Stirling knows she was filmed leaving the hospital. It's almost impossible to find a public building in England that doesn't have dozens of closed circuit cameras pointing everywhere. But she didn't know any other way of exiting the place without setting off door alarms. The Chief will probably be waiting for her when she gets to Portwenn.
But where will he be waiting? she wonders. Where will the Chief expect me to go when I get to Portwenn? He'll obviously think it's a toss up between the police station and the surgery. But which one will he pick?
Stirling decides to take chance out of the equation and do something entirely unexpected. She pulls out her mobile and switches it back on.
The Doc is half way to the police station when he notices a vehicle driving swiftly toward him, it's lights blindingly bright. It rushes right past him before the driver slams on the brakes, leaving a black line of melted rubber along Portwenn's high street. The vehicle quickly comes toward him again, this time in reverse.
"Dr. Ellingham?" a voice calls from the driver's side window.
"Yes," he says, squinting into the dimly lit vehicle.
"It's PC Garrett," says the young police constable. "I've just received a call about a serious car accident along the cliff road near Polzeath. They require police and medical assistance."
The Doc feels a flare of impatience.
"Can't they just wait for an ambulance?" he barks.
"We're much closer than the nearest ambulance, sir, and there are serious injuries reported. They need help right away."
The Doc looks down the road toward the police station and heaves a sigh of frustration.
"Alright," he mutters, walking around the Land Rover and climbing in the passenger side.
"Do you need to pick up your doctor's bag, sir?"
"No, I brought it with me," he says, pointing to the large black bag he has just set on the floor at his feet.
"OK, hang on," says PC Garrett as he steps on the accelerator and sends the Land Rover squealing down the road, tires smoking.
The Doc quickly scrabbles for his seat belt, silently cursing the young police constable.
"Bloody idiot," he mutters as they roar out of town.
About a minute after the police vehicle races past, a car parked along a side street starts up, its lights turning on.
"OK mystery lady, what do you want me to do now?" asks the cabbie.
"Just follow this road into Portwenn," Stirling says. "I'll tell you when to stop."
Five minutes later, the cab pulls into the parking lot of the police station. Stirling quickly jumps out and leans into the driver side window.
"Just wait here. I'll be back in a minute."
"You're not going to rip me off, are you pretty lady?" the cabbie asks.
"Look," Stirling says, referring to the building behind her. "We're at a police station. I'd be an idiot to try to cheat you here."
The cabbie gives her a suspicious look.
"Okay. But if you're not back in five minutes, I'm coming in after you."
"Understood."
She quickly walks to the front door of the station apartment and pounds on the door using the palm of her hand. A half minute later she pounds harder. Eventually, she starts kicking the door, unable to pound any harder with her splinted hands.
She hears noise from the other side of the door.
"Okay, okay, I'm coming. Don't knock the door in," says Joe, yanking it open.
There's a moment of shocked silence.
"Stirling!" he says.
"I told you I was coming," she says, pushing past him into the apartment. She looks around the kitchen with interest. She's never actually been in Joe's place before, she realizes.
"Stirling!" Joe repeats, wondering how she managed to get out of the hospital without being stopped. Then he notices her strange clothing.
"What on Earth are you wearing?" he asks, staring at her scuffed trainers, her baggy jeans and black anorak.
"I had to borrow some clothes," she says nonchalantly. "Speaking of borrowing, I need 120 pounds."
"What!"
"I need to borrow 120 pounds to pay the cabbie. He wants cash. I'm not sure if he accepts charge cards. I didn't ask him."
"I don't have that kind of money lying around," says Joe. Inadvertently, he thinks of the petty cash box in the police station office.
"Are you sure?" asks Stirling, staring him straight in the eyes.
A few minutes later, he's unlocking the office cash box.
"I can't believe you're making a police constable steal money from his own station's petty cash," Joe says, counting out 120 pounds.
"We're not stealing it, we're borrowing. I'll replace it in the morning."
He hands her the money.
"Thanks," Stirling says, giving him a tender kiss on the lips. She turns and walks into the apartment side of the building, heading for the front door. A stunned Joe watches her as she opens the door, only to come face-to-face with a burly cabbie, fist raised, about to knock.
"Oh," she says, slightly startled. "Sorry for the delay. It took us a little longer than I expected it would to gather up the money."
She hands the cabbie the wad of bills.
"Thanks for your services," she says. "I gave you a little extra for being so accommodating. Have a safe drive home."
She casually slams the door in the shocked cabbie's face and turns the lock.
She turns to find Joe standing directly behind her. He's so close, she almost runs into him.
"What are you doing here?" he asks softly. "I told you to stay in the hospital, to wait for the Doc to clear you before coming home."
"And I told you, I need to talk with you," Stirling says, grabbing one of Joe's hands with her splinted one and leading him into the lounge.
"Well, at least I know why you never answered my calls when I phoned you back," says Joe as she pushes him down onto the chesterfield. "I left five messages, you know."
She grabs the remote off the side table and turns off the telly before turning around to face him.
