A/N: Okay, so, I did not mean for an update to take this long. In part it was because I don't always write in order, I instead jump around to the places I feel inspired. The majority of what I had written ended up being for chapter 3, oops. Because of that though, I have a large chunk of the next chapter completed and it shouldn't take nearly as long.

I hope you all enjoy this, that the wait wasn't disappointing. Again, I apologize for the usage of canon dialogue and moments, but I'm afraid I can't always skirt past them. I can promise however that after this chapter, things will be super original. Okay, enough chit chat. Read! And if you could be so kind, review. All of you have left such kind words and I am amazed by your support. It makes me want to be selfish and ask for more.

My absent-minded steps brought me home, though any thought of being alone was dashed. I recognized the faces of the people who stood beyond my door, knew their names. They were not people I knew intimately, not ones I had shared drinks with or traded secrets. They were coworkers and on any other day, I might have felt some flicker of joy for being with someone I recognized. But, their jobs had brought them to my home, marking me as some criminal before the investigation had even begun. I understood it. I knew it was protocol. But, I had hoped for a stretch of peace before I was forced to face the events of the day again.

I had, as of yet, been incapable of escaping my own mind. I had hoped to do that in the empty — children free — space of my own home. Now, Louise was standing in front of me, asking for everything I owned. For my phone.

Would the hospital call to tell me if, no, when Julia had passed? I stared at the screen for a moment, willing the name "Lavender" to pop across it, for her voice to drift through the speaker telling me she was okay. With a heavy swallow I clicked it off, handing it and who knew what evidence against me over. I didn't have a choice.

Louise's voice was bored, flat, and I worried there was the hint of accusation between her words, but if it was there or merely one I placed on myself I wasn't sure. She gave me a "ta," a nod of her head, and stepped away in her overly large, white suit, those that had waited patiently beside her following her through my door, into my home.

I swallowed again, my tender nerves sparking with another flame. I thought about the things they might find, that would only incriminate me. The image of my Glock entered my mind and I hoped It was hidden well enough. What worried me most wasn't if they found it, but that it would put a stopper in the investigation. I would be held under inaccurate suspicion and her...killer would get away with it.

The only ammo I owned was loaded inside of it — yet another fact that could add to my prison sentence, the fact that it was ready. I thought then of my computer, the searches I had made. I thought of Andrew and our conversation only a few days prior. I hadn't listened, hadn't agreed that Julia had "needed her own taste", but that didn't mean a passerby hadn't heard what he said. A motive, a cause, everything they needed lay just in the house beyond me. I had thought I would be safe. I had never expected an assassination attempt and therefore hadn't prepared for it. But, even so, I don't think I would have expected to be a suspect.

"Sarge!"

It was the only word escaping the brick and mortar of my home and the one that probably scared me the most. It meant they had found something.

I strained my ears, hoping to catch a strand of conversation, maybe an admission that I couldn't be involved. I was desperate even for the sound of footsteps, the knowledge of where in my house the caller stood. If it was by something that should scare me. I received only silence that persisted into the night, the minute ticking by me.

There was the squeak of the door, echoing in the empty quiet. It was followed by the gentle patter of footsteps, whispered chatter about something that didn't even pertain to me, not even Julia. Her importance had fallen from the minds of the people here.

And then there was Louise.

She pulled her mask from her face, handing it to someone who stood behind her. She sighed, her eyes darting away from me for just a moment, but not before I caught the perplexion that lingered there.

Noting her stature, my shoulders dropped, my muscles releasing a tension I didn't know they had held.

"It's important to bring you in," she began and I knew this night would be long for more than just me. "You've got stitches, there." She gestured to the skin above her own eyebrow. "Are you in a good enough state to answer some questions? We'll need more than a basic report."

"No, no." I nodded, chewing on my lip. "I'll be fine. Anything to find out what happened."

"Right, then. I imagine you'd like to pop inside, change, freshen up before we head to the station?"

I looked down at my black, issued clothing, the shoes on my feet that were not my own. I didn't particularly care, clothes were clothes, but I felt the urge to check for what they had found. "I'll be just a minute, if that's all right?"

Louise gave the hint of a smile as she lifted her arm holding out my keys. This was a benefit few others would have. Had I not been on the force, not acquainted with her, I would have simply been dragged away.

I stepped towards her, snatching them from her fingers with a force I didn't mean to come to the surface.

I walked inside, listening to the click of the door settling into place and was met once more with quiet. This is the one I had come for, had dreamed of as I left the hospital, but now it felt eerie. Uncomfortable. It was like having an intruder, although these ones had been welcome, they had still touched my things. Maybe I simply imagined it, but every object inside my home appeared shifted just to the side and I felt unwelcome here. I felt as though I was the intruder.

