Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your reviews so far, they make my day! There's been a little bit of anticipation for this chapter so I hope it lives up to its promise. It was quite a hard chapter to write, I couldn't get it to flow properly, hence the delay.

It wasn't my intention to have no Hanssen in the previous chapter but that's how it worked out, don't worry, there's lots of him (so to speak) in this one to make up for his absence.

One final thing – I don't ever drink alcohol, that means the start of this chapter runs the risk of being a little inaccurate. I'm willing to do quite a lot for this story but that doesn't stretch to getting drunk so I can write more 'accurately' about the hangover that inevitably follows so please squint and skip over any bits which don't work. :-)

Usual disclaimers. Hope you're all well and recovering after Tuesday's episode :-)

Ok, the real final thing. A warning: Here there be monsters! Lemony monsters! If you don't want to read that sort of thing, wait for Chapter 11, you won't miss much (any! This is quite shameless smut) plot. It should be posted in the next couple of days.

Chapter 10.

After a couple of frustratingly uncoordinated attempts, the device responsible for emitting such an awful sound is silenced.

"Gud in himmel." The new-found silence is raspingly punctuated by a gravelly male voice. He remembers one of the reasons why he doesn't drink alcohol – he inevitably winds up feeling like death warmed up the next day.

"Korkad," he mutters as he risks opening an eye.

"Otroligt korkad." It's not often that Hanssen can apply credit to his actions as being bloody stupid but his decision to buy and consume as much whiskey as he did, almost certainly qualifies his status as a temporary idiot.

It takes Hanssen a moment or two of staring at his bedroom ceiling to realise that it is still dark outside and that the only illumination in the room is from the street lamp over the road. Taking a fortifying breath, he rolls onto his side and lifts his head just enough to see the glowing display of his alarm clock.

06:30

He realises that the awful noise wasn't his own alarm because it hasn't been set and he doesn't give the matter any further thought before sinking back into a dreamless sleep. The warmth and comfort of his bed proving too great to resist.

"Idiot!"

His eyes snap open suddenly, moving from asleep to wide awake in seconds. Registering the amount of light in the room, Hanssen is embarrassed and angry to realises that he is going to be incredibly late for work this morning, not what he needs with the investigation hanging over his head. He sharply tugs aside the duvet and as he does so, he catalogues the symptoms of excessive alcohol intake and compares them to his symptoms; significant thirst and headache, only mildly sensitive to light however and nausea is thankfully absent, muscle fatigue is present and his neck is a little stiff, probably a result of sleeping awkwardly.

He stops and frowns as he sees the discarded pile of clothes on his bedroom floor. His clothes. He doesn't ever just discard his clothes. Then realisation hits him.

With a slump, Hanssen sits back down on the side of his bed as he realises that he isn't late for work. As it stands he doesn't currently have a job to go to. The events of the previous day begin to make themselves known to him, charting the progression of his day from bad to worse – the early wake up call from Mr. Levy; the first visit from Sir Fraser; the accusation from Mr. Hewitt; the second visit from Sir Fraser.

He'd left the hospital at that point, had driven around aimlessly for a little while, wondering what on earth to do, not wanting to go home. In the end he'd wound up in Sainsbury's, taking advantage of the lull in the middle of the day between the lunch crowd and the end-of-day rush to do some food shopping. Ever practical, he'd sneered at himself, even on days of emotional upheaval. In an attempt to silence the sneering voice, he'd added some whiskey to the other items in his trolley and headed home.

He'd been quite happy, wallowing in his misery and content to remain doing so all evening until Sahira's arrival at his door triggered all sort of reactions in him. He replays the events involving Sahira in his mind, a habit he has been unable to break in nearly seventeen years. He remembers walking away from her into his kitchen. She followed him, as she always does, passionate as usual, demanding answers. He can recall most of their conversation leading up to their kiss.

Kiss.

He'd forgotten about that. Hanssen closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose as he is bombarded with images of the way she responded to him. He remembers the phone call and the way she stormed off after he mentioned her husband's extra-marital activities and he is shamed by his behaviour towards her, making him no better than the man he was mocking. Another reason why he doesn't drink alcohol.