"I don't have a lot of time so I'm just going to be direct," she says. "I don't blame you."
Joe looks at her, slightly confused.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't blame you," she repeats. "For what happened at the surgery that night with Spencer. For Bucephalus. For everything. I don't blame you. It wasn't your fault."
Joe can feel emotion building up inside him.
She doesn't know what she's talking about, he thinks.
He shakes his head.
"It was my fault," he says, looking down at the carpet. "I should have known something was wrong. I'm a police constable. I'm trained to notice thinks that don't add up. And the fact the back door of the surgery opened without needing to be unlocked didn't add up. But I didn't react quickly enough. I was thinking of other things."
"We were both thinking of other things, Joe."
"I knew you would be sitting here blaming yourself," Stirling says, kneeling down in front of him. She reaches out with her splinted fingers and lifts his chin so she can look him in the eye. "As soon as those memories came shooting into my mind, I knew you would be here blaming yourself for everything. Typical Joe - making himself responsible for everything that happens. But you're wrong. You aren't to blame for this."
"I noticed the door wasn't locked as well," she says, tears beginning to track down her cheeks. "I didn't react quick enough either. I was more concerned with my barking dog than with saving myself. Or you. I let go of you. I walked away from you. You could have got out of that building unscathed. You could have turned and walked out the door and never looked back. But you didn't. You reached out and grabbed me. You saved me from Spencer and my own stupidity."
Joe reaches out and tenderly wipes the tears from her cheeks with his thumb.
"You sacrificed yourself for me. I'm to blame for that," she says.
"And I'm to blame for this," she says, touching his bandaged arms.
"And I'm to blame for this," she says, lifting his T-shirt and touching the bandage across his stomach.
"And I'm to blame for this," she says, reaching under the neck of his shirt and touching the bandage on his right shoulder.
"And I'm to blame for this," she says, standing up and lifting his hair so she can kiss the scar along the hairline of his forehead.
Suddenly, Stirling finds herself pressed against Joe's chest, his arms wrapped around her. She hugs him back with a sob, tightening her arms around his body.
"I'm so sorry," she chokes against his shoulder, shutting her eyes tight as the tears pour out. "I'm so sorry."
She feels him shaking under her and realizes Joe is crying also, sobbing onto her shoulder.
Stirling pulls back and cups his face with her damaged hands.
"Shhhh," she whispers. "It's okay. Don't cry."
"I tried so hard," he sobs. "I tried to grab you before you went too far into the room. I saw the gun. I knew he was going to try to shoot you. I did the only thing I could think of to do."
"I know," Stirling whispers, caressing his cheek. "You did everything you could. You're not to blame."
"And neither are you," he chokes out, looking at her defiantly. "So stop blaming yourself. It happened. We both did the best we could with what we had. I saved you. You saved me. And Bucephalus and the quick actions of the Doc saved us both. We're both still here. We made it through. I think we need to put away the guilt and the blame and move forward."
Joe clears his throat, trying to swallow down his overflowing emotions.
"I love you," he says, making Stirling gasp. "I'd go through it all again in a heartbeat to keep you here, here with me."
She wraps her arms around him again, squeezing him close and Joe does the same to her. They stay in that embrace for a long time before she feels him move to kiss her cheek and then her forehead, both her eyes and her nose, her chin and finally her mouth. She kisses him back, tightening her arms around him, moving her hands to the back of his neck, running her fingers through his hair, opening her mouth to him. She feels like she could devour him as he grabs her and pulls her onto his lap.
They're still kissing when they hear the door open between the police station and the apartment.
"Well that was a big waste of time," says PC Garrett, unclipping his duty belt and hanging it on the door knob.
"It certainly was," says the Doc crossly, causing both Stirling and Joe to pull their lips apart in surprise. They stare at one another wide-eyed and then both lean over so they can peek around the corner of the lounge doorway into the kitchen. The Doc is scowling as he sets his doctor's bag down by the apartment's front door. He looks up and makes eye contact with both of them.
"Dr. Aylesworth, I presume," he says sarcastically, stomping into the lounge. "I thought I would eventually find you here."
He turns his angry gaze toward Joe.
"And I see you are busy trying to contact me to let me know she has arrived safely."
Joe opens his mouth and then closes it, uncertain what to say.
PC Garrett walks into the lounge and stares at the pair of them, still cuddling in each others' arms on the chesterfield.
"Bloody hell! Where did she come from? She wasn't here when I left."
"I'm sure she arrived not long after we were called away to our false alarm," the Doc says icily.
Stirling says nothing, raising her chin defiantly.
With as much dignity as she can, she rises from Joe's lap and extends her right hand toward the young police constable.
"We haven't been introduced," she says formally, shaking the startled constable's limp hand. "I'm Dr. Stirling Aylesworth. When I'm not busy recuperating from being shot, stabbed, beaten about the head and having my fingers crushed, I serve as a GP at the Portwenn surgery. It's a pleasure to meet you, PC Garrett."
The poor young man is speechless.
