Chapter Text
It’s just before nine as Robbie strides into his office at the nick, his gaze automatically going to the desk just inside the door. The still-empty desk. Right, James is still on holiday. Back the day after tomorrow, though.
It’s been a long week.
He turns at a tap on the door-frame. “Morning, sir. What would you like me to do today?”
Robbie just about manages to hold back a sigh. DS Barnes, the main reason it’s been a long week. A very long week. “Have you finished going through the witness statements?”
“Not yet, sir.” Barnes’s relentless enthusiasm is as evident in his tone as in his smile. Robbie would give a lot to have been spared both.
“Then I suggest you continue with those. Report to me when you’ve finished.” He turns away, heading to his desk. Thank Christ Innocent didn’t insist on Barnes using Hathaway’s desk.
He boots up his computer and scans his email, deleting the irrelevant, reading the significant, and leaving the rest for some indeterminate time when he’ll have the opportunity to get to it. Course, if James were here, he’d simply forward half the messages on for the bloke to deal with. But he’s not. Not until the day after tomorrow.
Thinking of Hathaway makes Robbie check his mobile. But no, no new texts. Ah well, maybe later. Hathaway’s on a touring holiday in the Czech Republic, sightseeing around Bohemia and Moravia, spending far too many hours in old cathedrals, no doubt. Robbie’s been encouraging him, by return texts, to visit a couple of vineyards and sample the nightlife once he gets to Prague – which should have been yesterday, actually. Ah, maybe the lad’s actually out properly enjoying himself, which he should be doing. Too busy to send his old governor a message, and that’s as it should be.
Time to check his voicemail. Two messages. The first’s from Forensics, letting him know that a report’s ready to be picked up. That’s one for Barnes, then. Robbie forwards the message.
The second message is baffling at first. It’s a woman’s voice, heavily accented, and to begin with Robbie can’t make out anything she’s saying. It’s not until the word Prague filters through his consciousness that he stills, and then quickly goes back to the beginning of the message.
Listening very carefully with the volume increased, he finally gets the gist of it. The woman’s a nurse at a hospital in Prague. She is calling at the request of James Hathaway, to pass on his apologies because he will not be back at work on the fifteenth as planned. He has been in an accident, unfortunately. But, the nurse assures Robbie, he will recover well and will be able to return home in due course.
Robbie slumps back in his chair, staring into space. Hathaway — James — has been in an accident, and hurt badly enough that he’s admitted to hospital and can’t phone Robbie himself. And all he says is he’s sorry he won’t make it back to work on time.
Bloody hell. How badly is the man hurt? And, Christ, if that’s the message he’s sent to Robbie, what’s he said to anyone else? Does he have friends — not family, Robbie’s certain — who’ll go out there to make sure he’s all right? See that he gets home safely?
How badly is he hurt?
A few seconds’ searching on his computer gets him the phone number of the hospital where the message came from. But the nurse who phoned him is off-duty, and no-one else will give him any information since he’s not a relative of the person he’s calling about. They won’t even confirm that James is a patient there. Even Robbie telling them that he’s a copper makes no difference.
He hangs up and, instead, contacts the Prague police headquarters. Ten minutes later, after he finds someone who speaks English well enough to carry on a conversation, he has the information he needed. A British tourist, identified on arrival in hospital as James Hathaway, was travelling in a taxi yesterday afternoon which collided with a 4X4 after the latter vehicle ran red traffic lights. Mr Hathaway, he’s told, sustained several broken bones, including one leg, and is likely to be in hospital for a number of days. The police had been asked to help in tracking down any relatives for Mr Hathaway, and had intended to contact the British Embassy this morning for that very purpose.
“Can help you there,” Robbie says, keeping his voice very calm despite the worry he’s battling. “He’s got no immediate family. If there are relatives, they’re not close. I’m his governor — his boss,” he explains. “He’s an officer with Oxford Police.” Robbie provides his contact information, and takes the information of the duty officer he’s speaking to, then ends the call.
His next stop is Innocent’s office.
