Anita lifted the pile of suspension files and made the walk back to the filing cabinet outside of Jim's office. Ah, dear old Windows Vista, I will never mock you again, she smiled to herself. "Anita, a moment please?" Jim cocked his head around his office door. His face was stony and even more humorless than normal. Trev gestured jokingly towards Anita, pulling imaginary trousers down at her as she walked towards Jim's office.

She stepped inside; the stifling warmth from the three bar heater hit her and the whole atmosphere of the room changed. Jim's 'easygoing boss' exterior was gone, a fake, as she had always suspected it was. Before Anita could speak, Jim drew closer than was comfortable, using his 6'2" height advantage against her. "DI Billcliffe assures me he gave you the Camden report two days ago to pass on to me, and so far you've done no such thing." He was so close she could feel his breath on her face, the heat radiating off him as much as the fire at the side of her. "Sorry, Jim, but I've no idea.." she stammered. "IT'S DCI KEATS TO YOU!" he barked.

She felt a tinge of fear, followed by an even bigger tinge of anger well in the pit of her stomach.

"Well, 'DCI Keats'," she spat, waggling her fingers in quotes for emphasis, " I haven't received any such document and I invite you to search my desk if you can't take my word for it, sir," she ground out through gritted teeth. "It is NOT my job to go sorting through some silly little dollybird's desk every time she loses a valuable report!" Jim's breath was hot on her face; in spite of herself she cowered backwards a little, hating herself for it. "Do you have any idea of the gravity of this situation Anita? Can you even comprehend how important this report is? See, while you are contemplating pop concerts and making friends with the lads, I am doing real police work; real, actual, important police work. Can you understand that, you silly tart?" Jim's face contorted from the normal, handsome, thirtysomething man in a suit to a snarling and unrecognizable entity.

Anita compartmentalized her fear and upset, pushing it further and further down until she could kid herself it wasn't there. This was all in her bloody head for God's sake, her invention; she wasn't going to be spoken to like this.

With that, she looked down at her black Clarks court shoes and shook her head, and ran her fingers through her hair as if to compose herself. For a moment she remembered Neil, her 'Guv' back in 2009 and one of her best friends in the whole world. The memory served as a reminder that she couldn't be farther away from home. She looked up at the tiled ceiling and laughed, possibly the most manic one she'd ever uttered.

"What is so funny, Anita?"

She laughed ironically.

"'Miss Saunders' to you, DCI Keats!" she said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. AH!, she thought, my metaphorical balls, there they are. Keats stepped back with a smirk, surprisingly enjoying the show.

"As I was saying," Anita continued, "I've never laid eyes on that report. DI Billcliffe may well have managed to type up a few lines between getting what can only be described as s*** faced in the pub and shagging the blond from the typing pool. However, I can assure you, DCI Keats, that finished report has never, ever landed on my desk." The waggling of her fingers in quotation signs each time she said his name only served to ratchet up Keats' fury. "In fact, I reckon you can take this poxy PA job and shove it up your self-satisfied arse! I'm a sodding civil engineer, for God's sake, not an indentured servant!" Keats paused for a moment. "Are you quite finished?" he asked, calmer and quieter than she had expected. She gritted her teeth and swallowed. "I'll have my notice written out for you first thing tomorrow." With that, Anita spun on her heels and stalked towards the door. Then, as if powered by some unknown force, the door slammed shut, though she didn't detect any draft in the room. Her hand rested on the handle of the door and she struggled to hold in the tears that threatened to spill. She was so angry and frustrated, why couldn't she just go home?

Suddenly there were cool hands on her shoulders. Anita shivered and couldn't turn around. "Anita, wait." Jim's voice was almost caring, almost compassionate. She swallowed again, "It's fine DCI Keats, I understand, but I don't think this job is really for me." She managed to speak, her hand still trying to force the handle. His long, straight fingers reached towards hers. "I can't allow you to resign," he spoke again, his voice barely more than a whisper.

She turned to look at him, and his dark eyes bore into hers, her tears threatening to fall. "A..Anita, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I just had to see, to test you.." His hand slid from her hand up her arm slowly to cup her face. The look of understanding in his eyes took her unawares, and despite her better judgment, she found herself leaning into him and letting her closely guarded tears fall. "What do you mean, 'test' me? I've never seen that file, I don't have it." God, she hated the way her voice squeaked like that when she was upset. Why couldn't she just bottle everything up stoically like everyone else?

Keats continued to hold on to her, his hands sliding down to her upper arms. Anita sensed something changing in his touch, and started to feel uneasy again, "DCI Keats, I really think I ought to leave," she murmured. "No," was his only response as his grip tightened on her arms. There was a long pause as his gaze on her intensified. "You're..." she quavered, clearing her throat, trying to maintain control. "You're hurting me.." She broke his gaze and looked downwards, trying not to show her fear. His trance broke, "Oh! Dear Lord. I'm sorry, don't know my own strength sometimes," he laughed, trying to defuse the exchange. His cheery mask was back in place and he rubbed gently at her upper arms, still not managing to erase the red hand marks he left on them. Finally, he let her open the office door, but just as she turned to leave, she felt his hand take hold of her wrist. "Fancy a drink later? My shout, of course. We'll put this behind us, eh?" Jim smiled sweetly at her. How can a person's demeanor change like that so quickly, she thought.

