Author's note: all usual disclaimers apply.

This is based on my recent personal experiences of some troublesome Australian invaders. I think the English equivalents are far more civilised... but that would not make for a good story. Events have been exaggerated and changed to protect the innocent, but you can assume Tommy's actions in the first scene bare a significant resemblance to those of my husband... Barbara's efforts bear no resemblance to mine of course.

Detective Inspector Tommy Lynley drummed his fingers on the top of his steering wheel. He checked his watch... again. His sergeant, Barbara Havers, could be somewhat erratic in the way she treated time, but this morning she was outdoing herself. He had been waiting outside her flat for over twenty minutes. He sighed. Enough was enough. Today was not the time to test his temper. He hated New Year's Eve, and this year they were rostered for a double shift that would mean they would miss the one aspect of New Year that he enjoyed - the midnight fireworks. A bad day was getting off to a roaring start.

It was unseemly, but he tooted. Loudly.

Tommy expected Barbara to come rushing out of the door, full of apologies, still pulling on a piece of clothing or trying to force her foot into her already-laced shoe. His annoyance instantly softened, and he smiled as he waited. She amused him when she was flustered and late. Barbara did not do vulnerable well, but he liked her softer side. He knew it annoyed her to be shown up as less than what she thought was his expectation. In reality, she always exceeded her job description - as a police officer, as a partner, and as a friend.

A minute after his reminder her door remained tightly closed. He took a deep breath. Patience was not one of his strong suits. He tooted again, this time letting his hand rest on his horn somewhat longer than was polite. Three doors in the block opened, and the occupants gave him looks ranging from disdain to veiled threats. Barbara's door remained stubbornly closed. This time his annoyance morphed into concern.

He counted to ten. There was a logical reason he was sure, but a sour taste began to rise in his throat. He hurried to her door and rang the bell. Inside he heard Barbara swear - loudly and explicitly.

"Barbara? Are you okay? It's nearly eight o'clock."

The door he was leaning against was pulled open in a violent sweep. "Sorry."

There was no hint of apology in her tone. Barbara's hair was pressed against her head on one side as if compressed as she slept. She was in a long pale blue t-shirt, or perhaps a short nightie, with a cartoon polar bear ice skating across a pond in pursuit of a seal. Tommy found his eyes drawn downwards to shapely legs he had never seen naked before. He felt the tips of his ears go red. He should look up. He knew that. Ogling was not what any decent man would do, and he prided himself on his decency. His eyes would not obey him, and continued to drink in the sight of her smooth skin and... what the heck? Barbara had on a pair of mid-calf khaki Wellingtons.

"Expecting rain?" he asked.

"I imagine so. That's probably the cause."

Tommy frowned but had trouble hiding an amused grin. "The cause of what? Did you sleep in those?"

Barbara looked down. Her face instantly turned puce. She pulled self-consciously at the hem of her nightwear trying to lower it. "This? Mmm." She looked up. "Now you're here you can help." She turned on her heels and rushed into her bedroom.

Tommy shook his head. The woman was mad, but a little madness lightened his life. He followed. "Help with what? You are... where did they come from?"

"Outside I presume. I woke up to find this."

Barbara's hand swept around her room. Covering every wall were trails of small ants. In the corners near the ceiling, they had established strong defensive positions covering all three surfaces in a mass of black.

"Good heavens."

"It's worse in here."

Barbara opened a door on the wall opposite her unmade bed and stepped into her bathroom. Ants covered every surface in a swirling mass of movement. Soldier ants marched defiantly up the vertical surfaces while others moved down lethargically as if returning, battle weary, from the frontline. Her pedestal basin was covered entirely with the little beasts. Trails led up into her medicine cabinet, and some ants seemed mesmerised by their reflections in its mirror. The toilet seat was up, and the ants had colonised it, many taking turns to drink from the bowl. The room smelt strongly of menthol. On the floor, two cans of insect spray lay as if dropped. No ants crawled over them. In fact, the inch space surrounding each tin was the only area not crossed by the ants.

