A/N: This is basically a complete re-write of my previous story "Battle," because I feel my perspective has deepened over the past two months, as everything fell apart and I stumbled down that slippery slope once more. So this, I hope, is deeper and perhaps better written than "Battle" was. That's the plan, anyway.

Sarah x

It wasn't an option she'd previously considered. Her father had done it so, in her family – between her and her mother – it was unspeakable. But she felt like there was nothing else she could do. She had all she needed stowed away in her office drawer; she'd been thinking about this for a while now. Now that every inch of her was bruised, and there was nothing left to prove, what was she still doing here?

She checked to see the boys were still out and opened that drawer, pulling out a pack of painkillers, and a half-bottle of whisky. She turned the small flimsy box over in her hands, trying to work up the nerve to actually do it. She didn't understand why she felt this way. All she knew was that half the time she felt nothing, and the rest of the time, whatever she felt wasn't pleasant.

She was fixated on this small box and the relief it could bring her. She'd tried everything else she could think of. She'd forced herself to smile and laugh, all the while desperately hoping that, somehow, it would stop being a lie. She'd grown closer with her team after distancing herself from them after her world was split down the middle by the lies of a dead man, but still it didn't help her. Forced herself to forge a friendship with the man who replaced her only father-figure. It wasn't that she didn't like him; she just hated that she'd lost Jack and had to accept someone else into her life. She was no good at it. She'd even tried to find someone to live her life with, failing miserably and getting hurt in the process.

Nothing could save her.

Then, a strong hand snatched the box from her, and she knew she'd been caught. "Please tell me you weren't gonna do what I think you were," demanded the rough, Glaswegian voice of Steve McAndrew. He picked up the bottle of whisky and read the label. "This is some of the strongest stuff going," he told her. "Which is probably why you've got it."

"Go away, Steve," she snapped.

"No."

"Go," she told him. "That's an order."

"Then I'm disobeying. Report me to Strickland if you want, but I'm sure he'll back me up," he challenged, and she could see he was threatening to tell Strickland what he'd just walked in on. By rights, he probably should have told their superior, but she knew he wouldn't. "And if you think I'm giving you these back, you can think again."

"Why not?!" she argued. "They're mine!"

"Because I know what you were gonna do with them!" he was almost shouting. He was obviously attempting to get through to her, even if she wouldn't admit what she'd wanted to do. "Why?" he simply asked, coming round to lean against her desk beside her. "Why?"

She couldn't answer him. There was no simple answer. It was like she'd lost something inside her, and with it, the need to keep fighting deserted her. She'd forgotten what it was to be strong and keep going; there was nothing at the end for her anymore. In truth, she had nobody. Nobody willing to put up with what she really felt, at any rate.

He was looking down on her, and, though she could see he was worried, she just wanted him to leave her in peace to immerse herself in her own special form of hell. A place where everything was cold, and she was always numb, and when something did break through it, all it was was pain.

Just then, Gerry and Brian walked in the UCOS office and she immediately said to Steve, "Don't tell them. Please." She knew what she was asking of him was incredibly selfish, and not to mention irresponsible, but she didn't think she'd be able to bear them knowing. They'd known her longer than Steve had, and probably knew her better than anyone else. At least, so they thought.

He said nothing, just giving her a sad smile and leaving her to work out what he was going to do about this. He joined his friends, laughing at something Brian had done, as if nothing had happened between them. She only hoped he'd hold his silence.

She watched Gerry for a minute, as he looked through the glass at her every minute or so. Was that fear in his eyes? Had he seen what Steve had taken from her before he threw them in his desk drawer?

There was something about Gerry; she often wondered if he saw more than he claimed to when he looked at her. That stare that penetrated the shield she used to protect herself. It was a pretty hopeless shield, granted, because it felt like it would shatter in on her at any moment. Like it would collapse with the next blow.

She walked out into the main office and put on a smile, once again hoping that maybe it would invoke some happiness in her she. She saw the look Steve gave her. It was almost accusing as she pretended she was fine, smiling at Gerry's crude sense of humour and Brian's odd habits and explanations. She made herself smile at Steve every so often, trying to make him believe he was mistaken in what he found earlier.

Even though she smiled and laughed, she felt nothing. This was why she'd considered doing it. There was nothing left for her; she was empty and cold and numb, and she didn't want to live like that anymore.

She carried the charade on until she couldn't any longer. She sent them home at four, unable to keep her smile up for them. Gerry's immediate reaction, of course, was to suggest a trip to the pub, but Sandra declined. "Too much to do," she gave a vague excuse. Steve looked at her from behind Gerry, and she knew he was wondering whether she was planning on making a second attempt on her own life.

