Later that afternoon, as had become standard daily procedure over the past week, Laura was busily emptying the sparse contents of her stomach into the staff toilets at the mortuary. Her knees grazed the tile grouting of the floor, one elbow taking her weight on the seat, the other hand trying in vain to keep her hair from her face. Vomit stung in her nose and throat, causing her eyes to stream. She coughed repeatedly, as the force of the retching made her want to cry. She'd given up trying to be quiet: she was simply exhausted with the whole rigmarole.

At length, the involuntary convulsing of her insides ceased, and she sat back clumsily against the cubicle door. Her breathing began to steady and she tried to ignore the acidic tang consuming her senses. She hated being sick. She wasn't very good at it. Some people seemed to have the knack of a carefree vomit, but Laura was not one of them; she'd resist the nausea until the very last minute, caving to its power only once she had no other choice. She hated feeling so helpless and vulnerable. Staring at the increasingly familiar sight of the toilet bowl and shaking with the adrenaline awash in her veins, she'd never felt so utterly pathetic and alone.

She closed her eyes, grateful for the chill of the cubicle door on her back. She wanted to get up and on with things, but she was just so tired…

Eventually, she summoned the energy to scramble up from her crumpled position on the floor and sneak cautiously out to the communal sinks, noting with relief that she did not have company. She looked at herself in the mirror – her skin was a pallid shade that complimented the green of her scrubs and her fringe was clinging to the clamminess of her forehead. What a picture. Hurriedly, she splashed cool water over her face before trying to encourage some colour into her cheeks. She braced herself, drawing herself up to full height in the mirror, before heading out into the corridor and slap-bang into…

Robbie.

"Hello…" She frowned slightly, startled by his presence. He was leaning against the noticeboard outside the ladies', almost as if he had been waiting for her.

He didn't respond immediately, but looked at her carefully. "Hi."

She threw him a questioning glare.

"I came to see you about the DNA results..." He began by way of explanation.

"And you thought I might have hidden them in the toilet?"

"No..."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Well, I..."

"Couldn't you have waited in my office?"

"I did wait in your office…"

Laura swallowed.

"… for almost 20 minutes."

"Wow. What a spectacularly productive use of police time."

"Laura... " His voice sounded tired. This bloody case. "I'm sorry. It's just I bumped into Natalie and she asked me if you were ok."

A paranoid whisper began to make itself heard in Laura's brain. "And why wouldn't I be?" She snapped.

Robbie's face coloured slightly as her voice rose. He hovered closer to her, but then thought better of it, stepping backwards. "Natalie was concerned. She clearly didn't want to mention it to me, but she's worried about you. She said you haven't been eating and she asked if I knew if there was anything wrong… "

"For God's sake! That's none of her bloody business!" Laura exploded.

"Perhaps not, but she is your student and working closely with you." He tried to soothe her. "So you haven't been eating?" The question was innately incisive.

Laura's icy blue eyes scorched with indignation. "I have been eating. I've just been a bit off colour, that's all. And what's it got to do with you, anyway?" She almost sneered. The irony of her question wasn't lost on her, but she sure as hell wasn't having that particular conversation in the mortuary corridor.

He studied her face. She didn't look right: she was pale and, if he wasn't mistaken, a little more swamped by her scrubs than usual. Something was wrong. Why else would she be so defensive? She wouldn't talk to him here, that much he could sense. He needed to get her away. If only he wasn't in the middle of this blasted murder investigation…

He relented, holding up his hands. "OK, OK – point taken."

"Honestly, Robbie!" She bristled with anger.

He dropped his voice and stepped closer to her, quickly scanning the corridor to check they were alone. He steeled himself to touch her, gently, on the elbow. "Laura, I'm sorry. You're right. It's none of my business but just tell me you're OK. I'm not asking for details, I just need to know you're OK."

She pursed her lips as she looked up at him, arms folded, torn between her indignation and surprise at the absence of his usual obliviousness. "I'm fine, Robbie."

"Promise?" He squeezed her elbow gently.

She bit her lip and nodded. She felt an unfamiliar and overwhelming urge to cry. "We should have the DNA results by now. They were due by 4. I'll check my email." Her voice wobbled, but she hoped the change of subject might help her to recover her composure.

Robbie nodded, the change in subject not helping him one jot. As Laura led him back to her office, he found it impossible to concentrate on the case. She walked several steps ahead of him, with her shoulders raised and tense. He could almost feel the bristling of her defences.

Back at her desk, she spoke to her computer screen rather than to him, tapping furiously at the keys. "It's a match for the brother. He's the father."

"I knew it! Great." His face attempted enthusiasm but his tone lacked any conviction.

Laura turned to him, wearily. "You'd better get back upstairs then."

He hesitated. He really had to go. "Yeah… "

Robbie looked down at her, his eyes searching hers for a clue. Being usually unperturbed by a crisis, he felt an unfamiliar throb of anxiety. "Laura?"

"Yep?" She was already busying herself with further paperwork.

"You know where I am… if you, er, need me, don't you?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine Robbie. Honestly. Just get back to the case."

Robbie headed back to his office in a world of his own; his concern for Laura was matched only by his sense of confusion. Of course, he'd been on the receiving end of her barbed hackles and acerbic tongue before, but this time felt different. The way he felt felt different. Gingerly, he tried to put his finger on the exact emotion. It seemed distantly familiar.

His reverie was brought to an abrupt end by Hathaway storming down the corridor towards him. "Sir..."