She had that look about her; the look of someone who was on the path to oblivion but hadn't quite reached their destination. Her movements were wild, her laugh slightly too loud and when he happened to meet her gaze, her eyes had a glassy appearance, as though she was seeing, but not completely clearly. Judging by his watch, she had been drinking for three straight hours and it was beginning to show. He couldn't recall ever having seen her drunk before. She had always been restrained in the past, no doubt mindful of going home to her beloved husband, but tonight was definitely an exception.

Frank wasn't sure if he was happy or not at the fact that she had been engaged in conversation with Fiona for most of the night, the two of them cackling loudly at various points, and he found himself wondering if, by any chance, they were discussing him. That thought alone made him feel uncomfortable, particularly at the prospect of the blonde woman divulging any intimate details. If there should be any conversation of that nature, he knew it should be between him and her personally and, yet, why would there be? One didn't tend to discuss sex with junior colleagues.

"Chris is certainly hitting it hard," Jim commented, joining him at the bar as he waited for another round. "I don't think I've seen her this drunk since the Christmas party in 1987."

"Oh yeah, what happened that night then?"

"Well, I seem to recall copious amounts of vomit and Stewart being particularly cheesed off when someone called him to come and pick her up. I hope we don't end up with that scenario tonight."

"You've been encouraging her," he said tetchily. "You've let her get into this state."

"She's hardly my responsibility!" Jim exclaimed. "She's a grown woman. Besides, I don't think you've helped matters by bringing your little friend along."

Frank glanced at him sharply, "What do you mean?"

"Well, she can clearly drink like a fish herself. I half suspect Chris is doing it just to keep up."

"Yeah, well…" he trailed off, relieved that there hadn't been anything more subliminal to the other man's comment. Perhaps if it had come from Tosh or Ted, it would have been, but Jim was clearly clueless about so many things. "She's all right is Fiona."

"She's quite pretty, I'll grant you that."

"Hands off, Carver."

"Oh, don't worry Guv," Jim said, picking up the tray, "She's all yours."

He paid the barman and then followed his colleague back across to the table where the arrival of fresh drinks prompted jubilation amongst the thirsty masses.

"About time!" Christina exclaimed. "I was beginning to think my throat had been cut!" She descended into a fit of giggles at her own comment, ably assisted by Fiona.

"You pair get any louder and I'll be cutting you both off," Frank said, sliding into a seat next to his date. "You're becoming a disgrace."

"Oh, we're only having a good time Frankie love," Fiona said, wrapping one arm around his neck and pulling his cheek down for her to kiss. "Aren't we Chris?" The other woman raised her glass in solidarity. "She's good fun this one. How come you haven't introduced us before?"

He locked gazes with Christina again and she looked at him challengingly, her mouth twisted into a smile that she was trying to hide, eyebrows raised awaiting his response. "I suppose I knew the two of you would end up like this," he replied, inventing the best answer that he could. "Nice to see you haven't let me down."

They both giggled again, and he turned to talk to Ted, one ear on the conversation continuing between them. Through snippets, he could hear Fiona talking about her job in an accountancy firm and Christina moaning about the rigours of police work. He only turned his full attention back when he heard Fiona ask about Stewart.

"Frankie tells me you're married."

"Is that so hard to believe?" Christina replied, draining half her glass in one go.

"What's he like then, your husband?"

He watched her pause and look down into her glass for a moment, her expression growing serious as she clearly contemplated the question. "He's…a bit of a bastard to be honest." Then she started laughing again, Fiona joining in, her hands going to her face for a moment only to reveal the tell-tale sign of tears when she pulled them away. Deliberately she avoided his gaze and made a show of reaching for her handbag and pulling out a compact, eyeing herself critically in the reflection. He said nothing as Fiona excused herself to go to the toilet but slid along into her vacant seat so that he was opposite her.

"Stewart out tonight then?" he asked conversationally.

She looked up, her mascara smudged slightly under one eye. "Yeah, like always."

