Robbie was livid. James tilted his head and shrugged. James shuffled down the hall to the loo. It gave Robbie a moment to calm down and James a moment to compose himself. He reached in the cubby above the sink and swallowed two sleeping pills. He was too tired to sleep and he needed to shut his mind down.

Robbie was silently scrutinizing his timeline as James exited. He joined James at his breakfast bar, sitting gingerly on one of the two stools.

James took two glasses from the cabinet and brought out a bottle of highland single malt he'd had sitting around for some time. "And by tea, I mean something of amber hue and technically distilled rather than actually brewed." He poured himself a large measure and hovered above the second glass waiting for a yes or no.

"I'm driving," Robbie said with venom.

"Suit yourself." James brought the drink to his lips and swallowed. It burned and he took another gulp. He positioned the second stool around the other side of the counter so he could face Robbie. Hathaway eased himself onto the second stool, wincing at how his leg protested any attempt at bending.

"I don't understand. You look like utter hell, man." Robbie tried to say calmly, but just sounded like he was patronizing.

"As opposed to consummate, categorical, or unmitigated hell? Utter is a rather redundant adjective, don't you think?" James smirks with aggressive disregard for consequences. He's in pain and cornered and he can't seem to help lashing out.

The arrow hits home. Robbie knows that James is hurting and that he's hiding a whole world more things than Robbie expected, but he feels like he's trying to walk on a pit of tar and senses everything between he and the lad, bogging down to an end.

He lets his fear and sorrow crack his voice, pleading for James to meet him part way. " You look up this case. You demand I tell you things I would rather not. You have all that going on over there without telling me a word. Then we have a murder that happens to be a name from that old case. You say we aren't friends. You storm off, get hit by a sodding car, and now you are channeling bloody Morse! What the hell is going on here?"

James let pity leak into his expression and his voice quiets and gentles, "I honestly don't know, Robbie. But, I don't think it's very good."

"Yeah. Crossed my mind, that." Robbie finally said. He took the second glass and poured them both more. "We need to sort this out. I can't stand it."

James dropped his eyes and nodded.

"You know you can trust me. Have I not proved it to you by now, James?"

James was on his third glass by the time he spoke. "Do you believe in Ghosts?"

Robbie moved the bottle out of James' reach and spoke with acid dripping, "Are you having me on?"

Standing behind Robbie, Morse brought his finger to his lips and shook his head.

James face looked so very wretched with his lips trying to smile and his eyes filled with ache and sorrow.

Slowly, Robbie melted at this lost man before him. "I'm sorry, soft lad. Please talk to me?"

James nodded, and tried to start several times, but kept changing his mind. Finally he asked kindly,"I know you cared for him. What was he like? Morse?"

Robbie stuttered, "Why all these questions? What's this have to do with him?"

James bit his thumbnail but didn't say more.

Robbie took a deep breath and thought for a moment. "Okay, well yeah. Course we were friends. I should have been better to him. He was frustrating, hard as nails, drank far too much for far too long, bad tempered and I think he was the loneliest man I ever knew. Also, he was the most purely good man as well. He had a beautiful singing voice. Sung in a choir when I first met him. The world was not very kind to him and I wasn't always very kind either, but I think he knew, how much he meant to me. I hope he did. I wasn't a very good friend sometimes, but I was loyal to the bone. Whatever he felt or didn't toward me, well, that would be anybody's guess. Even that last time I saw him, he wouldn't let me…he…he only cared about the case. So I finished it. That was all the goodbye I got. He put up with me. That was the best he could do, I figured. We all screw things up sometimes. All of us. I don't want this to be one of them. Please."

James closed his eyes and smiled. "I may not be able to help it. I may have already done and that…that…has broken my heart." He held his glass up in an ironic toast. "I can promise you that I won't ever leave you without explanation. Without some kind of reckoning for it all." He looked behind Robbie at Morse and tipped his glass with a nod. Morse looked as if he'd been punched in the gut.

"James, you are scaring the hell out of me."

James nods. "Yes. "

"Can't you see, I just want to help?"

James held out his glass with a wiggle and waited for Robbie to pour. When Robbie finally did, James said gently, "Me too. Give me the file. It's my only hope now, you see."

"I don't want you involved. Not that case."

James glanced toward his wall and pointed unsteadily. "I already am. I love the bells of Oxford. No matter who is ringing them."

Robbie paled at that, "You better tell me, lad. Stop all this dodgy innuendo and get down to the meat."

James said with a bit of a slur now, "I think I should go to sleep, before I throw up." He slowly began to tumble, obviously too drunk to maintain his balance any longer.

"Dammit, lad." Robbie jumped to keep James from falling as he poured himself off the stool and the first weight on his injured leg in almost an hour wasn't very steady.

"I'm alright, Robert. Just a bit… untidy." He slung his arm around the shorter man and grinned apologetically.

"I think you're half-mortal, Lad. You put away most of that bottle in an hour. Be lucky if you don't end up…steady there…I'm getting you to bed and then getting some ice on that leg. You should have kept it elevated." Robbie said as they bumped into the hallway as much as navigated it.

Robbie helped James discard most of his clothes and step into a pair of pajama bottoms. The older man's lips pursed as he got another look at the bruising. "Lucky you didn't bugger up a knee."

James giggled, "Lucky the driver was paying attention. Could have ended up looking like poor old Tim Perry. Brain bits on the outside."

Robbie blanched and had to swallow to keep that image from making him wretch the whisky he'd consumed but he kept his voice steady and soothing, "I will be out there if you need anything. Get some rest, lad."

James was already nearly unconscious, "Mmmmm, right away, Sir. Do tell Morse to stay out of my room."

Robbie paused, sure it was probably nonsense, but he got goose-pimples never the less.

Just some funny little bits for you:

What does the second Doctor and the first episode of Morse have in common?

Patrick Troughton - The Second Doctor was the handyman George Jackson in the first episode, 'The Dead of Jericho' and he was the one who slipped the key through the post slot.

Colin Dexter appears in almost every episode of Morse. He never speaks, but he is in the background.

The final Oxford location for Morse: he collapses from a heart attack in the quad of Exeter College, Oxford.

The flute in the theme music spells out Morse in Morse code, most often. Sometimes, it spells the name of the murderer and on occasion an innocent person to throw you off.

John Thaw never liked beer.