Innocent’s first step, after expressing genuine dismay and seeking assurances about the extent of James’s injuries, is to check James’s personnel file. Contrary to regulations — which results in pursed lips from Innocent — James has no registered next of kin or emergency contact. “And you were aware that this was the case, Lewis?”
“Not aware, ma,am.” Robbie rubs his eyebrow. “Suspected — but only since the Crevecoeur case.” And that certainly hadn’t been the time to question James about whether or not he had any living relatives. “And, of course, he could have listed a friend.” Could have, but who? Not that James is likely to have mentioned friends to him, anyway, as private as the bloke is — but if he had friends, people he was close to, would he have been all... existential flu, as he’d put it to Robbie, last month?
Innocent nods, the creases in her forehead deepening. “And are your plans what I suspect them to be?”
Robbie shrugs. “I do have some time in lieu.”
To his surprise, Innocent seems relieved at that. She taps her fingers on her desk for a second or two, then turns to her computer and types for a moment. “You are now Sergeant Hathaway’s temporary emergency contact — and you can tell him from me that I expect him to provide a name himself as a matter of urgency. And as his named contact, you’re entitled to up a week’s leave in this situation. Now, you said you have a contact with the Prague police?”
Robbie provides the officer’s name. “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate this.”
“I hope Sergeant Hathaway appreciates it.” Her tone’s dry. “Now, is there anything on your desk that needs urgent attention?” Robbie assures her that he’ll make sure Barnes is fully briefed, and that in any case his current investigation is relatively lacking in urgency.
“In that case, you’d best be off. Keep me updated, won’t you?” He nods immediately. Her concern, he well knows, is from both personal and professional perspectives; Innocent genuinely cares about her officers’ well-being.
And, with that, he’s free to go and make his travel arrangements.
Around mid-afternoon the following day, Robbie’s driving through the centre of Prague, using GPS to guide him to the hospital where James is a patient.
It had been early afternoon by the time he’d left Oxford the previous day, what with the information-gathering and preparation that needed to be done first. Innocent had contacted both the Prague police and General University Hospital to notify them of Robbie’s official status as James’s emergency contact, and to request assistance from the Czech police as needed. As a result, they’d received a full list of James’s injuries. The leg Robbie already knew about: broken a few inches above the ankle. Two fractured ribs. Concussion as a result of a head injury — hitting his head against the door-frame, apparently. Lots of bruising, including severe bruising to his left wrist and side.
Robbie had taken the printed information straight to Laura, who’d scanned it and given him a run-down of the implications. “Ribs — typical seatbelt injury from this type of impact. They’ll be painful for a while and will restrict his movement, but then he won’t be moving much for a while. The pain and swelling from bruising may take a week or two to go away, and for a while it could almost be as painful as broken bones. Concussion — well, you know the risks from that. You’ll know in a day or two whether there’ll be any problems there. That aside, the biggest issue’s the leg. All the same, if he had to break a leg, this is almost the best type of fracture to have. I’d need to see the X-rays to be absolutely certain, but the description of a closed simple fracture of tib and fib suggests he should heal well. Anything more complicated could mean the end of his career in CID.”
“Christ,” Robbie’d muttered. That hadn’t occurred to him, but it should have.
Laura had rubbed his arm comfortingly. “Shouldn’t happen. Now, depending on whether they do surgery or just reduce the fracture and set the bones, he’ll either have a walking boot or a full-leg cast. Surgery can sometimes be the better option, but it depends on the person and the injury. Sometimes the recovery is faster from surgery, but there are always risks.” She’d smiled suddenly. “Whichever option they choose, you should warn James that smoking will delay and might even harm his recovery. It impacts the repair of soft tissue damage.”
Oh, great, Robbie’d thought. Bad enough that James would be in a lot of pain and, understandably, grumpy, as well as frustrated by his enforced inactivity. But if he’s told he can’t smoke as well... this is going to be a long, unhappy recovery period.
