Author's note: This started life as a direct comparison between Sergeant Hathaway and Sergeant Lewis from Inspector Lewis' POV. It was inspired by the Morse episode "Masonic Mysteries". I was confused that while Sgt. Lewis knows his way around a computer and even how to find hackers, Insp. Lewis doesn't know what an Ipod is...

...But it got away from me and Lewis' thoughts took a decidedly different turn. I hope it is still enjoyable.

I watch him, sitting at that computer with his back turned to me, and I wonder.

He's 33. A mere boy, compared to me now. I was 35, when I started working with Morse. No thirty six, I turned thirty six on that first case. Not that much difference between us then.

Not much difference at all, yet at the same time, a whole generations difference. I was 27 when he was born. Its hard to remember that sometimes, he seems so old. Old and young at the same time. He's seen more...experienced more than most people his age. Not just in the job. I'm not an idiot, I can see that his childhood wasn't as happy as mine was. I don't know what went wrong but, it was bad. He never talks about it. Except once, that one time just after the Zelinsky case went to court.

"Remanded for sentencing, pending a social report, which will probably say he had a very unhappy childhood"

"And did he?"

"Well who didn't? But we don't all go around abducting ten year old girls do we?"

I heard it. But I didn't understand, I didn't pick up on it. Does he believe that? 'Who didn't?' I didn't, I mean times were tough in Newcastle in the fifties sure. But I don't look back with sadness. Does he really think that everyone had a bad time of it. Does he know any different? But then I look at the environment he grew up in. Mortmaigne, Hopkiss. Kids are smart and he's smarter than most. Did he work it out, even at the tender age of twelve?

God...Did he have to work it out? Exactly how unhappy was his childhood? Did...?

No...No he'd have said something. He'd have reacted worse surely? He'd have told me.

As soon as I think it, I know that's bollocks. He's a private sod and he wouldn't tell me. He didn't tell me about Will McEwan. I had to force it out of him, shouting match in the street. I regret that, more than he'll know. It felt too close to home. Too close to the screaming arguments I used to have with Ken when he came in two hours late, knowing it was my fault because I wasn't even at home to reinforce the boundaries we tried to set him.

I hear him sigh as he leans back in the chair, headphones in. He cracks his knuckles and then gets back to work, but not before pulling that contraption out of his pocket and pressing a few buttons. The music changes, I can hear it from here, the office is that bloody quiet. Its changed from the violin sort of sound from before to heavy guitars. Whatever, if he can concentrate through it, who am I to judge? Too many reports typed up whilst trying to block out Morse's Wagner. Must have made me bitter. Funny that, I don't mind a bit of Wagner now.

That's one way we were different. I was happy at that age. At least I think I was. I was the optimistic one, the chipper Geordie. Jolting Morse out from the dumps, bit of banter to make him smirk. Or scowl depending on his mood. I've looked back at the photographs. I smiled a lot. I always seemed to be smiling. Its odd really; I don't know what I was smiling at. But I was happy. Working with a bloody good, if a bit difficult chief inspector. I had a b...beautiful wife and two amazing kids.

James doesn't smile nearly as much. And he doesn't have the wife and kids. And he is certainly not working for a clever chief inspector. Although he could be. He's good enough to be an inspector now. I don't think he'll go for it though. He said if I left, he'd leave too. Well I'm not gonna be around for ever. I'm sixty-one. I've got four years left in the force before I'm out on my ear anyway. Maybe less, I've got a sodding doctor's appointment tomorrow. Can't say I'm looking forward to it. I know the drill. 'Eat properly, drink less...and you need more exercise Mr Lewis.' And I'll nod and agree, walk home, cook myself a microwave meal and have a beer. Probably won't even feel guilty about it.

James' computer beeps at him and he frowns at it, clicking and pressing buttons until it gives in and he gives a satisfied little smirk. One way we were similar. I was good with technology back then as well, I knew who to use a computer. Of course, they didn't do nearly as much as they do now. What with internet banking, downloads and what is it...anti virus software? Well I dunno where I am any more with it all. But at his age, I was pretty damn good at it. Annoyed Morse that did. What did he say? "I never did trust computers, its only people like Lewis that can work them". Lucky I did know, he could have gone down for murder. I prided myself on it then, something I could do that Morse couldn't, probably one of the only things. But now, James can do everything I can and more. Stuff that I have no idea about. He tried to show me how to use that flipping iTunes thing the other day. Personally, I dunno what's wrong with a bloody Walkman. Although that little iPod thing he has is a bit clever. Something like two thousand songs on it he told me. That's a lot of CD's. Blimey but I'm too old to get the hang of it. I used to know this stuff. Out of touch, out of date, that's me. Maybe I'm not so very different to Morse either.

