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Max paced the rug in front of the fireplace for what must have been the fiftieth time that evening. He stopped and peered through the window into the dark night, hopes welling as headlights approached only to be scattered as the passing car failed to pull into the driveway. He let out a sigh of disappointment.
And so time passed, glacially.
Pacing. Peering. Headlights. Sigh.
Pacing. Peering. Headlights. Sigh.
Until -
A black Jaguar pulled into the driveway and Max sped to the door to welcome his wayward detective.
“Hello, Max, sorry I’m late,” Morse’s weary but cheerful voice called out. He climbed inelegantly out of the car and started hobbling towards the door. Max’s anxiety managed to increase.
“Why are you limping?”
“Oh, nothing, it’s fine,” he said, nonchalantly.
Max knew and trusted Morse’s definition of ‘fine’ as much as he trusted the horoscopes in the Oxford Mail. He hustled him into the house and braced himself for a reluctant patient.
In the dark it was hard to see Morse’s face and as such Max didn’t see the blood and the bruising until Morse finally got into the house and into the warm light of the living room.
“What on earth happened to you?! Is this why you’re late?” Though he was aiming for concern, his questioning came out more like an admonishment. He started examining Morse’s face, assessing the damage and running his fingers gently across his bruised and cut nose.
“Relax, Max, I’m fine. Just a bit of trouble with a suspect.” Morse dismissed Max’s caring hands, pushing them away.
“And I assume you expect me to patch you up, then?,” he said, with more acerbity than perhaps necessary.
“No, I’ve already been to the hospital like you requested the last time something like this happened . You don’t need to get on at me. Honestly …,” and he couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. Morse’s good mood was rapidly giving way to irritation at Max’s sharp questioning. He’d hoped for a relaxed evening in front of the fire with Max, not to be told off for coming home late and sore.
Had either of them taken a moment to try and understand how the other was feeling, the evening would likely have turned out very differently. As it happened, however, Max and Morse were both too proud, tired and stressed to give the other the grace they needed to avoid spiralling into an argument. Morse’s exasperation did nothing to alleviate Max’s anxieties, instead serving to stoke his high emotional state further.
“You could have at least phoned me, I’ve been waiting for you for hours!” Max’s fear was starting to mutate into frustration, his gentler feelings fleeing.
“Well I’m sorry but I’ve been busy working! And then I was at the hospital, because I knew you would be upset if I came home expecting you to fix me - not that it seems to have made much difference - and then I thought I’d better get home as soon as possible,” Morse spits.
“‘Too busy working’ - too busy playing the hero, more like,” he said, scornfully. “You don’t need to be the knight in shining armour all the time, Morse, you’re part of a team! Just because you think you’re the best does not mean you have to rush headlong into danger.”
“I don’t choose to be in danger! The suspect was there, as was I. I wasn’t going to wait around for backup! Should I have stopped and said ‘hold on, suspect, I’m just going to phone my partner to make sure I’m justified in pursuing you before any injury may befall me’? ‘Give me a minute so I can wait for someone else to have a scuffle with you’?”
“Don’t be facetious. I’m worried about you,” Max cut in.
Morse puffed out a noise of derision. “You needn’t be! I get injured from time to time, so what? It’s seldom that serious.”
“‘It’s seldom that serious’! Do you hear yourself? What about the time you were stabbed-”
“It was more like a slash than a stab.”
“- or when you got shot? Or the many other times you’ve been beaten up and been taken off work?”
“They were hardly my fault! And certainly not because I was playing the hero , or however you so kindly phrased it.”
“You know, Morse, I sometimes wonder if you even care about how I feel!”
Morse was clearly taken aback.
“Max, I care about you more than I do anyone else! I love you!” A note of desperation had entered his voice. Pleading, almost.
“Yes, and sometimes I wonder if that’s enough.” The sentence had left his mouth before he could even think it. As soon as he said it, Max knew it had been a mistake.
Morse was momentarily rendered speechless. The hurt that painted Morse’s face told Max that he’d finally gone too far, wide blue eyes staring at him in disbelief.
“Right, well. I’ll just go, then,” he said quietly, all the fight gone out of him.
“Morse! Please, I didn’t mean it!,” he called, wishing he could undo the last thirty seconds.
But his senses had returned too late, and Morse was out the door and pulling out of the driveway.
“Fuck,” Max cursed to himself as he flopped down onto the settee, putting his head in his hands.