Laura had confirmed his intention to drive rather than fly; returning to the UK by plane once James is fit to travel might well be a lot quicker than this twenty-four-hour journey encompassing the Chunnel as well as an overnight hotel stay — Robbie had stopped for the night in Cologne — but would be supremely uncomfortable for James, regardless of whether he’s in a cast or a walking boot, and the broken ribs might even prevent him from flying anyway. At least driving they can take their time, and James can change the seat position, or even sit sideways on the back seat, to get more comfortable.
The journey hasn’t been too bad, really: straightforward motorways all the way through France, Belgium and Germany, and once he reached the Czech border there was even a motorway pass waiting for him — the police in Prague had warned him that he’d need one, and he’d anticipated a delay and hassle getting that organised, particularly as he speaks not a word of Czech.
Finally, he’s in the hospital car park and he can get out and stretch his tired limbs. Seven hours, it’s been, since he set off this morning. But he’s here now, at last, and ready to see just what sort of state his sergeant is in.
James is in a four-bedded room, with curtains drawn on three sides. When Robbie peers around the open curtain, the bloke’s got his eyes shut, so he can take a few moments to observe. James’s leg is elevated, and he’s got a long plaster cast on, with his knee bent upwards; oh, he must hate that. His face is pale and drawn, though one side of his jaw is shaded dark with bruising.
Unsure whether he’s asleep or just resting, Robbie steps forward. “James?”
“Wha—” James’s eyes fly open. “Sir?” He jolts in the bed, and immediately winces.
“Steady, there.” Robbie comes closer. “You don’t want to do any more damage to yourself than that bloody bastard already did.”
“But...” There’s confusion and disbelief on James’s face, and his voice is actually shaking. “How are you here?”
“How? Car, Chunnel and a fair bit of driving.” Robbie drops into the chair next to the bed, not because he really wants to sit, but because standing looking down at James probably isn’t the nicest thing to do, from the lad’s perspective. He’s reminded suddenly of another occasion when he stood next to James’s hospital bed, that time very much as the lad’s governor.
James’s slight scowl at Robbie’s deliberate misunderstanding of his question makes him smile. “I’m here because...” He considers You shouldn’t be alone, but dismisses it; James will assume that he’s motivated by pity. Instead, he finishes, “You’re hurt, so where else would I be?”
James’s eyes widen, and after a moment he looks away, flushing pink. Robbie won’t mention the sheen of moisture he spotted, but it reinforces his conviction that he’s done the right thing.
“I... never expected... it’s far too much...” James still isn’t looking at him, and his hand clenches on the bedcover. Then he looks back at Robbie. “Thank you, sir.” He sounds choked up, overwhelmed.
Robbie shrugs. “Your replacement wasn’t much cop. Couldn’t wait until you’re able to get back home under your own steam.” Of course James will be well aware that’s not the real reason, or anything like it, but easier for both of them not to say it out loud, isn’t it?
“What, you’ve come to take me home?” Beneath the dry tone, the longing’s evident.
“Soon as you’re fit to travel. They seem to reckon four or five days might do it.”
James groans. “I won’t be walking by then, will I?”
“Shouldn’t think so. You’ll be hopping along on crutches, or in a walking boot. Good thing the BMW’s a big car.”
“You brought your official car?” James stares.
“Innocent okayed it. Which reminds me—” He pulls a face. “I’m supposed to chastise you for failing to record an emergency contact on your personnel record.” James looks away again. “Consider yourself chastised, Sergeant,” Robbie adds dryly. “And, by the way, you do now.” He jerks a thumb at himself as James turns back to him. “Needed it to get information from this lot about you. Might as well leave it like that, unless there’s anyone you’d prefer to list?”
Silently, James shakes his head.
“Well, then.” Robbie studies the lad. He’s in a lot of pain, that much is obvious — but of course he wouldn’t say anything if Robbie actually asked him. He is glad that Robbie’s here, but it’s clear that embarrassment and awkwardness about Robbie’s presence are starting to set in. Because he hates his boss knowing that he’s got no-one else to care about him?
