"I didn't put away the wrong man."
Robbie seethed. He felt as if everyone was against him, like he was the only sane person in the department. Why wasn't anyone listening to him? Hathaway had turned that statement over to the defence team and he knew what that meant: Lawrie was getting out. He felt betrayed, sure enough. Rationally, he knew that it was the proper, legal, thing to do. God knows he had many of these discussions he had with Morse, usually with Morse arguing with him just as he had with Hathaway. When had he become Morse? But Hathaway. It felt like James didn't trust him after all of their years together. Is that how Morse had felt?
Right now, he had to think about Laura. Lawrie wasn't out yet, but it would only be a matter of time. That text message had sent a shiver up his spine and made his balls clench. And, when Lawrie had asked about Laura…he knew what Lawrie was playing at. Laura was right, Graham Lawrie was trying to drive him mad. But he had threatened her. Can't they see how dangerous Lawrie is? He killed three, no four, coppers. He was a predator, and he enjoyed it. He could see it in the madman's eyes. He enjoyed inflicting fear, and he had inflicted it on Robbie.
Lewis was going to go home and pack, and whether Laura liked it or not, he was getting her away. She will argue. She will most likely be angry with him. And when he insisted and returned her anger, and by god he would if necessary if that meant she was safe…she would, what, leave him? He feared that more than anything, except for Lawrie coming after her. Leave him or not, she would be safe. She could already imagine her face hardening when he confronted her. He had to stand firm, this time.
It was already dark when he parked in front of the home he shared with Laura. He felt as if he were looking at it for the first and last time. As if he was perched on the edge of something with a deep, lightless chasm below. Like everything was about to change, an event in time so momentous that it splits off into different realities. He went inside, dropped his keys on the table and hopped up the stairs two at a time. He was exhausted but energized by the rage that had him trembling inside.
When was the last time he had told her that he loved her? He dug around in his memories. Two nights before, when they had made love and after she had held him tight against her and he had stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head as she folded against him, into his arms, her breath tickling at his throat. Had he said it then? A whisper in her? He closed his eyes and remembered the feeling of her as she arched against him and he kissed her neck and softened their moans with his mouth over hers. He didn't say it often enough. He didn't say enough that he loved her so very much. He didn't think that love would ever happen again, but it had. Now, Graham Lawrie was threatening that.
As he pulled Laura's suitcase down and laid it on their bed, he vowed to change that. If she had anything to do with him after this, that is. She would say he was acting like an overbearing brute, and call him an idiot, and he would agree with her. They would fight, she would leave. No, he thought quickly, he will make it right. He will make sure she is safe and then he would make it right.
\m/
Hathaway had looked for Robbie after he had turned the alibi statement over to Lawrie's solicitor. He wanted to talk with Robbie again and try to explain. His boss…not his boss, anymore…his colleague…had been angry and upset when he had left. Hathaway had seen him like that before. He could remember the look of betrayal that flashed in his then boss's eyes when he had discovered James had lied to him about a case and how he had turned from him, walking away. That look was seared into James' mind and he saw it again, today. He had been worked up at the time, but now Hathaway wanted to wilt just thinking of that look and what it meant for them as colleagues. As partners. As friends. As family. As he thought of each step describing their relationship, James started to worry more, each level presenting problems in his mind. Robbie was his family, and he feared he was going to lose that. Over a fucking piece of paper.
They had managed to clear things up, before, hadn't they, then? Sure, it had taken him nearly dying in a fire, but Robbie had come through, because that was Robbie Lewis. He always came through. He was always there. Solid. A rock. A passionate rock that had looked at him with the look of betrayal and disbelief that had bore into James' very existence. Then, he had watched as something in Robbie shifted as he read that text off the phone. James thought that text had chipped away at something in Robbie, that it had punched holes in his existence.
This felt different than before. Like an unravelling in their relationship. An unraveling of reality. Like he could just wake up tomorrow and it would be old times, and this would have been something that had never happened. Before Robbie left. Before his own promotion. Before Lawrie. The two of them sitting at the pub, James drinking orange juice. James looked up to Robbie, no doubt. He was more than a friend, more than a mentor. Robbie Lewis had been a major part of Hathaway's life for a decade, now. He and Laura were his family. Robbie was, he admitted to himself, like a father. More like a father than his own. Yes, Robbie was solid, dependable, and always knew how to make sure James stayed straight on the path he had chosen. He needed to talk to him, desperately. James decided that since he couldn't find him, he would go talk to Laura.
\m/
Robbie had taken off his dress shirt, socks, and shoes and was debating whether to simply put on fresh clothes or hit the shower. He stood motionless for what seemed like an hour but, after looking at his watch, found it had only been minutes. He was stood at their bed, staring at it, recent memories flooding his mind and zipping through so fast he had trouble singling any one out. What was he doing, again? Yeah, shower or not? His undershirt was damp with fear-sweat and he decided on the shower.
He untucked his shirt from his trousers, reached for his belt buckle, and froze when he heard rustling from downstairs. He looked at the clock, 7:14pm. He took a deep breath and steadied himself against the argument to come. He hadn't decided on where he was taking her, yet. Lyn and family were in Australia, visiting Ken, which, he thought, was something he sorely needed to do himself. Why hadn't he done that? What was so important that he couldn't tear himself away to go see his son? It all seemed ridiculous, now. How unimportant all the things he would have sworn were most important in his life actually were. So meaningless. His family. Laura. He would do anything to keep her safe, and when he did, they would be okay. He would go see his daughter, and his son.
They would all spend time together away from Oxford. Away from the depths of depravity and murder that he thought was so much a part of him. He was addicted to it, wasn't he? Bloody addicted to that darkness. That's why he had gone back. That's why he couldn't bear to leave it behind. He had to let that go, get that off of his soul, become human again. Be like all those clueless blokes walking around with their families, sat in front of the telly. Almost like he had been before, but without the dark stain of his job seeping into everything he said and did. He had tried to keep that away from Val, but after she had gone, he had stopped trying. He had embraced it, let it in, wallowed in it and became friends with it. It was a part of him, like an arm, and he couldn't see himself living without it. But, by god, he was going to try.
He turned to walk down the stairs to the sitting room and doubt started to cloud his thoughts. His stomach flipped. Did he actually think she would go with him? How was he going to say this? A thousand scenarios went through his head and he tried to pick the one he thought had the best chance of working. Did he really think he was going to get Laura to go away? Wishful thinking. He knew it was unlikely, but he would do his damn-level best. Wishful thinking was the only plan he had. He had just registered that the lights were still out downstairs when the blow to his head made his knees buckle.