Another thing Morse never seemed to get the hang of, that I had down pat; relationships. I was married before I was thirty. Morse made it to sixty-odd and never managed it. Tell a lie, he nearly did, so he told me. But nearly never won a cigar.

Me and Val were happy. More than happy. I loved her, truly, madly, deeply...or how ever the song goes. She was my rock, my sail, my anchor. I try not to show it, but I miss her, every single bloody day. James knows. I've seen him look at me sadly, like he doesn't know what to say, but feels something needs to be said. I wish I could tell him its my burden to bear, he doesn't need to feel my grief, let alone try and relieve me of it.

I wonder if he knows grief like this. I know he's lost people, Will McEwan for one. But someone he loved? He never talks about his parents. Not mentioned them once. I don't know what this means. I don't know if they're dead, or estranged from him or something like that. Does it link back to his unhappy childhood? Forgive me, but I hope it does. A terrible father or mother, I can understand, there was enough of that on the estate I grew up on. But the other thing... the poison that spread through Creavecour twenty five odd years ago, and again a year and a half ago. I don't think I could bear it, not if he's gone through that.

I look at him now, grinning like a Cheshire cat at a joke email someone's sent him. Is he happy? He's got a lot to be happy about, stable career (most of the time), friends, health (if he quits smoking. I think I'm gonna have to work on that one, there's no way I'm letting the cheeky sod go before me). He smiles, he laughs at jokes and he engages in banter. He's witty is our James. But is he happy.? Sometimes he'll say something funny and laugh. I'll join in. But I notice. Its all in the eyes you see. His eyes aren't laughing. I never let on that I've seen and if he realises, he never acknowledges that I know.

I want him to be happy. He's a good young man, he'd make someone a good husband someday. He'll make a good father too. I just hope he...lets go of the past at some point so he can realise for himself. I want him to have the same happiness I felt, the wife, the kids. Val would have loved him. It would be different to Morse. She'd encourage me to get him over for dinner, wouldn't mind us going to the pub together. But she'd have recognised the same things in him as I have. The sorrow that he carries around. I don't think he even knows its there any more. He's become so used to it, he just tolerates it. She would have wanted to sort him out, wanted me to sort him out.

I wish I could sort him out. He's a good lad, he deserves happiness in his life. I'm scared he'll end up like Morse. Old, bitter and not interested in keeping himself healthy. Morse was a fundamentally good man, I was honoured to work with him and pleased to call him a friend. But was too smart for his own good and so is James. I don't want James to grow up full of regrets and what ifs. He's a very confused and insecure young man; for reasons I'm not privy to, reasons I don't think I want to be privy to...

...Reasons I can guess at.

This won't do, I'm getting worried and angry. I clear my throat and he looks up, like a rabbit caught in headlights. He probably forgot I was there, lost in his world of internet and music. Well good luck to the lad. If that's his escape...well I've seen plenty of young'uns turn to other things for escape. Drink, drugs, crime. Music, well harmless really. He could have turned to something a lot worse. That lad, that lad could have really fucked his life up.

But he didn't, he's still here, surviving. He may not smile as much as the rest of his peer group, but he's stronger than that. Bloody strong. Come through a lot of shit that boy. I wish I could have saved him from it. I'd never tell him like, one day I'll find a way to let him know, there's people out there that care about him. I really don't think he realises it. Its sad in a way.

Well, if I can do anything to help him, I will. Duty of care. I've got a duty of care to young James. Its more than that though isn't it Robbie? He's a mate. And if there's one thing I've learned growing up in Newcastle...you stick by your mates.

He's smiling now. He's worked out where he is and what's going on. He looks tired though. Ah well Lewis, here you go. Try and sort the lad out. He needs someone to do it, he's had 33 years to work it out by himself and look where its got him.

"Fancy a pint lad? Might as well get going. We're not getting anywhere." The smile spreads above his face. It reaches his eyes this time. I can't help grinning in response. I can tell when something genuinely pleases him and I get a small swell of pride when I've put that grin on his normally inscrutable face.

"Of course sir. I can always do with a pint."

We walk out the office, he picks his jacket off the back off his chair. I notice that his sleeves are rolled up, just like mine were so often during long, boring slogs through paperwork when I was a DS. But I watch him walk down the corridor and I no longer recognise my self in him. He still looks like he's carrying the world on his shoulders, the weight of it is pressing him down. One so young shouldn't look like that. I'm pretty sure I never did.

In some ways, we weren't so very different, him and me. But in others...in other ways, we couldn't have been further apart.