He hadn’t meant to get angry at Morse. But he’d been so worried, and Morse was so dismissive of Max’s concerns that instead of being allowed to help, which would have soothed Max’s worry, Max ended up arguing with him. All he’d wanted to do was make sure Morse was alright. How had it gone so badly wrong?
‘I vex you the more I try. / All’s wrong that ever I’ve done and said.’ The quote sprang, unbidden, to Max’s mind and he scoffed wryly at it. Though out of context, it was uncomfortably apt for the circumstances.
The hours of agitation and subsequent argument had left Max feeling overwrought, and all he could do was sink sideways onto the sofa and cry, feeling very sorry for himself, and for how he had treated Morse.
He awoke early the next morning, disoriented and stiff-limbed. The lights were still on, and the fire from last night had dwindled out leaving the room cold. There was no radio on, no smell of toast or tea as there would have been had Morse stayed the night.
Their argument came back to him at once and Max swore to himself quietly. Regret roiled in his gut.
He got ready for work mechanically, recounting again and again his words from last night. And he couldn’t even apologise to Morse until later because they both had work.
His mother had always warned him his tongue was so sharp he’d cut himself one day. He feared she may finally have been proven correct.
–
Life continues on despite what personal problems detectives and home office pathologists may be having and as such Max found himself once again crouched over a body by the Cherwell.
And of course Morse would be the sergeant sent to the scene.
In the morning light the bruises across his nose and under his eyes were a livid purple and Max yearned to comfort him. The realisation that he couldn’t because of his own rash words stung.
Morse was studiously avoiding his gaze, and greeted him coldly with ‘Doctor.’ Christ, he’d already been relegated to the impersonal greeting.
Max looked at Morse’s bruised face again.
“Are you sure you should be working?”
“The doctor at the hospital said I was fine,” he said curtly. “What’s the situation here?”
Deciding not to probe the issue of Morse’s health any further, Max gave Morse a swift account of his initial findings with far less poetry and flourish than normal.
“I’ll see you at two o’clock for a full report?” He tried to meet Morse’s gaze with a searching, hopeful look. Maybe there would be some chance of reconciliation then.
Morse was still barely looking at him.
“I’ll send Sergeant Hunter. I’ve got people to interview about yesterday. Need to resume my role of hero. ” His tone was blunt but he spoke the last word out with a sneer.
Max managed to contain a wince, but internally he was a mass of nerves. He felt sick. It was all his fault, too; he certainly couldn’t blame Morse for being cold with him.
Morse limped off without a goodbye and Max was left bereft at the side of the river.
Max couldn’t stop the events from last night playing over once again in his mind. What had he been thinking? Max had essentially told Morse that he wasn’t enough, that his love wasn’t enough, that he didn’t care enough. Morse, who cares about other people more than he cares about himself. Morse, who seldom thinks of anything but helping other people. Morse, who made Max’s life so much more vibrant. Morse, who Max loved. And now he’d ruined it.
–
The day passed slowly, as days tend to do when one feels emotionally on-edge. He conducted the post mortem and wrote his report. Accidental death, it would appear. Until Morse looked at it, probably, Max thought wryly to himself.
He finished at 5, and stole himself for going to see Morse. He needed to make this right. Or at least explain himself.
It was not a long drive to Morse’s house from the hospital and Max found himself pulling into Morse’s driveway at twenty past five.
The lights were on in the front room. He stopped and took a few deep breaths, trying to get his whirling thoughts into some sort of order.
Ringing the doorbell, he waited anxiously. He heard footsteps approaching. The light in the inner porch came on. And then the door opened. Morse did not look pleased to see him, face tired and slightly pinched in pain.
“Oh,” was all Morse said.
“Can I come in? I think we should talk.”
Morse said nothing in response and instead opened the door more fully and swung out his arm, gesturing to Max to come in.
Max entered the house tentatively, feeling rather like he was walking on eggshells. Which, he supposed, would not be an unfair assessment of the situation. He didn’t even dare take off his coat, lest he need to make a quick exit.
He stepped into the living room where opera was playing faintly. Vissi d’arte from Tosca if his memory served him correctly. It playing usually meant Morse was upset.
He cast his eyes around the room. On the arm of the sofa he could see a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel. His face must be hurting him, then, Max thought, if he’s resorting to such measures. A glass of whisky rested on the coffee table.
Morse followed him in and went over to the record player to turn the music off, his gait still betraying that his hip must be bothering him. He leant against the far wall, arms crossed, looking at Max with a steely expression.