"And when she's not busy stealing other people's clothes so she can sneak out of hospitals and send busy surgeons and police constables on wild goose chases so she can make kissy face with her equally injured boyfriend, Dr. Aylesworth can typically be found in a hospital bed, where she bloody well belongs!" shouts Dr. Ellingham, making everyone else in the room flinch.
"I am not going back to the hospital," Stirling says stubbornly, glaring at the Doc.
"Look at you," he says in frustration. "Your fingers are splinted and wired. You can't even tie your shoes properly."
Stirling looks down and notices that both of her trainers' laces have come undone.
"They were tied when I left the hospital," she says in her defence. "You can check the security footage."
"You also can't even button your blouse properly."
She looks at her blouse front and notices two buttons have come undone and a third has been placed in the wrong hole. She glares over at Joe who shakes his head slightly.
Damn, she thinks. I can't even blame him.
"You still have about two dozen staples embedded in your stomach and I only removed the sutures from your arm and side wounds about" - the Doc looks quickly at his watch - "seven hours ago."
"And I can see from here that the wound on your upper left shoulder has seeped through the bandages."
She looks down at her blouse and curses the red staining.
"I am still not going back to the hospital," Stirling says, folding her arms across her chest while trying not to flinch from the pain the movement causes.
"Blimey!" says PC Garrett with a hint of excitement in his voice. "This is just like a Mexican standoff."
Both Stirling and Dr. Ellingham look over at the young man who is obviously enjoying the verbal sparring - Stirling with a look of amusement; the Doc with a look of contempt.
"Actually, this is nothing at all like a Mexican standoff, you moron," he snaps. "A Mexican standoff involves three opponents, not two. I'd describe this situation more like a ..."
"Stalemate," says Stirling, knowing he will appreciate the use of the chess term as a metaphor.
The Doc grunts.
No one in the room moves or says a word for several very long seconds.
"I want to see both of you at the surgery at 8:30 sharp tomorrow morning," the Doc says, pointing at both Stirling and Joe.
"You're going to need some form of nursing care until those fingers heal," he adds, looking at Stirling. "We'll arrange that tomorrow. Meanwhile, let me change that dressing so that I can bloody well go home and escape this insane asylum of idiocy and stubbornness!"
Stirling smiles and walks up to the Doc, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
"Thank you, Chief," she says.
"Yes, well, mrrml," he mutters, clearing his throat. "Let's look at that wound."
He starts unbuttoning her blouse but stops and looks over at Joe and PC Garrett.
"Okay, out you both get," he says, waving his hands at them in a shooing motion. "This isn't a zoo or a sideshow."
PC Garrett practically sprints out the door while Joe slowly stands up from the chesterfield.
"You know, I've already seen..." he says.
"Out!" barks the Doc.
He shrugs at Stirling and walks out the doorway into the kitchen.
It takes the Doc about five minutes to clean and treat Stirling's weeping wound and rebandage it. And he mutters to her the whole time.
"You do know you're insane, don't you?" he growls. "Stealing clothing, sneaking out of hospitals, phoning in false accident reports, refusing to see reason. You're quite possibly the stupidest patient I've ever had that possesses a genius-level IQ."
"Do you get a lot of patients with genius level IQs?" she asks innocently, hissing in pain as he roughly applies antibiotic cream to the wound in what she swears is retaliation.
"And what you see in that idiot, I'll never understand," he mutters, pointing with his chin over her shoulder toward the kitchen area where Joe paces, waiting for him to finish. "His idea of a mental challenge is the weekly pub quiz night at The Crab and Lobster. He's had to set aside word search puzzles because they've stumped him. He probably thinks the London Underground is a terrorist organization."
Stirling laughs.
"You're terrible!" she says. "You know, the more angry and frustrated you get, the funnier you are."
"I don't expect you to understand what I see in Joe," she adds as he applies adhesive to the fresh bandages. "I just expect you to accept it."
"Finished," he grunts, bending over to put away his medical supplies while Stirling struggles to button up her borrowed blouse.
"And now I can finally go back to my home, where normalcy reigns," he says, gazing back at the three of them before he marches out the door.
"Maybe I should give him a ride home?" asks PC Garrett.
"Just leave him be," says Stirling, walking out of the lounge to stand beside Joe. "Don't ruin his fun. There's nothing he enjoys more than a brisk march through the village in the middle of the night, cursing and muttering insults the whole way."
She looks over at Joe.
"And speaking of marching through the village, I should head home," she says, touching his hand.
"No!" Joe practically shouts, flinching at how loud his voice sounds in the kitchen. "No. It's pretty late. You can sleep in my bed."
"Oh really?" she says, giving him a saucy look.
"Not like that! I mean you can have my bed and I'll sleep on the chesterfield."
"Are you sure?" she asks.
"Yeah," he says, touching her cheek. "I'll show you where everything is."
As the pair walk up the stairs, PC Garrett still stands in the kitchen, thinking back over the evening.
"Did Dr. Ellingham actually call me a moron?" he asks the empty room.
