Chapter Text
Oxford—Past—Before the Camino
James's rucksack is stowed with the other passenger luggage in the compartment beneath the dark blue airport bus. The interior of the bus smells of antiseptic and stale air conditioning. The day is warm, the arm rest is sticky, and there are tiny fingerprints smudging the inside of his window. James stares out the window, seeing Robbie's car still in the car park.
Robbie is leaning on his car, watching James, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world as if he has lost his best friend.
Has he? James wonders. He has Laura, though. Lyn. What am I to him except a former sergeant? What can I be to him now?
As the bus slowly passes Robbie, James makes eye contact, feeling that tug he always does when he looks at the man. He wonders again if he is doing the right thing by leaving.
Robbie's shoulders heave as if he is sighing, and he gives the ghost of a smile, his face pained as if he doesn't understand what is happening.
I don't understand either.
I left my guitar—he knows I'm coming back. He has to know I'm coming back.
Doesn't he?
James turns in his seat to eye the car park as they leave. Robbie is still watching the bus. Finally, as the bus rounds the corner, James sees Robbie slowly get into his car.
What have I done?
Oxford—Present
"That’s why you didn’t make it to the cathedral." Robbie pushes his glass aside. "Jean never mentioned a word."
James acknowledges this with a slight nod. "I realized, while I was the guest of the Galician constabulary, that I had an excellent boss. That I had had an excellent mentor." James toys with his cigarette, inhaling deeply. "I realized I enjoy police work. I said I’d stopped believing that people were good, Robbie." He leans forward, his head tilted, fingers laced together. "What I meant was that I wasn’t good." He stares at the table. "I realized I was losing my compassion. I pushed for answers. I stopped doing what I do best."
Robbie frowns. "But you always gave your best, man."
James meets Robbie’s eyes. "I stopped listening. You remember Adam's girlfriend, Rachel? Her mother said we weren't listening, that we never listen. She was right. I stopped listening to suspects, witnesses. Everyone. Including you." He doesn't say he stopped listening to God—doesn't need to. He can see understanding in Robbie's eyes.
"I think it was fortuitous that Laura gave me Don Quixote," James says. "I needed to read it again. I needed to be humbled."
"Reading a book in Spanish when you're not fluent will do that to a person, I'm told. Laura thought you were being daft to take it, just so you know." Robbie looks away. "We missed you."
"You were with me every step of the Way," James says. "Couldn't seem to get rid of you." He smiles gently.
"Not finishing talking with you yet, that's why."
"Think I've got a lot to learn yet?"
"Aye, I do." Robbie settles his elbows on the table. "You need someone to look out for you. You lost everything, man!"
James nods. Lost his belongings, his dignity. Lost his need for isolation, too. Gained a clear head and regained a tenuous relationship with God, though.
"But I didn't lose you."
Robbie meets his eyes. Stills.
The moment grows, tendrils curling around James's heart, roots so strong they move stone and crack the hardest façade.
"It's like bloody knotweed, working its way into a garden. You think you've got it under control, trimmed it up, but it's…" James shakes his head. "I'm sorry." He takes a deep breath. "You remember the allotment."
Robbie's eyebrows go up.
"I didn't know what to do." James's voice is a whisper. Stops. I've spent days rehearsing this very moment. Every step of the way I thought, here's how I'll explain and now I can't recall a single word.
"Yeah, there was a moment out there," Robbie says quietly.
James nods, numb. Waiting. Knowing that Robbie is certainly fond of him, won't deliberately hurt him by ridiculing what he's about to say. But he knows that there was more than affection in that moment. There was a new awareness between them that hadn't been there before.
Robbie knows it too, though his expression is guarded, as if he's waiting for James to take the lead.
So—now that he's back in Oxford over the last few weeks—is it gone? Mostly, mostly. But there are moments, terrifying moments, when he marvels at the way Robbie's mouth moves as he smiles. "What are all these kissings worth if thou kiss not me?" Never wondered much about that before. About anyone. He clamps his lips together so he doesn't babble as he continues.
"I still don't know what to do about it." He pauses, gathering his thoughts. "Walking brings clarity. You focus on the Camino. Over the miles, you lose everything except the things that are vital to your existence. I've felt this—" He inhales, feeling self-conscious. "fondness for you, I guess, for years, but I thought it would be best to try to let go. For Laura. For you. Because it changed for a moment—I changed, for a moment that day—and I couldn't bear to hurt you or Laura with what that might mean. I wanted to lose you. I tried to lose you. But I couldn't."
Robbie smiles and it brightens his entire face, making his eyes shine. He opens his mouth to speak, but James rushes on—he has to get this out.
"If I—" He drops his gaze to the rough tabletop. "—if I cared for you, or even if I loved you, I wouldn't act on it because that's not who I am, Robbie. I'd never say anything. It would be pointless. And, despite the fact that you're a bloody good detective, I doubt you'd see it for what it really was. You wouldn't notice." He glances up. "If I loved you, I mean."
