Warning: Possible distressing content in some later chapters related to a natural disaster aftermath and hospitalization. Mostly moderate descriptions and between-the-lines imagery; some graphic images.

To those whose lives were lost in the tsunami on Boxing Day 2004, and those who were left behind.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

- Excerpt from "Funeral Blues" by W. H. Auden (1938)

Khao Lak
Phang Nga, Thailand
December 23rd

Nothing could ever sufficiently describe the sense of tranquillity that befell the small bungalow sitting by the white beach, the second in a row of eight similar two-storey houses. Palm trees cast their lazy morning shades across the bungalow, the sun early up and just wandering at snail's pace towards the peak of heat around noon. A gentle wind ruffled the leaves, just a hint of coolness to its caress, and wound through the crooks and corners of the bungalows.

Detective Senior Constable Tessa Vance sighed contently and reached up to adjust the silly, but beneficial, straw hat on her head, tipping it slightly forward to let the wind graze her warm neck and relieve the hotness on her face. Her blonde curls had been pulled into a short ponytail, the rest trapped in a hairband underneath the hat.

This was simply heaven. Lounging partially in the shifting shades on a sun lounger, spread out limply with only a beach towel between her flushed skin and the white plastic, sunglasses on and simply doing nothing; she had never imagined herself to be one to enjoy it. Perhaps Thorne and Tootsie had been right: the past few months had really done a toll on her.

It was not often Tessa found herself pinned down somewhere for a long period of time, and frankly, she would most likely get up soon and do something else, like take on the tantalising white waves crashing against the sand. But once settled down and letting her mind wander freely, Tessa had to admit it was relaxing. Who knew her partner had been correct all these years?

"Thinking about Steve again, are you?" An amused and mischievous voice broke Tessa out of her spell, and she popped an eye open behind the sunglasses to look across at her friend. "You've got that face, you know. It's easy to see, even with the entire hubbub on."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Tessa evenly and dipped her head in the opposite direction, only then realising she stoked the fire with her action. Her cheeks grew hotter in the summer heat.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Tessa. I've known you since forever."

"I hardly see eight years as being 'forever', Bridge," Tessa pointed out resignedly.

Bridget Murphy scoffed, pushing her own red, shaded designer sunglasses up her nose. Diamonds sparkled along the edges, competing with the million-dollar grin underneath the pert nose.

"Says she who claimed 'forever' was the first word students learned at the Academy," retorted Bridget, flipping away the dark brown curls spilling across her tanned shoulders. The hair complemented the red-striped bikini perfectly. No surprise there. "Just admit it, Tessa, you were thinking about him. Not that I blame you, mind you. I'd have jumped him myself if his eyes hadn't been so keenly on you."

Tessa blushed, ducking her head again and feeling a bout of irritation sweep over her. "Don't say that, Bridge," she bit out. "You know it isn't true. We're just friends. Partners."

And we've been yelling at each other for two months.

"So you've said for the past three years, girl. It's getting old. If I hadn't seen you two together I wouldn't have said anything. Hey. . ." Bridget leaned over and put her hand lightly upon Tessa's. She pulled her sunglasses down with her other hand and regarded her with gentle green eyes. "I'm sorry, but I just gotta speak my mind. I know you feel something for him, otherwise you wouldn't have been so bothered about what's happened the past few months. And I know you can't do anything about it if you wanna stay partners, but that doesn't mean you have to hide everything. Especially not from yourself. I can assure you, that's not healthy."

Apart from the waves crashing against the beach and the loud squeals from happy children caught in them, the air went silent as Tessa zipped her lips shut in fear of overstepping herself. Bridget was too good of a friend to lose just because her nerves were standing on end from months of endless obstacles, starting around the time of the art gallery murder of Mr Osbourne. She'd already tried her team's patience greatly, which was why she'd agreed—after some extensive persuasion—to take this spur-of-the-moment holiday trip.

For all their sakes, Tessa's mind added subtly. But maybe especially his…

"Since when did you become a relationship expert?" Tessa raised an eyebrow enquiringly, but relaxed to let Bridget know she wasn't going to blow up in her face again. "Last I checked things weren't going so well with a certain Mr Hobwells." She grinned, the familiar tease lightening the atmosphere.

"Sweet Jesus, why did I ever date a man named 'Hobwells' for a last name?" Bridget groaned, part dramatically, part in honest.

"I guess it didn't help his first name was Rochard," Tessa supplied helpfully, although her intention was sorely to draw the embarrassment out further. She knew, with some introspection, that of the two of them, Bridget handled ridicule on her own behalf much better than she did.

