Later, during the inquiry, Hathaway would describe how he'd heard the loud crashing sound of DI Lewis falling down the stairs, the sound punctuated by the sharp cracks of two shots. It was unclear at first whether the detective inspector had collided with the wall before or after the shots had been fired, but the result had been the same. The suspect had been immobilized instantly, a bullet entering his upper arm, causing him to double over in pain. Quickly, Hathaway had wrenched the ugly blade from his failing grip, cuffed him, hauling him off the man beneath. One of the armed response team lifted him away, dragging him towards the door. Hathaway turned back to his partner. It was immediately clear that Lewis was unconscious and oblivious to the chaos unfolding above him.

Later, the details, the precise sequence of events would be important, would be discussed at length, but now Hathaway was focused on the very real scenario unfolding in front of him. He was on autopilot, his training guiding his body as his mind raced. He checked the airway, careful not to move Lewis's neck any more than was absolutely necessary, and spoke clearly into the radio,

"DI Lewis injured. Looks serious. Paramedic now."

The next few minutes were a blur. Around him, Hathaway could hear the sounds of the house being cleared. His hand was firm on Lewis's arm. The raid had been a success, all suspects were secured, the radio babbled incessantly. Two teams of paramedics arrived within seconds, one for the suspect, one for Lewis. Idly he mused that it was typical of an unconscious Lewis to have two beautiful women seeing to him. He stepped back, letting them do their work. It seemed to take a long time. The flak jacket felt heavy on his shoulders and he realised that he was shivering. A hand came to lie firm on his back.

"What happened?"

He didn't need to turn, couldn't take his eyes off the expert hands deftly securing Lewis's neck in a collar.

"I don't know, ma'am"

He ran his hand through his hair, and leant back slightly against the firm pressure against his back.

"You're going to need to come with me now, James…he's in good hands"

He turned, and without meeting her eye nodded.

The next three hours dragged by. She insisted that he travel back with her to the station, that he take a shower and change before the debriefing began. The warm water and generic shower gel did little to dispel the tension across his body. As he washed his hair, he realised that there was still blood on his hands. In the interview room, Innocent was calm and methodical. Although there were several other Met officers there, taking notes, asking for occasional clarification, it was she who talked him through what had happened. She asked nothing more than the record required, pushing him only when she absolutely had to. But she kept it professional, and he was grateful for it.

After, she insisted that he accompany her to the canteen, where they both forced down a plate of overcooked spaghetti bolognese. Even though they had spent over three hours discussing what had happened, alone now, they barely exchanged a word. From time to time, Innocent would check her phone for updates. There were none.

At seven, Inspector Jackson came into the canteen to ask him whether he knew where Lynne Lewis was on holiday. For a moment Hathaway looked confused, but then understanding, shook his head,

"Who are his other emergency contacts?"

Jackson smiled gently, obviously surprised he didn't know,

"He's listed his daughter, you and Dr Laura Hobson"

James tried to smile back,

"Well, one out of three isn't bad…"

Innocent checked her phone again and frowned.

"Can I go now, ma'am?"

She nodded and wasn't surprised when he stood immediately.

"You should call Laura too…"

He hesitated and was about to question her but,

"…come on Hathaway, keep up"

She grinned wickedly, in spite of the situation, and he couldn't help but smile.

"I'll call her as soon as we know something"

It was nearly ten o'clock and Hathaway was still pacing the corridors of the Radcliffe. He'd arrived nearly two hours earlier, but no one seemed in a position to discuss Lewis's condition in detail. He'd cornered a locum doctor who had confirmed that DI Lewis was indeed undergoing surgery on his shoulder, to repair a shattered collarbone and bullet wound, but nothing more. The young man could give him no indication as to the severity of the injury nor how long the surgery would take. He sat back in the hideous orange plastic chair and began to stare at the clock. It was late. He really didn't want to call Hobson until he knew exactly what they were looking at, but similarly, if he left it much later, he'd have to call in the morning. Another group of nurses strode past, studiously ignoring his hopeful glance. He waited. Ten minutes later Sergeant Jones walked in, carrying a bag.

"Sir, DI Lewis's things, from the squad car and his locker. Haven't gone through it, but thought it might be best for you to hang on to it for the moment."

Hathaway nodded, and took the carrier bag.

"Any news yet, sir?"

He shook his head, and slumped back in the seat.

Jones knew a man of few words when he saw one, and he said his goodbyes and went back to questioning one of the suspects injured in the raid.

Minutes passed, Hathaway may or may not have nodded off. He was suddenly startled by a buzzing from inside the bag. Without thinking he reached in and picked up the phone. Assuming it would be Lynne, he quickly opened the message,

"I'm sorry, try again tomorrow? Laura x"

He blinked twice and pressed 'call'.

Laura was in bed, trying to complete a crossword, determined not to give in to the temptation to call Robbie. The frustration of earlier had slid gradually into disappointment, regret and now she was just a bit embarrassed that she had flown off the handle. It had been nice to hear his voice after all these weeks. And she knew exactly how it could be sometimes at work. Many a time she'd ignored her phone, elbow-deep in a chest cavity…it was just the way things worked sometimes. She was stuck on the last two clues and she was beginning to lose patience. Reaching for her phone, she quickly keyed in a message. No sooner had she pressed send, and picked up her pen, the phone began to ring. Robbie. She grinned and checked the clock. Nearly ten thirty. Oh well, it would beat this bloody crossword,

"Isn't this a bit past your bedtime, old man?"

There was a pause, and then an unfamiliar voice,

"Dr Hobson, it's James Hathaway"

She lifted the phone away from her cheek and quickly checked the contact details glowing on the screen. Robbie. Her pulse quickened, and she felt suddenly sick,

"What's happened to him, James? Where is he?"

She heard him take a deep breath,

"He's been injured. The raid today. It's been all over the news. I'm at the hospital now. I had hoped to call you with more details, when I had them, but I was just holding his phone when your text arrived"

She was already out of bed and looking for some jeans,

"How serious is it?"

"I don't know. He's in surgery now, something to do with his collarbone. He fell down a flight of stairs, and I think he might have been shot, I don't know."

She could hear the edge of panic in his voice, and in an instant she made her decision,

"How long has he been in surgery?"

"A couple of hours, but they won't tell me what's happening"

She tried to make herself sound calm, authoritative,

"They never do, it's part of the training. Don't worry, I'll be there in a few hours"

"Laura, it's ten thirty at night…"

"…which means I'll be with you by 1.30 at the latest"

He sighed, obviously caught between telling her to stay and knowing that she would ignore him.

"I'll wait here"

"I'll be as quick as I can…and promise me you'll call if there's any change"

She hung up and took a deep, shaky breath. She couldn't get upset now, she mustn't. Entirely on auto pilot she dressed and filled a bag with her phone charger, a change of clothes, her toothbrush. In the kitchen she boiled the kettle and made two mugs of instant coffee. She added milk and slowly, methodically, she drank both straight down. Within ten minutes she was sat at the wheel of her car, carefully reversing out of her parking space. As she joined the main road she took a few deliberate deep breaths, focusing her mind on the drive ahead. She couldn't think about what he was going through right now, what damage might have been done. All she could do was concentrate, drive, and get to him as soon as possible.