Look at that, two in a week. To be fair, this is a miracle for me. Warning for brief mention of drug use by a very minor OC
.
.
Hathaway stood at the front door, almost not daring to go in. The anticipation of seeing his family, and knowing he actually would, was almost perfect. Over the last three weeks, he's imagined rushing into the house, barely stopping as he unlocked the door. But this moment was perfect and he wanted to hold on to it; somehow, the front door to his and Chrissy's little flat, was the most beautiful thing he'd seen.
He'd been undercover for three weeks, and he'd realised within two minutes that he didn't like it. A colleague had said that it felt like an escape, a chance to be someone other than your self, but James had felt none of that. He'd hated the persona he'd been told to adopt. He'd gone from James Hathaway, husband and father, to Jim Keane, small time drug dealer and general dick head. It wasn't the role itself that perturbed him, so much as how well he managed to pick it up.
He was shaken out of his thoughts by the Thomas the Tank Engine theme tune of all things. He can hear the DVD playing for the umpteenth time. By rights, little Sammy should be in bed, but Chrissy had known he was coming home today, and James would place bets that she had just not mentioned bedtime to the boy, so he'd be awake when he came in. Taking a breath, he slides his key into the lock and turns it quietly.
His attempt to come in without disturbing anyone backfires spectacularly when he drops his key onto the laminate hallway floor. A deathly silence follows the clatter of metal on wood, before a tiny voice peeps out from the living room.
"Dada?" His son's little blond head pokes around the door frame, and the last two weeks are suddenly inconsequential.
"Hello little man," He says quietly. He watches as a blinding smile lights up the boy's face, one that he can feel his own features mirroring of their own accord. And then the two year old is running towards him, arms outstretched, and he's bending down catch the youngster.
"DAAAAAAADA!" Sam crashes into his arms and he scoops the boy up, cradling him in the same way he had when he was only a few months old.
"I've missed you mate. You been a good boy for Mummy eh?"
"Miss you Dada." Looking over his son's head, he sees Chrissy walk in from the living room, eyes shimmering a little.
"Hello stranger," She murmurs and its all he can do not to burst into tears. He makes a vow there and then, that he's not leaving his family again, not for any case. He knows he'll break it, he'll have to go where he's sent after all, but in that moment he'd have readily jacked in his career just for the knowledge he's never going to have to be away for any length of time again.
"Hello love," He says roughly, setting Sam on the floor. Chrissy walks over to him and he wraps his arms around her, holding on with everything he has.
"That bad huh?" She says into his neck, and James just nods. He doesn't want to talk about it now, or even think about it, he just wants to be with his family. Sam seems to have the same idea.
"Dada. Up." He says, tugging on James' trousers. When he doesn't get a response, he just tries harder, attempting to climb up James' leg. "Dada! UP!" James relents and picks the boy up, settling him on his hip.
"Little monster. Come on, I'll read you a bedtime story. What do you think?"
"'Tory. T'mas Tank." He walks over to the book shelf with Sam, while Chrissy gathers the kid's comfort blanket and makes space on the sofa for the three of them.
"I'm just going to go and change."
"Alright."
"Dada! 'Tory!"
"In a minute little man, in a minute."
He'd been to a debrief so he was still in a suit. He peeled it off, changing quickly into tracksuit bottoms and a loose t shirt. Ideally he'd be having a shower right night now, to wash away the last couple of weeks. But he can hear Sam calling for him in the hallway, and he knows that's just not going to happen.
Once he opens his bedroom door, Sam runs up to him. But instead of asking to be picked up, or trying to climb up his leg, the little boy reaches up and takes his hand.
"Come on Dada. Home now." And doesn't that nearly finish him.
"Yeah I am, aren't I?" He lets his son lead him into the living room, and he smiles at the scene. The lights are dimmed slightly, probably part of the grand plan to get Sam to calm down enough to sleep. There is a pile of pillows and blankets on the sofa and Sam lets go of his hand and jumps on.
"Mama! Dada! 'Tory pleeeease!" No sooner has he sat down, when Sam scrambles onto his lap and settles in, thumb immediately in his mouth. Chrissy sits next to them, and puts her arm around him.
James clears his throat, and his son grins up at him. The little boy is starting to wilt a bit now, the lateness of the hour wearing down the excitement of James being back.
"Thomas the Tank Engine has worked this line for many years, and knows it very well. 'You know just where to stop, Thomas,' laughed his driver. 'You could almost manage it without me!' Thomas had become conceited. He didn't realise that his driver was joking..."
It only takes six pages for Sam to fall asleep, snoring softly and gently twisting his fingers in James' shirt. He gently lifts him up and carries him into his bedroom. Sam stirs as he's tucked in, but he doesn't wake up, just sighing a little as James bends down to kiss him on his forehead. Chrissy comes in behind him and they smile down at their son.
"Come on, you need your rest as well."
.
Its blissful, lying his his wife's arms. It always has been, but after three weeks apart, its a special kind of bliss. He can only hope its not obvious to her how little he's been sleeping on this job.
"Are you still awake James?" she whispers quietly.
"Mmhmm."
"I've missed you."
"Missed you too. So much."
He falls asleep before he can make sense of her reply.
.
James wakes up gasping, the after images of the dream burned into his brain, fading into inverse colours as he tries to work out where he is. Or who he's supposed to be. It'd been drilled into him during the prep for the job, just how dangerous it would be to slip up, just how dangerous it'd be to be James Hathaway in a room full of people that knew Jim Keane. And while a small part of his brain has registered that the wallpaper in this room is his own, the curtains are his own, a far larger part is screaming at him not to give himself away. Screaming at him that someone will work it out, and then the wankers that he has spent the last three weeks trying to infiltrate will find his family.
A young woman, he refuses to think about her name, refuses to think about how happy she'd been before they got to her. Before someone that he had to pretend was a mate, had given her some drug or another. He won't think about the change that came over her in just three short weeks.
If he fucks up, these people will find out who he really is and his family will be in danger. They'll hurt Sam and Chrissy-
"-James? James, its alright." He turns his head to look at her, and whatever she sees, its not good. "You're at home James. Its ok. You were dreaming."
"Chris?"
"Its me. You're alright." He nods. Feels a bit stupid now really, not really knowing where he was.
"Been a really shit few weeks."
"I bet." She frowns. "Did you sleep at all?"
"...Not much. Small time drug dealers aren't supposed to have nightmares and wake up crying. Tried to stay awake when there was people around at night, just in case."
"Oh James, come here" He obliges, snuggling closer to her and sighing.
"Its alright James. Its all over now. You don't need to worry any more. You're safe."
"I know. I love you."
"I love you too. Come on, try and get back to sleep."
He slowly falls back to sleep, feeling safe for the first time in three weeks.