Detective Chief Inspector Derek Litton sat in his car and read the article on the front page of the Manchester Gazette and fumed inwardly. He wasn't just angry, he was bloody furious. Yet again, that fat-head D.C.I. Gene Hunt had stolen his thunder. Derek's name had not even been mentioned once and as for the bit about, "The Regional Crime Squad had left the resolution of the situation to C.I.D." and that, "D.C.I. Gene Hunt had risked his life to protect a member of the Regional Crime Squad", well, that was just a load of codswallop. It was hardly surprising that the article favoured the North West Division C.I.D. considering who had written it; Jackie Queen, one of Gene's former conquests, both in and out of the bedroom.

The photo of Gene Hunt accompanying the headline stared back at Derek almost mockingly. Derek punched out at it in frustration and put his fist straight through the newspaper. Then he hurled it onto the back seat of the car in disgust. When would Gene Hunt get it through his thick skull that criminal offences involving guns came under Crime Squad jurisprudence? A sharp pain shot through Derek's stomach where Gene had kicked him. Derek clutched his belly as he recalled Gene's words to him, "I placed D.C.I. Litton on the floor in order to protect him." Protect him? Poleaxe him, more like. Even Detective Inspector Sam Tyler had manhandled him roughly when he thought that Gene Hunt had been shot dead by the hostage-taker.

Derek and Gene's long-standing rivalry had caused them to lock horns verbally on many occasions but this time Gene had gone too far and Derek was going to sort him out for once and for all. Derek started up the engine of his car and roared off down the road in the direction of The Railway Arms public house.

W.P.C. Annie Cartwright stood up, went over to the jukebox and selected a song. Louis Armstrong's What A Wonderful World started to play. She looked up and smiled at D.I. Sam Tyler, who was standing at the other end of the bar in The Railway Arms. Sam smiled back at her. Annie smiled again and then turned away. She hoped that Sam would take the hint and follow her over to the table where she was sat with W.P.C. Phyllis Dobbs. However, Sam did not move. Annie looked up again, but Sam was now talking to D.C.I. Gene Hunt, a.k.a. the Guv. Their heads were bent close together as they rejoiced over the front page of that evening's edition of the Manchester Gazette.

Annie picked up a copy of the newspaper that was lying on the table and looked at the headline; Police Praised In Hostage Swoop. There was a picture of the Guv underneath it, with two uniformed police officers standing in the background. Annie skim-read most of the article, but it was a line in the fifth paragraph that she was most interested in, a line which read, "D.C.I. Hunt risked his life to protect a member of the Regional Crime Squad." Annie thought back to the incident in question. Admittedly, D.C.I. Litton had been standing in the line of fire at the time, but had he really been kicked in the stomach in order to "position him on the floor to protect him" as the Guv had stated. Annie did not think so.

Being the caring sort of person that she was, Annie had wanted to go to D.C.I. Litton's aid, but in the blink of an eye, the Guv had stood up and the hostage-taker, Reg Cole, had fired a gun at him, hitting the Guv square in the chest. Then all hell broke loose after that. Annie turned to speak to Phyllis to express her concern of the Guv's assault on D.C.I. Litton, but Phyllis had gone. Annie stood up and made her way over to the bar, where Sam and Gene were in full-on celebratory mode, laughing loudly and downing shots of single malt whiskey.

Annie coughed to attract Sam's attention. "Can I speak to you for a minute, please, Sam?"

Sam stopped laughing and looked at Annie. "Yeah sure. What about?"

Annie looked intently at Sam. "In private, please. It's a bit personal."

Gene started to snigger.

Sam looked at Gene and then back at Annie. "What, right now?"

"Yes…" began Annie.

"I'm sure whatever it is can wait until later, luv," interrupted Gene, throwing his arm around Sam's shoulders, "Sammy-boy is helping me celebrate the fact that I've got another one over on Litton. I make that two-nil."

Gene mimed a karate kick and he and Sam began to laugh raucously.

"It's about D.C.I. Litton..." began Annie, more urgently. But her voice was lost amongst their laughter.

"Later luv, okay?" replied Sam, walking away from Annie, "Besides, I need to go to the gents."

Annie could feel tears starting to well up. What with being taken hostage and having a gun pointed at her head and now Sam snubbing her when she really needed him, it was too much for her to bear. Annie pushed her way through the crowd, opened the pub door and ran outside into the car park. She leant against the pub wall and started to sob.

