This is part 2 of my story concerning Hathaway. More chapters will be posted in the following weeks as I finish them.

Part 2

"Morse used to come by the hospital every week to bully me," Brianna smiled, "he said that I couldn't lie there and waste my life, that I was young and the whole world was my oyster. I'm afraid that he wasn't very well treated at first." She lowered her eyes, suddenly sheepish.

"She used to throw things at him," Lewis explained, "books, vases, bedpans, vases with flowers in them-"

To his surprise Hathaway laughed, "You? Throw things?"

"My aim improved tremendously." Brianna smiled, "but he wouldn't stop. He nagged and nagged until I ended up relearning to walk just to prove that I was right and he was wrong. I kept telling him that I couldn't walk and that it was hopeless to try, but he insisted. Even bought me my first elbow crutch. This one," she gestured at the purple one, leaning against the chair, "I treated myself to earlier this year, I fancied an exotic colour."

"So what was the damage?"

"Some memory loss," Brianna admitted, "I still can't remember the attack, I only remember the first month in snatches and of course my balance is still not good. But I have much to be grateful for."

"Who did it?" Hathaway asked.

"Marcus Wareing," Lewis replied shortly, "apparently he'd made a pass at Brianna and she'd refused him. He took exception to this."

"I still can't fathom why," Brianna said sadly, "he had everything. He'd graduated with a first for Christ's sake, he could have had the pick of any job and he threw it all away."

"Sometimes there are no reasons why," Lewis replied, "Well, Sergeant, aren't you supposed to be showing Dr Talbot around Oxford?"

"Yes, sir," Hathaway stood up and offered her his arm, "Shall we go."

Brianna eased herself to her feet and set her arm into the crutch, "Can I help at all?" Hathaway asked.

"In a little while perhaps," Brianna replied, "I can't walk or stand for long periods so we may have to do a few stops actually in the churches themselves."

"We could do this over two or three days," Hathaway said, "After all, I'm not going anywhere." He smiled, "The chapel of Exeter College is close, it's beautiful. Speaking as an Oxford man of course."

"I'm afraid that my loyalty is to Lampeter," she replied artfully, "but I know a little about that chapel. Designed by George Gilbert Scott. Peter raved about it."

"Then come and take a look in person," Hathaway said, "I'll go slow."

"Only if I tell you to, Sergeant," she responded and moved with surprising swiftness down the road.

"Don't patronise her Sergeant," Lewis was standing behind him, "I know, I know, you want to help, but not until she asks. She's a feisty one, all fire and light."

"Sir, don't mention fire." Hathaway's lips tightened.

"Sorry, Jim. Just remember what I said, she's the type that will fall over and crawl somewhere rather than accept help."

"Thank you, sir." Hathaway set off after his charge, Two cripples holding one another up he thought grimly.

True to form she did sit down in the chapel. "All right?" he asked as he sat next to her.

"Shouldn't try to walk so fast," she said, smiling, "But you riled me."

"One of my many talents," he smiled back and Brianna relaxed. Gently he put his hand over hers and said, "We can stay here for a bit and then I can take you to see another one in my car. It's not far from here."

"Is this the good policeman trying to be nice to the disabled woman?" she queried slightly acidly.

"No this is a man who would like to get a young woman into his car, take her to see one of his favourite University Chapels and then maybe take her for afternoon tea," Hathaway retorted, "Lord, you're prickly!"

She sighed and looked at him again, in the half-light of the church her eyes were dark, almost black, "Sorry, James. I've just had an entire day of patronising and it drives me nuts."

"Then I won't patronise you." He promised. "Seen enough? Or shall we just have a nose around the remainder of the chapel."

"You can take me to the next one," Brianna smiled, "and then because I was horrible, I'll treat you to afternoon tea."

Throughout tea Hathaway was amazed by her intelligence, she laughed at some of his jokes, although when he spouted Latin she shook her head, "Couldn't get my head round it," she explained, "I tried to take a module for my first term – eventually my tutor suggested that I just give it up as a bad job and take an extra module the following term. I just can't get my head around it – and me a with a doctorate in Theology!"

"I did my degree at Cambridge," Hathaway said, "and I came here because I wanted to join the priesthood."

"What college did you attend? Blackfriars?" when he looked startled she smiled, "I thought about Oxford for my graduate and postgraduate work, but I couldn't. I was a different person then – less prickly if you like, and I was convinced I wouldn't be accepted. So I stuck with Lampeter. So why are you now a policeman?"

"Long story, very boring. Basically came to doubt the existence of God."

"Ah, the place where faith and reality touch." She said gently, "or at least I have always thought so. People often say, if there is a God why can't he just be there, why do I need faith?"

"I would sometimes like proof of him though," Hathaway sipped his tea as he looked out across the river.

"Wouldn't we all, Sergeant, wouldn't we all." Brianna replied, "the only thing I know for certain is that I don't know enough."

Hathaway leant forward, "How long are you in Oxford for?"

"Until the end of the week," she said, "Why?"

"Can I take you to dinner tonight? Then if you stay over until Saturday you can come and watch me play."

"Play? Where?"

"I play in a band, we're over in Didcot this Saturday. Want to come?"

"I'd love to" Brianna replied, "But I can't come to dinner tonight. I've got to go and meet the group and we're going to thrash out the schedule for tomorrow. But we could certainly meet tomorrow morning and you can show me Oxford."

"I'd like that," Hathaway smiled, "can I escort you back to your room."

"That would be very nice," Brianna replied.

Hathaway had one pint that evening at the Morestead and was walking home when the attack happened. The first he knew about it was a sharp pain in his right side, he gasped and collapsed, the knife was withdrawn and then he felt it plunge into his right thigh. Someone was straddling him and for a horrible moment he wondered what the person would do next.

Brianna was hobbling back to her lodgings, her crutch making little noise on the cobbles when she saw the attack. She saw the person kneeling over the prone figure, quickly she hobbled across, steadying herself she lifted her crutch and swung it at the attacker's head. It connected with a satisfying thunk and the attacker slumped across the body. Unceremoniously she pushed him aside and then looked at the face, "Oh, James," she whispered as she recognised the figure.

She could see blood pouring from a wound in his side and pulling her scarf from her neck she pressed it against the hole, with her other hand she tremblingly dialled 999 and her voice shaking, informed the emergency services