He went against the grain by coming over to her and pulling her into his arms. "Don't do it," he whispered into her ear so that only she could hear. The words broke through the sheet of ice around her, and they almost felt like a physical blow. She could feel a hand on the back of her head, gently embracing her to try and ease whatever it was that made her this way.

Gerry said goodnight to Brian, who was heading home to face Esther's wrath after somehow managing to blow the oven up. He gave Sandra a strange stare when Steve released her, pushing her hair behind her ears. "You coming?" Steve called from the door.

"I'll catch you up, mate," he replied, not taking his eyes off Sandra. "Are you OK?" he asked.

She couldn't meet his eyes when she told him the lie with the false smile. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, telling the lie that rolled off the tongue so easily. He clearly didn't believe her; his expression was one of extreme scepticism.

"What was that all about, then?" he said, referring to the embrace she shared with Steve. Though he'd only took her in his arms to warn her not to do what she refused to admit she wanted to.

"He was just...saying goodnight," she lied. "You know what he's like." A flash of jealousy seemed to cross Gerry's face so she added, "And no, nothing is going on between us."

"Sandra," he said quietly. "You're starting to worry me. Every time you lie to me, all hell tends to break loose," he reminded her of her previous attempts at deceiving her friends. He had a point – she'd lied about the DNA results and a half-brother appeared. She lied about where she was going one night and then they discovered her father had an affair. She lied about where she was going very early on in their working relationship, so they proceeded to follow her and came to the mistaken conclusion that she had a girlfriend. She lied about lying, for God's sake, and now it was coming back to get her.

"I'll be fine," she tried to promise him, but she knew it was an unsustainable promise. How could she be fine later if she was so desperate just now? She was tempted to see if Steve had taken her painkillers and whisky away with him. She sincerely doubted he would have left them; he was, after all, an ex-copper who'd probably seen more than his fair share of liars.

He wasn't buying it, and she could see why. She was too tired and too defeated to put any true effort into her façade tonight.

"You can tell me anything, Sandra. You should know that by now," he scolded her lightly.

That was the thing, though. If she was perfectly honest, which was a trait she'd long lost, he would have thought she was off her head. And she would have had to agree with him. Feeling this low, this fragile, this cold, was not normal. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied, swallowing back tears, forcing a smile onto her face. "There's nothing wrong."

Lying was harder now than it had been when the others had been in the room. When Brian was there to reign Gerry in and Steve was there to unwittingly remind Sandra of all the reasons why telling Gerry what she was feeling wasn't a wise move. Constantly telling him there was nothing wrong was becoming harder with each time she had to say the words.

She knew he could tell he wasn't going to get anywhere with her tonight. Gerry's phone rang and he answered it. "Hey...Yeah, I'm still in the office...Sure...Yeah, I'll take it to the pub with me...See you soon," he finished, hanging up on who she assumed was Steve. "Forgot his iPod. He can't live without the bloody thing," he joked.

He went rummaging through Steve's drawers and stopped dead when he got to the middle one. "What the bloody hell is this?!" he asked, lifting the pills and whisky out of the drawer. "Do you think he's ill?" he asked.

Sandra felt the blood drain from her face, processing the idea that Gerry had found what Steve had confiscated from her. She couldn't answer. It wasn't long before Gerry twigged there was nothing wrong with Steve. And then she realised. Then she realised Steve had deliberately left his iPod behind so Gerry would go through his drawers and find that. And then she would have to answer for her behaviour. She would have to face it.

She couldn't say anything at all, and her silence seemed to frighten Gerry. "Sandra, what's going on? If one of you is sick, I have a right to know," he asserted, and she understood he was perfectly within his rights to be upset at finding that in a friend's drawer.

Sandra could do nothing but turn and walk away. Straight out the UCOS doors. Not turning back at Gerry's calls of her name. Not listening as he attempted to match her pace. Not wanting to answer his questions.

She knew she would have to say something, and she knew she would have to lie. How was she supposed to even begin to talk about what she felt, and how disturbing her own thoughts were, with a man who'd known her for a decade as strong, fierce, short-tempered, hard as nails Sandra Pullman?

It was only when she got to the main doors, to a half-empty car park, and there was nowhere left to go without her car keys, that she stopped. It was only then that she swallowed down her tears as a knife pierced the ice, forcing her to feel the pain of it ripping through her, and faced Gerry. "Steve is fine. Brian is as fine as he ever is," she allowed, accounting for the fact that Brian was less than stable. "I am fine."

Hope this is OK!
Please feel free to review and tell me what you think!
Sarah x