“Came straight here,” he says then. “Didn’t think about stopping to get anything — I dunno, fruit, chocolate, something to read. Is there anything you’d like? Anything you need?”
“Well... If you’re sure you don’t mind?” Bugger it, the lad’s looking uncomfortable. How long’s it been since someone did him a favour just to be nice?
“Offered, didn’t I?”
“Then... yes.” It’s then that Robbie notices James’s gaze is a bit unfocused. “My stuff’s all in my hotel room. I was supposed to be checking out today. I would have phoned them to explain, but I think my phone must have gone missing in the accident.”
Robbie nods. “I’ll sort the hotel. No problem. Need a hotel meself anyway, so I might as well just take your room. That way your stuff can just stay there till we leave. Anything you want here, though? That iPod thing, maybe? And I’ll talk to the police about your phone.”
“My iPod, yes. And my tablet. My glasses — apparently I can’t wear lenses at the moment. Not sure why.” James gives precise instructions as to where Robbie can find everything.
“Sounds straightforward.” Robbie stands. “Might take a couple of hours to get everything sorted, but I’ll be back.”
He’s about to walk out when a low-voiced “Sir” makes him turn back. James briefly extends a hand towards him. “I still can’t believe you came all this way — thank you.”
The naked emotion as James speaks makes his heart ache. Christ, the lad must really be in a bad way to let him see it. But then he’s been in this bloody hospital bed, on his own in a strange country, for two days, with no-one he knows to talk to, no visitors. James Hathaway, the very opposite of gregarious... Robbie can only imagine how difficult it’s been.
He folds his fingers around James’s, squeezing lightly. “Got me away from another week of piddling investigations an’ cold cases, didn’t it?” He holds James’s gaze for a long moment. There’s no need to say any more. With a nod, he turns and leaves.
When he gets back a couple of hours later, James is sleeping. The painkillers, the nurse tells him in heavily-accented English. Robbie’s feeling a bit knackered himself — he’d been sorely tempted to have half an hour’s kip on the hotel bed, but he’d worried that he’d sleep longer than intended and then James would wonder where he was — so he eases himself into the chair again and lets his eyes drift closed.
“Sir.” Robbie mumbles something along the lines of ‘go away’. “Sir.” The voice is more insistent.
Reluctantly, he opens his eyes. James is leaning up on one elbow, looking at him in concern. “Oh, you’re awake.” He rubs his eyes. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, sorry.”
“No, no.” James shakes his head slightly, then winces. “You must be exhausted after driving all this way, sir. It’s just that... I didn’t think it was a good idea for you to sleep in that chair. Your back...”
“Right.” He stretches out his spine and rotates his shoulders. Yeah, he would’ve been sore if he’d stayed like that much longer. “How’re you feeling?” James just pulls a face. Robbie reaches down for the bag he’d brought back with him. “This might make you feel better.” He takes out James’s iPod and tablet and sets them on the bedside cabinet, and then adds his glasses to the collection.
James does look a bit happier. “Thank you, sir. I really do appreciate you bringing those.”
“Got some chocolate and fruit for you as well. Hope you’re allowed to have them.” Those go into the top shelf of the cabinet.
James chews his lip. Robbie raises an eyebrow. “Come on, out with it, man.”
“You didn’t bring me cigarettes, by any chance, did you, sir?” There’s a hopeful, longing look in James’s eyes that Robbie finds he hates to disappoint. Which is not a reaction he’s used to experiencing where James is concerned — but then, it’s extremely rare that James reveals any kind of emotion, isn’t it?
But he shakes his head anyway, regret in his accompanying grimace. “Sorry. Even if you were able to get outside for a smoke, which I doubt they’d let you do, you shouldn’t. Laura tells me smoking damages the recovery process with a broken leg.”
James looks sceptical, and his lips curl downwards. “Convenient. I know she doesn’t like my smoking.”
Robbie decides to ignore James’s tone. The lad’s having a bloody awful time and he’s sure this won’t be the last time James lashes out at something. “Look it up on your tablet later.” He pulls a face. “Wouldn’t want to see you with a permanent limp, meself.”