I turned away, taking the stairs to my basement quickly. I had promised to be fast, and to avoid suspicion I needed to be. I reached the bottom, flicking on the light. There was a momentary buzz before it flickered to life, bathing me in artificial light. I reached towards it, to the bulb in the ceiling and gently pushed it upwards. Standing on my toes, I stretched, my hand fumbling around the hole until I felt the cool metal. I gave a gasp of relief. Even knowing that if had they found it I would have been arrested, I was relieved.

I replaced the light quickly, removing all evidence I had moved it at all before stepping through the nearby door and into the utility room. I crouched beside a forgotten basket, the clothes inside wrinkled and bunched beside one another. I plucked jeans from within it, a green pullover and set them aside.

I undressed quickly, the clothing falling into puddles around my feet before I kicked them aside. My vision was filled with purple. The apparition of bruises that hadn't been there before now dotting my thighs, my knees, my calves, in varying shades of violet. I'd remembered flying backward, but if these had come from that, I had no idea.

Disgusted by the reminder, I covered myself quickly, the fresh clothing blocking any residual memory. When I was done, I turned the light off once more, taking the steps two at a time. Grabbing a pair of trainers from beside the door, I slipped them on.

I stepped outside, finding only Louise. Her white suit of before was gone, replaced by professionalism. I locked the door behind me, following her across the pavement and towards a panda car that sat along the road. I paused beside the door of it, unsure if I was meant for the front like a coworker or the back like a criminal.

She seemed to notice my hesitation, speaking as she opened her own side. "The front will do. You aren't under arrest."

I had the impression that she had left off the word "yet," but my imagination had run wild that evening, incriminating me before they had.

The ride was quiet with no words shared between us. She took the turns I knew well, barreling into the city, and asked no questions all the while. There was no small talk, no observation about the weather or inquiry of my children, and I was thankful. And so very tired.

"DCI Sharma is meeting us here." She said as we slipped into the parking garage and the car came to a stop. "I know it's been a long night for you, David, but we appreciate your help. It's critical to find who did this. I know you understand that."

I did. It was what I thought of as we stepped inside the building, advancing up never-ending staircases. I felt slight relief. Relief that maybe I wasn't as suspected as I thought. Reminded that this was only protocol, that they would do the same with Tom, with Kim.

I was led through doors though I knew the way, placed inside a room that I'd been in so many times before, though this time I sat on the opposite side, on the chair occupied by so many suspects, witnesses, rapists, murderers, and now, me.

I stared down at the table, wondering just how I had gotten here, how my life had taken so many jagged turns and unexpected cut-offs, leaving me broken and alone, away from the women I had loved and the children I had loved even more.

"Mind if we crack on while everything's fresh?"

It was the voice of a man, one I'd heard earlier that evening and the man Louise had said would meet us. He was more unwelcoming than Louise had been, but this man and I were far less acquainted.

"Sir." I gave a nod, assenting though I knew I had no other option.

DCI Sharma tapped at the folder he had placed in front of him, gesturing to the information inside that was kept away from my own eyes. I listened to the two of them talk, to the mentions of Fenton and Knowles as they set the scene. I gave another nod, assuring them they were right.

"Fenton recalled you and PC Knowles left the auditorium a short time before the explosion." It was Louise that spoke and I looked at her, giving a "yes."

I thought of Mahmood, how jittery he had been as he'd handed the briefcase out to me. The suspicion I'd had at the time for him was gone and now I wondered if his jitters had been nerves, or simply too much coffee. I thought of Kim, how she had appeared behind me, asking if we were alright.

"What does Kim say?" The finer details of the attack were fuzzy and I wondered if she felt the same. I'd seen Tom, had taken clothing from him even, but Kim had been missing, presumably inside her own room receiving her own set of stitches. Maybe she hadn't been here at all, maybe they hadn't spoken to her yet.

They were silent, stealing a glance from one another as if deciding who should speak and I looked between them expectantly, willing them to hurry it on.

"I"m...sorry, David." She looked down at the table, choosing to focus on the space in front of me rather than my face and I felt the plummeting of my heart. It no longer remained in my chest, beating rhythmically against my lungs like it should. That evening it had taken up permanent residence in my stomach, the pounding making me sick.

"She died of her injuries."

She said what I knew was coming and my lip trembled, my nerves already frayed by distraught gave another protest. I looked between them again, towards Louise who held a thread of her own sadness, and Sharma who looked only bored. He gave no apology, no shred of sympathy, and instead carried on.

"Look, Mate. You know how important this might be. Who was it?" His voice was emotionless, that of someone who wished the night was over, but only for his own gain.