Annie was still crying when Derek drove into the pub car park at speed. Her eyes were so full of tears that she did not see Derek's car as she stepped out from behind the pub wall. Derek slammed on the brakes as she suddenly appeared in front of him. Annie screamed as Derek's car came to a halt just millimetres away from her. The edge of the car bonnet clipped her left hand and a trickle of blood started to appear.

Derek furiously unwound his car window. "You stupid bloody cow! I could've killed you!"

Annie clutched her injured hand and started sobbing louder. Derek rolled his eyes in exasperation. "What's the matter? Are you hurt?"

Annie nodded and held up her cut hand

"Shit!" thought Derek, as he hurriedly got out of his car. He took out his handkerchief and wrapped it around Annie's bleeding hand. "I'd better take you to hospital. It might be broken."

Annie shook her head and sniffed. "I just want to go home."

"Are you sure?"

Annie nodded reassuringly. Derek breathed a sigh of relief. He took hold of Annie by her right elbow, escorted her to the passenger side of his car and helped her in. He was just about to shut the car door when he noticed Gene Hunt's car parked next to the wall. Derek felt his hackles rise again and was on the verge of storming into the pub when Annie said, "Sir? Can you take me home, please?"

Derek muttered an obscenity under his breath and slammed the car door shut, making Annie jump. Then he looked straight ahead at the pub, took a long drag on his cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke. Derek threw the cigarette butt onto the ground, went round to the driver's side and got in. The car then pulled smoothly away from the car park.

Sam Tyler came back from the toilet and looked around the pub for Annie. He was starting to feel guilty about the way he had rebuffed her earlier.

"Have you seen Annie?" he asked Nelson the barman. Nelson shook his head. Sam saw Phyllis Dobbs coming out of the ladies toilets.

"Is Annie in there?"

Phyllis looked at Sam's worried face. "No, luv. Why, have you lost her?"

"I hope I haven't," replied Sam, brushing past her and going over to the pub door. Sam opened the door and stepped outside. He saw Derek helping Annie into his car and then stare at the Guv's Cortina in a way that Sam did not like at all. Then Derek looked straight at him, threw his cigarette down onto the ground and got into his car.

"Annie!" shouted Sam, "Wait!"

Sam started to run towards Derek's car but he was too late, as it drove out of the car park and off down the road. Sam stood there for a moment and then went back inside the pub.

Derek drove along the road in complete silence, with Annie making the occasional tearful sniff. Keeping one hand on the steering-wheel, he reached down and handed her a tissue from a box jammed in between the two front seats.

"Thanks," said Annie, taking the tissue and blowing her nose in it.

Derek grunted in acknowledgement. "So, where do you live?"

"Crane Close," replied Annie, "If you go straight across..."

"I know where it is."

Annie turned and looked out of the passenger window. Derek glanced over at her. She wasn't bad-looking for a W.P.C., with her shoulder-length, wavy brown hair and blue eyes. She no longer had on the blue nurse's uniform that she had being wearing at the time of the siege, but an A-line denim skirt with a split at the front, knee-length leather boots and a long-sleeved, low-cut patterned top. Derek's eyes traced a line from her knee and then stopped at her bosom. Annie turned back and looked at him.

Derek coughed with embarrassment and looked ahead at the road again. "Er, Crane Close, did you say?"

Annie felt her face flush. "Yes, number twenty-four," she replied, with a half-smile.

Derek nodded in acknowledgement.

Annie took a sideways glance at Derek. He was quite good-looking with his short brown hair and neatly trimmed moustache. He still had on the same brown pinned-stripped three-piece suit that he was wearing when he had burst into the newspaper office, along with D.S. Ray Carling, D.C. Chris Skelton and two other Regional Crime Squad officers; the same office that the Guv had kicked Derek in the guts, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Annie saw Derek place his left hand over his stomach and wince. "Are you okay, Sir?"

"I'm fine."

Derek drove along the road a bit further and then turned into a long, narrow cul-de-sac. At the bottom of it, he did a three-point turn and then pulled up outside of number twenty-four.

Derek got out of the car, went round to the passenger side and opened the door. Annie stepped out onto the pavement, still clutching her hand. Derek looked up at Annie's house.

"So, do you live alone?"

"No, I live with my dad. He supports Manchester United too," replied Annie, looking at the red and white car air-freshener hanging from rear-view mirror, "Do you want to come in for a cup of tea and meet him?"