Tommy stared at each surface in turn. The ants were everywhere. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Me either. When I woke up, there was only about a quarter the number. I sprayed them and thought they would die. Those did, but then more and more kept coming. They're like Napoleon sweeping across Europe."

Tommy turned and looked at her. It was an odd analogy, and he did not like to correct her about the historical inaccuracy of her claim and the fact that the French Emperor had fought a series of strategic battles rather than invade like the Mongol Hordes of the 13th century.

As he watched, the density of the ants increased. The seething black mass was now colonising the bedroom walls. Barbara beat at them with a plastic fly swat in a desperate effort to stem the flow.

"Barbara, do you have a vacuum cleaner?"

Without pausing her frantic swatting, she pointed to her hall. "In the cupboard."

Tommy found the cleaner and a power point. He switched it on and entered the battle. The hot air from the vacuum smelt vaguely of lavender. He assumed Barbara used one of those cheap carpet deodorisers that he hated. With grim determination, he ran the head over the trail of ants now heading for her lounge room.

Several thousand black bodies disappeared with each swipe of the cleaner's brush head. But then the ants rallied and organised their troops to evade his attack. Undeterred, Tommy focussed on his task. Slowly he managed to force the front line back. Salients of ants formed. He removed one bulge only to have another form on the opposite end of the line.

He could hear Barbara in the bathroom, now desperately hosing them with her hand-held shower spray. Trails of steam wafted an acidic scent of menthol and dead ants into her bedroom sending the ants into a frenzy. Many of them abandoned their fight with him and rushed back into the bathroom to help their comrades. He increased the rate of his hoovering, making smaller sweeps as he herded them towards the bathroom door.

"Die! Die you little bastards!"

He looked up to see Barbara stretching up with her water jet aimed at the ceiling. Ants fell in clumps, and black spray bounced off the walls. Barbara was sodden and speckled with ant bodies. Some were still alive, and she used her free hand to swipe at them. When she turned, her wet tee-shirt clung to every curve. Tommy's eyes settled on her breasts which stretched the cloth taut as they heaved up and down with her cries.

Tommy felt a stinging pain in his hands. A thousand sharp teeth simultaneously nipped at him. He looked down. The previously silver wand of the vacuum was black. He dropped it and beat furiously at his arms. The ants that had reached his hands made defiant runs to reach his sleeves. They tickled as they ran through the hair on his forearms. As he squashed them, dots of brown seeped through the cloth.

His hands and arms burned. It felt as if he had been sprayed with liquid fire. He ran to her kitchen and plunged his arms under the tap, flicking up the handle up with his chin. The cooling water soothed the sting. His shirt was ruined, but it was a small price to save his arms.

"Argh! Shi..." Barbara's anguished cry was cut off by the sound of a crash.

Tommy shut off the tap and ran back to Barbara's room. She was lying on the floor of her bathroom. Blood oozed from a gash on her forehead. The spray in her hand fountained harmlessly in the air while the ants began to cover her body.

His heart stopped beating. "Barbara!"

"I slipped."

He rushed over and lifted her head off the tiles, wiping blood and ants from her face. "Come on. We're getting out of here."

He pulled her backwards into her bedroom and lifted her onto her bed. He picked up the hose which was now sweeping across the floor in erratic curves and killed the water. It was no defence, but he shut the bathroom door in a vain attempt to restrict the invasion.

Barbara was sitting holding speckled tissues against her cut. Her body was shaking. Tommy was not sure if it was the shock, cold or just a result of her sobbing. He gently pulled her to her feet and began to walk her out. He grabbed her coat from the hook near the front door and wrapped it around her shoulders. Her bag was on the floor. He picked that up. "Are your keys in here?"

"Yeah."

He opened the door and helped her through then slammed it shut, abandoning her flat to the invaders. Barbara leant on him as he helped her to his car. "I'll take you to A and E."

"No. No hospital."

"You might have a concussion."

"No hospital."

Tommy started the car and pulled away from the kerb. His partner could be stubborn, and stupid. He would get her to his townhouse and call his physician and insist he come over.