I sucked my lips in, chewing on the flesh of them only for a moment. It was the containment of a sob I knew was coming, but I willed it not to be here. There was the irritating blur of my vision, the one that had seemed to be there tonight more often than not. I closed my eyes, blinking away the tears and I thought of Kim, again. I thought of her smile and the way she said my name, thought of the drinks we had shared after work. I thought of the friend that I had made in her and how she was the first to welcome me to the force. I thought of the man who had stood across me earlier, not much younger than myself, begging for entry to the stage. I felt the billowing of guilt, regret, and all the emotions in between.

"Tahir Mahmood."

My words, the near cracking of my voice, was followed by the scribbles of a pen across from me, was followed by more questions on what he had done, what he had said, and I gave them all I knew. I told them of the documents he'd had in his briefcase, words Julia had needed and his simple request to give them to her.

I told them what was inside, that it had been nothing more than paper, that I had looked beneath them. I wondered then if I had missed something. If there had been a trigger sewed inside the lining, that I should have caught a loose stitch or a bulge among the black, but I knew there had been nothing. It had not been inside. I thought of the fact that maybe it might have been on Mahmood himself, carried in an interior pocket or perhaps up his sleeve for easy access. If it had been wrapped around his belly like Nadia's not so long ago.

"You didn't search him?"

I heard my own thoughts mirrored from across the table and felt it morph into an annoyance, an anger.

"No." The word was harsh as it left my lips, though the tone wasn't entirely meant for them.

"We got these video captures of CCTV in the seconds before the attack." Louise's voice was flatter now, similar to that of Sharma's beside her. Filled with her own irritation. I wondered if it was meant for me.

I pushed the thought away, looking instead at the photograph that was slid in front of me. My eyes lingered on Julia, though I couldn't make out any of her features. It didn't matter, I had memorized them. They fell next to Mahmood, a shadow of him just visible in the back, and then, Kim. The blonde of her hair and paleness of her skin now blurred with the darkness of her suit as she ran towards the stage.

"And here's you." Sharma's finger fell beside my own image, my blur that lingered much too far behind Kim's. "Not so quick on the uptake."

I shook my head. They had said the things that I had already tortured myself with in the hours past, the image of Kim haunting me as she noticed what I had not. The concerned jerk of her head towards the side of the stage, the steps that had carried her forward before worry had even settled inside me.

The accusations of the officers across from me were unnecessary. They'd rattled in my mind all of the night before until the edges of my brain were numb, lulled into uselessness by the pain the words had created. Now they were said aloud, reflected back at me, confirming that my worries were far from just being mine.

I felt cracks crawl up my armor, the one I had placed around myself to keep the same wounds from appearing in my skin

What followed was a blur, the questions they asked feeling more like accusations, insinuations that I either hadn't done enough, or I had done the wrong things, I had been involved. I realized now that the kindness Louise had displayed before had been a sham. She had lulled me in with the pretense that she didn't believe I was involved and I had fallen for it.

But, Sharma was different. His beliefs in my involvements made clear from the beginning. The longer this interrogation had gone on, the sharper his words had become. Now they cut across me like a blade.

I answered as truthfully as I could, knowing that none of my actions that night or in the time I had served Julia were out of any wrongdoing. That all I had done was meant to protect, never to harm, even if in the end it hadn't been enough.

Louise gave a heavy sigh, her eyes locking with mine in sincerity. "Is there something you're not revealing to us regarding the state of your mind before, during, or after the attack?"

"No." My answer was clear, firm, I wanted to be sure they understood. It was the truth. There hadn't been a change, not in the way they suspected, that with their limited knowledge they could have guessed. The trauma of my past had persisted, an ever turbulent ocean with waves that never released. Some of the swells were bigger than others, occasionally pulling me just a little deeper, but they all drowned me just the same. I'd fought against these waters since my return, long before I was responsible for Julia's survival.

"Right." She looked me up and down and I knew that she didn't believe me, that if she didn't it was even less likely for Sharma to. "Well, they're searching your flat. You got anywhere you can stay tonight? Anyone you can call?"

My eyebrows flicked inward ever so slightly. They had gone back. She had tricked me, and they had gone back. I looked away from them with the billowing of a new anger.

"Yeah...yeah." There was Vicky, there was always Vicky.

I knew without asking that she would let me stay, that despite all the shit between us, we were still husband and wife. That she cared for me. If nothing else, her persistent phone calls, her worried voice told me that.

"Let's get on with it then."

Louise stood so suddenly it took me a minute to respond. The scraping of my own metal chair as I stood broke through the awkward silence and Sharma winced. I watched for a moment as he stuffed the picture they had shown me back in its file, replacing all the paperwork, the answers I had given them. He stacked it neatly inside the manila folder before taking his own leave, darting sharply through the door before either Louise or I could bid him goodnight. Not that I wanted to.

Bitterly, I followed her again. Through the winding hallways and down the staircase, our steps echoing amongst the metal and plaster. This time, it was not a panda, but an unmarked car. I felt relief at her knowledge, that a police car would not be appropriate outside a safe house, not when we wanted to remain just that — Safe.