"Aw, right. You think I wouldn't notice? Tell you something. What about going through Cooper's things? Or putting together those masquerade photos because I thought something wasn't right? What about the time you held my hand when we pretended to be a couple at that school? Or that time you took a bullet intended for me? I think I'd bloody well notice, James. I'm not that thick."
The look in Robbie's eyes makes his heart pound and his skin tingle as if the air is charged. Of course he knows. He's always known.
"Well, you carried me out of a fire. Least I could do is take a bullet." Relief pools at his core, growing. He hides his relief with a casual smirk.
Robbie rubs his earlobe. "Small caliber bullet."
James bites back a grin. "True. But I've provided exceptional service over the years. We're even."
"Cheeky sod." Robbie takes a deep drink of ale and sets his glass on the table with a thump, nodding to himself. "Just so you know, I'd even keep on working just to be by your side if you needed me, that is, if I truly cared." He huffs a sigh. "Bloody hell, James. I'd even read Don Quixote. And no, clever clogs, not in Spanish. And not the illustrated edition either."
"I should hope not. The paintings are dreadful." James's heart is soaring. "Why Don Quixote?"
"Thinking about you, out there in Spain." Robbie's mouth crumples in irritation, and then softens. "For a bright man, you can be bloody thick. Makes me wonder how you managed to be such a bloody good detective."
"You trained me up." James says, smug.
Robbie nudges his hand with the empty ale glass. "Listen—you're going on about listening, so listen now. First off, don't want to lose you either. Thought that you taking time might be good for me, too, to sort it all. It was, too. It surprised me, that I missed you like I did. Kept waiting for you to peek around a corner. Kept hearing your sarky commentary while watching telly."
James inhales and holds his breath, waiting.
"But I just don't understand—Anna. Why?"
James purses his lips. He makes a show of finding another cigarette—God, I'm smoking like a chimney—and lights up. "Anna was my transition person."
Robbie smirks at him, as if catching him in a lie.
"We shared a bed." James swallows. "It was somewhat humiliating, actually. I needed to learn something about myself. And I think I did."
He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to lighten this personal disclosure. He makes a forlorn face. "I needed a hug," he says, his mouth turned down in a huge self-mocking arc.
"You needed a hug?"
James shrugs. "Not like I could come up to you and say, 'I'm having trouble coping with all that's happened at work and I need to spend the night in your arms.' Bit outside the usual job parameters of a sergeant and his guv."
"You went to Spain for a hug."
"Yeah." The corner of his mouth ticks up, an apology. "Sounds idiotic when you put it like that."
"'Cause it was." Robbie looks away, as if he knows it was never that simple. His gaze settles on James and then skitters to the side as he remarks, off-handed: "Might have asked."
"Didn't think Laura would like me hanging all over you. Didn't think I could ask her for one." He taps ash from his cigarette and leans forward, his voice quiet. "Because that spark? It made me realize that I was missing something—if I loved you or anyone, that is. I would want affection and romance." He looks heavenward. "The hearts and flowers." He says in a sing-song voice, making light of something important. He meets Robbie's eyes. "I'm not comfortable with a lot of physical intimacy. Certainly not sex. But I want—" He looks away, it's a hard admission for a man to make. "Affection."
"Who doesn't?" Robbie says.
James tries again. "But that, more than anything, is what will hurt Laura. If I cared for you that way."
Robbie chuckles. "Got it all wrong, man. Hell, she's been a witness to it every day for going on eight years."
James hangs his head. Great. He looks up, sees Robbie's eyes dancing. "I'm sorry."
Robbie shrugs, bumps his knuckles with the glass again. "Nothing to be sorry about. She calls you my bit on the side."
"Charming." James huffs a sigh.
"Your pal Cervantes writes: 'There were no embraces, because where there is great love there is often little display of it.'"
James bit his upper lip, pretending ignorance. "Don’t recall that." To love pure and chaste from afar. Maybe I could be stereotypically gay at that, remembering lines from a musical.
Funny, that. Wanting a label at this point in my life as if it would solve everything.
"Well, you might have if you'd read it in English. Jumped out at me. Though maybe that's because, well, there was a musical, years ago. Man of La Mancha. "
James snorts a laugh, catching himself. "Never heard of it," he says, mock serious.
"Right." Robbie purses his lips. "Talk about a sign." He looks out over the river. "Morse didn't have any love in his life. He was a lonely sod." He bumps James's fist with the empty ale glass one last time before moving it to the side, as if that makes his point.
"Count myself lucky to have so much love in my life, man. Laura, my family. You." There's an impish gleam in his expression, as if he's happy to have this—at least—resolved at last.
"Bloody hell, I don't want you to turn into Morse, James. Will you be—I dunno—happy—no, content with great love? I'm not much for displays of affection, either. But a hug now and again? Shouldn't have to go to the continent for that." He nods as he appears to consider this, still not looking at James directly, as if this honesty is too much for him already.
Eye contact would be too revealing, James thinks. He watches Robbie mull over his thoughts and wishes he could see the man's eyes.