Deciding that now was as good a time as any, Max summoned any courage and eloquence he could find and began:
“I’m sorry, Morse. For how I treated you last night. I let my fears take over, and I’m afraid you bore the brunt. I shouldn’t have shouted at you, or said all those things. You must understand I didn’t mean any of it.” It came out in a rush as if Max were scared that, should he stop, he’d be unable to get the words out.
Morse just stared at him for a moment, processing. Then, quietly:
“You said I don’t care about you enough, that my love isn’t enough. How am I supposed to believe you didn’t mean that?”
Morse did not look angry as he said this, as Max would have expected. Instead, he looked distraught. Max knew he’d hurt him but seeing his face again, hearing the anguish in his voice, it was almost too much to bear.
“Morse, I promise I don’t mean it. I-”. Max took a moment to collect his thoughts. If he messed this up, he might not get another chance. “Yesterday, when you didn’t come home when you said you were going to earlier in the day, and then with every hour that slipped by, all I could think of was you being injured somewhere. Shot, or stabbed, or who knows what. And I was terrified.”
Morse’s watery gaze was fixed on Max, face unreadable.
“When you came home, bruised, limping, bloody, it felt like my anxieties had come to fruition. And then, seeing you so flippant about your injuries, dismissive of my concern - I don’t know, it’s like my fear just. Turned to anger. Not at you, per se, but at you not caring about yourself or how I feel seeing you hurt. It felt like you didn’t care about how scared I was. And I just lashed out. I wanted to hurt you in some misguided attempt to make you feel like I was feeling. I fear I rather succeeded.”
“Max…” Morse breathed out shakily.
“Please, let me continue.”
Morse stayed quiet.
Max paused to take a steadying breath. It felt like he was choking out the words, unused to being so candid, so open. But the least Morse deserved was an honest explanation, and so he pushed on: “I am so, so sorry, Morse, and I need you to understand that I didn’t mean it. I was saying things not because they were true but because I knew they’d upset you. I was horrible to you. And I’m so sorry for making you feel like your love is inadequate. Nothing about you is inadequate.”
It was surprising to Max how love could make one say truths one normally kept close to one’s chest.
Morse was blinking rapidly, and Max could see him clenching his jaw.
“You make me feel so loved and cared for. When you take us for drives in the Jaguar, when we go out for meals, when you arrange concert tickets, when you make me tea after a long day at work, when you listen to me talk about fishing for hours on end even though I know it bores you. No one has done that for me before. I was resigned to being a bachelor for the rest of my days. Having this, with you, is more than I could ever have wished for.”
Morse tried to surreptitiously wipe a tear from his cheek. Max mirrored him, only just releasing that he had been crying.
“I love you so much. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I know words won’t make everything better, and I don’t expect you to forgive me straight away or even at all. But please understand that you are not at fault here.”
It was silent for a moment. The clock on the wall ticked. Max felt rather like he was in front of a judge waiting to see what his fate would be.
“I understand. I’m sorry too.” Morse’s voice was gravelly. He cleared his throat.
“Morse you don’t ha-”, Max began to protest.
Morse held up his hand, indicating Max to stop.
“No, please. I forgive you, but I need to apologise to you as well.”
Max looked at him, expectant, confused.
“I was cruel yesterday. To you. How you were feeling. I thought that because I had been to the hospital that you’d be fine with it; I should have anticipated that you would be worried and would need some reassurance. I’m sorry.”
“But that doesn’t excuse what I said to you.”
“No, it doesn’t, but I should have called, told you where I was, or asked someone else to do so. I’m still not used to having someone care about me. I don’t… I just don’t always think, about how me getting hurt might affect you.”
“Morse, I love you, of course you getting injured affects me, you daft sod. You’re right, that phoning me would have put me more at ease. But I appreciate you’re busy. I know I overreacted, but I was worried. And then I treated you awfully. And I also know you don’t think of yourself as a hero.” Max needed Morse to know that, too. The other stupid thing he had said last night.
“I know. I’m not trying to be the hero. Everyone always thinks I’m the way I am because I want to be the best or get all the credit, but it’s never been about that. I’m just doing my job, I want to help people. It’s not done out of a need for glory or valour. I know you didn’t mean it but it did hurt to hear it from you because often it feels like you’re the only one who understands me, I won’t deny that. But I forgive you.”
“Thank you. There’s an ugly side to me I usually keep in check, but last night I failed.”
“It happens, Max. And you’re not entirely to blame for last night. I certainly could have handled things better instead of dismissing your concern. I think we were both past our best.”
“Yes, I think that’s fair to say,” Max replied, a sheepish smile gracing his face.
