she couldn't guess—but he'd gone off after his murderers, seen the case through, done his duty. She didn't doubt he'd cared whether she was all right, and if the job hadn't been still undone, he very well might have been the one to jump to her rescue, but…she swallowed down tears and tasted their saltiness in the back of her throat.
He counted her a friend, he'd told her that there in the street, but that was all he counted her…and now that she'd behaved as she had when he'd just been doing his job, well…maybe he didn't even count her that anymore.
What, oh what, was she going to do, if that were the case? Hard enough to smile and sit beside him discussing Hathaway and bodies and the call he'd had from his son knowing he only saw her as a friend when she wanted so much more than that…but if he would no longer smile at her, no longer share his stories, and eat the last of her chips—
It was a very good thing that she'd promised his sergeant she'd call him right away or she might have left it.
"Lewis," he answered, and his voice, so well-known and so loved, didn't help her keep down the tears that were struggling to erupt at any moment.
She swallowed hard before saying, "Robbie," and was surprised at how calm her voice sounded.
There was a pause then. She imagined him regrouping…he hadn't known it was her. He rarely took the time to read who was calling as he fumbled about with his mobile. Funny that. As a sergeant, he'd loved all the new doodads, chased around to the computer courses, and was always on about the wonders of the newest and latest technology. Now he kicked against any new thing, willfully refusing to be seduced by the marvels of any of them…well, life had socked the wonder right out of him. Morse, Val, and Ken…three blows too many, one right after the other had destroyed something precious in the man he'd once been.
"Laura," he finally said in a guarded voice. Well, the last time they'd talked she'd been less than happy with him; no surprise he didn't know what to expect from her end.
"Hathaway said I should get in touch…some questions from the other night?"
"Oh, aye. You've spoken to him then? He's been a bit worried, like…about you."
"We've talked."
"That's good then…"
"Listen," she said, because it was all too much, this awkward, hesitant conversation when what she wanted was his arms around her and his voice telling her everything was fine between them, that she hadn't destroyed his trust in her, that…well, it wasn't on, was it? So, "I'll be coming back tomorrow…will whatever it is keep until then?"
She sounded brusque and half put out, and she knew he heard it too when he said, "The questions will, but…I—where are you? I've some things that need saying. Be better in person…" She didn't answer right away, couldn't. "Laura?"
"I'm at my mum's…but, whatever it is—let's leave it then, shall we? Until tomorrow?" She was a coward, a bona fide coward, and the last thing she wanted was to hear whatever he had that needed saying. She'd been irresponsible, hindered if not obstructed the investigation, ran off without that by-your-leave…she'd seen him bring a constable or two down a peg when they'd been acting inappropriately at a murder scene, once heard him have a good long and hard rant over the phone at that son of his, heard of heated exchanges between him and DCI Martin Johnson and even between him and Morse. But he'd never turned his righteous indignation on her and she suddenly knew she wasn't up for it.
She'd burst into tears and not only lose him but feel the fool for it.
"That's only what? Less than an hour this time of day? I've nothing on at work…I could be there quick enough."
"Really, you don't need—"
"Best not to leave it, I think. " And so he was coming like it or not.