Later that evening, she sat in the Railway Arms with Sue in their usual seats, just far enough away from the rest of the group for a private conversation. "I don't get it? He wants to buy you a drink, what's so bad about that?" Sue laughed, taking a sip of her white wine. "You don't know what he's like, there's something not right about him, he nearly snapped my arms earlier when I said I was going to resign." Sue scoffed at her. "Stop being so bloody dramatic, 'Nita? So a boss wants to buy his young and pretty PA a drink. Well, I'll go to the foot of our stairs, then!" Anita stifled a giggle, she'd not heard her say that in so long. "Is he nice looking?" Sue's eyes narrowed as if she was trying to read her response. Anita shuddered and replied, "Oh, piss off, he's a suit! I'd not touch him with yours!"

"Chance would be a fine thing!" Sue fired back. "Come on, pull yourself together, what's the worst that could happen?" And with that, a shadow appeared behind Anita's right shoulder, a distinctly tall, familiar shadow. "Evening, ladies, not interrupting anything am I?" Jim smiled, a bottle of house white in his hand. "No, not at all! You must be DCI Keats, I've heard a lot about you," Sue chirped, a distinct glint of mischief in her eyes. Anita winced at the statement."Oh, please, call me Jim, I'm not at work now," he replied gallantly. Sue set about charming the pants off of Jim, and every now and again Anita would remember who this girl was sitting opposite her. Was this the same woman who'd taught her "Less is more, 'Nita-no need to put it all on a plate for 'im.." ? She had to smile as Sue twirled her hair in her fingers and beamed gleefully at Jim, occasionally touching the back of his hand when making an important point. Still, Anita was glad of the distraction; at least, if Sue was chatting him up, it took the heat off of her somewhat. In this context, Jim had become almost likeable; he cracked the odd joke and had no end of amusing stories to tell. All things considered, this was shaping up to be quite an enjoyable evening; well, as enjoyable as an evening can be stuck in your own subconscious listening to Adam and the Ants.

"Well, I'd better get off, early shift again tomorrow and Manchester Royal Infirmary will grind to a halt without me. It's quite a thing to be so needed, eh?" Sue grinned and downed the last few dregs of wine from her glass. As soon as she left, Jim turned to Anita and topped up her glass. "You'll stay a little longer, won't you?" His smile was warm and the atmosphere was good this evening, so she nodded, taking another sip. "I just wanted to say, Anita, I'm sorry about earlier, you've probably realized that I'm kind of married to the job, I find it ..." Jim's voice started fading in and out, her vision blurring. She'd not drank that much; three glasses at most...

She screwed up her eyes trying to regain focus, but the room began to spin, her body feeling heavy, shoes like cement bricks. "Are you all right? Anita, what's wrong? Anita!" Jim's voice seemed to be getting further and further away. And, just like that, everything went black.

She awoke in her flat, the 1980's flat with the battered beige sofa, the beige clashing furiously with the orange carpet that she assumed was a throwback from the 70's. Still, that was the least of her worries at the moment. Her heavy eyelids flickered open to the feel of a cold hand on her forehead. "Anita.." Her eyes struggled to focus, but she knew the soft but masculine voice straight away. Jim's voice. She wanted to ask what had happened but she couldn't manage more than a few incoherent sounds. Whatever had happened to her still had its grip on her. "You had a funny turn in the pub; the landlord thought you were drunk but I said I knew you and you must be unwell so I brought you back here." His voice was strangely soothing and he continued to stroke her fringe out of her eyes. She let her eyes drift slowly closed again.

She sensed Jim getting up and fiddling about with her hi-fi. He'd never struck her as a music lover, but she'd buy anything at this point. The music began, soft and familiar...

"Libraries give us power
Then work came and set us free..."

Her eyes shot open in an instant. What? she screamed internally. It was the Manic Street Preachers-a band that won't form until early the next year, and, more disturbingly, 'Design For Life', a song that wouldn't come out until 1996. Her eyes focused intensely on Jim, burning into him and willing herself to find her voice to demand the answers that he clearly had. Jim swung around in one fluid movement, shrugging off his trench coat and settling his eyes on Anita lying helpless before him. His smile was still friendly but he looked almost exhilarated at the same time, clearly enjoying the position of power he held.

"Thought you'd like this, they're one of your favorites, aren't they?" Jim moved back towards the sofa again, resting the back of his hand on her cheek. "Preferred them before Richey left though, didn't you." Anita's eyebrows furrowed, her voice made a feeble squeak as she looked up in to Jim's deep brown eyes. "Everything will be okay, Anita, you'll see. You just have to trust me." Jim stroked her hand, gently caressing it in his own freezing grasp. Why was he always so cold?, Anita asked herself through her haze. "Can you do that?" Jim brushed his lips lightly on the back of her hand and waited for her reply. She blinked slowly and nodded, it was the slightest of movements but it seemed to delight Jim no end. "Good," he beamed, "and no more talk of leaving us, 'ay? We're not letting you go quite yet."