Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N1: This is my first multi-chaptered Chyred fic. I hope you like it, though this is just the prologue. This is set on the day of Kamil's birth; Zainab's locked in the Unit, but Christian didn't return to visit her. No one noticed her absence that afternoon.

Christian raised his head from the pint he was pulling at the bar when he heard the scream of sirens racing past the pub.

"What's that? 'Nother muggin' you reckon?" the customer on the other side of the counter asked. His name was Anthony, and he was here every evening at 5.30pm, without fail, after another day at work. He was one of the most miserable estate agents Christian had ever met, but always seemed desperate for conversation.

"Who knows? Times are changing," Christian shrugged, placing the glass on the counter. The correct money was pressing into Christian's hand in exchange, and he continued, "That was my niece who was mugged before. No one deserves that much fear, certainly not a sixteen year old girl."

"I blame the parents..." the man sighed.

Christian hid a chuckle as he turned towards the till to deposit the cash. Conversations with the older punters and the complaints they made, whether alcohol had loosened their tongues or not, were always amusing. He put the conversation out of mind, however, as another customer drew his attention with a wave.

000

Christian stroked his hair through the curls in Tracy's hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers. "Have you ever considered straightening it?"

"No, Christian," she groaned.

"You should. That could be fun," Christian decided.

"I don't think so somehow," she drawled.

Chelsea had wanted the evening off for a date, and had so swapped shifts with Tracy for the day. She rarely worked with Christian for an extended period of time. "Maybe a full fringe?" Christian suggested. "Instead of this side... thing. You can let it down you know."

Tracy was grateful when a new punter sat down at the bar and began to take off his coat. "Can I get you something?" She broke away from her colleague and moved towards the man.

"Pint of your finest please?" Resisting the urge to pout at Tracy's obvious disinterest, Christian waited until she was done. The man was still speaking. "Heard that commotion down the road?" he asked the men next to him.

"No? What happened?" the second man asked, taking a swig from his glass.

"Someone died at that cooking place Beale runs. They say she got locked in a room, couldn't get out... and died."

That attracted Christian's attention and his head whipped around, as the second man asked his question. "Who?"

"Some Muslim bird," the first said with a shrug.

Horror flooded through Christian's system, freezing him in place. He only just managed to stutter out the question, "Amira?"

The man shook his head. "No, the mother. Z... someone."

Christian had already turned to Tracy. "Cover for me," he ordered, though the words came out as a snarl. He raced out of the pub before the barmaid could protest.

000

He tore his way through the streets, towards the Unit, almost knocking over Billy Mitchell at his stall before he had even begun. At his pace, with his fitness, it did not take long. Soon enough, he could see them at the end of the road, luminous yellow ambulances, police cars and then the crowds. People had such insanely high, innate, intense curiosity. Sometimes they just couldn't look away. They had to peer and pry into other people's pain... Schadenfreude. It was everywhere. Were the roles reversed, Christian questioned how they would like it if that was their mother, their partner, and they were suffering, but everyone knew of their grief... watched it unfold.

But there were ambulances... If Zainab was dead, had been found that way about half an hour ago, would they still be there? Surely it would just be the police cars and a pathologist... Was someone else hurt? Was she really still alive? Rumour was never very clear, let alone accurate. Hope sparked inside him and he picked up his pace, forcing himself to run just that little bit faster. When he reached the crowds, he did not quite slow down quick enough, and almost skidded into those at the back. He was then forced to elbow his way through to the front, to the police tape.

The first thing he saw was Syed. All he saw was Syed sometimes. The younger man stood on the other side of the police line, completely alone. Oh God, he looked so lost... Christian could barely drag his eyes away from him, but he registered the presence of both Tamwar and Masood in the moment that he paused. The reams of uniformed figures teeming behind the tape were as anonymous to Christian as shop mannequins were; faceless supports for clothes and nothing more.

Shaking off his paralysis, Christian ducked under the tape, but a hand on his chest prevented him from taking a step forwards. "You can't come in here, mate."

"Yes, yes I can," Christian growled, and called out, "Sy!"

The agony in the dark eyes which met his made Christian want to weep for him. "Christian." The whisper was almost completely stolen by the wind, but the policeman dropped his hand to allow Christian to step forwards. A moment later, his strong arms were around Syed.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Christian murmured down into Syed's dark hair. He held the man who had once been his lover so close it was almost crushing, but he knew that was what the younger man needed. Part of him knew that he ought not to be so obviously close to Syed, but who was going to scold them? Zainab certainly was not. A hysterical bubble of laughter burst in Christian's throat.

"She's dead. Mum's dead," Syed gasped desperately. His hands found the chest of Christian's shirt and he latched on, clinging to him. A drowning man in the middle of the street, though the only water falling was from his eyes. Tears rushed down his cheeks, staining his eyes red. What the hell did anything matter anymore? Christian would hold him tight, Christian would never let him sink.

"Shh, shh, I know. I know she is," Christian soothed. "I'm sorry." There was nothing he could do or say to make this better, but hold the other as he was doing. How could he tell Syed it was all OK, when it was anything but? "I've got you."

Syed's whole body was trembling, shaking far more violently than the shiver which had occurred earlier that morning, at the thoughts of Bradley's death. But the words poured from Syed's lips as tears did from his eyes. "It's my fault, Christian. She's dead because of me. It's all my fault!" He was choking on his words, the shuddering of his chest and the constriction of his throat making it near impossible to speak.

Horrified that Syed could think that, Christian ordered, "It isn't your fault, Syed. Stop that. Stop that now." His tone was near unforgivably stern for addressing a man who had just lost his mother, but Christian had to cut off the thought before it could fix its gnarly roots in Syed's mind firmly. He had seen the younger man's downwards spiral into that belief before, and was determined that it was not going to happen again. "Don't do that to yourself."

"But it is... I argued with her... I slammed the door."

Past that sob, Christian could get very little more out of him, and quieted in turn. They stood there, still and near silent, Christian holding his love close against him as the wind whipped around them, chafing his cheeks. Syed's were sheltered by Christian, but goosebumps raised on the older man's arms; he had rushed from the warmth of the Vic in nothing but a short sleeved shirt, and found himself superficially grateful that he had Syed's warmth against his front.

He had promised himself long ago - though smarting from Zainab's attacks with postcards and in a relationship with Leyton - that he would be there for Syed. Whenever the other needed him, until love's cruel grip released them, he would be there, to hold him, to make him laugh, to let him talk... about anything and everything, to spare a smile when it was most needed.

Standing in the middle of the street, Christian found himself bereft of words which would comfort his love. What if Syed was waiting for him to say something? But no... one glance down told Christian that Syed was battling with his own guilt laden torment. Christian sighed. Her might not have been the president of the Zainab fanclub, but that didn't mean he believed she deserved to die; her opinions and his clashed on so many occasions, but the worst conflict occurred between her and Syed, because there was so much emotion there. But however she insulted and hurt Syed, shied away from his embrace as if it were poison to her and her baby, the son had always loved her. Christian therefore had no right to make any judgement, let alone feel hurt.

The sound of a cry whipped past Christian's ear and he drew away from Syed slightly in surprise. It had come from the doorway to the Unit. As he watched, a bundle was pressed into Masood's arms; that was the source of the cry. The cry of a newborn. Christian gasped. "Is that the baby?"

Syed confirmed it with a nod. "My brother."

A/N2: Chapters will be longer than this in the future I promise. Reviews are love.