"No, it's...ARGH!" began Derek, as an even sharper pain bolted through his abdomen, causing him to bend double.

"Oh my God, Sir," shrieked Annie, "Quick, let's get you inside."

Forgetting all about her injured hand, Annie put her arm around Derek's waist and helped him down the path. She took out a key from her handbag and opened the front door.

"Dad? DAD?" yelled Annie, "Are you home?"

There was no answer.

"He must be down the pub," said Annie, as she helped Derek into the lounge, where he collapsed onto the settee.

"I think you're the one that needs to go to hospital," said Annie, picking up the phone and starting to dial '999' on it.

"No, I'll be alright," replied Derek, placing his finger down on the hook and cutting off the call. "Just get me some painkillers and a glass of brandy...if you've got any."

Annie nodded and placed the receiver back down onto the telephone. She went into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of brandy, two glasses, one which contained water and a bottle of paracetamol. She sat down next to Derek, took two tablets from out of the bottle and handed them and the glass of water to him. Derek tipped the water into a large plant pot that was stood next to the settee. He took the bottle of brandy from Annie's hand, looked at the label and grunted in approval. He filled his glass and then swallowed the two painkillers down with a large swig of brandy.

Annie looked shocked. "You're not supposed to mix analgesics with alcohol, Sir."

"Why, are you a nurse now or something?"

Derek looked at Annie's empty glass. "So, are you joining me or not?"

Annie nodded and thrust the glass forwards. "I don't normally drink spirits, but after the day I've had, well, what the heck."

Derek filled Annie's glass about half-way up and then placed the bottle of brandy down onto the coffee table. They both sat there in silence as they sipped their brandy.

Annie broke the silence. "Sir? Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Why do you and D.C.I. Hunt not get on? After all, you're both on the same side of the law."

Derek swallowed a large mouthful of brandy. "You don't wanna know."

Annie went silent for a minute. "Sir? Is it a woman?"

"Is what a woman?"

"Is a woman the reason why you and the Guv don't get on?"

"Was," snapped Derek.

"Was?"

"Yeah, past tense."

"I don't understand."

Derek knocked back the rest of the brandy in his glass and sighed. "There was a woman. Hunt took her from me. End of."

"Oh."

"Do you want a top up?" asked Derek, leaning over and picking up the brandy bottle.

Annie nodded. Derek poured some of the brandy into his empty glass and then drained the remainder into Annie's. He placed the empty bottle down and settled back into the settee. Annie could feel the warming effect of the brandy starting to go to her head. She also leant back into the settee and then closed her eyes.

Derek looked across at her. "So, what about you and Tyler? Is it the real thing?"

Annie scrunched her face, as she felt herself becoming melancholy. "I thought it might be, but I'm not sure now."

"Why, what did he do? Kiss another woman?"

Annie put her hand to her face, as she felt the tears starting again. "No. He just wasn't there for me when I needed him. I don't really want to talk about it, to be honest."

"Fine. Don't then," replied Derek, undoing his waistcoat, "By the way, how's your hand?"

Annie sniffed back the tears, put the brandy glass down and removed the handkerchief from around her hand. A bruise had started to form. Derek sat up and looked at it. "You're okay. You'll live."

Derek leant back and another pain radiated from within his belly. His face contorted in anguish.

"Whereas you're far from okay," slurred Annie, "Here, let me have a look."

Annie pulled up Derek's tucked-in shirt and looked at his stomach. There was a reddish foot-shaped mark there.

"That looks nasty," said Annie, placing a hand just above the bruise and examining it gently, "I don't think you've damaged any major organs, but it might be worth getting it checked out at the hospital."

"Yes, Nurse Cartwright," replied Derek, placing his hand over Annie's.

Derek sat up, placed his glass down and looked at Annie. Annie looked back at him.

"Annie?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Call me Derek," he replied, leaning forward and kissing her.

Annie looked surprised for a moment but as Derek encircled her waist, she smiled and placed her arms around Derek's neck. They kissed again, for longer and with more passion. Then Derek leant back into the settee again. Annie unzipped her boots, kicked them off and tucking her legs underneath her, she leant back and rested her head on Derek's shoulder.

"Sir? I mean, Derek?"

"Hmm?"

"What happened to her?"

"Who?"

"The woman that the Guv stole off you?"

"She married him," replied Derek, leaning over and handing Annie her glass and then picking up his own. Annie sipped some more of the brandy.