"You'd better watch yourself then. No-one to pick you up if you decide to hop on the puke bus, know what I mean?"

She narrowed her eyes and glanced over at Jim, "What's he been saying about me?"

"Something about a Christmas party in 1987."

"Typical. The one time I get blind drunk and make a show of myself and I'm never allowed to forget it." Lifting her glass again she swirled the remains down her throat and then got to her feet, swaying slightly as she did so. "My round I think."

"Maybe you should sit this one out," he said, rising to meet her.

"Why?"

"I just think you need to take a break, have some water."

She laughed derisorily, "Who are you, my dad? No, not him. He probably wouldn't give a shit what state I got myself into. I'm having a good time, don't spoil it." Lifting her purse from her bag, she moved around the table and made to pass him, only he found himself taking hold of her arm to stop her. Her flesh was warm under his touch and her eyes moved from their connection to his own. "What are you doing?" she asked quietly.

He hesitated for a moment and then released her. "I just think you've had enough, that's all. Like I said, if Stewart's out himself, there won't be anyone to pick you up if you're legless."

"I don't need anyone," she replied. "Now, do you want another drink or not?"

XXXX

She couldn't help but hate the other woman, even though she had no real reason to. She was friendly enough and they had chatted away as though they were old pals, saving her from the mundane conversation of other police officers. But she still hated her. Hated her because she had come with him. Maybe she hated him too, she couldn't help but wonder as she made her way back over to the bar, stumbling slightly as she did so. After all, he had brought her and, for the life of her, she couldn't work out why. In all the times they had been out drinking as a group, he had never once brought a date, had never seemed like the type to want to and yet, there she was, all blonde haired and blue-eyed and big-titted…

Christina turned her gaze away and focused on ordering the round she knew everyone would be expecting. As the barman prepared the order, she felt her hackles rise. Who was he to tell her that she had had enough to drink? Who was he to opine on the subject at all?

"Git," she muttered uncharitably.

"Who's a git?" Ted asked, suddenly appearing beside her. "I hope you're not referring to me."

"Of course not," she replied, pulling herself back into the moment. "I hope you want another because I've ordered you one."

"Am I Irish?"

"You've got the charm anyway," she quipped. "You're a good-looking bloke, Ted. You should be married."

"Been there, done that, got the divorce paper to prove it. No, I think I'm done with commitment. Much prefer playing the field these days. Much like someone else not too far away from here." She watched as he glanced over her shoulder back towards the table, but refrained from following suit and instead turned her attention to a small crack in the surface of the bar top in front f her.

"How are you?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, it's not like you to get so drunk on a Wednesday evening," he replied. "In fact, I don't think I've seen you drunk since…"

"Christmas 1987, yes Jim's apparently already mentioned that, thank you," she interrupted irritably. "Why is everyone suddenly so concerned with what I'm doing?"

"Because we care about you," he replied, and the very nature of his words made her well up again. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she replied, deliberately avoiding his gaze. "I'm absolutely fine."

"Are you sure?"

"What is this?" she turned to face him, his vision misty behind her eyes. "Therapy? I'm fine, Stewart's fine, everything's fine. Haven't you got your own life to be concerning yourself with?"

"Then why are you upset?"

"I'm not!" she turned away again. "Look, just leave me alone, Ted, all right? I'll bring you your drink when it's ready."

She expected him to move away, a barbed retort to be left in his wake, but instead, he moved closer to her, turning his body so that he was between her and the table of their colleagues behind so she could no longer see anyone. "No good will come of it."

"No good will come of what?"

"I think you know what I'm talking about."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

Ted paused and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "You'll have heard the rumours."

"What rumours?" she asked, glancing over at the barman and willing him to hurry up with the round. Something in Ted's tone was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable and she suddenly longed to be back at the table.

"The rumours about our esteemed leader and a WPC." He paused on her look. "Wray and Ackland."

Christina blinked, "You what?"

"You mean you haven't heard? Well, I suppose you've had a lot on your own plate to deal with, but it's pretty obvious."

"What is?"

"They're having an affair."