He rises and stalks to the bathroom, disrobing as he goes and turns the shower on when he remembers his final actions of the night, after she had left. If he felt shamed before, he is disgusted now with his own behaviour towards Sahira. As he adjusts the water temperature he snidely refers to it as one final act to top off his horrendous day.

Hanssen stands unmoving under the spray of the water, letting the hot water run over the back of his head and neck, trying to let it massage and relax his stiff muscles. He wonders how he can look Sahira in the eye again, afraid that she would somehow know what he had done.

When the water begins to cool, he shuts off the shower and towels himself dry before shaving. Once completed, he heads back towards his bedroom and proceeds to dress himself, choosing a short sleeved shirt instead of his usual suit shirts and some dark jeans.

Hanssen leans down to pick up his glasses from his bedside table and spots an unfamiliar phone. Faced again with the realisation that Sahira will be coming back after work to pick it up and he'll have to deal with her. He tentatively picks up the device, his fingertips accidentally brushing the screen and he can see a text message from Mr. Douglas waiting for her.

He scowls down at the screen until it goes black again before reawakening the device, angry and determined to put an end to the constant interference of Mr. Douglas. As long as he's known Sahira, she has used the same four digits for everything, PIN codes for her phone, for her debit cards, for passwords and he taps out '6882' into the phone with success. He reads the message and several previous from Greg and is about to delete it before refraining, knowing he is being unreasonable and cannot dictate who she is friends with. Their friendship is proof enough that she has a horrible taste in friends and reluctantly, Hanssen locks the phone again, putting it into his pocket.

Walking into his kitchen, Hanssen puts the kettle on to make a cup of tea and clears away the final evidence of the alcohol, feeling no particular satisfaction at watching the amber liquid pour down the drain.

Not knowing exactly when Sahira would appear, Hanssen spends the rest of the day sitting around, alternating between reading some journal articles and staring at the slow-moving hands of the clock, counting down the hours 'till the end of her shift. He refuses to admit to himself that he is fidgeting as he sees the clock approach and pass half past six but he is unable to concentrate on anything until he hears the firm knock at his front door.

"Is now a good time?" Sahira asks, standing on his doorstep and Hanssen gets the feeling that his answer will be irrelevant, she will be entering his house, regardless of his feelings on the matter.

"I have poured away the alcohol, you will not be mauled today." His awkward attempt at breaking the ice is seized on by Sahira.

"Not even if I ask nicely?" Sahira reflexively responds and blames Greg for the remark when she sees Hanssen's expression tighten and shutter. She apologises for her insensitivity, thinking that usually she would entice a smirk from the Swede with a comment like that. It strengthens her resolve to help him as much as she can, more than he'll undoubtedly want to let her.

"My behaviour was inexcusable." Sahira lays a hand on his arm but he jerks it away. "I am in a position of authority which I abused." Sahira decides it's probably not the best time to mention his suspension, lest he throw her out or pin her to the wall and they need to talk.

"We need to talk, Henrik." She realises that his previous comment was as close to an apology as she was going to get.

"No we don't." Sahira hopes he isn't going to be difficult again but her hopes are dashed when she hears his response.

"Yes. We do." She's getting fed up of watching him walk away from her and she follows him into his kitchen, trying not to stare at the kitchen unit where they kissed yesterday. "You told me that 'it wasn't about what you had done but what you wanted to do?' "

"Not quite," he replies, seemingly indifferent. Sahira sighs to herself, she could never hope to out-manipulate Hanssen in a game of words and so she uses a blunt approach.

"Is that why you were temporarily relocated?" Sahira watches him closely, watching for some kind of reaction to her words. She knows that he isn't being entirely truthful with her because of the way he deliberately wasn't looking at her, she'd known him long enough and well enough to know that he's hiding something. Not that she needed this awkward exchange to know that.

"Don't you think if I was inclined to tell you anything, that I would have already done so?" He channels his work persona as much as he can, all too aware of her proximity to him. "Besides, you already have all of the answers. Now are you going to be here long enough that I will be required to make tea?"

