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Lizzie is halfway along the corridor, postmortem in hand, when she hears voices up ahead. Something about the cadence of the conversation, the particular tenor of the voices, makes her slow and listen instead of rounding the corner. Once she's stopped she can just make out who they are, hushed but unmistakable, her boss and Inspector Lewis.
"This case—" Hathaway says, his voice rough. He sounds exhausted. Far more exhausted than when he sent her to pick up various reports and sort out court paperwork an hour ago.
"Children, yeah,” Lewis’ tone is gentle. “Someday maybe you'll tell me why that gets under your skin quite so much. Besides the obvious."
Hathaway lets out a harsh snort of a laugh. "Maybe."
"But not today."
"No. I just… I just want to curl up in bed with you and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist for a few hours.”
Oh. That's— Is she hearing this right?
"I know, lad," Lewis says.
There is a rustle of fabric, their voices now muffled, and Lizzie can no longer make out what they're saying. She peeks around the corner.
They are hugging. Lewis and Hathaway are hugging. More than hugging. Hathaway is curled around Lewis, his face buried in Lewis’ neck. One of Lewis' hands is cradling the back of Hathaway’s head, fingers stroking the short hair at the nape of his neck, the other hand rubbing up and down his back. Hathaway takes a deep shuddering breath and leans into Lewis further, Lewis’ hands stop stroking and pull Hathaway tighter against him.
This is definitely something Lizzie shouldn’t be witnessing, but she can’t tear her eyes away. Despite the improbability of the scene before her there is a rightness to the two of them together like this; the way Hathaway melts into Lewis’ embrace, the way Lewis presses a tender kiss to Hathaway’s bowed head. This is the piece that's been missing in the months since Lewis returned from New Zealand without Dr Hobson, all parties, by all accounts, fine with the outcome.
Hathaway hasn’t been overly cheerful by non-Hathaway standards since Lewis’ return, but he’s certainly been more upbeat. She’d chalked it up to the fact that Lewis seems to be her boss’ only close friend. But she should have seen it was more than that the day Lewis walked into the office a month before he was meant to return from New Zealand. Lizzie had never seen Hathaway smile like that before that day, but she has in the months since; a look of joyous, surprised awe. Like he’d been given a gift he’d been wishing for but never quite let himself believe he’d get.
It’s all there plain as day now she knows to examine the evidence. The subtle differences to how they carry themselves around each other. The way they stand even closer than they had before Lewis left. All those times she was sure she’d caught them gazing at each other. The hands that linger a bit longer than necessary on each other’s backs as they walk through a door or lean together over a piece of evidence.
And then there’s the way Laura asks after her boys in the emails she and Lizzie share. Her boys. Always a unit. Now that Lizzie thinks about it she’s pretty sure Laura hasn’t once referred to one of them without the other. She’s been dropping hints this whole time.
It wasn’t just a friend Hathaway had been missing while Lewis was in New Zealand. People don't get that look—a look that speaks of dreading the long night in an empty flat without a case to focus on—when the person who’s gone away is only a friend. It’s a look Lizzie had seen in the mirror while Tony was in Canada as often as she’d seen it on Hathaway’s face while Lewis was away. All those late nights they spent at the pub should have clued her in before now, but even a detective isn’t going to find something they weren’t searching for.
Hathaway turns his head and kisses Lewis’ neck and Lizzie retreats down the corridor the way she came, careful to make no noise.
When Hathaway strides into the office ten minutes later there is an air of relaxation about him that she hasn’t seen all week, though his hair a bit is more tousled than usual. Lizzie flashes him a smile as he settles into his desk. He looks taken aback, then incredulous and more than a bit embarrassed. Of course he knew she was there, they both must have realised at some point. And is he actually blushing? Hathaway looks away and starts moving things around on his desk, carefully not making eye contact. That he can be so confident in his work and yet so often insecure personally still takes her by surprise. But she is not going to let this get awkward.
“Worthington postmortem,” Lizzie says, handing Hathaway the folder. “Results as expected. And the inquest for the Staunton case is scheduled for next Tuesday. The paperwork’s all in order and neither of us need testify.”
“Good,” Hathaway says, taking the folder from her and opening it on his desk. He starts reading as she heads to her own desk. “Sergeant,” he says as she’s sitting down. Lizzie looks up at him and he meets her eyes. “Thank you,” he says.
“It’s no problem, sir,” she says and gives him another smile. It’s really not a problem. She’s happy for him. For them.
Hathaway’s returning smile is bright and genuine and full of thanks for far more than paperwork efficiently completed.
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