"I thought it was a misspelling, but he said from the first moment that it was anything but. He didn't even suspect his parents hated him." Bridget frowned mockingly, smiling too as she retracted her hand and leaned back on the lounger.

"So what happened?" asked Tessa, interested. They hadn't been able to speak much in the past month, both caught up in work, so she was sorely out of the recent gossip.

"I bailed out, of course!" Bridget exclaimed obviously. "Would be crazy of me not to. The man was bloody out of his mind. Did you know he had this stupid notion of how women were supposed to act out on the town? I couldn't take him anywhere." Bridget sighed, "Just as well. Don't think he'd appreciate any of my friends anyway. Everyone is work-related, of course. Doubt any of them would be able to discuss Descartes's mechanical philosophy on his level anyway."

"And which level is that?"

"Stuck-up your own arse?" Bridget tried bravely. Tessa laughed.

"I think I know someone like that," she mused, thinking vaguely of a pertinent and eccentric forensic expert, but it could just as well be someone she'd known from university. Or now that she thought about it, she had met a man in Paris who loved philosophy and everything about it. Some people were just weird like that.

"No more guy talk, all right?" Bridget finally declared, waving her arms dramatically as she sat up. "We've filled today's quota. Now we're going to hit the tequilas and pool boys. After a swim, of course. The heat is killing me."

Tessa found no objection to that and quickly took off both hat and sunglasses, shielding her eyes with her hand until they adjusted to the sharp light. Bridget was already half-way across the beach when she caught up with her, feeling only slightly awkward in her own moss green bikini, although her self-esteem had risen considerably since their arrival here. Go figure that she would feel out of sorts being half-naked among strangers when mostly she covered up in drab suits that only did so much for her femininity.

The water was cold, but Tessa dived head-first into the waves once far enough out. It was wonderful. After an hour or so in the heat by the bungalow—even though it was far from noon—she felt like she'd been starting to swelter.

Being here in this holiday paradise had reminded Tessa of her childhood days, when her father had sometimes been able to take her to the beach. He had taught her to swim, she remembered. She'd actually been scared of the water, because she'd always been scared of enclosed spaces, but once she learned how to move through it, she swam as often as she could. Of course, this had been before her father really gave in to the demands of Homicide, after which she and her mother had to travel to the beach by themselves.

Pushing the uncomfortable thoughts away from her mind, Tessa took a deep breath and disappeared into the blue-green ocean again.

Sydney
New South Wales, Australia
The Same Day

Detective Senior Constable Steve Hayden never wanted to answer the phone again. It would always be the same. 'Comment this, comment that, give us some juicy inside information so we can up the other newspapers and television stations.' The workings of the fourth estate would forever be a mystery to him, but it was a mystery, he reckoned, he was well off without.

The cup of coffee that had been sitting on his desk all day was picked up and spit out almost nearly as quickly. Yikes! Who had killed the cat and stuffed it in his coffee?

Standing up, he grumbled towards the nearest sink and spilled the contents out before trudging over to the coffee machine. Further irritation was added to his building temper when he saw some jerk had forgotten to clean up after the last round and not put on a new pot of coffee. Setting the cup aside, he set to work and nearly broke the precarious plastic lid when putting it on with too much force.

"Easy, Steve! Don't kill the machine just because it doesn't agree with you!" Constable Dee Suzeraine popped up beside him, her short reddish hair catching a bit of sunshine and clashing with his eyes. He mumbled something beneath his breath. "Hey, step aside and let a professional take care of it, all right?"

Steve left the task gladly, flinging the lid onto the tabletop with a clatter before finding his way back to his desk. He didn't notice the wide eyes following him before returning to the task he'd left for her. He sat down heavily and ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of the past few months pulling him slowly down the drain.

"So what's bugging you, mate? You've been kinda tense lately," said Dee friendly, but warily, as she returned from the machine. Steve could hear it trickling in the background and sighed. He felt shame wash over him instantly and tried to unclench his fists; Dee didn't deserve his frustration. She hadn't done anything wrong.

Even so, he'd never had the habit of sharing his deepest thoughts with her. That'd been Tessa's forte and, well…they weren't exactly talking these days. More like yelling.

Except now she was off for the holidays, leaving him behind. It should've made things better, but it hadn't. The coffee machine could attest to that.

"I'm just tired of this case," Steve said evenly, trying to keep his underlying frustration in check as he met Dee's worried eyes. "If I never have to answer one damn phone call again…"

The phone rang. God had a funny sense of humour.