"Henrik, I don't understand you at times." Hanssen huffs and rolls his eyes dismissively, acting as if he is bored with the conversation's direction and duration. He stops short of checking his watch, realising that it would probably get him slapped and he can't afford to let her touch him.

"I know you don't like being ignored and yet you shun my help. I'm your friend, Henrik, and it's not like you have hundreds of other people queuing up to offer their help either. So is it me?"

'It's always been you' his mind responds and he has to force himself not to say that out loud; maintaining a silence until he can formulate a sufficiently barbed answer to disguise his feelings on the matter.

"I am quite fed up of your constant unwanted probing into my personal life. I understand that you're upset but haven't you taken this intrusion quite far enough?" Hanssen states clearly, not meaning a word of it and looks down at the floor when he sees the initial flicker of hurt in Sahira's face. Sahira turns and catches Hanssen by surprise, pushing him against the kitchen unit, his eyes widen a little as they snap up to meet hers and he exclaims in surprise. "What-"

"You jerk! You're fed up? You want to talk about fed up? I can tell you all about that, Henrik."

"As can I." Not that he would ever say a word and they both know it. It's what has got them into this situation. They're stood, glaring at one another, both breathing a little heavier than they would normally, he knows it won't take much to turn this aggression and channel it into something much more enjoyable.

"You know something, Henrik?" Glaring at him, he can't help but think that she is stunning, all fire and passion and directed at him. He can feel his self-control unravelling around him, his ice and stone melting and crumbling in the face of her. He doesn't quite know whether to encourage this tension between them or to back away before either gets burned.

"I know a lot of things, Ms. Shah." He fires back instantly, goading her into another reaction, his tone insinuating his superiority over her. "Where would you have me begin?"

"Do you know how much of a bastard you are?" It's not the kind of question he can answer directly and he won't admit how much her hissed words sting.

"One imagines it's the result of being pestered constantly by such a harridan." Part of him is horrified at his outburst, wishing he could retract his statement before she leaves him, storming away again. The rest of him is gearing up for a fight, relishing her reactions, craving the warmth of her ire.

"A harridan? That's through too many years working with you, Henrik – I'm turning into a reflection of you."

"I hardly think so. You're far too short." He tries to sound dismissive and uninterested but finds he can't keep his eyes off her.

"Being taller would be the only way that being with you would benefit me." He blinks initially in response, not expecting that response from her and at a loss of how to respond.

Ignoring the tatters of his self-control and the voice in his ear telling him not to touch her, he strikes. Pushing himself away from the kitchen unit that she had shoved him towards, the one they'd kissed against only yesterday. His hands grasp her shoulders, propelling her backwards until her back is against the kitchen wall.

"Not the only benefit..." he lowers his mouth to her ear, his breath brushing against her skin and he has to remind himself not to kiss her. If he doesn't touch her skin, they may yet make it out of this situation with clothing and friendship intact, resisting the urge to trail a finger down her jaw and along her collarbone. "You'd be so much more... relaxed." He whispers, making his voice as gravelly and silken as he can manage. He smirks when he notices Sahira gulp and close her eyes, her chest heaving.

"I don't think I've been relaxed since I met you – I can't remember what that feels like." Her words confuse him and serves to remind him that he needs to put some distance between them. Hanssen releases his grip on her shoulders suddenly as if stung and takes a step back, before turning on the spot and leaving the kitchen, escaping to his living room.

Breathing heavily, he slams the door behind him – he feels overheated, slightly light-headed, frantic and aroused as hell. It was not the first time that arguing with Sahira had had this effect on him, but he was sure that he had never been turned on by her presence and arguments to the extent he was now.

He didn't hear the door open, too busy trying to reclaim some semblance of control, willing his body to redistribute some blood back to his brain before he faces her again. Hanssen jerks, not realising that she was even in the room until her hands grasp his hips, her fingertips pressing into his pelvis, the sensation travelling straight to his groin. He gasps as he turns to face her.

