"Helen, I'm sorry. I have to go."
"Tommy..." She didn't quite pout, but he could hear the weariness in her voice. "This is the first time I've had you to myself for a week. You've only just sat down, and now you're running off again? What is it this time? Can't it wait?"
"No. It can't." He didn't even flinch. "Helen, it's Barbara. I really have to go."
"Your partner? What can she want at this time of night? It's not fair! She sees you more than I do! Can't you two be apart for more than twenty-four hours at a stretch?"
As far as Thomas Lynley was concerned, enough was enough. "Her mother just died," he spat. "And she lost her father less than a year ago. That, Helen, is unfair. So is the fact that until I met her, she was completely alone, caring for two ailing parents, one of whom barely remembered her, completely by herself. She had no one, Helen. No one. If you think I am letting her go back to that, you are mad. She has come running whenever I have called. I owe her at least that much. I am all she has, and damned if I'll betray her. I care about her more than I can express. And she is my partner. I cannot even begin to explain what that means. I have to go."
He turned and strode out the door, ignoring the shock on Helen's face.
He found her in a quiet, empty waiting room, gazing blankly at the floor.
"Barbara?" he said quietly, and her eyes blinked for a moment before focusing on his face.
"Inspector?" she whispered. "You actually... I didn't think you would..." She sounded lost, afraid, and it broke his heart.
"I'm here," he murmured in her ear, taking the chair beside her. "I came. Of course I came."
"She's gone," Barbara whispered, eyes glassy, voice hoarse. "She's gone. Mum's gone. I don't..." She turned to face him. "I'm alone. I haven't got anyone any more. What am I supposed to do?"
"Get rid of that foolish nonsense, for one," he said briskly, and was gratified to see a familiar spark of irritation in her eye. This Barbara he could handle.
"Foolish nonsense?" she cried. "Foolish nonsense?"
"About you not having anyone," he finished, letting her off the hook. "Because it's not true. You've got me, Barbara."
"Of course it's true, I've just lost the... what did you say?"
"You're not alone, Barbara," he told her gently. "You've got me. You'll always have me."
She shook her head. "You don't..."
"Sergeant Havers, if the next words out of your mouth are 'have to do that', so help me God, you will be doing as much paperwork as I can possibly get my hands on for the next six months, do I make myself clear?"
Her mouth snapped shut, and she nodded.
"Better," he continued. "You're not alone any more. You don't have to go it alone. So get used to it."
Her heart contracted painfully. Looking up into his earnest face, she couldn't help but give in to the kindness and care she saw there. If she could lean on him, just for a little while... She shook her head again, and this time the tears spilled over. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I tried not to do this, but..."
"Hush, Barbara," he murmured, and took her hand. "Let it go. You don't have to be strong. I'm here. You're safe now."
She shuddered and clamped his hand tight in hers. He wrapped his other arm around her shoulders and drew her against him, and finally, she buried her face against his shoulder and wept.
He sat next to her through the night, and held her hand while the storm raged through.