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Robbie sprinted down the corridor, the fastest he’d ever ran in his life, pushing past nurses and doctors and patients, running all the way to the room at the end of the hall. Just a little farther…
When he arrived, out of breath, Strange was just leaving. And closing the door behind him.
“Sir?” Robbie looked up anxiously.
Strange shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lewis,” He rested a heavy hand on the young man’s shoulder. “He’s gone. He told me to thank you for him.”
“No,” Robbie said sorrowfully. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself shouting. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself pushing past Strange, opening the door to see Morse lying in bed, still as stone, the heart rate flatlined with an anxious beeping.
Gone? He couldn’t be gone! He wasn’t allowed to be gone! Not when Robbie’s life was just getting started!
“I’m sorry, lad,” Strange said with compassion. He’d lost a friend today, but Robbie had lot so much more. “If you need to take time…”
“Sorry, Sir,” Robbie said, pulling away. “I…I should go.”
“Of course, Lewis.” Strange let him go.
Robbie ran out of the first exit he could find. Outside, under a beautiful, tall, shady tree just getting into bloom, he wept.
Morse was gone. And Robbie didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye.
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Strange gave him the rest of the day off. It was the least he could do for Morse’s sergeant. How Lewis and Morse had ever gotten along in the first place was beyond him. They were two entirely different men. Lewis was kind and upbeat, a hard worker. Morse was grumpy and lazy, but a good copper when he could be persuaded to put his feet to the ground instead of just using his brain. Together, they had solved some pretty fantastic crimes; some difficult and hard-won, some that only warranted an afternoon or two in Morse’s rooms.
They were both good men with kind hearts, Strange thought. Maybe that alone had been enough to unite them.
Chief Superintendent Strange opened his desk. Inside, he found an old photo. His chubby fingers smoothed along the faces of the two boys, one ready for the camera with a smile and the other surprised to be the center of attention.
Yes, a lot had changed over the years. And Strange would miss his old friend dearly.
After a while, Strange got up and went down to the pub. It seemed a fitting place to go to see Morse’s spirit home.
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Robbie wouldn’t-couldn’t-say anything more than “He’s dead” to Val when he came home. Stubbornly, Val didn’t let him sulk. She plied him with tea and biscuits, sent him out to the shops with a grocery list. Little did she know that as much as he loved her, Robbie had lost another precious person in his life today.
In bed that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about the last time he’d been over at Morse’s house proper, before inspector’s courses had taken him away. The older man wasn’t feeling well, and told Robbie so at the door. But Robbie had come in anyway, determined to spend the night with his lover. He made Morse tea, wrapped him in blankets, and lay beside him, listening to Morse read aloud, one of his favorite things to do at Morse’s house.
In bed, Morse tried to push Robbie away, begging sick, but Robbie clung on anyway, and eventually, his stubbornness won. In the dim light provided by the moon and the streetlamps outside, they rested their foreheads together and kissed. Morse had a slight fever, but it wasn’t bad enough to dull his senses or make him babble, thus he was enjoyable company. They talked a while until Robbie made Morse close his eyes and go to sleep; he’d caught the other man trying to hide a shiver.
Morse slept easy in Robbie’s arms, and the young man watched him sleep until he, too, dozed off in the night.
He still remembered it was Morse who woke him with kisses, the deep, soothing voice saying, “Robbie, thank you. You’ve cured me.”
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Robbie had to have a look at the jag. Morse’s estate mostly had gone to Joyce and her family, as well as some other donations here and there for organizations in Oxford, mostly related to music. No one else wanted the jag.
Robbie sat in it, in the driver’s seat, wishing Morse was still here. Sod the money, he wanted Morse!
At the corner of his eye, he saw something out of the ordinary. A piece of paper was sticking out of the glovebox.
Robbie gently freed the paper and opened it. He almost started crying when his eyes beheld the familiar writing:
My dear Robbie,
I want you to know that I love you, and that I will always love you. If I die without seeing you, I want you to know this.
I’ve only felt this kind of love once before in my life, and when that was done with, I thought I would never, could never, feel a love like that again. That was before I met you.
Robbie, let no one tell you that you are worthless. You are bright, and you have initiative and intuition unmatched by any of your peers. You will go far, both in the Force and in life. I’m only sorry that I could not say this aloud; you must forgive a stubborn old man his pride.
I am so incredibly fortunate to have met you and to have the love I felt for you returned. Your love alone has made life worth living.
Yours aye,
Endeavour (Morse)
Robbie sobbed once, folding the letter and putting it inside his breast pocket, close to his heart. Then, he put his head down on the wheel and wept.
Even though the day was cold, the letter’s weight seemed to keep him warm all day, and even when he put it away and forgot about it for a while, when he touched it again, it was still hot.