Hanssen couldn't speak but did see her gaze leave his face, travel down his body, down his torso until she lingered for an endless few seconds on the bulge in his trousers that he had been trying to subdue through sheer willpower. He had been partially successful, some of the haze lifting and some higher brain functions returning but under her gaze, to his shame, he regressed almost instantly to his previous state, as achingly hard as before. Hanssen could hear his every heart beat pounding in his ears as he held his breath, waiting for her reaction, feeling very exposed suddenly as she stared at him.

Her eyes made their way back up to meet his and the heat in her gaze was enough to tip him over the edge. Beyond caring about what is happening here and now, Hanssen reaches for her, grasping Sahira by the shoulders once more and pulls her back towards him, one hand snaking into her hair as his mouth descended to hers. The kiss was hard, bruising; right now Hanssen wasn't interested in soft and gentle – it was about conquering Sahira and sticking two fingers up to the rest of the world.

Some part of his mind dimly notes that Sahira should be fighting him off, fighting his treatment of her but instead she opens her mouth to his. Instead, she willingly submits to him and her reactions seem to indicate that she wants this as much as he does, the rest of the world be damned.

Stumbling slightly as he slides his hands down to her hips, squeezing her buttocks, encouraging her legs to wrap themselves around him, he manages to take a couple of faltering steps until his shins hit the sofa and he pushes her down onto it, following her, not breaking their tight embrace.

Sahira moves her hands easily under the light fabric of Hanssen's shirt, glad he's not in his suit and that she doesn't have to fight her way past his waistcoat and then untuck his shirt. She lightly scrapes her nails down his back, savouring the feel of the warm, smooth flesh under her fingertips, the way he shivers and relishing the groan she draws from him when she moves her nails to run along his flat stomach, feeling him tense above her.

He readjusts their positions on the sofa, moving her along a bit so that he can sit up and reach for her shirt, almost tearing the buttons from their holes in his hurry to remove the offending garment. He mutters under his breath about his lack of co-ordination but is pleased to note that Sahira seems to be having a similar problem with his belt; however, the way her fingers are grazing his skin are distracting him from his task. He finishes just before she does and sets to work on removing his own shirt.

He has never really been enamoured with his scrawny, awkward frame but judging by the way that Sahira is enthusiastically helping with his shirt, he doubts that she is bothered by his lack of muscle definition, in fact, considering the heat in her current expression he could probably have some obscene tattoo and she wouldn't notice.

Not quite content to leave things to chance, as soon as his shirt is free, he discards it somewhere behind them in the room and covers her body again with his own. Hanssen directs his mouth to her neck, licking and biting once more on the mark that he left on her yesterday evening. Distracted by his task, and by Sahira's marked skin; he doesn't immediately realise that Sahira has managed to unbuckle his belt and unzip his trousers.

"Christ." He pulls back up and lightly rests his forehead on hers, eyes closed, he hisses when Sahira wraps a hand around him. He attempts to say something else but gives up and lowers his mouth to hers once more. The kiss softer than before but still possessive, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, claiming her.

He moves his mouth away, trailing hot kisses down her chest until he reaches her still bra-clad chest and gently nips at the flesh until she whimpers. Raises his head, having to blink to focus, he uses both hands to unwind her legs from around his waist.

"Trousers." Is all he can manage to say and Sahira moves to sit up but Hanssen puts a hand on her stomach, keeping her in place. "Lift your hips."

Smirking, Sahira initially defies him, she leisurely removes her bra and the action entrances him before she complies and Hanssen hurriedly removes the rest of Sahira's clothing. He stands up, looming over the sofa, committing the view to memory because he knows there won't be another time like this. He discards the rest of his clothing before he climbs back onto the sofa, feeling her skin against his.

Sahira threads her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly as he trails two fingers down her body, his arms under her, moving and adjusting her until he is positioned against her. He looks at her, flushed skin, eyes closed and she's never looked more beautiful to him.

"Sahira..." He starts again. "Please tell me you want this as much as I do." Although they're not physically past the point of no return, if she told him no now, it might just kill him.

"Yes," she begins and he pushes into her. "Henrik..." she gasps his name as he enters her, his mouth capturing most of his name and he thinks that the way she groans into his mouth is possibly the most amazing thing he's ever witnessed.