Steve cursed and picked it up, his words spoken from behind gritted teeth. "Hayden, Homicide." His jaw clenched further as he recognised one of the reporters that'd already called him four times in the past few hours. "I told you 'no comment'. That hasn't changed. Goodbye."

With more force than necessary, he slammed the receiver down. Dee's eyes were wide as they stared at him.

"What?" Steve snapped, his temper rising more quickly as his hands clenched into fists again. "Don't you have somewhere to be, Dee?"

She startled at that like a deer caught in the headlights, but Steve didn't wait to see her go. Fuming, he sat up straighter and picked up a random folder from the piles lying around the cluttered desk, his eyes kept solidly on the words floating in front of him. He knew that if he looked up, he'd see Dee's hurt features and frankly, he'd had enough for the day.

Nevertheless, her silent retreat made the shame churn uncomfortably in his stomach again, especially as the smell of fresh coffee drifted through the air. Cursing beneath his breath, Steve leaned back as far as the chair would allow and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair.

Shit. He'd thought last month had been bad with the whole art gallery murder, but this one was turning out to be the worst month of the year. Ever since that up-and-coming politician had been found dead in a brothel involving drugs and illegal immigration, things had been haywire at Central, going in every direction at once but all leading straight to someplace hot and hellish. It'd made very many people tense and snappish, although none had compared to how his partner had ended up before Thorne had sent her on early holiday leave.

The blue eyes that'd been wide and reddish from lack of sleep had taunted Steve's conscience at night as he knew he hadn't made it any easier on her. Probably made it ten times worse. However, he hadn't realised that until Tessa had left with her friend Bridget Murphy, which was hindsight and that was as everyone knew twenty-twenty.

Even so, as Steve watched the empty desk across from his, he regretted the times he'd let his own emotions run with him and challenged her. Without her throwing her wild ideas at him, he felt sort of lost. Her replacement had been quite capable, and they had managed to find and arrest the killer, but Steve had been unable to fully enjoy the glory as most of it belonged to his usual partner…as always.

He half wished he hadn't helped persuading her to take the early leave Thorne had suggested, but he knew his wishes were purely of selfish reasons, as had the initial persuasion.

Then again, him being unable to celebrate could also be due to the fact he was utterly exhausted and just wanted to sleep for a week.

Bet you're looking forward to those two weeks Thorne promised, huh?

Although it'd actually been their turn to work through Christmas this year and be on call until after New Year's Eve, with the media circus and all the hounding they'd gone through in the past month concerning demonstrations and anonymous attacks on their properties, Thorne had managed to arrange for them to take two weeks off instead and catch up with it next year. As Tessa had been shipped out early just before the holidays, Steve had been left with the tedious work of typing up reports and the like along with his temporary partner, who had now mysteriously disappeared.

Pushing away from the desk, Steve stood and let his mind try to find some peace from all the turmoil of thoughts inside. He went to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup, another pang of shame for how he'd treated Dee earlier clenching his stomach, but it was pushed away as he downed the addictive liquid.

Just as he poured a second cup, Inspector Malcolm Thorne stepped around the corner.

"Steve," he greeted, to which Steve inclined his head. He could see the lines on his boss's face and knew that however much the media had bothered him, Thorne had probably been the worse one off by ten times more. Today the grey-haired, broad-shouldered man looked as his voice hinted: tired and tense. "How's the report going?"

"It'll be done by the end of the day," Steve promised, sipping his second cup much slower than the first.

"And where's Detective Myers?"

"Down in Forensics. He's checking up on something." Steve wasn't really sure about that, but he wasn't about to rat on his partner just because he decided to duck out of office for a while. Everyone needed a break occasionally, especially if they were partnered up with a mean old grump.

Thorne merely raised an eyebrow. "Must be important," he commented non-comittally. "Well, I want that report on my desk today. You're off from tomorrow out. I don't want to see you here until the new year."

"Will do, sir," said Steve, feeling the 'sir' was warranted by the narrowed eyes behind the horn-rimmed glasses.

With a slightly curt nod, Thorne turned on his heel and retraced his steps, disappearing around the corner into his holiest chamber: the office. Steve let out a brief breath before doing the same, finding his worn office chair tiredly. He stared at the blank computer screen in front of him, the previous anger gone as if someone had popped the balloon.

Just a few paragraphs more, his mind prompted, although Steve knew from experience how difficult just those paragraphs were to write. Mind on the job, Stevie; you can sleep when you're done. And then it's straight home for Christmas. Just like that song, only without the snow.