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Title: Orpheus and Eurydice, Part 1: I'll Follow the Sun
Author: Cicero
Fandom: Inspector Morse
Pairing: Morse/Lewis, Lewis/other
Rating: R
Summary: Lewis is having problems with his marriage, and Morse is having trouble coping with his feelings for Lewis. After Morse looses his temper once too often, Lewis goes off to meet an acquaintance from an old case.
Email Address: Cicerothewriter@livejournal.com
Categories: Angst, first time
Feedback notes: On list or offlist. Any kind of feedback will be appreciated, even if you just write me a one-line email telling me that you've read the story, and I will be happy.
Warnings: Adult and m/m sexual situations, WIP
Notes: This is my first Inspector Morse story, so if you have any comments, please tell me. I had a bit of trouble with Lewis' accent, and I'm also on the look out for Americanisms. Anything in brackets "[ and ]" are my personal notes. If there is a question or suggestion in them, then let me know what you think about that as well. I have only seen 8 Morse stories on TV so I am probably writting against cannon as well.
Notes 2: * * are for emphasis. Anything in italics are thoughts of a character.
Disclaimer: I do not own Morse or Lewis. Central Independent Television owns them. I'm just playing around with them.

"No, you fool! Hadrian Ineborg was the only one who knew about the passage that goes from Baron Leslie's chamber to the washroom. He must have murdered Baron Leslie!" Chief Inspector Morse slammed down the book to glare at Lewis.

"I didn't know that he was the only one, sir. You didn't tell me." Detective Sergeant Robert Lewis was trying to remain calm, but it was very difficult.

Morse continued his sharp-voiced tirade, and Lewis found himself getting tenser with each breath. The room was shrinking around him, and he felt a hot flush start from his toes and slowly rise to his face. He hated it when Morse criticized him, but normally he could take it. It was only when it became intense that he could not overlook them.

He didn't even realize when he stood up or that he walked out the door. Somehow he found himself driving away from the station, ending up at a pub near his house. He went in and ordered a pint. His body was still numb, and the first pint he drank down without tasting it. The second one he was slowly sipping when Andrew Kershaw hurried in. He stopped when he saw Lewis sitting at the counter, and breathing a sigh of relief, he strolled up to his side and ordered a beer.

"Hello Robbie," he said.

"Hello Andy," Lewis replied. Andrew was taken aback to see the bleak face on his friend.

"Morse was worried about you. You left without saying anything." Although worried was the mildest way of putting it, Andrew thought.

Lewis blinked a couple times before answering, "I don't really remember what I did."

Andrew nodded. He had been afraid of that. He waited until Lewis received his next pint before saying, "Why don't you just go home for the day? Take a break. Everything will look better after a nice rest."

Lewis' eyes darkened as his mouth pinched a bit more. "Go home?"

"Bad again?" Andrew asked. That would explain much. He doubted if Morse realized what was actually going on in the Lewis household. He simply took it for granted the Lewis was happily married.

Lewis took a big gulp of beer before replying, "Val has fallen in love with someone better than me. She wants a divorce."

"Oh," Andrew didn't know exactly how to respond. "I'm sorry, Robbie."

Lewis shrugged. "I've expected it for a long time."

Lewis' mobile rang, and he hesitated before answering it.

"Hello, Sgt. Lewis here."

"Ah, my dear fellow! I'm so glad I've finally found you." Lewis grimaced when he heard the cheery voice at the other end of the line. It was James Lance from their last investigation. He was now in London for some downtime in between plays.

"Yes, Mr. Lance. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you would like to come down to London for a few days. I am sure that Oxford is a great city, but sometimes it is nice just to get away. What do you say, my friend?"

Ah, yes. He had propositioned Lewis several times during the investigation. Lewis had not seriously thought of accepting, but now he had a burning need for some kind of physical comfort. Never mind that he had never been with a man before, it didn't matter now.

"All right. When and where?"

"Oh wonderful! How about six o'clock at the Llewelyn Hotel? We can have dinner together."

"That's fine. I'll be there."

"Smashing, my dear fellow. See you at six."

Lewis stared at the phone for several seconds before turning back to find Andrew with his eyebrows up.

"May I ask who that was?"

Lewis tried to smile, but it looked more like a half-hearted contortion. "I'll see you later."

Lewis stood up to go, but Andrew grabbed his elbow quickly. "Please be careful, Robbie." He had an apprehensive feeling about this whole situation, and he did not want Lewis to be hurt.

Lewis nodded before shrugging off Andrew's hand. Andrew watched him drive away before hurrying to his own car.

"He just left," Morse said, "stood up and walked out." He was shocked, but then again, he was not surprised. He should have known that Lewis was near his limit. When he stopped to think, those broken, sad eyes stared back at him.

"What happened?" Andrew asked, as he entered the office.