"So, are you dating anyone else now?"

"Not currently."

Annie smiled contentedly and nuzzled her head against Derek's arm.

Derek gulped back the rest of the brandy in his glass. He picked up the empty bottle and looked at Annie. "Have you got any more?"

Annie unfurled herself from Derek's arm and woozily stood up. "I think so. I'll just go and have a look."

Annie walked a few stepped and then stopped. "Derek?"

"Yes?"

Annie put her hand up to her mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick."

As Annie started to heave, Derek jumped up from the settee, propelled her towards the kitchen and shoved Annie's head over the sink, where she promptly threw up. Some of the vomit missed the sink and went down the front of her top and onto her skirt. Derek turned on the cold tap to rinse the vomit down the sink.

Annie started to cry again. "I'm sorry, Sir. I'm so sorry."

Derek grabbed a tea towel and handed it to Annie to clean herself off with.

"It's no good. I'm gonna have to take them both off and put them into soak," said Annie, between sobs. Derek averted his eyes, as Annie groggily pulled the top off over her head and then wriggled her way out of her skirt. She placed both items into a washing-up bowl and filled it up with cold water. Derek turned back and Annie was stood there in her stockinged feet, wearing a cream-coloured under-slip. A cream-coloured bra peeked out from under the straps of the slip. Derek wondered if she was wearing matching knickers as well.

"Let's get you into bed," he said, softly.

Annie looked alarmed.

"No, I didn't mean..." began Derek, embarrassedly, "What I meant was, I think you had better go to bed...by yourself and sleep off the rest of that brandy."

Annie nodded in agreement.

"I'll just use your toilet, if that's alright with you."

Annie nodded again and then she and Derek set off up the stairs together. When they reached the top, Annie turned to Derek. "You won't say anything to anyone about us...well, you know...will you, Sir?"

"Do you mean Tyler?"

Annie nodded and then Derek shook his head.

"Thanks, Sir."

Annie went into her bedroom and Derek went into the bathroom. Annie took off her tights, under-slip and bra, and then got into bed. Derek came out of the bathroom and then looked in on Annie, who was already asleep. There was a camera on the dressing table. Derek picked it up and looked at it. There were about four shots left on a twenty-four exposure roll of film. He pointed the camera at the sleeping Annie and pressed the shutter. Annie stirred slightly at the noise but did not wake up. Derek gently pulled back the bed-clothes so that the side of Annie's naked upper body was exposed, with her arm placed over her bosom. Derek pressed the shutter again. He went round to the other side of the bed and took a photo of Annie's naked back. Then he photographed her lingerie that was draped over the chair by her bed, making sure that he got Annie in the shot as well. Derek rewound the film, took out the roll from inside the camera, pocketed it and placed the camera back onto the dressing table. He picked up Annie's bra and tights, stuffed them into his jacket pockets and left. Derek got back into his car and then drove back in the direction that he had come from earlier.

The pub was fairly empty when Derek strolled in. Sam Tyler was stood at the bar rather worse for wear and Gene Hunt was nowhere to be seen. Derek walked up to Sam and dropped Annie's bra onto the bar in front of him. "I believe this belong to a mutual friend of ours."

Sam picked up the bra, looked at it and shook his head in disbelief. "No. This can't be Annie's. She wouldn't...not with you..."

Derek tossed the roll of film at Sam and he clumsily caught it. "Oh yeah? I should try developing that. Shots number twenty-one to twenty-four."

"You bastard, Litton," spat Sam, as he took an inebriated wipe at Derek with his fist.

Derek dodged the punch and Sam went crashing into a table and onto the floor.

"I think that makes us two-all now."

"Two-all? What do you mean?"

Derek made a bras d'honneur gesture with his elbow. "Not once, but twice."

He then threw Annie's tights at Sam and walked out of the pub. Derek got back into his car and drove away. Even though he knew full well that he had not slept with Annie, would she ever really know for sure; certainly not in her intoxicated state and especially not now he had planted the seeds of doubt into Sam Tyler's mind, along with the incriminating evidence in question. Derek might not have managed to settle the score with the organ-grinder, Gene Hunt, but he had certainly got one over on his monkey, Sam Tyler.

"I call that a resounding success," thought Derek, turning up his car radio, as Louis Armstrong's What A Wonderful World started to play. "After all, what goes around eventually comes around."

The End