Apologies, it's not the usual happy fluff that I produce, (well not to start with). I promise that my other stories are happier and that I won't leave you hanging too long for chapters (there aren't many of them!) Again, you might have to suspend your disbelief a little when reading this – not sure where this story came from – theoretically its possible so doesn't have to be set in an AU, although it probably doesn't follow with the majority of people's thinking.

His timing had never been very good. He always seemed to get it wrong, arriving either too early or too late. But today he was spot on, the only difference was that he had no business hearing the conversation he had stumbled on or rather he had but would rather he hadn't.

"How late are you?"

"Two weeks."

"And you're definitely pregnant?" Camille nodded. "Have you told Richard?"

"Not yet."

He had tried to extricate himself as quietly as possible from their conversation but had ended up walking into a chair. His mind had been too preoccupied to concern itself with where he was putting his feet. The noise it made scraping across the floor was the loudest he thought he had ever heard. His panicked eyes met the equally startled ones of Camille and her mother.

"um, sorry, I should...I mean, I have to...um sorry." He left before either of them had a chance to formulate a sentence let alone find a way to get him to stay. He thought he could hear Camille follow him.

She was behind him. "Richard!" He sped on, seeking the sanctity of the station. She wouldn't dare try and broach the subject there. It had always been off limits with regards to their relationship. He was almost there before it occurred to him that at that moment he didn't want to be surrounded by the easy camaraderie of Dwayne and Fidel. He wanted to be alone. But it was too late to change direction, Camille would surely catch up with him if he did that. He couldn't think properly, the same sentence ran through his mind how could she? How could she? He was on the steps, his feet somehow managing to accomplish them despite him having no control over them anymore.

"Dwayne?" He practically bellowed the name without realising.

Yes Chief!"

"Do we have the results back from the lab on the Wilcox case yet?"

"Yes chief, it's what we..."Camille cut him off.

"We need to talk."

"Not now."

"Yes now!" The two junior officers exchanged glances, saw the ferocity in Camille's eyes and promptly decided that there were better places for them to be at that particular moment in time. They mumbled something about patrol and practically ran out of the door.

"Richard, what you heard..." he had walked away from her, pacing the office like a trapped animal. "I thought you'd be happy?"

He stopped the pacing and looked at her. For all his confusion he suddenly felt very angry. "Oh I'm sorry where are my manners? Congratulations I'm very happy for you."

She couldn't understand his sarcasm. "For us. It's what you've always wanted."

"Yes I wanted us to have a child. Us."

"I don't understand."

"You're pregnant."

"Yes."

"I think that speaks for itself don't you?"

"Richard, why is it so hard for you to understand that it's yours."

"Because it can't be." He was adamant.

"Why not?"

"You know why."

"That just means it's improbable."

"8% isn't improbable Camille. It's nigh on impossible especially given the time frame of our relationship." He was rambling now and running his hands through his hair so viciously that he was in danger of pulling it out. "I should have seen this coming. It's what every woman wants for Christ's sake!" He rounded on her. "You said it was fine. You said I was fine, that you didn't need anything else. I would have understood that you didn't want me anymore, God knows I've been through it enough, but this? I don't understand why you felt the need to go behind my back. What did you think would happen? That I'd roll over and tell you I'd be happy looking after another man's child because I couldn't have one of my own? Or perhaps you thought I wouldn't notice. That I would pat myself on the back and say, 'Oh Camille's pregnant, oh well done Poole, you must be virile after all.'"

"You really think it's not yours."

"I think that's blatantly obvious, don't you? I only hope you at least chose someone who was white to complete the deception, there's nothing worse than the colour being off when a father sees his offspring for the first time."

The slap wasn't wholly unexpected, but it still hurt when her hand connected with his face. She hadn't been lying when she said that she could probably beat him in a fist fight. It took the wind out of him enough to make him draw breath a little before he could attack her with another verbal assault.

She didn't give him the chance. "You don't deserve to be a father." Her voice was cold with anger as she stood in front of him, her eyes brimming with tears, her face frozen with shock, before she turned on her heel and hurried from the room leaving him on his own.

_

Richard couldn't stay in the office, the heat was too oppressive, the walls felt like they were closing in on him. Worst of all he couldn't bear the idea of spending time under the puzzled gaze of his colleagues. He had to leave.

Leave. What did that mean? Surely if he wanted to go home he would have thought those exact words but leave? Leaving sounded infinitely more permanent. Leave his job? Leave the island? Could he stay now? Now that he had nothing again? What would the point be? To torture himself perhaps by watching Camille through this pregnancy and see her bring up a child that didn't belong to him. To think on all the things he could have had, was so close to having. No. It was impossible. He had to leave. He gathered his briefcase and walked past the two desks by the door. It was pointless to say goodbye now, he would have to come back for the paperwork, the endless meetings with the commissioner. He would be here for a little while longer, would have to be. But after that he would be free again, back to the anonymity that he had left behind. The loneliness. He almost welcomed it if it meant the pain would stop.

"Are you coming back sir?" It was Fidel who had voiced the question.

"No. I um, I'm not feeling well."

"Yes sir."