"Jesus." He breaks the kiss just long enough to exclaim at the way she feels around him, her muscles fluttering exquisitely. Without warning he begins to move, pulling back before thrusting back into her, causing her to arch up against him with a cry. He continues his movements, alternating between deeper and shallow strokes, eventually having to break their kiss to let him get enough air into his lungs.

"Henrik," she whimpers his name against his chest, and Hanssen closes his eyes, starting to tense as he continues to drive into her, hoping that she'll come apart soon because he isn't far away. A few moments later he groans as he is unable to resist the sudden tightening of her muscles sending him over the edge. He collapses against her, utterly spent and trembling slightly.

"Did you know you were talking Swedish?" She breaks the silence a little while later, idly running her hands up and down, drawing patterns on his back, his head nestled between her head and shoulder

"When?" He feels himself flush a little as realisation dawns. "Oh right. No, I was not aware of that. I apologise."

"Don't apologise, it was..." Sahira swallows, and Hanssen is amused as he thinks she sounds almost shy as she changes the topic slightly, "what were you saying?"

"I have absolutely no idea." He smiles into her neck, unable to help himself. He is relieved that she hasn't run screaming from him as realisation of what they've done dawns on her. Perhaps that moment will still happen but Hanssen is determined to enjoy this with her as long as he can.

This encounter wasn't quite what he had in mind for them, if they ever reached this stage and he's almost certain that Sahira didn't imagine this for them either. He'll have to find out what she did imagine before tempering his response, knowing that there will not be a second time. He'll be savouring this memory as long as he lives.

"I don't know about you but as much as I am loathe to move – I am too old to sleep on a sofa all night." He presses a kiss to her lips before moving off her, missing her immediately, the cool air of the room a sharp contrast to the warmth of her body and if her gasp is any indication, she feels similarly.

Hanssen turns away from her to begin the process of locating their discarded clothing; he locates and pulls on his boxers and trousers. He turns to hand Sahira her bra and he catches sight of an expression on her face which he can't quite place. It looks a little like sadness but is gone almost instantly. He watches her gather the remainder of her clothing and she dresses quickly, wondering if he's done something wrong, to upset her and he realises that he has – he's slept with a married woman. His best friend no less.

"Ah." His heart sinks at her expression. "I was... never mind."

"What, Henrik?" She asks not meeting his gaze and he feels like the biggest fool in the world.

"I was obviously too presumptuous in my assumption but I had rather thought you'd be staying." He feels like an idiot for suggesting it and attempts to speak as if unaffected. "It is of no consequence. I know you'll need to get back," 'to Rafi' is the unspoken ending to that sentence and he feels the first tendrils of guilt working their way around his chest at what he's done. He can't quite bring himself to tell her that they'll never speak of this again and is glad he doesn't when she looks up at his words, a relieved small smile appearing on her face.

"I'd like to stay, if that's ok with you?" He nods, surprised and relieved. His confusion must be evident because she elaborates. "I'm sorry, I thought you wanted me to go."

"I do not." He shakes his head at her before turning his head to the side slightly and closing his eyes so he doesn't have to see her reaction. "I wish for you to stay, however, I am aware that you have other..." he trails off, gesturing vaguely with his hand, hoping that she'll understand.

"I'm not quite ready to talk about him yet," she seems a little defeated and Hanssen makes a note to find out the reasons behind her change in attitude about her husband. "I told Rafi I was on a double shift. Indy is at my Mum's."

"I see. Good for you."He nods at her, pulling her towards him into an embrace, it's a purely platonic gesture, designed to offer support and reassurance and Sahira responds, instantly wrapping her arms around his bare chest.

"I'm all yours until the morning." He smirks, glad she can't see the goofy expression he is undoubtedly wearing.

"Well, as it appears that I am to be subjected to your presence for several more hours-" he jerks a little as Sahira pinches him in retaliation. "Thank you. How about some dinner?"

AN: Next chapter up soon – Sahira is back at work and nearly gets caught doing something she shouldn't!