“Shall we agree that we have both been silly and said things we didn’t mean and leave it at that?,” Morse asked, with a shy smile.
“I would like that, yes,” Max replied, his expression mirroring Morse’s.
Morse and Max made their way towards each other. Max rested his hand gently on Morse’s cheek and they came together in a kiss. It deepened, until Morse suddenly pulled back with a wince.
“Ah! I’m sorry, just… my face,” he gestured vaguely at the bruising around his eyes and nose.
“Oh, Morse! Let me see to you.”
“I’m fi-”
“Do not tell me that you’re fine, we both know how that ends up,” Max said with false severity.
Morse let out a surprise puff of laughter at this.
“Okay,” he said, giving in to Max’s ministrations.
“Now, what parts of you are hurting?”
“My face, obviously. My nose didn’t break, but he did get a good punch in. I think it’s making the rest of my head hurt.”
“Okay. I’m not surprised. What else is sore?” He had now fully assumed his role as Doctor.
“Um, a couple of ribs, he got a few punches in but the doctor yesterday said they were fine, just bruised. My hip is also achy. He didn’t hit it, but I think it got jolted in the scuffle.”
Max frowned at that. He got Morse to unbutton his shirt so Max could see his chest. The bruising wasn’t too bad, as Morse had assured him, but Max still needed to be sure for himself.
“Is anything else sore?” He knew from experience that the only way to make Morse give a full account of his injuries was to keep asking him.
“No, just my face, head, ribs, hip,” Morse said, pointing to each body part in turn. He then began re-buttoning his shirt.
“If any more of you gets injured, you’ll have enough for the whole song my nieces are so fond of,” Max noted, thinking of them performing ‘heads, shoulders, knees and toes’ at the most recent family event.
Morse graced this remark with a fond glare, squinting up from buttoning his shirt.
“And is anything sorer than it was yesterday?” Perhaps Max was being over-cautious in his questioning, but he was still worried.
“No. My hip is still achy like I said, but it has eased off slightly from yesterday.”
“Good. I’m going to sit you down here and make a hot water bottle for your leg. Have you got any food in? Other than those peas which have now thawed all over the sofa.”
Morse glanced over at them and let out a dejected ‘oh’ upon seeing his not-frozen peas.
Once Morse was over this minor disappointment, Max manoeuvred Morse to the sofa and helped him sit, taking some of his weight to help his hip.
“There are tins of things and some stale bread, I think.” He at least had the courtesy to look slightly abashed.
“Honestly, Morse, how are you a grown man with a job and a mortgage but you can’t even keep your fridge stocked?,” Max remarked, lightly chiding.
“Well! I’ve been staying at yours a lot! I haven’t needed to buy food recently,” Morse replied, playfully indignant.
“But if you hadn’t been at mine you definitely would have? I know you Morse, and I doubt it,” he said, with a knowing but fond look.
Morse just smiled innocently back at him.
Max bustled off to the kitchen with the bag of now-defrosted peas, and returned a short time later with a glass of water, two painkillers, and a hot water bottle.
“Take these, and drink the whole glass of water. And do not drink any more alcohol. I am going to go out and get us food and then we can have dinner. Does that sound good?”
“Wonderful, thank you.” Morse placed the hot water bottle on his hip and let out a sigh of relief. “Ah, thank you so much, Max. What would I do without you?”
He smiled lazily up at the doctor.
“Perish, probably,” said Max with a smile. “I’ll just pop out, I’ll be back shortly - does fish and chips appeal?”
“Mmm, yes please.”
“The usual?”
“That would be great.”
“Splendid. Shall I put your music back on?”
“Yes, please. Though actually - sorry to be a pain but do you mind changing it? I’d rather listen to Lucia di Lammermoor. ”
“I hope you realise I wouldn’t do this for anyone else,” Max said, jokingly.
“I know how lucky I am, Max.”
The sincerity in his voice made Max stop for a second. He turned from the record player and found Morse staring intensely at him, as if Max were the only thing of importance to him on this entire planet.
“As am I,” Max responded quietly. He turned his attention back to the record player, and the opening bars of Lucia di Lammermoor began to play.
He turned back to Morse and stopped beside him on his way to the door.
“I’ll be back shortly, okay? And remember, no alcohol with those painkillers.”
“Understood,” Morse said with a nod, raising the glass of water in salute.
“Good.”
Max reached down and gave Morse a peck on the lips.
“See you soon. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He smoothed his hand through Morse’s hair, gave him another kiss, then left on his quest for dinner, feeling very much content with life at that moment.