Disclaimer: I don't own Max. I so wish I owned Max…

Yay! I graduated! So here's a shiny new chapter to go with my shiny new degree…

Chapter Nine:
5pm

It was disturbing how much someone whose entire job involved cooking fish could screw something up so badly. The chips were too hot and the fish a sickly cold. Max shook the container, burying the fish again in the hope it would somehow warm up under the scarily hot chips. Even under the litre or so of vinegar he'd smothered them in, the chips burnt his fingers at the touch and he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together to soften the pain, glaring at the chips in anger.

But he wasn't really angry at the scorching potato (a good thing too because he knew they didn't give a damn), he was angry with Beth.

How dare she accuse him of spying? The fact that he was watching the house seemed to have eluded him as he sat there stewing. The point was moot in his mind. He was ranked above her, even if she was no longer at the same station as him, and she shouldn't stand in the way of a very important investigation. Catching the Taggarts was a sure fire way into the DI position that still hadn't been filled since DI Sam Nixon had left. He wasn't going to miss his opportunity.

He'd been seated outside Beth's new place for twenty minutes now after being kicked from her house unceremoniously and finding himself seething on her front doorstep. He could appreciate she was on a job, but surely she could give him something? Even just a chance to tell her exactly what even the smallest clue could give him. He growled again as he grabbed a chip, burnt himself and dropped it back into the container with a soft swear word. This sucked.

It wasn't that Max liked it when things were easy, in fact he relished the times when things were hard, but this didn't have to be nigh on impossible! She didn't have to make it so damn impossible. Knock back a peace offering? A peace offering that now sat opened on the back seat, one of the bottles sitting in his cup holder. This was his own pathetic after work drinks. He'd officially become a loser.

He wasn't sure what exactly he was waiting for. A call to say she'd been wrong? There was a better chance of hell freezing over. Beth was stubborn, like himself, and relenting and letting Max talk to Jessica now seemed less likely than Milwall winning the Premier League. Stupid useless Milwall. It certainly wasn't the five o'clock change either, even if it was only minutes away now. Any previous plans of strolling up to the house when the guards were gone and demanding to be let in looking likely to end in only one of two ways; 1. She slammed the door in his face (the nicer of the two options) or 2. She stamped on his foot/broke his nose/slapped him/kneed him in the privates (none a pretty image) BEFORE slamming the door in his face. Either way, he was seeing door, be it with or without serious injuries. In reality it was what she'd said to him that afternoon. She'd accused him of having someone follow her. After he'd gotten over the accusation he'd realised what she'd just revealed. She was being followed. Or thought she was anyway.

He'd learnt from working with her at Sun Hill that Beth wasn't the type to overreact. In fact, he often thought, she was prone to under-reaction. For her to be worried someone was following her, watching the house and putting her charge in danger, it meant it was likely true. So he stayed outside the small Finchley home not out of desire for a chance to see Jessica, cause grief or connive his way in. He stayed out of worry for Beth's safety.

*

She couldn't believe him.

Well, actually, she could; he was a jerk like that.

But after everything he'd tried to do in the last few days, to turn up with beers and try and talk his way into some kind of negotiated peace (which she knew would only last until he got what he wanted)? She'd had a mind to keep the beers and boot him from the house but in the end she knew they'd just taste of bribery and sent them from the place with him.

So now she was standing in the kitchen, hands covered in soap suds from washing up the remains of lunch plates (that Max hadn't bothered to point out this time as they sat on the table collecting mould), just wishing bad things on her old DS. She wanted to do something to him but she couldn't figure out what that was exactly. Probably something along the lines of wringing his neck.

As the clock on the mantelpiece clanged five o'clock Beth dried her hands with a tea towel and wandered into the living room. It was still warm outside and she had the front window open, breeze blowing onto her face. But now it was getting dark she decided to shut it, glancing out the window as the dark blue car usually sitting out the front pulled out and drove away. The new group would arrive in less than 30 seconds, they were consistent like that. As soon as they arrived they would come to the door and make sure Beth was doing all right. It were these little check-ups that she liked best because they made her feel, well, not so alone. Maybe supported was the right word. Either way, it made her and Jessica safer.

Beth had found Jessica still on the bathroom floor when she'd returned from her trip to see Hinch and Mitchell. The teen had fallen asleep on the cool tiles. Beth had tried to wake her, get her to go lay on her bed if she was really that tired, but she'd just swatted Beth's hand away, groaned, rolled over, and promptly gone back to sleep. In the end Beth had left her there, right through Max's visit and cleaning up. Now, she decided as she thought about what was for dinner, she should get her off the ground, mainly because as night set in so would an increased chance of chill in her kidneys. Beth bit back a laugh. She sounded like her mother.

As she gave the clock another glance her thoughts swapped suddenly to a breeze on her back and she turned sharply at the realization that the back door of the house was open. It swung in the breeze and Beth gasped, making for it. As she entered the connecting dining room something moved out of the corner of her eye but she had barely a second to realize what it was when someone clamped a hand over her mouth and growled into her ear. "Be good, or else."

And the 'or else' was made very obvious when Beth noticed what was clenched in his right hand… a large, already bloodied, butcher's knife.