"A proper hug. Not like that half-arsed goodbye. Right git you were for not letting me say goodbye, James. Especially since I wasn't sure you'd be coming back." He huffs, mouth turned down.
"I left my guitar. Of course I was coming back."
"Small consolation, to my mind." Robbie huffs. He takes a deep breath to continue and looks up. "So. Laura says she's fine with you coming over, watching telly with us and hogging your end of the couch with me in the middle. Fine with you and me together as best mates—knew it going in, she says. Bit on the side, she says, best mates with limited benefits."
James's jaw drops. He snaps it shut, feeling the corners of his mouth curl up despite his efforts to seem stern. "I'm scandalized."
"You and me both." Robbie grins, cheeky. "Says you're just like one big cat and we need to snuggle you properly on occasion to keep you from running away. She's been worried, you know, since you got back. Haven't had much time together."
"I've been a bit busy. Work. Training up my sergeant."
"Told you to take a break now and again." Robbie leans forward. "For Lizzie's sake, at least. Poor woman needs time with her husband. Now, Laura's got it all planned out for you and me, mind." Robbie rolls his eyes, long suffering. "Friday night is Scrabble night. I'm cooking dinner."
James bites his lower lip, stubs out his cigarette. "I don't want to break Laura's heart, but—"
"Your consideration is touching," Robbie says dryly. "Fine. Oh, bought a book on chess so I can hold my own when we get around to playing."
"I thought I'd teach you."
"Rubbish. I played chess with Morse on occasion—I know the game. I'd rather play than hear you lecture."
"I'm crushed." James smiles slightly.
Robbie gives a long suffering sigh. "I know you don't think much of me as a player, but I might surprise you."
"You continually surprise me."
"For that, you can cook dinner for the three of us."
"I look forward to it."
Robbie rubs his mouth with a sigh. A gesture that tells James he wants to say something, but is holding back the words. Then Robbie drops his hand to the table, deliberately bumping knuckles against James's hand, as if reluctant to open his hand at first. Then, slowly, he does, covering James's hand with own. Squeezing it for emphasis. "Heart chooses, you said. Tell him we expect him soon for dinner, Laura said. Not done talking with you yet, I said."
And James sees that there might be magic in things spoken in threes.
Thinks of what might be.
When Robbie lets go of James's hand, it is all James can do to keep from floating away in delight.
He casts about for something to ground himself and settles on the number three.
Three Musketeers. Chekhov's Three Sisters. Three Little Pigs. Three Stooges.
The last reference makes him smirk.
"What's on your mind?"
"Three. The Third Man. Three acts in a play."
"Three coins in a fountain," says Robbie, joining in. "Three wise men. Three blind mice. What was it—three little pigs?"
"Three stooges."
Robbie shakes his head slightly, continuing the game. "Three Dog Night. Richard the Third."
James huffs a laugh and taps Robbie's hand with a long finger. "I'm a bad influence on you. A band and the Bard in one go."
The two men sit quietly, then, enjoying the fading afternoon light.
James lights another cigarette, grateful Robbie is silent. His friend needs to hear these words. “Do you know what you do best, Robbie?”
“Well, it’s not cooking. Or making a canoe. Or Scrabble. Or gardening, come to that.” Robbie turns his empty glass this way and that. “Got knotweed all through the tomato plants. S'pose we’ll have to live with it, though. Don't see what all the fuss is about—it's a pretty plant if you can contain it. I think we can manage it, you and I." He rubs his jaw thoughtfully, drops his hand to his empty glass, examining it. "You know what I'm good at? Listening." He toys with the glass. "Talking, too."
James stifles a laugh, grateful to be home. Grateful, too, that he has finally made his confession to the one man who needed to hear it.
He had walked nearly 500k to make his confession to a man who had walked with him, shoulder to shoulder, for years. Robbie had walked with him, too, on the Camino, if only in his head.
And if they didn't have a name for it, didn't know what it was, couldn't classify the type or species of whatever it was that tangled them together, it didn't mean that it had to be eradicated. If Robbie could live with it, could work with him, well, then the roots might remain as long as it didn't flourish or tear up the foundations of Robbie's relationship with Laura.
“So we're agreed, then. Not going anywhere without company." Robbie’s eyes, blue as a Spanish sky, are full of fondness.
"I’ve got deep roots here." James answers. "And I don’t think I’ll ever need to walk alone again."
"Got that right." Robbie sets his elbows on the table. His voice is far-away, soft. "Ever heard of the El Camino Real? In California? Lyn's got a training conference in San Diego. Laura's going to the same one—big to-do for her, presenting a paper. Thought maybe you and I could tag along, maybe take a walk."
James chuckles. "Let's skip the walk and go to the zoo."
"Could skip the zoo and go to Disneyland." Robbie grins. "Dreamt of going there as a kid."
James smiles back. "You know what I remember from Don Quixote? 'To surrender dreams — this may be madness. Too much sanity may be madness — and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!'"
"Ah, canny lad. Thinking of what might be, that's the ticket, right there." Robbie thumps the table as he rises. "Sounds like a proper beginning to another pint. Same again?"
Fin