That seems to shock James. He blinks, then looks down at his plastered leg. “No, I... erm, I wouldn’t either.”
Robbie reaches across and pats James’s uninjured hand. “Gonna be a difficult couple of months, I expect. Won’t be surprised if you’re a bit irritable once in a while.”
James smiles wryly. “I’d like to say I’m never irritable, but we both know that’s not true, sir.”
“Well, I’m a grumpy sod at least half the time, so you’ll be in good company.” He gives James what he hopes is an encouraging smile. “Now, seeing as you’ll be sick of my company if I spend every waking hour in here, tell me what I should see while I’m in Prague, all right?”
When Robbie arrives in time for visiting the following morning, James isn’t in his bed. He looks around the room, but there’s no sign of the lad, or any staff member he could ask, assuming anyone speaks English.
The man in the bed opposite says something, but in Czech. Robbie shakes his head. “Sorry. I only speak English.” Well, and a bit of German, but that’s not going to be useful here, even if it had been on his journey through Germany.
“Walk. Exercise,” the man says, the words heavily accented and awkward.
Robbie nods. “Thank you.” Christ, that doesn’t sound like it’ll be fun for James, though he understands the need to prevent loss of muscle function and so forth. He takes a seat by James’s bed and waits.
It’s only a couple of minutes later that he hears clunking, followed by muffled curses, and glances up just in time to see James, awkward on crutches and grimacing from the effort, making his way into the room. He notices Robbie a moment or two later, and just for a second there’s a flash of relief and delight in his eyes.
He waits while the physio and a nurse help James back into bed and check his blood pressure and so on. Once they’ve gone, James flops back against the pillow. “Christ. If I could, I’d arrest that bloody physio for GBH.”
Robbie gives him a sympathetic smile. “You’ll thank him for it later. Broke me ankle once years ago. In those days, they made you stay off it for a week or more, an’ by the time I got back on my feet I almost had to learn to walk again.”
James winces and he’s clearly seeing his own treatment in a different light, as Robbie’d hoped. “Enough about me,” James says abruptly. “What did you do this morning, sir? I hope you’re getting a chance to see some of the city.”
“I am. Took your advice and had a wander around Old Town Square this morning. Made a note of a few places I want to go back to before afternoon visiting.”
“You don’t need to—” James starts, then hesitates before beginning again. “I really appreciate you coming in to visit me, sir. But you don’t need to come three times a day. Please, spend the day sightseeing, and then if you can bear my company I’d appreciate it very much if you’d come this evening.”
Robbie gives him a long-suffering stare. “Oi. You’re the one who came to Prague to see the sights. That’s not why I’m here.” He leans back in his chair. “Now, tell me more about that train you fell asleep on near Karlov Vary...”
Robbie spends an hour or two walking around parts of Prague again the following morning, but this time he’s not sightseeing. He’s on the hunt for anything that might help to take James’s mind off things.
The lad’s suffering badly, nicotine-deprived on top of the pain of his injuries and the frustration of enforced inactivity. He’d got more and more intermittently silent and irritable yesterday evening, culminating in him snapping at Robbie several times and eventually telling him to leave him alone. Robbie’d left, feeling it was probably the lesser of two evils at the time.
When he gets up to James’s ward, the bloke’s lying back listening to his iPod. It’s a moment or two before he realises he has a visitor, which allows Robbie a few seconds to study his sergeant. Even doing something which should be relaxing, James’s brow is furrowed and he’s paler than he should be. Not sleeping well, then, no doubt, on top of everything else.
James’s eyes open and he starts on seeing Robbie, but then there’s relief all over his face. What, had he imagined Robbie wouldn’t come back? Idiot.
“Brought you something,” Robbie says once he’s sitting and James is looking a bit more comfortable after he adjusted the lad’s pillows. He leans forward to place his purchases on James’s tray-table. “Mints, chewing gum, toffees, stuff like that. Thought maybe they might take your mind off not bein’ able to smoke.”