"What? No, they're not." The barman began placing the drinks down in front of her and she held out her money absentmindedly, focusing on Ted's revelation. "That's ridiculous!"

"It's not ridiculous and it's true. They've been seen together out and about, not to mention the fact she spends quite a lot of time in his office. Haven't you noticed?"

"I…no," she replied honestly. "But…June…"

"What, you don't think she's the type to go off with a married man?"

She paused, thinking back on the conversation she and June had had when Gordon had first appeared during the 'Middleman' crisis and how the other woman had said she found him attractive. But she would never have thought in a million years, not June…

"Is there a type?" Ted opined when she didn't answer.

The look on his face suddenly irritated her. "Well, you would know, wouldn't you? How many married women have you been with?"

"Oh, too many to count," he replied easily, with no trace of embarrassment. "But it is what it is for me."

"And what's that?"

"A fling, nothing serious. If you ask me, June Ackland is hoping for more than I'm willing to wager Gordon Wray is prepared to give."

"You think she wants him to leave his wife?" Ted nodded. "Do you think he will?"

"Of course not! What married person ever does? But, of course, it's not just the fact that he's married that's a problem. It's the power imbalance."

She frowned, "How do you mean?"

"He's a DCI, she's a WPC. There couldn't be more of a difference, and you know how the Met views those sorts of relationships amongst officers in the same station. I should know about that too."

Christina couldn't help but once again think unkindly about Inspector Frazer. As well as her reported dalliance with Frank at some point before he came to Sun Hill, she had also had a very brief relationship with Ted, something that hadn't gone down too well with Conway and Brownlow when they had discovered it. Ted had been lucky not to be transferred as a result. The woman certainly got around a bit. Dragging herself back into the present moment, she downed her own drink in one go and quickly signalled the barman for another before he had time to serve anyone else. "Why are you telling me all this? I don't care what June and Gordon get up to, that's their business."

"Well, it'll be everyone's business if it gets out, and it won't look too good for either of them," Ted replied. "Once you get tarred with that brush, it's hard to shake it off."

"So, I'll ask you again," she said angrily, "why are you telling me all this?"

Ted paused for a long moment, "Because, like I said, I care about you and I'd hate to see you throw everything away for something, or someone, who doesn't deserve it."

For a moment, she just stared at him, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Had she said something, done something to make the conflict rolling around in her head obvious to the others? Had she spoken so badly of her husband that everyone thought she was casting her eyes somewhere else? Had she spent too much time in Frank's company? She thought back to when Viv had joined the team and they had seemingly shared an understanding that they needed to step back from one another, but that had just been in terms of being professionally close. There had never been anything said, nothing at all, that could have led anyone to think…had there?

She lifted the tray of drinks from the bar and turned back to the table, desperate to get away from the conversation and his innuendos. "I've got no idea what you're talking about, Ted."

XXXX

By the time the bell rang for last orders, Christina was slumped in the corner of the room, her head lolling, her gaze completely unfocused and Frank felt fury course through him. Fury at her for getting into such a state, but moreover fury at the others for allowing it to happen. At one point in the evening, he had run across an old mate and become embroiled in a lengthy conversation with him. By the time he had returned to his own team, she had already been too far gone for him to be able to do anything about it. Fiona was equally as trashed but, for some reason, he cared less about her welfare than he did about Christina's.

"You're an idiot," he said to Jim, who looked no better than his colleague. "Look at the state of her!"

"I told you she wasn't my responsibility, Guv," he slurred.

"Well, I suppose that makes her mine then, doesn't it?" he snapped, turning to Fiona. "Are you fit?"

"Frankie…" she got to her feet and stumbled into him, winding her arms around his neck, the smell of alcohol and smoke almost suffocating him. "My place or yours?"

"Yours, on your own," he replied, prising her away. "Oi Geoff!" he called out to the barman. "Ring us a taxi for this one, will you?"

"You're no fun," Fiona pouted, slumping back down in her seat. "But I like your friend."