The silence occupied our ride as a passenger sitting between us. She again asked me no questions, her tongue perhaps tired from the interrogation they had already given. It was for the best, I would have been reluctant to provide answers. I wanted to be free of her, free of tonight, free of all company. I didn't even want Vicky, but we pulled in front of the row house just the same.

I popped the lock, opening the car door as Louise gave me a curt goodnight and I did the same. I could hear the motor running behind me as I walked and I knew she was watching me, out of curiosity or suspicion I wasn't sure. Perhaps she expected me to make some admission of guilt to Vicky. How easily that would make their investigation.

I ignored it, rapping on the safehouse door.

A moment later Vicky's silhouette appeared behind the frosted glass and I heard the click of the lock. She pulled the door open, her face solemn and empathetic as she smiled up at me. The lines around her eyes gave way to her tiredness, the worry I had caused, and I was so very sorry.

I stepped inside, nearly collapsing against her. All that night I had begged the world for solitude and now I wanted nothing more than to be with her, to feel the comfort of her fingers linger against me and for her voice to tell me it was okay when we both knew it wasn't

"Sorry." I found myself apologizing, knowing she hadn't expected me. Knowing that I could never have those things I so desperately wanted.

I had seen how the love in her eyes had dulled, the light once held for me now obscured by the thought of another man. It wasn't what had broken us apart, but it had wedged itself between us, making any reconnection impossibly more difficult. More painful

There was more to reconsider. If I wanted her. If we wanted each other. I just wanted things back to the way they were years prior when we'd first met, when everything had seemed so simple.

Now, the way she looked at me was different. There was concern, yes. The blue of her eyes radiated with worry, but was it the worry for an old friend or lost love? Was it worry she'd place on her new boyfriend? It felt — more than anything else — like pity. And I didn't want it.

I walked like a stranger through this home we should share, my steps carrying me to the sitting room. I heard her behind me and though I had come wanting nothing more than to fall asleep, to escape, part of me was grateful.

I stepped through the archway, my eyes falling to the waiting blankets and pillow. She'd made up the couch though it was much too short for my length and I briefly wished for a spot in the bed beside her, our bodies cradled close. It wasn't necessarily her I wanted — I didn't even know what my wants were anymore – I just wanted to feel loved. Wanted to feel like I mattered, that if I had died today I would have been missed. I craved human touch, the touch of fingers running through my hair. With Julia edging closer to the "after" I wasn't sure when I would feel such affection again. I didn't want to wait, but I had no choice.

I heard the shuffle of fabric, the squeal of one of the rockers behind me and I turned, looking at her, at the blueness of her eyes I had once so loved and that now confused me. I knew she wanted to talk, that I owed her answers, and I had to give them to her. I sat in the chair beside her, though my eyes lingered on the couch. I wasn't sure I could face her.

"After you hung up on me I kept trying to call you back." Her voice was soft, and though there was a question in her words, it wasn't like that of Louise or Sharma. It was one of worry and I had no good answer. I had ignored her. Ignored her for Roger, for my own state of mind. I had ignored her as I walked home, unable to face communication with anyone that wasn't Julia. I had no other option to lie, so I did.

"They took my phone as part of the investigation."

I watched from the corner of my eye as she looked down, fiddling with the edge of her robe. When she spoke, her voice was more insistent, searching for justification that she deserved. An answer to why I had failed her. "Why couldn't you just let me know you were okay?"

I paused, the trembling of my lip, the flexing of a muscle in my cheek as I fought for control taking over. The tears that had so desperately wanted to come all that night making another appearance. Still, I couldn't let them spill down my cheeks. Instead, I said the most truthful thing I had all night. "'Cause I'm not."

If I had expected a hug, an "oh, Dave," I was disappointed again. Instead, I listened to Vicky brush off my words, the concern that had been in her voice only shortly before, drifting through the speaker of my phone seemed to have dimmed. Now that I was here — in front of her — her worries seemed to have been placated enough for her to leave, for this conversation to wait.

I wasn't only not okay. I was broken and desperate and I saw the image of my gun in my mind once more, this time it was not out of concern of where I had left it. There had been so many times that I had pressed it to my temple though I had always changed my mind, had always been saved. I felt the temptation rage again.

I watched as she stepped away, towards a bed and a bedroom that we would never share. I felt as though Julia and I were in the same place, the fabric of the veil clutched between our fingers, treading the line between life and death, though hers hadn't been a choice.

I heard the closing of a door and I knew Vicky was gone, that I was alone. I couldn't be here. I couldn't wait for answers.

My legs carried me from my seat before I had fully decided. They brought me closer to another door and out into the October air. The chill that rested in my soul was unrelated.