Expiation

"Doctor, you bring me all this because you secretly love me."

Their bodies were still close from where he'd leaned in to properly examine what it was she'd wanted to show him, a vial held up to the light; the same light that illuminated her features and luster of her hair. He felt her eyes considering him, his brain catching up with the words he'd just spoken, a tease that he'd intended to be friendly, that had come easily, too easily perhaps. But the look she gave him was what he'd expect - dismissive yet with a sharp witted retort already formed.

"If I bring you anything at all, Lewis, you cocky sod," she said witheringly, "It's because I secretly love Hathaway."

They locked eyes for a moment before she turned away, returning the filament of goose down to the table; the final detail that confirmed her theory. Robbie felt nothing but satisfaction that his suspicion of murder was now confirmed as fact and, not for the first time, thanks was entirely due to Dr Hobson's diligence.

"You were right," came her voice, causing him to turn back. She was facing away from him, head bent over the workbench as she collected together various samples that had become scattered across its surface. The glass vials clinked as they were placed into a shallow box, presumably in preparation for being moved into storage somewhere.

"That makes two of us then," he countered lightly, grinning despite the fact she wasn't looking.

It was odd being back. The places were the same but the faces had changed. A new Chief Super with views on procedure as strong as those that had gone before; a DS who was clearly far more intelligent than he was, and far more besides, all fresh-faced and keen as mustard as they rose up the ranks. He felt like a dinosaur. But then there was the good doctor, herself older of course, but no less fiery for it, and certainly no less brilliant it seemed. He watched her, remembering how it had been, until at last she was done and she spoke again; this time with eyes flashed in his direction.

"So what now?" she asked.

"Catch the murderer," his easy shrug belying just how tricky that might yet prove to be.

"It's usually the spouse," she said wryly, "Or so I'm told."

His eyes twinkled in reply. "Ah, but which spouse?" he asked, shaking his finger to emphasis his point, "That's the question."

She regarded him for a moment before replying. "Above my pay grade," her lips curled in a faint smile.

He chuckled at that. No, she hadn't changed.

He went to say something but changed his mind, and instead made to leave, his head bowing in a silent goodbye, her eyebrows raised in her own adieu.

As he pushed at the swing down to exit into the pathology lab corridor, hands shoved back deep into his pockets, he felt oddly buoyant and not at his hunch being proved right. In his time away he'd never forgotten her determination. Some had called it stubbornness, and of the things he thought he'd miss about Oxford, Laura Hobson hadn't been on the list. But under the hot, unflinching sun of the British Virgin Islands, he'd found himself longing for someone like her - diligent and endlessly efficient. He'd told his colleagues as much as he regaled them with tales of days spent trudging damp pavements in pursuit of leads, running the errands of a grumpy boss whose own brilliance had kept him in the shadows for too long.

But her sass? The dry wit that never seemed to be far away however technical or gory she decided to be in her explanations? Now that he had forgotten, or at least not remembered. Before it had been directed at Morse, for the most part, at least, and he found he was rather enjoying being on the receiving end of it now.

As he negotiated towards the building's exit, he passed a familiar looking lab assistant coming in the opposite direction, Jessie, something her name was, though he wouldn't swear to it. The green scrubs were enough though to confirm that would be where he knew her from. She rewarded him with a smile which he sheepishly returned. He reckoned she was probably just being kind but still, a smile from a pretty girl and added to the attention he seemed to be getting from Stephanie, the dead woman's next door neighbour couldn't help but bolster his mood. Except, he wondered as he finally reached the bland reception area and exited into the car park, his eyes blinking several times as they adjusted to the comparatively bright sunshine, was that all it all that had the power to lift his spirits? He missed Val, desperately. But sometimes, on occasion, there was an encounter in his day that made him forget he was alone, for a few minutes at least. And for a moment he'd allow himself to imagine that maybe all the hurt and loss would fade and the hope of something better might enter his thoughts.

Robbie reached his car and felt for the keys in his pocket, tossed them lightly in his hand for a second before unlocking the door and sliding in behind the wheel and turning the ignition. An ambulance making its way slowly towards the building blocked his way and he was forced to wait. But he was in no rush. He straightened his arms, pushing himself back into the seat, feeling the stretch across his back. What was it she'd called the shoulder blades? Oh yes, bony protrusions, and he chuckled to himself. She'd said something clever the week before too. What was it? He'd just finished his lunch, he remembered that much, and had been downing his lukewarm coffee, anxious to get back to a recent crime scene to check something. The look she'd given him, that subtle, knowing smile that was a telltale sign that he was about to look the fool. But it had gone, whatever it was she'd said, and he sighed.

He slipped the car into gear and eased himself out of the space, the silent blue flashing lights now reaching their destination and he headed off in the opposite direction. He drummed his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, waiting at the junction for a gap, before turning right and building up speed.

That was it, he realised suddenly, hearing her voice clearly over the rumble of the engine, her warning that he was risking a synchronous diaphragmatic flutter with that kind of reckless behaviour. He'd frowned, confused, and then, as if one cue he'd hiccuped. And she'd laughed, and he'd had no choice but to as well.

Yes, he thought, the traffic slowing and him too as a set of traffic lights up ahead turned to red, Dr Hobson certainly did make the day a little easier. It was almost enough to look forward to another body. Well, almost.