"I went off at him," Morse replied, rubbing his eyes with his hands. "Did you see him? Is he all right?"

"He was at the pub. Do you know anyone by the last name Lance?"

Morse's eyes were blank for a few seconds until he remembered the man who had continually eyed his Sergeant. "Yes, he was one of the suspects from our last case." His blue eyes sharpened on Andrew. "Why do you ask?"

"He called Lewis while we were at the pub, and invited him somewhere."

"Lewis didn't go, did he?" Morse asked. That man, Lance, had constantly challenged him for Lewis' attentions. In addition, he had been, for a time, Morse's number one suspect, until everything had broken down, making Lance look to be the heroic angel.

Andrew nodded, "He did, but I'm not sure where he went to. He wouldn't tell me."

Morse rang Lewis mobile but received no answer. "He's shut it off, probably. Did he say when he'd be back?"

"No, he didn't."

"Damn," Morse groaned. "We've got a perfect arrest tomorrow, and Lewis was supposed to be there. I told him, I know I did."

"When, sir?"

Morse took a breath to answer, but as he replayed that last conversation, he realized that he had not told Lewis yet. He had been planning on it, but some how he had ended up arguing with, and finally yelling at, his sergeant. "Hell!" he said, disgusted with himself.

Packed with a small cloth suitcase, Lewis wrestled with the urge to turn his car around. Alternating between going and leaving, by the time he reached the hotel in London, he had a horrible headache. He carried his bag into the hotel, and found that there was already a room prepared for him. Putting his things away, he wandered around the hotel gift shop until six o'clock.

This hotel was very luxuriant, and the restaurant was no different. It made Lewis slightly uncomfortable, and his head throbbed again. He gave his name to the maître d', and was lead to a table lodged in the corner. Sitting there was James Lance.

"Ah, my dear fellow! Thank you for coming." James' voice was smooth with an odd mixture of flamboyance and sincerity. Lewis allowed himself the chance to admire the man, since he had not allowed himself the pleasure of doing so before.

James was a few inches taller than he, with dark brown hair lying loosely on his head, not too long but not too short. His nose was shaped nicely, a bump on it only adding character. His mouth was always curled into a smile, even when Morse was trying to accuse him of murder. A high forehead, shapely head, wide shoulders, and long legs rounded out the image of an aristocratic, handsome man. Lewis felt positively small and ugly in comparison.

They settled down into the corner. James placed his hand lightly over one of Lewis'. "I do thank you for coming, Sgt. Lewis."

"Thank you for asking me. Please call me Robert."

"Robert," he said slowly, as if tasting the name. "Do you go by Robbie as well?" he asked, rolling the "r" lightly.

Lewis watched those hazel eyes sparkle, and his body began to relax. "Yes, I do."

"Well, Robbie. Please call me James." He waited for Lewis to nod before continuing. "Would you like a drink before we order?"

A couple of hours passed while they had their pleasant dinner. Potent alcohol, excellent food, and James helped Lewis to let go of the troubles of the past few days. They talked about a variety of topics, one of which was Lewis' marriage and his relationship with Morse. Lewis did not realize it at the time, but James directed the conversation so that they rarely spoke about James himself.

"What made you decide to join me? Before, you refused."

Lewis twirled the wine glass in his fingers, gazing into the swirling red liquid. "I need…" He screwed up his brow, trying to think of a word.

"Comfort?" James supplied.

Lewis nodded.

"What happened today?"

"How do you know something happened?" Lewis asked.

"When you got here, you were all wound up, practically at the explosion point. I've never seen you like that before, not even during the investigation." He taped the ashes from his cigarette before saying, "Now, tell me what happened."

"It was Morse. We were wrapping up the investigation, and he was angry at me for not understanding his reasoning. I couldn't understand because he never told me all of what he learned." Lewis took a sip of wine, and then said, "He started to yell, and I left. I was at the pub when you called.

"Usually I can take his insults, they are usually milder and fewer, but things have been rough lately. I've been worn down." Lewis gazed into James' eyes, looking for sympathy and understanding. He found that and more. James' hand clasped his own over the table, squeezing hard.

"I am, sorry, Robbie," James replied softly, giving him a small smile. "What else happened to you?"

Lewis sighed before continuing. "My wife, Valerie, and I have drifted apart. She's in love with somebody else now. We decided that it would be better to get a divorce, so we can get on with our lives."

"Do you still love her?" James asked.

"Like a friend, I suppose. I want her to be happy."

"What about you? Don't you want to be happy as well?"

Lewis flushed and looked down at his plate. This conversation had taken a distressing turn.

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Lewis built up his courage to ask, "Do you want to go up now?"

"Only if you are ready. I do not want to push you."

"Maybe... if we just go up and sit for a little bit." Lewis's voice was hesitant and a bit sad still. James felt such tenderness for him, and he wanted everything to be perfect.