James’s eyes widen. “Thank you. I...” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry about yesterday, sir. I didn’t mean—”
“Ah, forget it, man.” Robbie waves a hand dismissively. “Not as if I’ve not seen you in the throes of withdrawal before. An’ you didn’t even choose it this time.”
“Mmm.” James’s lips turn down. “I was calculating this morning how long I’ll have to stay off them.”
“Must’ve been depressing for you,” Robbie comments; it’ll be a couple of months, he reckons, based on what Laura told him.
“Looking at it one way, yes. Or I could look at it positively and see it as way to give up properly.” James shrugs one shoulder. “By the time I’d be able to smoke again, I should have lost the craving, if I’m lucky.”
As long as he doesn’t cheat along the way, of course.
Over the course of the day, in between James’s physiotherapy sessions and other times Robbie has to leave, he chats casually about home, bringing James up to date on events and gossip around the nick and in Oxford generally. Even if the lad isn’t showing a lot of interest, he knows James is listening and it’ll keep him from brooding, Robbie thinks. Help him to focus on getting better and getting back to work.
Except it doesn’t because, just as Robbie’s about to leave at the end of evening visiting, James says, “Will I even be able to go back to work?”
“What d’you mean? Course you can,” Robbie says immediately.
“But what if... In some cases, a broken leg could lead to a permanent limp.” James seems to be studying the plaster on his leg, as if examining every inch of it could give him insights into the healing process.
Robbie nods. “Yours, though; it’s a simple fracture, isn’t it? Much less likely to lead to any permanent damage.”
“But still possible.” James’s gaze has shifted to his good leg. “And if that were to be the case...”
“You’d still have your job, man. Policies an’ procedures, not to mention employment law. They can’t just chuck you out. Have to find work you’re physically able to do.”
“Which wouldn’t include my current job.”
No; he’s right there. He’d fail the physical. “Shouldn’t be focusing on worst-case scenarios, James. Doesn’t do any good.”
James is now pretending interest in the contents of his iPod. “I need to be prepared — to find out what options I have if I can’t...” His voice becomes almost inaudible, but Robbie’s pretty sure he hears. “...be your sergeant any more.”
“Oi.” He reaches across and covers James’s hand with his own; it’s the best way of making sure the lad knows he means this. “You’re still me sergeant. That’s not gonna change if I have anything to do with it.” James finally meets his gaze, and his expression is sceptical. “Look, all you’re doing is borrowing trouble, but if it’s what you need to hear: in the very unlikely event that you are left with a limp, there’s still plenty you can do as me sergeant. Don’t keep you on just ‘cause you can run, y’know. An’ that’s what I’d tell Innocent too.” He squeezes James’s hand. “Now, stop this, all right?”
He glances behind as a nurse coughs pointedly. “All right, I have to go. I don’t want you brooding over this all night, now, mind. Promise?”
After a moment, James nods. It’s not as much as Robbie’d hoped for, but it’ll do. With a quick farewell, he leaves before he gets thrown out.
James is right that a permanent limp or other weakness in his leg could be a problem — as Laura’d pointed out back in Oxford. But Robbie’s already made a point of reading the policies and, as he assured James, the bloke can’t just be pushed out, either altogether or into a job he absolutely doesn’t want to do. If the job of his bagman couldn’t be adjusted to fit whatever limitations James was left with, then he’d find another role in his team for the lad. End of story.
And, if James didn’t want that limited role, whatever it was, and actually resigned... it’s a shock, and yet it’s not, to realise that Robbie’s own decision would be to apply for early retirement. If you go, I go... seems James isn’t the only one who feels that way.
Though now he’s letting the lad’s fears influence him. It’s not going to happen. He’s talked to Laura a couple of times, updating her on what he knows of James’s injuries and treatment, and she’s been very encouraging. According to her, though she insists he’s not to quote her since she hasn’t seen the X-rays or any other relevant information, as long as James behaves himself and follows medical advice he should recover fully.
Though there’s that as long as...
Well, that’s where he comes in, isn’t it? Support, encouragement, motivation — even bullying, if need be. James would expect no less.