He moved around her to the other side of the table and sat down beside Christina, shaking her roughly by the shoulder. "Christina. Christina!"

"Hmmm…. what?" she replied. "Whatisit?"

"It's time to go, come on." He took hold of her arm and tried to get her to her feet. "Come on, get up."

"No…. I want to stay here."

"You can't, it's last orders."

"Another drink then…please….?" She looked up at him and he winced at her appearance. Her makeup was now completely smudged around her eyes, her lipstick smeared across her face, a sheen of sweat on her brow. "Just one more…"

"Yeah Frankie, just one more…" Fiona joined in.

"You shut it," he said, before turning back to Christina. "Come on, you need to go home."

"You're such a bore…" she protested as he pulled her to his feet. "Big bore Burnside…" she descended into fits of laughter at her own joke. "That's good, isn't it? Big bore Burnside. Is Stewart here? Has he come to get me?"

"No, I'll take you home." The words were out of his mouth before he had properly thought them through. The others might find it off if he was to act as chauffeur for her and yet allow his own date to be piled into a taxi alone and yet he felt far more certain that Fiona could handle herself in any situation than he did Christina. "Come on, let's go." Despite her continuing protests, he manoeuvred her around the side of the table and towards the bar.

"Need a hand?" Ted suddenly appeared in front of him.

"No, I'm just going to take her home before she gets herself into any trouble."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." He paused on Ted's raised eyebrow. "You got something to say about that?"

"No, but in the current climate…"

"What current climate?" he asked, gripping tighter onto Christina as she threatened to fall to the ground under the weight of her own drunkenness.

"Wray and Ackland."

"Oh that…I fail to see how me taking Christina home has any bearing on what the DCI gets up to with a WPC."

"Then you're more naïve than I've ever given you credit for," Ted replied quietly. "Besides, it's not just that. She could say anything."

"Who?"

"Christina," he gestured to her. "She wakes up tomorrow with a stinker of a hangover, suddenly realises how she got home and, all of sudden, she remembers you put your hands on her in the taxi."

Anger coursed through him, the same type he remembered experiencing when Ted had questioned his motives towards Christina before, and he knew that if he hadn't been physically holding her up, he would likely have punched the other man. "How dare you…!"

"I'm not suggesting you'd actually do anything to her," Ted clarified. "I'm saying that you're leaving yourself wide open for something to be said. You know what Stewart's like."

"This is rich, coming from you!"

"Well maybe I'm just trying to look out for both of you."

"I've told you before, Ted, I do not fancy Christina, nor do I have any inclination whatsoever to do anything to her, drunk or otherwise! Now, will you get out of my way or would you rather I ask you to take her home instead?" He locked gazes with the other man, hating the slight derision that he saw there and the implication that he was being untruthful, which he knew he was. Ted moved to one side and, without further recourse to him, Frank led Christina out of the pub and into the cooling evening air. The moment they were outside, she lurched against him, and it was all he could do to propel her to the corner before she sank to her knees and started vomiting into the gutter. He watched as her body spasmed with each purge and though he knew he should be disgusted, all he felt was a sense of protectiveness.

It felt as though he was stood there for an age before she slowly drew herself back to her feet, her hands pressing against the rough hew of the building in front of her until she was upright and able to run one across her mouth. "Shit."

"Well, that's one word for it," he replied, freezing suddenly as she burst into loud, noisy sobs. She stumbled over her heels and banged into the side of the building, poised to slide to the ground before he caught hold of her and pulled her to him, keeping her upright. "It's all right," he said, reminiscent of the time he had comforted her in the hospital after Stewart had been shot. "I'm here." She clung to him tightly, her body pressed against his in a way that would have made him respond far differently had it not been for her obvious distress.

Eventually, she pulled back from him, the tears only contributing further to the mess of makeup on her face, some of which he could see was now strewn across his shoulder and squinted at him through drunken eyes. "Can you take me home?"

"Yeah," he replied, slipping his arm around her waist and propelling her in the direction of the nearest taxi rank. "I'll take you home."