"Alright," James said, grabbing the bottle of wine. Lewis took their glasses, and they left the restaurant.

Once inside the room, James topped off their glasses, and they sat on the edge of the bed. Lewis tensed up again, but their small talk continued until it became soft whispers.

They were both reclining on the bed now, Lewis with his back propped up slightly on the pillows and James on his side, looking down on Lewis, who was trying to balance the wine glass on his stomach. The room had gone quiet. The light sound of traffic could be heard faintly, seemingly in the distance.

"Why did you ask me again?" Lewis asked.

James did not answer right away. When he did, it was soft and unsure. "Because I was lonely."

"Why do you want me?"

James gave a soft laugh. "Well, you are handsome..."

Lewis snorted in disbelief at that, but was quickly hushed by a soft kiss from James. As he pulled away, Lewis smelled the light salty cologne the man was wearing.

"And you are kind and gentle. And you have always been honest with me. I treasure that." He watched the rise and fall of Lewis' chest, and then placed his hand over Lewis' heart to feel the beating. His fingers smoothed over a cloth-covered nipple. Hearing the small gasp of surprise, feeling that slim body tremble harder, he bent down again and lightly kissed Lewis.

Lewis reached up to touch James, but decided that it would be too forward, and he dropped his hand back down to the bed. James sat up a bit, reached for that same hand, and kissed each knuckle before placing it on his shoulder.

"Touch me," James whispered earnestly. His eyes were no longer hazel, but a dark, smoky color, burning away Lewis' inhibitions.

"Yes," Lewis replied, pushing his fingers through James' dark hair, pulling the bigger man on top of him. Their lips touched, the kiss deepened, and they were oblivious to the noises of the big city.

That weekend gave Lewis the perfect opportunity to relax for an extended period of time. He found, however, that he missed Morse, very much. Stubborn and crabby, often tactless, Morse was also intelligent and, Lewis discovered over time, incredibly sensitive. Lewis' affection remanded steady for the older man, despite the tantrums that Morse would throw, despite their latest clash.

But while Morse was busy chasing every woman he met, Lewis sat by and watched with an increasingly pained heart.

"How did he get himself into these situations?" he asked himself every morning when he got up, as he showered and shaved, as he rode with Morse in his red Jag, yearning for what was beyond his reach, as he went home to a lonely home and empty bed, as he dreamed the dreams of what might have been, and as he woke up again, repeating the cycle.

While James showered Lewis with affection and gifts, Lewis found his mind going back to Oxford and Morse. If James noticed his distraction, he never drew attention to it.

Lewis returned home late Sunday afternoon. Valerie was not home and the kids were staying at a friend's house. He went to his bedroom to unpack his things. He still had on the blue cashmere sweater that Lance had bought him.

"That's too expensive!" Lewis had exclaimed.

"Has it been so long since someone has done something for you just for the pleasure of it? I love buying presents for my friends, and you are a friend." Lance had smiled, "No, don't be so ungracious, and take my gift."

He heard Val's car pull into the drive. He sat down on the bed and waited for her.

She came into the room to find Lewis sitting forlorn upon the bed. Her chest tightened a bit in sympathy.

"Your back, then," she said.

Lewis nodded.

"Morse called, looking for you. He said that you missed an arrest."

Lewis shuddered once. "Oh, no!" he muttered, disgusted with himself, feeling guilty for his betrayal and absence.

"He was mad the first time, Robert. The second, third, and fourth time he called, though, he was more upset and worried than anything else."

Lewis hung his head in his hands, visions of the end of his career playing through his head.

"I am sorry, Robert." For so many things, she thought. Not being the right one for you, not being supportive enough, and most especially for not loving you.

"I don't blame you, Val. So many things have happened, and I never planned for them." Lewis picked at the edge of the sweater, hands shaking lightly.

"Should I be gone Monday?"

She smiled gently. "There's no hurry. I don't want you to feel as though you've no place to go."

"Thank you, Val," he smiled through the mist in his eyes. Even if they had fallen out of love, they were still good friends.

She patted him on the hand, and left. Lewis sat there for a few minutes, deep in thought. He did not want to stay here any more. It was the salt that was being rubbed into the raw flays on his soul.

The room echoed the silence, not the sound of him pulling out his suitcases and packing his closes. He left out a suit and the things that he would need for tomorrow morning.

He sat back down on the bed after the clock struck one a.m. He had bought some boxes from the post office, and they were now scattered around the room, half packed, but he lacked the energy to finish tonight.

He curled up in the bed, still wrapped in the sweater. His head was on the dark blue feather pillow that James had bought him, when he mentioned that the hotel pillows had been to hard. His soft sea breeze cologne drifted up, comforting him as he slept.

End Part 1: I'll Follow the Sun



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